#An Introduction to Tenses

[googleitlol]

Me: writing about the aftermath of King's Crown and how tense it is between Wukong, Dove, and Tripitaka

Also me listening to my playlist:

✨SHAWTY HAD THEM APPLE BOTTOM JEANS–✨

[nulli-bug]

Im making this thing for “self shipping”

Because I don’t want to bog anyone down with my self ship stuff if they want me to be posting about normal things and Layla

I may or not stick with that plan! Who knows I might delete this blog and just keep posting self ship stuff on my main!

Who knows!

[what-even-is-sleep]

First facial shots of the main three!

[hollygl125]

Tag Game: First 10 Lines Challenge:

Rules: Share the first line of your last ten published works or as many as you are able to and see if there are any patterns!

I’ve tagged myself off a general invitation to participate, so I invite anyone else who’s interested to do the same.

I haven’t stayed strictly with the last ten stories. Instead I went with the ten stories posted so far—of a total of fourteen—in my ongoing canon GSR series. I also haven’t stayed strictly with the first lines—I couldn’t decide whether to do the first lines of the introductions (where applicable) or of the actual story text, so I went with both.

Today is the two-year anniversary of when I started posting this series, which I thought this would be a good time to share this! When I first started writing the series back in late June 2022, I didn’t imagine I’d still be posting it over two years later. But it’s now almost three times as long as it was when I had completed my first draft—though the end point is not significantly different.

1.   Survivors in the Night: AAFS Conference to Las Vegas: A How They Met Story [12 chapters; 21,420 words]

Introduction:

Gil Grissom meets Sara Sidle at the 1998 forensic academy conference in San Francisco. They immediately fall in love. Maybe that should have been the end of the story; maybe it should have been that easy. But it wasn’t, not for these two science nerds. They live happily ever after, eventually, but not in this story. This story is the first loop in their roller coaster ride, though. This story gets Sara Sidle to Vegas.

October 2000. Las Vegas, Nevada.

“You are . . .” he trailed off, struggling to find the right word. “You are so . . .” Again, he couldn’t get it. He was usually quite adept with words. He had a good memory and a Shakespeare quotation close at hand for almost any situation. But he currently had a very tall, very attractive, very naked young brunette in his bed, and she always seemed to do this to him. He was at a loss.

“You are so . . . completely f[***]able,” he finally concluded.

She laughed. Of all the words she might have expected to come out of the eminent entomologist’s mouth, that was possibly the last. He could have called her a Martian, and she’d have been less surprised.

2.   No, I Never Meant to Break Your Heart: This Area Was Always a Good Place for Stargazing: A How They Got Together Story [6 chapters; 10,492 words]

Introduction:

Sara Sidle and Gil Grissom had worked together very well in the beginning. They’d kind of flirted a bit in the beginning (okay, they probably still did that), and they’d stood really very abnormally close together (they definitely still did that), and no one had seemed to notice this, except Catherine Willows had maybe noticed their flirting, but that really was way back in the beginning

[. . .]

March 2005. Las Vegas, Nevada.

Sara didn’t know what he was doing. She really didn’t. Ever since she’d told Grissom about her deep, dark, secret past, he’d been confusing her. Ever since she’d told him about that deep, dark, secret past, he’d just . . . been there.

3.   No, I Never Meant to Let You Down: After the Meteors: The Smallest of Moments [Drabble]

April 2005. Later that same day. Las Vegas, Nevada.

“Sara . . .”

She looked at him.

“Sara, we . . .” He hesitated.

Why did he look nervous?

4.   I Never Meant to Turn Away: Committed: Some Reflections by the Scientist [One-shot; 3,596 words]

April 2005. Later that same week. Las Vegas, Nevada.

Commit. To commit. To be committed. Suddenly these phrases had taken on a lot of significance in Sara Sidle’s life—too much significance, perhaps.

5.   No, I Never Meant to Cause You Pain: Grave Danger to Law of Gravity: Various Encounters [9 chapters; 14,875 words]

Introduction:

Sara Sidle was Gil Grissom’s fantasy. That much was obvious. Sara Sidle and Gil Grissom were in fact already sleeping together. Should that have been obvious? (No one else seemed to figure it out, except maybe that shrewd detective Jim Brass.)

[. . .]

December 2006. Las Vegas, Nevada.

He knew he needed to tell her. He would tell her the next day—always the next day. He most definitely needed to tell her. It wasn’t going to get any better if he put it off. It was going to happen, and he couldn’t exactly just have her wake up one day and find him gone.

6.   No, I Never Meant to Hurt You: The Good, the Bad, and the Happy Ending(s): More Encounters; A Conversation Takes Place [One-shot; 4,001 words]

Introduction:

By now, Grissom had shaved again. Well, no, Sara had shaved him. It was pretty intimate. Sara had not yet read the letter from Williamstown, but she soon would. (That’s the subject of another story, though.) Regardless, they were both pretty happy.

[. . .]

May 2007. Las Vegas, Nevada.

She was fine. Sara Sidle was fine. And doesn’t that tell you all you really need to know?

April 2007. Las Vegas, Nevada.

Sara Sidle swooned—or close to it. The man she loved had just declared his love for her while on a case, and it was just about the sweetest thing she’d ever heard. He hadn’t said those exact words, of course, but his meaning was clear. So Sara swooned.

7.   All I Ever Wanted Was to Be Right Here: After the Desert: A Very Brief Interlude [One-shot; 576 words]

Introduction:

Sara Sidle made it out of the desert. Sara Sidle is a survivor.

May 2007. Las Vegas, Nevada.

As soon as he was allowed, Grissom had gone to sit by her bed. Since then, he’d only left her side for the briefest of moments. He held her hand, and he praised everything in which he believed, and everything in which he didn’t, that she’d made it through the ordeal alive.

8.   All I Want to Do Now Is to Try My Best: I Love It When You Dress Up: A Moment of Happiness [One-shot; 3,776 words]

Introduction:

“Yes. Let’s do it.”

October 2007. Las Vegas, Nevada.

Well, he’d gone and done it. He’d done the thing she’d always kind of dreamed of him doing—the thing she’d always kind of dreamed of him doing, even before it was safe (well before it was safe) for her to dream of him doing anything of the sort.

She had never dreamed of her wedding day. For much of her life, truth be told, she hadn’t imagined she would ever get married. Growing up—first with her parents and their disastrous (nay, tragic) relationship and then in her string of foster homes—she hadn’t exactly acquired an idea of marriage as anything to be emulated. But then she’d met this man. Ever since she’d met him, she’d always wanted to be connected to this man. And so, quite despite herself, Sara Sidle had dreamed.

9.   So Don't Ever, Don't Ever, Don't Forget: I Miss You with Every Beat of My Heart: A Long-distance Telephone Call . . . and a Movie [One-shot; 2,912 words]

Introduction:

What do you do when you can’t be with the one you love?

Winter 2008. San Francisco, California and Las Vegas, Nevada.

“Hi,” he said softly, after flipping open his phone and putting it to his ear, as if a more forceful response would scare her off.

“Hi,” she replied, just as softly, as if it took all her strength to exist so far from this man who was so much a part of her.

10.                 All I Ever Wanted Was to Stand Beside You: Costa Rica to the Ishmael, and Then Some: A How They Fell Apart & How They Came Back Together Story [21 (of 28) chapters; 64,901 words (and counting)] [WIP]

Introduction:

Sara Sidle and Gil Grissom were living together very happily (with their dog, Hank—we will never forget Hank, the best dog either of them ever had) in Las Vegas, Nevada, when a serial killer decided to exact revenge on Grissom by kidnapping and killing Sara.

[. . .]

Fall 2015. San Diego, California.

Gil Grissom had found himself in a spot of trouble in San Diego, while carrying out some of his ongoing (and slightly illegal—he’d been found trespassing on a boat) conservation efforts. But an odd twist of fate was helping Grissom out. An officer from San Diego Harbor Patrol was just finishing up on the phone with Grissom’s former colleague, the current Las Vegas sheriff, Conrad Ecklie. Ecklie had requested Grissom’s urgent assistance on a case.

“It’s your lucky day, pal,” the officer told Grissom, after ending the call. “I’d tell you not to leave town, but I guess you’re going to Sin City.”

Grissom sighed. “Vegas,” he said, with a not-slight measure of regret. On the surface, Grissom looked a little put out but generally calm. Inside, however, was a different matter: Vegas. F[***]. F[*******]. F[***]. Even in his head, Grissom didn’t ordinarily curse. But in this case he would make an exception: F[**********].

It wasn’t Vegas itself that was the problem. It was his ex-wife: Sara Sidle. She was overseeing the case on which he’d agreed to assist. It was both because of her that he’d agreed to assist and because of her that he had almost refused. Ultimately the tie had been broken by his desire for Ecklie’s help on his current, er, situation with the harbor patrol.

[skitskatdacat63]

hiii! here's a question for you: what's the story of how you got into F1?

Helloooo, so it's honestly pretty silly. So in my prev fandom, this author I really like(hello if you see this, you know who you are djfkkf) wrote an f1 au oneshog. And I read it once and was like huh interesting, cause I never had really heard of f1 before, and had to look up some terms bcs I was so ???? at everything(my Google search history: what does p1 in f1 mean? What is drs? What is a team principal? etc etc)

But I couldn't stop thinking about it, and I read it again, and again. And then I looked on the author's tumblr blog and saw he had answered some asks abt f1, like explaining the dynamic involved in the oneshot he wrote, and recommending how to get into it. So next step: watch a bit of DTS. And I definitely thought it was interesting, but I think I only watched 3 or so episodes. But hey! There was a race that very weekend, and I wanted to watch the actual sport and boom there we go, total landslide into my life being taken over.

F1 is such an interesting fandom to get into bcs the amount of info you have to learn. And it's really difficult at the beginning with all these things, concepts and people you've never heard of. So it was very fun to experience that over the course of a few races, like every weekend I came into it with more passion and knowledge! There's some word I'm thinking of that I can't remember aahhhh, but yeah basically its crazy the amnt of info you need to learn before you feel comfortable and at least somewhat knowledgeable.

Also one other funny thing, I think I may have talked abt this before. My brother is such a car guy, so back when I first got in, I really wanted to ask him if he liked f1. And so we're talking on the phone, and completely unprompted he's like "Ugh it sucks that I was abroad when the US GP happened"(he lives in Austin.) And I'm like OH SO YOU LIKE F1!? And now we're a lot closer than we were before that, bcs of f1 :)

[antisocialxconstruct]

I have written over 4500 words of New And Improved* Ghost City in the last two days

*not copyright-claimable

[catboyrightsdefender]

thesis submission day tomorrow oh god oh christ

[tonycries]

Go For It, Gojo! - G.S.

Synopsis. You wouldn’t fuck Gojo Satoru even if you were paid… …is what you thought exactly five minutes before you were shoved against the wall of this cramped closet, his face stuffed in your soaked panties.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, academic rivals to lovers, student president! reader, unprotected sex, banter about physics, cunnilingus, oral sex (male + female), 7 minutes in heaven, college! AU, 69, Satoru is a tease down bad for you (and has a big dick), overstimulation, pet names (sweetheart, hardass), swearing.

Word count. 10.2k

A/N. I really don’t like physics. Art by @_3aem on X.

Life truly has an awful sense of humor - almost as bad as Gojo’s, which you discovered on the first day of Advanced Quantum Physics. 

The air charged with nervous energy and the scent of freshly printed syllabi, you quickly snag a seat right at the front row of Professor Yaga’s class. 

Ah, you’ll never forget how peaceful those few seconds to yourself after introductions were - before the devil incarnate dramatically swung open those lecture hall doors and plopped himself down right next to you. Late. 

“Any closer to Yaga and you’d be fucking his wife, y’know.” a voice hums from beside you, shattering your daydreams of passing this class with flying colors and riding a wave of glory into becoming a Nobel prize-winning physicist. 

With a slight scowl, you turn your attention to the source of disturbance - only to meet eyes with (self-proclaimed) campus sweetheart, Satoru Gojo, leaning on his chair with an air of nonchalance. At your silence, he repeats, “I said any closer-”

“I heard what you said.” you snap, irritation flaring at the amused twinkle in his blue eyes and the mirthful grin that spreads across his lips at your reaction. “Doesn’t erase the fact that you’re sitting here too.” you raise a brow.

“Oh me? That’s because I’m already fucking his wife, sweetheart.” he deadpans with a blank expression. 

What? The tense silence that follows is deafening - for the first time ever in your life, you were shocked into speechlessness. 

A beat passes. One. Two. Before Gojo bursts into hysterics, clutching his stomach. “You- you shoulda seen the look on your face- HAHAHA-” he gets out between uncontrollable laughs. Face burning, you train your eyes forward and will yourself to not glance at the 6’3 mess cackling beside you.

Ugh. Deep breaths. Deep breaths. Just think happy thoughts - kittens, quantum mechanics, being valedictorian. Desperately attempting to block out the giggling thorn at your side, you recoil at Professor Yaga’s extremely disapproving look in your direction. 

Panicking, and dreams of being his ace student slowly flushing down the drain, you quickly flip through your notes, attempting to catch up to where the lecture had now started. 

“Looks like we’re in trouble, partner~” Gojo’s dramatic stage-whisper catches the attention of students around you, them chuckling at your expense. 

“Hey, you’re the student president, right? Hey~ Heyyy prez~” As Professor Yaga continues his spiel about the syllabus, you continue to very obviously ignore the incessant comments that spill out of Gojo’s lips, to stifled laughs from his fast-forming entourage. 

The harder you tried to focus on Professor Yaga’s words, the louder and more absurd Gojo’s comments became - as if he’d made it his personal mission to enrage you. A sense of impending doom looming over you, you glare at him with a look that could’ve melted steel, hissing out, “Do you ever in your life shut the fuck up?”

Eyes widening in mock innocence, he grins “Oh~ I didn't know our student prez could get so feisty. Maybe I should take notes instead of doodling hearts around your name in my notebook.”

Ears ringing in embarrassment and frustration, and mind a whirlwind of how bad it would really be if you killed Gojo right here, you almost miss Professor Yaga’s question, “Now, would anyone here be able to discuss the interpretations in the debate between the Copenhagen interpretation and the Pilot-Wave theory?”

Teetering on the edge of your seat, you raise your hand, scrambling to salvage whatever is left of your academic reputation. You and- Gojo?

You start at the call of your name from Professor Yaga, “The Copenhagen Interpretation uses Heisenberg's uncertainty principle and emphasizes measurement to state that quantum-level particles can act as both waves and particles. It’s the most widely accepted and pragmatic theory.”

Gojo basically falls out of his seat in eagerness to answer after you.

“Ah, yes, Mr. Gojo.” 

You internally groan, ready for whatever bullshit was about to come out of his mouth. 

With a deep breath, “Not to be the devil’s advocate but the Pilot-Wave theory makes way more sense practically.”

Professor Yaga raises an intrigued eyebrow at Gojo’s statement, the class collectively holds a breath - as if awaiting the impending academic battlefield.

Gojo, with a cocky grin, plows on, “Think about it. The Pilot-Wave theory suggests that particles have definite positions and paths, unlike the uncertainty principle of the Copenhagen Interpretation. It's like predicting where a ball will land after you throw it, rather than saying it could be anywhere until you look."

Oh? He wasn’t a complete idiot?

Yet, you roll your eyes, “But the Pilot-Wave theory is too fanciful, it brings in too many hidden variables that have their own set of problems. It goes against the measurements and principles of locality!”

Unbothered by the challenge, Gojo leans back further in his chair, “What’s a couple complications? It’s a lot clearer on a microscopic level, none of that weird uncertainty of the Copenhagen Interpretation.”

Irritation running through your veins, you scoff at his condescending tone, “It might seem intuitive, but experiments and observations support the probabilistic nature of quantum mechanics.” You’re almost out of your chair at this point, an accusing finger pointed at Gojo. “Despite its weirdness, the Copenhagen Interpretation has proven successful in predicting outcomes.” 

“Oh yeah? And it’s also only used by hardasses that just want to shut up and calculate, sweetheart.”

“Big talk for a little bi-” 

“OKAY STUDENTS, that’s enough for now. Let’s put a pin in this discussion and move on with the topic.” Professor Yaga, who had been watching the debate with amusement, promptly ends it once you two begin to get overly heated. 

The rest of the class, on the edge of their seats and probably hoping for some fists swinging between the academic titans, now sit back in disappointment at the fight cut off early. 

You sit back in indignation, fuming at how Gojo had gotten you so worked up. And he was wrong too! 

The lecture continues as if you two were never two curse words away from each other’s throats. 

But, in the midst of it all, your glare meets blue, sparkling with amusement - a jolt of electricity runs through your body at the glint of recognition of the other’s brilliance. An unspoken yet undeniable competition.

You’ve avoided Gojo like the plague for the past few months since then - which isn’t doing much when said plague follows you around everywhere with incessant calls of “Hey, hardass prez~”. The only time you seek him out being to gloatingly show off the large, red “100” on your tests - to which, unfortunately, he does the same. 

It’s stupid. It’s childish. Honestly, sometimes you think he just tries to get under your skin for the hell of it.

But you don’t have the time to think too deeply into that.

Just like you don’t have time for this frat party. 

Music and alcohol thrumming through your veins, it’s always the same thing. You’d rather be holed up getting ahead of your physics textbook than be here. Yet, you owed a favor to your friend Haibara - and he’d been bugging you to come to this party for weeks now. 

You’ll just stay another hour then leave, you sigh.

Zoning out as Haibara plays an overly-intense game of beer pong, you’re startled by an arm around your shoulder. “Well, well, well, if it isn’t our lil’ prez looking like she’d rather peel paint than be here.” The expensive cologne hits you before the realization of who this was. “Drooling over the jocks? I recommend the STEM majors, sweetheart, jocks aren’t that great in bed.”

Quickly shrugging off his arm, you scowl, “Not like STEM majors are any better. And unlike some people, I have goals beyond being the life of the party.”

Decked out in slacks and a slightly too-unbuttoned shirt, Gojo chuckles, “Yeah, like what? Banishing fun?” Cerulean eyes gleaming with mischief, “You gotta let loose for once, sweetheart. Not everything in life is about academics and accolades.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes “Well not like I-” but whatever snarky retort gets caught in your throat as Gojo seizes your hand, effortlessly pulling you onto the dance floor. 

Caught off guard, you can do nothing more than sputter in surprise as he leans down to murmur in your ear, above the bass reverberating the walls, “C’mon hardass, sometimes in life, you just gotta- dance!” 

Gojo spins you into a dramatic dip, his silver chain brushing your face and his hand on your back burning into your skin.

Your cheeks burn in embarrassment - yeah, embarrassment - as the people around you cheer in amusement at the science department’s biggest rivals navigating the dance floor with surprising chemistry.

This was ridiculous. And yet, music ringing in your ears, you almost crack a smile. Almost. That is until your eye catches Haibara’s surprised ones from the side of the dance floor. Wait - here you were dancing with Gojo. 

Gojo pain-in-your-ass Satoru.

Immediately pushing him off with a hand to his chest, you don’t listen to whatever spills out of his mouth as you make your way to Haibara, disappearing with him into the crowd.  

“Hey, hey you okay? Wasn’t that the guy you were manifesting would step on Lego with his bare foot?” Haibara’s concerned voice speaks up from wherever you were dragging him through this sprawling frat house. 

“Ugh, yeah. Sorry about that, I don’t even- Anyway, how did the beer pong go?” you snap out of your reverie. What happened there? You were almost…enjoying yourself with Gojo Satoru of all people. 

Listening to Haibara brag about his dominating beer pong win thankfully took your mind off of your little endeavor with Gojo. 

“And then Yuji totally-”

“AH, THERE YOU ARE! Perfect, come join we’re two people short!” your kinda-friend Shoko’s drunken drawl breaks through the conversation. You can barely get a word out as she forcefully drags you two into a dimly lit room against your protests. 

The atmosphere heavy with beer and laughter, she plops you two down onto the floor in a neat circle of people before taking her seat beside you. “GREAT! Now we’ve got everyone, we can finally start.”

With a mischievous grin, Shoko declares, “Alrighty, folks! Time for the ol’ classic - we’re playing 7 minutes in heaven!” pulling out an old-fashioned, tattered hat from behind her back, to a collective mix of groans and cheers from the circle. 

“Where did you even find that ratty old thing, Shoko?” a sharply handsome man - Geto, you think - chuckles from his seat opposite you. And beside him- your heart stops. Gojo.

A smirk curling his lips and twinkling blue eyes locked on you. 

As if on instinct, you move to get up - only to be brought back down by a hand on your wrist. “Nuh-uh, no one’s escaping, c’mon it’ll be fun.” Shoko smirks, beginning to hand out pieces of paper to write down your names.

Apprehension pooling in your stomach, you share a glance with Haibara, who was honestly just happy to be here. Reluctantly, you scrawl down your name, tension building as it drops into the abyss of the hat.

“As our first attempted escapee, I think the prez should go first.” that agitating voice you knew too well speaks up. If looks could kill, Gojo would be six feet under and you’d be dancing all over his grave with a textbook on the Copenhagen Interaction. 

To agreeing laughter - and your impending doom - the hat is promptly placed in front of you. God, you knew you should’ve stayed home. With a shaky hand, you delve in, grasping onto a slightly crumpled piece of paper.

Not Gojo. Please not Gojo. Literally anyone but Gojo- 

Turning it over.

Satoru Gojo.

You jolt in surprise, rereading the hasty handwriting over and over - as if willing it to change. This must be some kind of sick joke. Eyes meeting Gojo’s, a flash of surprises passes his face before a self-satisfied grin takes over. He looked way too fucking pleased with himself.

“No fucking way.” Shoko mutters as it dawns on the group just who you were paired up with. Cheers and wolf-whistles erupt, filling the room as Satoru stands up extending a hand theatrically towards you. “If her highness the student prez would do me the utmost pleasure of joining me.”

You scoff, jeez it would be a surprise if you two didn’t kill each other in there. “Unless she’s…intimidated?” he bats his long lashes at you mockingly.

Intimidated? Of who? Swatting away Gojo’s hand, you stand up. “Intimidated? Don’t make me laugh.” 

He leans down, retorting, “I’ve tried but you don’t seem to know how.”. The room holds their breath, attention squarely on the two of you.

A beat of silence passes as you glare at him. You really could smack his annoyingly pretty face right now, but you shouldn’t - too many witnesses. 

“Now now, you two. Save it for the closet.” 

Ever the mediator, Geto ushers you two in the direction of the - very cramped - closet tucked into a corner of the room. 

Before you know it, the creak of the heavy wooden door rings in your ears as the door closes behind you. The loud click of a lock resonates, plunging you two into darkness. 

The muffled sounds of the party seem miles away as you try to focus on your breathing - trying not to let your mind drift to Gojo. You could feel the heat of his body, the ghost of his presence less than a foot away from you.

“So…” you flinch as Gojo’s voice cuts through the deafening silence. “You still alive and breathing after being trapped in a tiny closet with me?”

You huff, desperately wanting to break out of this closet, “Yes, but you probably won’t be if you don’t stay on your side.”

“This closet is barely a closet, there’s no ‘side’, sweetheart. And that’s my leg you’re resting on.”

You immediately scramble to move away from the warmth of Gojo’s leg that you’d been subconsciously leaning yours on. In the chaos, you probably did a bit more damage than solving. “Ah! Wait- watch the crown jewels, hardass.” 

You distance yourself as much as possible in the small space, knee burning where it had brushed up against Gojo’s that.

God, you were making a fool of yourself.

“As much as I like forceful women, you better take me out on a date first, sweetheart.” As your eyes adjusted to the dim lighting filtering in through the slight crack of the door, you could make out that signature playful grin. 

Your irritation simmers beneath the surface. Gojo always knew how to get under your skin. 

“Don’t you worry your empty lil’ head, I wouldn’t fuck you even if I was paid.” you bite back.

“Oh yeah?” Gojo leans in slightly, his voice low and teasing. “You sure about that, prez? I’ve been told that I’m irresistible.”

You raise a brow, unimpressed. “Yeah, irresistibly hard to not smack.” 

“I always did like ‘em feisty. Makes our little debates all the more interesting.”

“Our debates would be a lot more interesting if you learned to keep that big mouth shut.”

“Oh? C’mon, prez, you love this ‘big mouth’. And you love the challenge. I see the way you look for me every time you answer one of Yaga’s questions, y’know.” Gojo murmurs, gaze piercing into yours.

He leans in closer - now definitely not on his side of the closet. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d call it chemistry. Admit it and I might consider not calling you ‘hardass’ for a whole week.”

“What- That’s just because- I’d rather be called ‘hardass’ for a lifetime than admit to having any chemistry with you. I can’t even tolerate you for seven minutes here.” you sputter at both his proximity and his (absurd) accusations.

“As the student prez, isn’t your entire job to tolerate everyone? You’re a walking contradiction, sweetheart.”

“I am not. You have no effect on me.” you protest, standing firm. In the heat of your argument, you and Gojo have drawn closer to each other. His breath now fanning your face as he hums, voice a seductive tease, “I do, admit it. There’s a part of you that likes our chemistry.”

A defiant spark ignites in your eyes, “I’ll admit no such thing.”

“Then…hit me like I know you want to if you don’t want this.” he whispers, voice breathless. He closes the distance.

Gojo’s lips meet yours. 

Soft, they were so soft. 

Your heartbeat thundering in surprise, a hand raising to - to what? Smack him away? Eyes fluttering closed, your hand fists his shirt, the other subconsciously finding its way to his cloudy locks. Tugging. Kissing him back. 

Satoru kisses you like he’ll never be able to again. Because, he knows - he probably won’t.

Lips searing against yours, his eyes roll to the back of his head at your taste. Sweet - so sweet - just like candy, with a hint of Baileys and everything that he’ll never be able to have. 

A strangled groan leaves his throat when you bite down on his lips. Tugging with your teeth. Shit, fuck him and his bigass ego, he wanted to be the one showing off his irresistibility but really it’s the other way around. 

Mouth opening to let you in, he drinks in your gasps as he intertwines his tongue with yours. Large hands on your face pulling you impossibly closer to him in this godforsaken closet. It was dizzying - almost as if it hurt to part, drawn by that familiar magnetism that always seems to hang around you.

Lost in the heat of the moment, Satoru’s hands wander the expanse of your body. Groping and squeezing every curve and dip - he doesn’t have enough time. He probably never will.

A hand rests firmly on your hips. Awaiting. Breaking away - just a fraction - he breathes out urgently into your lips, “I need to taste you. Let me taste you. Please.”

“Desperate, huh?”

Your gaze pierces through him, it always does. Immediately after your disoriented nod, he presses a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses along your neck. God, he could do this forever.

You shudder as he hastily bunches your tight dress at your hips, sending blood rushing straight to his cock. Shit, this was not how he expected these 7 minutes to go.

Hurriedly falling to his knees, the pain doesn’t even register when he comes face-to-face with your clothed cunt. Panties already so wet - just for him. Cock twitching carnally, he needed to taste you now. 

Tongue flattening across your swollen folds through your underwear, just a slight taste of your wet pussy and Satoru already thinks he might pass out. Ah, so good - of course you taste heavenly.

“Ah! Gojo- more.”

Pulling away, he feels drunk off the whimper of disappointment that escapes your mouth. “Call me Satoru.” he hums, fingers deftly sliding your soaked panties down your legs. His hot breath fanning your entrance has you clenching your thighs together, desperate for any friction.

Mouth watering at this, Satoru curses the darkness inside the closet - can’t even admire your pretty pussy right. You flinch as his face meets your cunt. Shit, this was better than he’d ever imagined on those lonely nights pathetically fucking his fist.

He breathes you in so sinfully, tongue sliding teasingly between your folds in a leisurely rhythm that almost has him forgetting however many minutes you two have left. Frankly, he couldn’t give less of a fuck about it either. Sinful squelches fill the confined space, along with your quiet moans of his name. 

“Hngh- S-Satoru. Feel s’good. Faster.” 

Ah, it’s really music to his ears. Your voice plays on repeat in his mind. He doesn’t even realize the call from outside until you look down at him, eyes dazed and kiss-bitten lips moving to panickedly mutter, “Satoru, we only have three more minutes.”

Ah, guess he’ll have to take his time in his dreams. 

“I only need two.” Satoru purrs, lips ghosting your wet core, voice sending goosebumps down your spine - all the way down to your dripping cunt. 

“W-well, stop hngh- running your mouth then.” you retort.

Satoru’s smirk against your plush folds is the last thing you see before he dives nose-deep in your pussy. He doesn’t waste time, tongue dipping in and out of your hole at an unforgiving pace. In and out in and out in and-

“Hah- yes! Satoru jus’ like that!” you hiss out, desperately trying to keep the moans ripping from your throat to a minimum, in fear of the others outside hearing. 

Noticing, Satoru snakes a hand up to your mouth - bullying his ringed-fingers in through your swollen lips. His index caresses your tongue, speeding up his movements on your pretty pussy as you gag around him. Moans catch in your throat as you struggle to accommodate him, the pleasure of being stretched from two ends too much. 

Satoru only has to take one look - tears clinging to your lashes and drool trickling down the corner of your mouth as you suck on his fingers - before he thinks he might just cum in his pants. Fuck, it was so lewd. 

You tighten your grasp on his hair, sure that your knees would give out if it wasn’t for the bruising grip he had on your hips, keeping you firmly on his mouth. Unable to run away. 

Shit, for someone so tight-laced, you were so messy on his mouth. He moans as your slick pools in his mouth, dripping down the corners of his lips. The  tap! tap! tap! of it hitting the hardwood floor rings deafeningly in his ears.

Ah, so this is why they call it 7 minutes in heaven. Satoru thinks he wouldn’t mind dying if it was in between your legs being suffocated by your cunt. 

Your entrance clamps down desperately on his tongue, forcing him to bully it into your snug pussy, fucking you unrelentingly. His nose rubbing against your swollen clit over and over. 

At this point, Satoru doesn’t know whether the pulse he feels is that of his heartbeat or your cunt, throbbing and achingly needy for his mouth. His nose stimulates your clit just right, sending shockwaves through your body that have you bucking into him for more.

Voice slightly muffled by his fingers, “Fuck- Satoru, keep going. Hngh- I’m gonna cum!” 

The way your walls desperately try to fuck his tongue has his cock straining so painfully against his trousers. Satoru increases his abuse on your cunt mercilessly, the harsh pace making you squeal and buck into his face. Your juices are now all over his mouth, gushing around his tongue. In and out in and out in and out-

“Satoru!”

You cum hard - all over Satoru’s pretty face.

Now, Satoru loves when you run your mouth and infuriate him, but he might just love it even more when you’re falling apart and speechless under his touch. 

Riding out your high on his features, you can feel yourself quivering around his tongue as he laps up your juices as if it were a delicacy. Deep moans leaving his mouth and vibrating across your soaked cunt, making you jolt at the overstimulation.

Pulling back, Satoru admires your unfocused eyes and bruised lips. “For someone that so fucking despises me, your slutty pussy sure is sucking me in so desperately.” he murmurs, slightly out of breath after what just transpired. 

“Sh-shut up.”

Ah, if only he got to see this view more often. 

You can’t help but feel the same way. Seeing Satoru fucked out, vibrant eyes half-lidded and blown out, your slick prettily glossing all over his mouth and nose. A small voice in the back of your mind wishes he was more like this and not whatever he is when he’s getting on your nerves.

“ONE MORE MINUTE! Finish up whatever devil’s tango or death match y’all are having in there!”

Those troublesome thoughts are pushed out of your mind as soon as you hear Shoko call from outside.

The bubble is broken. Jumping apart as far as possible in the cramped closet, you press yourself into the closet wall as you two wordlessly rush to make yourselves slightly more presentable. The air, once charged with overflowing tension and sex, now so strained.

Bending down to feel for the panties that Satoru- no, Gojo had thrown god-knows-where, your hands graze his - still slightly wet with your spit. Snatching your hands back as if it burned, you make out Gojo’s figure pocketing something.

…

Your panties??

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” you hiss, face burning at both his actions and the idea of going outside without panties.

“Just think of it as repayment for the fun.” he hums, mirth spilling into his tone. And before you could snap at his antics, Shoko is ripping the door open and looking around the closet for what you can only assume to be missing body parts and blood.

“Aw, man. And here I was thinking Satoru would be six feet under by now.” she groans, walking off disappointedly - for which you were eternally grateful otherwise she’d have seen the few suspicious stains on the floor.

“Remember, you owe me twenty, Shoko.” Geto speaks up from the circle. Were they…betting on whether you and Gojo would kill each other in there?

Finally stepping out of that godforsaken closet, you catch the smirks and raised eyebrows from some of the people from the group.

Meeting Gojo’s eye, a smirk curls around his swollen lip as he swipes a thumb across it. Agonizingly slow. Teasing. 

Your cheeks flare, something pooling in your stomach. Ugh, this is why you hate frat parties.

“You alright, man? You look…flushed?” you hear Geto question, pointedly staring at Satoru’s slightly disheveled look.

It was all getting too much - the alcohol in the air, the thumping of the overplayed pop music, and him. You felt so lightheaded. Ripping your gaze from Gojo’s you leave without so much as a goodbye to him, only stopping for a reassuring nod at Haibara. You make a beeline for the exit, dashing out of there and down the winding staircase as fast as you could. 

Focused on navigating the packed party, you almost don’t register Gojo rushing after you. Ignoring whatever words were tumbling out of Gojo’s mouth, you silently thank the sorority that had just pulled up - clinging onto him in greeting, making it impossible to follow after you. 

The cool night air washes over you as you finally step outside. You sigh in relief as you leave the chaotic sounds of the party - and him - behind. 

Impatiently waiting for your friend on the way to pick you up, only two thoughts echo in your mind.

He actually only needed two minutes.

What the fuck?

Meanwhile, back in that heady room, Shoko nudges Suguru, the latter still watching in amusement where Satoru had run after you in the door. “Hm?” he asks, absent-mindedly.

“Why do most of these papers have Satoru’s name?”

---

You pass through the next morning in a daze. The hardest part was probably trying to get dressed without making eye contact with the purple finger marks on your hips that Sato- Gojo had left to remember him by.

You still can’t believe that happened. 

It’s alright, it was just a mistake in the heat of the moment - you just have to forget it ever happened, right? But that’s easier said than done when your last class of the day is Advanced Quantum Physics.

Cursing your timetable, you step through the crowded campus. You pull your sweater tighter around yourself, the fabric doing nothing to stop your skin searing where Gojo’s lips had been just last night.

Alright, you just had to get through this one class today. There’s a lot of people in Professor Yaga’s class - it’s not like you’ll necessarily see that bane of your existence-

“Yooo prez, fate just seems to bring us together hmm?” 

Gojo almost topples out of his chair, waving in your direction. As your eyes sweep across the room, you can feel your heart sinking. Shit, you really feel like you’re being Punk’d right now. 

Cursing whoever was up there for this cruel joke, you make your way to the desk beside Satoru’s - the only empty one. 

Slumping down onto the chair with a frustrated huff, you sink into yourself - eyes trained firmly forward and ignoring the playful grin in your peripheral vision.

To your surprise, Gojo doesn’t say a word throughout the lecture. Not a single comment about fucking any professor’s wife - or your cunt. Huh, did last night cause some type of qi deviation or something?

As Professor Yaga drones on about quantum entanglement, you find the words going in one ear and out the other, too focused on wondering what Gojo’s game was.

It’s only towards the end of the lecture, at the introduction of some new assignment that you find yourself finally letting your guard down. Okay, see, it wasn’t too bad. Now time to go back to your apartment and study whatever quantum entanglement was for the next five hours.

“Ah- And remember, the midterm assignment pairings are posted on Canvas.” 

What was that?

God, you hated working with other people. It was much more efficient for you to stay in and finish this paper in one sitting.

“So, partner~ My place or yours?”

What?

The bell rings, its metallic chime resonating in your mind almost as loud as Gojo’s words. Signaling the end of class - and probably the end of your sanity. 

You wish the ground would swallow you up at this very moment. These days have really not been your days.

---

“Literally what do you bring to the table?”

“Comedic relief and my undeniably good looks.”

“...”

“...and also the case study and background information.”

The air at the stuffy café just off-campus was a mixture of freshly ground coffee and hushed conversations - of course, occasionally disrupted by the chaotic debates that erupted from your little booth.

Not too long ago, as everyone moved to file out of the classroom, you were frozen, glaring at your open laptop so intensely you half-expected it to combust - scrutinizing the neat arrangement of Gojo’s name next to your own over a million times.  

Finally sighing in defeat, you nodded in surrender at Gojo - who was whooping in victory. But, you were still adamant on meeting somewhere in public. The last time you two were left alone ended up…interesting. 

“Then you do that and I’ll take care of the rest of the theoretical analysis and evaluation. Okay, sounds good, Gojo.” you deadpan, rubbing the sides of your forehead in frustration. 

“Ouch, no Satoru?”

Ignoring his comment, you promptly slam your laptop closed, gathering your things with a determined sigh. Ready to escape the stifling atmosphere of the cafe. “So you do that and put it on the doc, and I’ll do the same with my parts. See ya.”

That’s when you feel a large hand covering yours - the same one from- “Hey there now, hardass, stay a little longer - gotta make sure you don’t slander quantum entanglement in our essay the same way you do with the Pilot-Wave theory.” Gojo interrupts your intrusive train of thought. 

“What? Unlike you, I don’t slander any scientific theories. Although, I do think the idea of entangled particles jumping around like you do is hardly the hallmark of a stable scientific theory.” you retort, face burning but setting down your bag nonetheless.

Resting his face on his hands, he grins at you. “Oh yeah? I think stability is overrated, prez. Quantum entanglement challenges you because it’s a realm where your precious stability crumbles in the face of non-local correlations.”

God, was he glad he begged on his knees to Yaga to pair you two together. He was having way too much fun with this. 

“Just because particles can communicate faster than you can comprehend doesn't mean we should abandon reason.” you raise a brow. 

“Well, I think you should just embrace the uncertainty, sweetheart. Life is a game of chance, just like quantum entanglement.”

“Oh, really?” you drone out, sarcastically. 

“Yeah, think about it. For instance, I never thought I’d still be alive and breathing after last night. But here I am.” at your stunned silence, he continues. “I for sure thought you’d have the coffin ready as soon as I kissed y-”

You panickedly place your hands over his mouth to shut him up, those blue eyes twinkle in amusement. “When I said you had a big mouth I really wasn’t lying, huh.” 

Slowly removing your hands once it seemed like Gojo wouldn’t spill your endeavors in this family-friendly cafe, you sigh, “Okay- We’ll get some shit done today, alright. But this is the last time I’m meeting with you for this.”

“Mhm~ You got it, prez.”

It was not the last time you met with Gojo for this. 

Nor was it the second-last.

Or the third-last. 

Each and every time you two worked together on the assignment, you’d spend more time bickering about anything ranging from what you’d learned in Professor Yaga’s class that day to whether the old lady who frequented the café was a part of the mafia. 

“I’m telling you, she handles those knitting needles like they’re a weapon.”

“Mhm and she sips her Earl Grey like she’s plotting espionage. Now, get to work before I use my teaspoon as a weapon.”

“I’d rather investigate her than this damn Qiskit simulation.”

“Sure, Gojo. I’ll add her to our list of groundbreaking research projects.”

“Don’t come crying to me when I rub it in your face once we see her on the news as a mafia queenpin, prez.”

You’re pretty sure the café employees have a love-hate relationship with you and Gojo - too lively to be one of their favorite regulars, but arguments too amusing to kick you two out. 

And as for your relationship with Gojo…well. It’s not as if you can’t go 7 minutes without being somewhat civil, and yet that’s exactly the issue, isn’t it?

After what had happened that night, it feels as if there’s something charging the air whenever you two are together.

You chalk it up to just lingering tension, but that still doesn’t explain the way Gojo’s eyes hold a warm twinkle whenever he looks at you - gaze a little too warm than you’d expect a rival to have. But it’s fine, you just have to ace this assignment and then this strange dynamic can go back to normal.

It’s only towards the end of your assignment that you realize how wrong you really were.

---

Out of breath and darting across campus towards where you knew Gojo was waiting, you half-wish you joined the track team instead of the student government. Damn student reps, can’t keep proper archives.

As much as you got a kick out of getting on Gojo’s nerves, you hated to keep anyone waiting.

“Ah! Prez! Was heartbroken thinking you’d stood me up, y’know?” Satoru calls once he spots you bolting towards him on that dimly-lit pathway. Wow, maybe you should’ve joined the track team.

You trip. Ah, maybe not.

Feet automatically hastening your way, he catches you. Well, more like you fall into his arms.

“Just in time, huh?” he chuckles, thankful for the sun dipping below the horizon - otherwise you’d surely have caught the rosy flush tinting his cheeks. Arms wrapped around your waist and supporting your waist, Satoru almost coos at the surprised look gracing your face. You always did something to his heart.

Hastily distancing himself from you once you stand on your own, he rambles - anything to drown out the banging of his heart against his chest. “So, I’m assuming you were out there doing all your president-ly duties?” 

“Ah! Yes, I’m so sorry, the meeting ran overtime and-” 

Listening to you rant, Satoru thinks that he wouldn’t want to be anywhere but here - bickering with you. He’s only snapped out his reverie at your disappointed groan. Oh, what was this? He didn’t even realize his feet had carried him to the little café already. 

Ripping his eyes from you, he turns to what moping at. A sign with red writing is plastered over the very locked café entrance - Sorry! Staff training today, hope to see you tomorrow!

“Seems like everyone’s got meetings today.” he hears you grumble. Satoru knows it isn’t right, but his heart leaps slightly at the chance to get to know you outside of that familiar cafe.

You, meanwhile, felt tension - and something else - pooling in your stomach. Shit, if the sanctuary of your café is no longer available…

“Well, we could just go home and finish off the paper by ourselves. It’s only the last bit anyway.” you suggest, voice slightly shaky at the idea and anticipation of actually being alone with Gojo after so long. 

“But Suguru’s such a loud snorer, I’d never get any work done.” Gojo whines. Well, there goes that plan.

“The library?”

“I hear it’s haunted this time of year.” he answers right away. 

“Ghosts are seasonal?” you ask absent-mindedly, too focused on weighing between the need to finish this assignment today and the uncertainty of what would happen between you and Gojo.

A tense silence fills the slowly darkening street as you go through all your options. Finally, watching the long shadows casted now, you sigh. “Fine. We’ll go to my place.” you mutter out. 

“Would you get angry if I celebrated right now?”

“Maybe.”

The walk to your apartment is bathed in the soft orange glow of the setting sun. It was almost peaceful - if it weren’t for Gojo’s excited chattering about god-knows-what. 

Your mind was running a million miles a minute. Was something like last time going to happen? Were you a lecher for expecting it? Why didn’t you mind the thought as much as you think you should?

You risk a glance at Satoru, who was in the middle of a passionate speech about how ketchup was a valid condiment on pasta. Soft sunlight paints his hair an amber hue, casting warm shadows that bring out his pretty features, eyes sparkling with passion and mischief. He was beautiful.

Wait. Beautiful?

“Hey isn’t this your apartment building or is walking past it a pre-entrance ritual?” 

Ah. Whoops.

You snap out of those ridiculous notions, gathering whatever dignity you have left to walk back to the apartment complex you’d left in the dust while wrapped up in your thoughts.

“Oooo, didn’t take you for much of a decorator, hardass.” Gojo comments, flitting about your cozy apartment to look at all the little knick-knacks and pictures 

“Did you really think I lived in some sterile lab?” you retort. Gojo’s almost-endearing curiosity amuses you enough to let go of the electricity thrumming through your body at having him so close. In your home. 

“Well, I expected more beakers and fewer fairy lights, sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes, pretending to be offended. “Believe it or not, Gojo, hardasses can have a sense of style, too.”

He continues his exploration, stopping in front of a photo on the wall. “Who’s this model?” he grins, pointing at a picture of you in stuffy formal attire at some conference.

You sigh, knowing exactly which photo he's referring to. “That, Gojo, is me at a conference presenting a groundbreaking research paper.”

“Groundbreaking, huh? Is that what they call it these days?” he hums, arching an eyebrow playfully. 

“Yes, and six feet under is what they’ll be calling you if you don’t get your ass here and finish this paper.”

“...yes, prez.”

Writing the conclusion and inserting citations is always the fun part. If you could write an essay on whatever you want, it would be only conclusions and citations, you think.

After a few hours of working on your paper, apparently Gojo does not feel the same way.

“Fuck Noodletools. All my homies hate Noodletools.”

“This is why you only have two friends, Gojo.”

“Hey! I’m a very likable person, y’know.” 

“...”

He sets his laptop down leaning closer to you over where he was seated opposite you on the coffee table, clearly bored of citations for the time being. “Also, aren’t we friends, sweetheart? Technically I have three.”

You raise a brow, this was the first time Satoru had ever addressed the strange dynamic you two had. “Are we?” you ask, genuinely. 

A deafening silence envelopes your living room. This was the first time you’d seen such a serious expression take over Gojo’s face as he answers, voice even, “I’m not sure.”

The atmosphere thickens with a charged tension, the weight of Gojo’s words lingering in the room. A spark flickers in his eyes. You feel like you could almost get whiplash from the contrast between the heated banter to where you two were now. Was it always so hot in this room?

You let out a strained laugh, attempting to diffuse the seriousness and go back to a trivial territory you were more familiar with. “I never thought the great Gojo Satoru would be uncertain about something.” Your eyes flicker unwillingly from his intense gaze to his worry-bitten lips.

The mischief returning to his gleaming eyes, he smirks “Uncertainty can be thrilling, don't you think, sweetheart?”

You don’t even know what to say to that - and you don’t have to. Because before you can respond, Gojo swiftly leans over the coffee table - catching your lips in a sudden, electrifying kiss. 

Time stands still. A shiver runs down your spine as you realize that you didn’t want to push him away. At all. In fact, you grab a fistful of his soft locks, pulling him impossibly deeper into the kiss. 

Pulling away mere millimeters, Gojo’s hot breath fanning your mouth as he whispers, “Told you the uncertainty is thrilling, sweetheart.”

“Shut up and kiss me.” you grumble, irritated because his lips ghosting yours was not enough.

Before you know it, Gojo has you pinned against the plush couch. His lips finding your, the kiss deepening as he yearns for that desperate connection - as if each breath depends on smothering you with dizzying kisses. 

The room seems to shrink, right now only filled with the heated exchange of breaths and the feeling of Satoru’s lips searing into yours. 

You think he tastes like caramel and uncertainty - yet, this time, you fall into the unknown with open arms. Wrapping your legs around his toned waist, your arms around his broad shoulders - bringing him to you so close you’d think the laws of physics were taking a coffee break.

It almost hurt. 

The intensity of the moment only growing, the atmosphere in your homey apartment crackles with a tension that you knew in the back of your mind had been building for so long - ever since that party.

Your heartbeat echoes in your ears. You knew this would happen.

And a part of you needed it to.

His fingers trace a path along your jawline, leaving a trail of heat - you shudder, craving for more. 

“Gojo, I want you.” you breathe out, words muffled by Satoru sucking sinfully on your lips. 

He pulls away slightly, delicate strings of saliva still connecting him to you. Every fiber of his being resisting to part.

“Don’t call me that.” he purrs out, the intensity of his half-lidded stare sending a jolt straight down to your heated core. “It’s Satoru when we’re fucking, remember?”

Looking into his sultry eyes, for the first time ever you decide to heed what Satoru says. “S-Satoru, please.” you whimper, hips bucking up to meet his own. You can feel the large outline of his achingly hard cock straining against those stupidly overpriced trousers, pussy quivering in anticipation. 

Now, there have been three times in his life that Satoru thinks he has died and gone to heaven. The first being when he discovered that the ramen joint by his dorm also had free Wi-Fi. Second, that first day in Advanced Quantum Physics when you snapped at him told him to shut the fuck up. 

And finally, right now, as he’s got you needy and squirming underneath him - such pretty gasps of his name leaving your kiss-bitten lips. 

God, navigating quantum physics is a walk in the park in comparison to what you put his heart through. 

“Hmm, never in my life thought I’d see his view, sweetheart.” he whispers lowly into your ear, delighting in the goosebumps that erupt along your alluring body. How did he get so lucky?

Hastily pulling down your shorts, his mouth waters at your wet panties. Another prize for him, hm? Throwing them along with your panties to god-knows-where, Satoru drinks in the sight of your bare pussy - a privilege that he didn’t get in that godforsaken closet. 

Ah, so ready and dripping for him already. Your slick glistens out of your heated entrance as you clench around nothing. “Aww, they’ve faded.” he whines, heart lurching at the lack of his marks from last time.

It’s alright, he can just make more.

Not one to waste time, with a bruising grip holding your hips steady, Satoru grinds his painfully hard cock into your needy cunt, savoring the pretty mewls that leave your mouth. The way your swollen pussy quivers against him makes him throw his head back, seeing stars already. 

Nipping along your neck, leaving marks he knows you’ll have to cover up tomorrow. “Sit on m’face,” he murmurs into your skin.

“W-what?”

Pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses along the valley of your breasts, Satoru breathes you in. Fuck, he prefers the smell of your skin to any scent in the world. “Sit- on- my- face.” he repeats, words punctuated with erotic kisses to your hardened nipples, tongue flicking them through the fabric of your clothes. 

“You’re gonna be the death of me, y’know?” you gasp. Yet, still shifting on that cramped couch. Why do you two always fuck in the most inconvenient places?

Satoru’s legs hang off the end of your couch as he lays on his back, you’d almost find the position funny - if it weren’t for you straddling his head. 

His hot breath on your wet cunt sends waves of electricity though your entire body as you hover over his mouth. Your needy pussy right above where his mouth is, hesitating. Your slick oozes slowly through your swollen folds - drip! drip! drip! onto his awaiting tongue, brows furrowing and eyes rolling to the back of his head at your sweet juices.

“Mhm, and I hope that you’ll be the death of me.” he hums, tongue savoring your taste.

It’s the last thing said before Satoru surges forward, plunging mouth-first into your heated cunt. 

Despite not being on a time crunch this time, Satoru doesn’t waste a moment teasing - he already has you splayed out and aching for him, what more could he want?

He bullies his tongue into your snug cunt, pushing past the first ring of muscle. You twitch around him, sweet moans spilling incessantly from your mouth. “Ah! Hngh- Satoru! Fuck s’good.”

Your sounds of pleasure going straight to his dick, he bucks into your hands. Ah, more. He needs your touch more. 

The feeling of your plush walls clamping down on him only spurs him on further, fucking you at a ruthless pace. One hand gropes across your body, resting a thumb on your clit that rubs tight circles, making you grind down further into his mouth. 

“Your pussy is so honest, sweetheart. She wants me so badly.” he murmurs, voice sending vibrations that make you let out a loud moan which he suspects your neighbors would be complaining about. 

You were so perfect for him, Satoru thinks he might go insane.

You were definitely going insane.

Satoru shows no mercy, his abuse on your dripping cunt only speeding up at every buck of your hips into his tongue. It felt so fucking good. 

Closing your eyes, his pressure on your core has you seeing spots behind your vision. You could feel the curl of his signature smirk against your folds as your pussy tries sucking him back in at every thrust. Too good to let him go. “Knew you loved this ‘big mouth’, hardass.” he murmurs. 

Shit, you can’t be the only one acting so needy like this.

“What’re you doing, sweetheart?” Satoru drawls, voice muffled by your cunt as he feels the breeze of his lower abdomen hitting the heady air of your living room.

“Payback.” is all you mutter out as you fumble his trousers down his long legs. Curse these gyms. Curse squats. Why did he have to be so perfectly sculpted? An Adonis in his true form. 

You can feel the saliva pooling in your mouth as his boxers come into view - rock-hard cock straining painfully against it A patch of pre-cum pools at his head - he wanted you just as badly as you wanted him. Hands shaky from the way Satoru’s incessant tongue was fucking into you, you shuffle his boxers down. 

Satoru’s painfully hard erection springs out, hitting his lower abs. Fuck- how the hell were you supposed to take him? Life was really unfortunate - water was wet, and Gojo Satoru has a huge dick.

“S-sweetheart, you don’t have to-” he murmurs against your swollen pussy. 

From all your times shutting up Gojo Satoru, this one might just be your favorite. 

His words catch desperately in his throat as you spit out a pool of saliva onto Satoru’s furiously flushed head. A low hiss leaving him as you teasingly lick his sensitive slit. 

Never one to back down from a challenge, Satoru attaches his lips with yours once more. He groans lowly into you, the stimulation making you yelp in surprise. 

“So, it’s like that, huh?” 

Satoru doesn’t have the time to ponder your words before you take in as much of his length as you can in one go. “Ah! Hah- Oh fuck, prez. Always knew you were a forceful woman.”

You moan at the slightly salty taste of his precum. Gagging around him, drool drips down the corner of your mouth as you try to take him in inch by fucking inch. It was so fucking messy.

Diving nose-deep in your cunt once again, Satoru continues the merciless pace of his tongue once more. Both your muffled moans fill the heated room, lost in the pleasure and the heat of the moment.

Shit, you knew by the way your walls clenched down on his tongue that you weren’t gonna last long. And judging by the urgent twitching of Satoru’s cock - he wasn’t going to either. 

He fucks up his throbbing erection into your mouth, your eyes watering as his tip hits the back of your throat. Ropes of spit and precum decorate your lips. Even the staunch part of you that never backs down for anyone cheers at being so used. It’s so fucking debauched.

Your hand moves down to massage his heavy balls, tugging and pulling at a rhythm that matches the rapid ministrations of his thumb on your swollen clit.

Mind spinning and pleasure dizzyingly overwhelming as you both lean closer and closer to your highs. With a final mewl around his thick cock, your juices are gushing all around Satoru’s mouth. 

Your mind blanks as you cum, the only things registering being the tingles of your oversensitive pussy as Satoru rides you through your high on his tongue and the taste of Satoru as he cums in hot spurts in your mouth. Salty, with a hint of sweet - the flavor making your pussy twitch.

Fucking his seed into you, your mouth milks his cock. His cum dribbling down the corner of your mouth, all thoughts of dirtying your couch go out your brain when you hear the fucked out whines at the back of Satoru’s throat.

Fuck a refractory period, you wanted to hear that more.

You remove yourself from him with a lewd pop! Cum flowing smoothly down your throat, you lock eyes with Satoru over your shoulder. His jaw drops, pupils blown lustfully as your tongue sticks out - showing the way you’ve swallowed every single drop of his seed.

“Now, Satoru. I need you to fuck me with yours cock just as you did with your tongue.” your words still strained from your orgasm.

Wordlessly, Satoru nods, eyes shining - still reeling from the sinful sight of your bruised lips glossy with his cum - his cum that you swallowed as if it was a delicacy.

Meanwhile you were thinking that you should fuck Satoru more if it meant you got him to shut up and be pretty more often. 

Slightly more clear-headed now, just as lustful. 

Your couch creaks in protest as you shift positions to face Satoru once more. He seizes your lips in a passionate kiss, mouth attacking yours with a desperation for your essence.

Your head spins as you taste yourselves on each other, words tumbling out of your mouth in the haze, “Satoru, bed- now.”

But when has he not challenged you?

“Mhm, anything you say, prez.” he whispers raspily against your lips, still-hard cock teasingly dragging along your swollen folds. 

“Satoru.”

“Fuck yes. Say m’name, sweetheart.” he groans out, throwing his head back against the armrest. Your slick pools all over Satoru’s thick head, dripping sensually down his length to where he gripped tightly at the base. 

Swollen lips dropping into a small “oh”, he slides a ringed hand up his member, spreading your juices. Cock twitching carnally at the way your pussy was leaking all over him, he grits out, “Need to feel you around my cock now, sweetheart.”

So he does.

Thick head pressing into your tight entrance, a low growl leaves his throat at how sinfully tight you were. Fuck, he could just about pass out right now.

“S’tight, sweetheart. So good.” he fucks up into you in shallow, uncontrollable movements of his hips - impatience quickly waning. You yelp at each thrust, walls burning with the stretch of Satoru’s thick head. 

You try to steady yourself as Satoru’s thrusts get deeper and deeper, nails digging harshly into his muscled shoulders. In the midst of it all you still manage to impatiently slur out, “I-if you’re gonna fuck me then hah- fuck me like you mean it, Satoru.”

Oh, that did it.

Your words make the last bit of sanity Satoru had left snap. 

In a swift movement, he sheaths his throbbing erection in your wet cunt completely. A gasp gets caught in his throat at the way your walls were clamping down on him in surprise. 

He looks up at you, eyes half-lidded and a dangerously predatory glint in them that sends shivers down your spine. “Fuck me like I mean it, huh? You’re quite bossy, y’know that, prez?”

Before you can retort - and probably dig your grave deeper - he stands up in one fluid motion, your legs around his waist and cock still buried deep in your snug pussy. You moan at the change in angle, his tip now kissing your cervix so deliciously painfully. Shit, you feel so full. 

Hands moving down to grope your ass firmly and support your weight, he grins lowly in your ear, “You’re lucky I love that part of you.”

The wall is cold as Satoru shoves your back against it. his body making the air leave your lungs as he presses into yours, ramming into you at a merciless pace. Your tight cunt clenches so tightly around him, as if to prevent him from leaving. 

Each thrust into your warm core has his eyes rolling to the back of his head, brows furrowing in ecstasy. His lips capture yours once again in a rough dance that matches the cadence of his hips.

You mewl against his mouth at the feeling of his heavy balls stinging your skin as they smack your ass. The power behind each harsh thrust has you bouncing against the wall, legs pulling tighter around his toned waist to bully his cock impossibly deeper in you. 

“Where- fuck! Where’s the bed?” he moans breathlessly against your lips, voice sounding as if each thrust of his pulsing cock into your plush walls sends him spiraling deeper into insanity.

“Down- down the hallway. Hngh- fuck, Satoru!” you not far behind.

Your mind is foggy, barely even registering as Satoru moves blindly towards your bedroom with powerful strides - not yet pulling out of you.

He doesn’t get very far before he’s got you sprawled over your bedroom floor, your carpet digging into you as his cock slams into your abused cunt with that feral pace he loves so much. Not even making it to the bed.

“Ah! Hah- Satoru, what happened to the bed?” you sputter out in-between uncontrollable moans. 

“Too far. Hngh- need you now.” he answers around your breasts, teasing and tweaking your sensitive nipples.

“Wh-who’s irresistible now?” you manage to smirk, relishing in the huff of laughter that escapes him. Even now, you always did manage to one-up him.

“Mhm, you’ve always been irresistible, sweetheart.” he mutters, moving to press a chaste kiss against your forehead, not sure whether the words were even meant for you to hear. 

And you know it’s just pussy-drunk talk, but right now you can’t help the way your cheeks heat up, heartbeat ringing in your ears. 

Not sure how to respond to that, you pull him closer to you, allowing him to bury his burning face in the crook of your neck. Maybe right now neither of you needed to speak, your bodies doing enough talking as Satoru continues his relentless cadence.

Your hips bucking up to meet his, you whimper in pleasure and overstimulation into the heady room as Satoru moves down a hand to draw rough, little circles over and over your throbbing clit. It was all too much. “S-Satoru.”

“Me too, my sweetheart. Me too.” is all he gasps out, teeth digging into your neck at the pleasure overwhelming his sensitive cock. Satoru’s tight balls twitch as they smack your ass, cock glistening with cum and slick. He sees stars behind his eyes - or maybe those were tears at the overstimulation. He really doesn’t know anymore. 

Head spinning and thoughts racing with only Satoru Satoru Satoru, you’re very much in the same state. 

“Satoru?” you whine out, tears clinging to your lashes.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

You pull him into an intense kiss, pussy clamping down on him desperately as his lips brand yours - it sends you both over the edge. 

Satoru thinks he sees heaven as he cums, and you were probably an angel. 

Hot ropes of his thick cum paint your walls white, cunt quivering around him as you both ride out your climaxes together. A creamy ring forms around his base as he fucks his seed into you desperately, marking you so obviously as his. All thoughts of Plan B run out of your mind at the overstimulated whimpers leaving Satoru’s ruby lips.

His dick twitches inside you as his unforgiving thrusts slow down to shallow grinds of his hips, nothing more than to keep his cum inside of you as your highs bate.

Body collapsing onto yours, careful to not crush you with his weight, Satoru pulls you closer to him. And despite everything that happened this evening, he thinks that this might be what makes his ears burn red the most. Your body so vulnerably connected with his own. Just the two of you in this quiet world.

The silence feels intimate and fragile. Brain still hazy from your orgasms, you don’t think you’ve ever quite looked at your bedroom ceiling from his angle. 

Strangely enough, Satoru’s warm weight on you feels comforting. Neither of you speak now. Nor do you speak when Satoru carries you to bed, searching through your clothes for a washcloth he can wipe you clean with. 

It’s only when he lingers at the foot of your bed - uncertain - that the silence is broken. “Get in, stupid.” you scoff, opening the covers invitingly.

Of course, an elated smile overtaking his face, Satoru jumps in your bed with enough force to send you both bouncing. It was childish. It was so ridiculous. It had you barking out a surprised laugh at his antics.

In your joy, you don’t even realize that Satoru has stopped moving - frozen, smile slipping off his face and staring at you with an unknown spark in his eyes. 

“What?” you question, feeling strangely self-conscious. 

White locks tousling as he shakes his head, he breathes, “It’s the first time I’ve made you laugh.” The words hang in the delicate atmosphere, tension so thick you think it could snap any moment.

You hide your face in your hands, palms clammy. “You- you make me sound like some sort of evil witch.” you stammer out, embarrassment pooling in your gut. The tension in the air dissipates, yet the intensity in Satoru’s gaze remains.

Satoru understands, smiling blindingly. He pulls your naked body to his, wrapping his arms tenderly around your waist as you both bury into the covers. “Well, more of a hardass than an evil witch.”

“Satoru?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“You still have to finish your citations.”

A/N. Can be read as a standalone BUT part 2 planned for next longfic Sunday!

Plagiarism not authorized.

[luvbabydoll]

— under their noses — chapter one

a series by © luvbabydoll — inspired by @goatgoesmbe

you never intended to start an only fans.

but between nursing school, grueling shifts, and bills that refused to pay themselves, you had to get creative. and what started as a desperate attempt to make ends meet quickly turned into a steady income.

the men on their seemed to like you. they liked your voice, the softness in your tone, the way you spoke like you meant it. you never showed your full face, but that only added to the mystery. you played into it—the sweet, teasing persona, the gentle praise, the intimacy that kept men coming back for more.

and, completely unknowingly, the entirety of Task Force 141 had fallen for you.

—

it had all started months ago.

one of their missions had gone sideways—bad intel, long hours, more bodies than they were expecting. and by the time they got back to base, exhausted and strung out, all they wanted was food, alcohol, and sleep.

but mostly alcohol.

soap was the first to bring it up.

slumped against a crate, half a bottle of whiskey deep, he let out a groan and muttered, “boys, i think i’m in love.”

gaz snorted, kicking his boots up on the table. “oh, yeah? you have some girl we don’t know about?”

“angel.”

ghost, who had been silently nursing his drink, stiffened.

gaz raised an eyebrow, “angel…?”

soap pulled out his phone and waved it lazily. “she’s some onlyfans girl, mate. best thing that i ever stumbled upon. swear to god, she cares about me.”

gaz laughed. “you are down horrendous, johnny boy.”

“oi, don’t judge me ‘til you’ve heard her. this girl is unreal. always saying the nicest things.” soap sighed dramatically.

gaz rolled his eyes. “yeah, mate. ‘cause she’s getting paid to do that.”

“so? it still counts for me.”

gaz held out a hand. “alright alright, lemme see.”

soap hesitated for a moment. “...fine. but don’t be weird about it.”

gaz took the phone, tapped through a few of the videos, and went silent.

after a moment, he muttered, “okay, shit. you might be onto something.”

soap smirked miraculously. “told you.”

ghost, who had been quietly brooding, finally spoke. “you idiots just now finding out about her?”

they both turned to look at him shocked.

gaz blinked. “w-wait, what?”

ghost took a sip of his whiskey, deadpan. “i’ve been subscribed for months.”

soap choked on his drink. “YOU WHAT?”

ghost shrugged carelessly. “found her first.”

gaz’s jaw dropped. “y-you mean to tell me you—simon ‘i hate everyone’ riley—has been secretly been subscribed to an onlyfans girl this whole time?”

ghost didn’t answer. he just took another sip of his whiskey.

soap stared at him, with a look of betrayal that you see in movies. “and you didn’t tell us?”

ghost gave him a flat look. “why the fuck would i tell you?”

soap pointed aggressively. “you gatekeeping bastard.”

gaz shook his head in amusement. “price is gonna lose his shit when he finds out.”

“Finds out what?”

the three of them turned to see price walking in, looking mildly suspicious.

for a moment, nobody spoke.

and then, without missing a beat, gaz held out the phone. “cap. you gotta see this.”

and that’s how, in the span of one drunken night, every single one of them became your most loyal subscribers.

—

and then you arrived.

your first day on base was nothing special—standard introductions, paperwork, getting settled.

well for you, at least.

but for them? it was a nightmare.

soap noticed it at first.

your voice—was way too familiar. too exact. the way you spoke, the soft warmth in your tone. it sent a shiver down his spine.

gaz eventually picked up on the way you moved—the tilt of your head, the way your fingers ghosted over their skin during check-ups.

ghost, who was normally unreadable, was tense.

and price? price just sighed a lot.

none of them said anything. they couldn’t.

because if they were wrong—if this was just some wild coincidence—then they’d look like absolute idiots.

but if they were right?

then their sweet, soft-spoken angel had just walked into their lives, completely unaware that every single one of them had been on their knees for her voice alone.

and fuck, they were not prepared for that.

[batsandbirdbrains]

Do I want good dad Bruce with magically brought back bad grandparents Thomas and Martha? Yes, yes I do. So anyway

The setting is season 1 yj, Mount Justice. Batman was on a mission with a couple JL members, and Robin was training with the team. Batman comes back from his mission, and he’s calling out, “Robin! Come here, please!”

And Dick is immediately on high alert, because that’s not Batman’s voice. Thats Bruce’s voice. Thats his proud dad voice, his Oh, yes, Dick is actually starting high school a year early. He’s a real prodigy, didn’t you know that? bragging dad voice.

“B?”

And Batman is there in an instant, his hands holding onto Robin’s shoulders, spinning him around to look at the couple standing there. And Dick’s mind goes blank. Because he swears he’s looking at Thomas and Martha Wayne. But that can’t be possible.

“Robin, these are your grandparents,” Batman says so softly, kneeling down, a big smile on his face as he kneels beside Robin. “Mom, Dad - this is your grandson.”

Dick’s heart is beating so fast and so hard in his chest, and he backs up so he’s pressed against Bruce’s chest.

“B?” Dick says, his voice a little strangled. He lowers his voice to a whisper, “Are they ghosts?”

Bruce is chuckling, and he can tell that all the others in the room are startled at Batman even being capable of laughter.

“It’s magic,” Bruce says softly. “They’ll only be here for a couple days. But I had to introduce you to them right away. We’ll go home in a minute for a proper introduction.”

Dick turns to his adopted grandparents, a nervous smile on his face.

“Hi,” he says carefully, holding one hand up to wave awkwardly. “B’s told me a lot about you. Agent A has, too.”

“How old are you?” Martha asks, skipping the pleasantries.

“I’m, uh, thirteen.”

She gasps, a hand in her chest as she turns her head to Bruce.

“You were twelve?” She questions.

Thomas looks livid.

“Who’s the mother? Is she in prison?”

Dick’s eyes are wide behind the mask, and he can feel Bruce go tense. He can also hear Wally asking no one in particular, Wait, does that mean Batman is only twenty-five?

“He’s adopted,” Bruce says quickly, carefully. “There was nothing - nothing bad happened or anything.”

“Adopted?” Thomas scoffs. “You adopted an heir? You better be planning on having an actual son!”

Bruce stands up now, but he keeps a hand gripped in Dick’s shoulder.

“He is my actual son,” Bruce insists, his jaw tight. “And if you have a problem with that-”

“Of course it’s a problem!” Martha insists. “You need to have an actual child, to give us an actual grandchild!”

Dick presses himself closer to Bruce, stepping slightly underneath Batman’s cape. He’s trying very hard not to get upset, but he never thought this was an argument he’d hear from the people who were supposed to be his grandparents. He’s heard it from the press before, from rude socialites who want Bruce to marry them or into their families, but Alfred and Bruce always said that Thomas and Martha would have loved him. And this is very quickly proving them wrong.

“You’re not going to talk about him like that,” Bruce says quickly, but his voice is very quickly turning back into his Batman voice, his You’re a dumb henchman who just hit my Robin, prepare to get your shit rocked voice. “He’s my son. He’s your grandson. Whether he’s adopted or not is irrelevant.”

“We’re your parents!”

“And in a couple days, you’ll be gone again,” the way he says it makes Dick so sad, because he doesn’t even hesitate. “And in a couple years, I’ll have had him longer than I ever had you. So if you have a problem with my son, I’ll find somewhere else for you to stay until the spell wears off, because you won’t be staying anywhere near him if this is how you’re going to act.”

“How dare you-”

“No, how dare you!” Bruce argues. “I’m your son. He’s your grandson. You should be thrilled to get this chance to know us, to know him!”

It quickly devolves into an argument, and Bruce decides that his parents will stay on the Watchtower while they’re here, because he won’t let them come back to the manor with them. He’ll visit them every day, and he’ll bring Alfred to see them, but he won’t let them around Dick again if they don’t start acting like decent grandparents.

[em1i2a3]

Idk if you’re taking requests but can you do Bob x reader where the reader has powers like Rogue. Bob has the biggest fattest crush on reader, reader is oblivious (but the crush is mutual), and angst angst ANGST

Sailor Song

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/Sentry/The Void x Rogue Inspired!Fem!Reader

Summary: Bob is in love with you, but you can’t be what he wants.

Warnings: Semi-Spoilers for Thunderbolts as Bob is the main character here. There is a whole boat of angst in here, and it’s a bit heartbreaking, and really frickin sad (don’t worry y’all not too sad…Hopefully lol) but I do like the character of Rogue, and this Inbox Request really sparked a lot of inspiration in me to write for an idea like this!

Author’s Note: I love where I got to go with these two characters and how it played out in the end. I added something to the reader's little arsenal of powers by the way, but it is for the plot. I hope it meets expectations. I kinda wrote this really late at night (01:49am over here lol)

Word Count: 5,477

Bob remembers the first night he saw you in his dreams.

Not when he first met you–no. That had been a tense mission briefing, it was your first introduction to the team. You had barely spoken, and Bob had sat two chairs away from you and tried not to stare. It was like he was enchanted by you– the way you held yourself, the way you stood and said your name, the little wave you gave to everyone with your gloved hands before sitting down. He remembered everything about that day.

But the dream–God the dream was so different.

It started with darkness. Not shadows, not dusk–just a smothering kind of black, like he was trapped in the deepest part of his mind. There was no floor beneath him. No air in his lungs. Just coldness. He was clawing at it. His fingers were raw and bleeding, his breath was ragged, and there was this panic that curled tight in his chest like he had swallowed barbed wire.

There was no sense of direction but all he knew was that he needed to get out, but the darkness fought back. It dragged him down, swallowed his screams, twisted his thoughts into screeching noises. It was his personal version of hell…Then…There was light.

It was just a sliver. A violent, beautiful tear right down the middle of the darkness, like someone had reached in and split the fabric with their bare hands.

Then suddenly the darkness was gone, and he found himself in the middle of a glowing field. The air was thick with warmth and the scent of something sweet–jasmine, maybe. Or lavender. He couldn’t tell. The grass around him was tall and pale, not green, but something softer–sun-bleached gold, silver at the tips like it had caught the moonlight. The sky above him was an endless stretch of colour, he couldn’t tell if it was day or night, but it was a bruised blue-purple, with streaks of rose and gold that bled through like watercolour.

It was quiet…For once it was quiet.

There was no wind. No movement. No screaming. Just breathing–his own, slow and steady. He could feel his pulse slowing down, and his skin didn’t hurt, and his hands weren’t bleeding anymore. There was no evidence of the fight he had put up in the darkness.

Confused, he turned in place slowly, trying to understand where he was–trying to find the edges of the dream. Nothing like this had ever come to him in his dreams, not when sleep was usually a war zone. A collapsing cathedral of his own mind.

Then he saw you.

You were standing a few yards away, at the center of the field, bathed in the low light. You weren’t wearing your gloves, you weren’t armored or distant, you looked happy, something he had never seen. You were smiling, and barefoot, your hair lifted slightly from the breeze that blew by you–something he hadn’t felt until that moment.

Bob froze in his spot, and your name left his mouth before he even realized he was speaking. You looked up at the sound, and turned towards it. Your eyes met him at that moment, and something in his chest cracked wide open. He was shocked that you heard him, let alone looked at him.

And then-just as his feet moved forward, just as his hand twitched at his side with the desperate, gut-deep urge to reach for you…He had woken up.

Ever since that night he would pray that he would see you again in the landscape of his dreams.

And he always did.

Each time he closed his eyes, you were there–waiting for him in that glowing field, barefoot and smiling. There was no fear or sharp intake of breath when he reached for you. It was just you, and him, in a version of the world that didn’t punish either of you for wanting something tender.

During the day, he kept his distance from you. He respected the rules you had– the ones that kept everyone safe. But in his mind he was hyper aware of everything you would do. He learned your habits, the way you avoided tight corridors, how you sat far away from people during movie night, how you always wore long sleeves no matter the weather, and how you pulled away when things became crowded.

But at night, in that field of light and silence, he didn’t have to pretend, even though he knew it wasn’t really you.

He could stand beside you without seeing you run off. He could sit close to you, close enough to touch your arm, close enough to feel your breath when you spoke. Sometimes, you would laugh and throw your head back like you weren’t scared of yourself. Sometimes you would lean into him, like it was easy…Like it was allowed.

In the dream, he wasn’t broken, and you weren’t dangerous, and that was all that mattered.

Then like always, Bob would wake up and land back in a body full of restraint. In a world full of barriers. In a life where the one person he wanted, didn’t truly want him.

Or at least, that’s what he told himself.

Because you never looked at him the way you did in the dream. You never touched him, never lingered near him too long. You were careful with everyone–but with him, there was something more than just caution. It felt like avoidance to him, and he couldn’t figure out if it was because you felt something too, or if it was just the shape of his own delusion.

—————-

“Valentina has planned a retreat for all of us this weekend.” Bucky announced, his voice even but authoritative in the way that warned everyone that nobody was going to be getting out of this, “She says it’s for ‘team bonding,’ so there are no exceptions.”

An array of groans echoed through the common room, and everyone exchanged glances at one another. You were at the kitchen island eating cereal, picking around the marshmallows, leaving them floating in the milk. Your spoon clinked gently against the bowl as you did it, moving slowly and methodically, not looking up to the chaos that was going on around you.

Across from you, Bob sat with his own bowl–one hand wrapped loosely around the ceramic, while the other one rested on the counter beside it. It wasn’t on purpose that he sat across from you, he had just walked in–wearing a baggy hoodie and matching sweatpants–poured his cereal in a sleepy haze and plopped himself down, still rubbing the dreams of you out of his eyes.

”Well why the hell do we need to go on a retreat if we literally already live together? Isn’t doing that enough?” Walker asked loudly, half-laughing, half-serious, his tone teetering on the edge of defiance. Bucky didn’t even flinch at the question because he already knew it was coming.

”Because Val said so, and because you guys don’t know how to wait until after briefings to snap at one another.” Bucky replied, not even looking up from the papers in his hands, “Just a reminder you’re the one who almost got into a fight with Yelena because she accidentally handed you the wrong clip for your gun…So…Maybe that’ll give you another reason why they want us to go into the a cabin in the woods together.” Bucky finished, his tone flat but edged with exhaustion.

A few chuckles rippled through the room, and Ava didn’t miss a beat.

”Yeah, it’s to make it easier to hide the bodies.” She said coolly, reaching for her coffee. Yelena grinned over her mug.

”I don’t need a cabin in the woods. I’d bury Walker deep enough that nobody would ever find him.” Laughter broke out, bouncing off the walls of the compound like someone had opened a valve and let the pressure spill. They all needed it, just to take the edge off the impending doom that was the forced retreat.

You glanced up at Bob who was staring down at his bowl, picking around at the contents like he was distracted. But you saw the way his jaw tensed slightly. The way his hand hovered just a second too long before plunging the spoon back into the milk. He looked up only when the laughter swelled again, and with the most practiced casualness, shoved a spoonful of soggy marshmallows into his mouth.

You glanced down at your own bowl, watching as the marshmallows drifted aimlessly, softening at the edges, bleeding their artificial colors into the milk in soft pinks and greens and blues. They didn’t look real. Like tiny ghosts of something sweet you’d never let yourself want.

A pang stirred in your chest.

Not because of the marshmallows. Not even because of the retreat. But because this was a rare moment–an opportunity to offer him something, anything, that didn’t come off as cold or standoffish. Something that didn’t feel like a wall.

You hadn’t meant for your past interactions with Bob to be sharp. But they had been. Unintentionally. A result of instinct, of fear, of that constant need to protect others from you, and maybe to protect yourself from what you knew you couldn’t have.

You let out a soft sigh, and reached out before you could talk yourself out of it, tapping on the counter in front of him. He had flinched, almost like you had reached out and smacked him. It was the smallest jerk in his shoulder but you saw it. His eyes flicked over to yours, wide and uncertain, like maybe he didn’t believe you were actually trying to get his attention.

“Do you want these?” You whispered, nodding towards your bowl. His eyebrows drew together, confused at your offer, and at the fact you were the one speaking first, when it had always been him to do that. Bob, stumbling through conversation starters. Bob, trying to make you smile. Bob, desperately trying to pretend that he wasn’t dreaming about you every night and waking up lonelier than the day before. His blue eyes glanced down at the bowl for a moment, then raised back to yours. You could see the way he was contemplating. There wasn’t calculation behind his eyes, there was conflict, like he couldn’t tell if this was real, or if he’d finally blurred the line between the waking world and the place where he only ever touched you in dreams.

You watched his mouth part–just barely, like he wanted to say really solid yes, but instead he gave a small nod.

And then–barely audible–he whispered, “Y-Yeah…I mean…If you don’t w-want them of course.” You shook your head at him, then without a word, you slid the bowl toward him. The motion was smooth and steady, but Bob noticed everything. He saw the subtle tension in your shoulders, the way your gloved fingers were barely touching the bowl, like you thought he was going to try to touch you, even the look on your face was telling him that you thought he was going to do something.

He swallowed, sitting up a little straighter, feeling his stomach twisting, as he met you halfway and dragged the bowl away from you, pulling it close to him.

Bob was going to say something, not anything huge, just something that could keep the interaction going.

But before he could get any words out–

”Wait, wait, wait, hold on–we’re all sleeping in the same room?!” Yelena's voice cut across the kitchen like a record scratch. That sentence alone made the both of you draw your attention back to what was happening, surprised by the new information.

”It’s a small cabin,” Bucky said flatly, “One open concept floor. Living room turns into a sleeping area, so bring your own blanket.”

“Oh, this is just great,” Walker muttered, “Can’t wait to wake up to Alexei’s snoring…”

”I do not snore.” Alexei replied.

Bob tuned out of the conversation after hearing the fact that you would all be shoved into one room together to sleep. He could feel a pit of dread settling in his stomach, because he knew what that meant for you. What it would feel like to be surrounded by everyone, pressed into a shared space with no safety net, and no room for distance. He could already see the cogs turning in your head, like the weekend was a minefield and you were the innocent person dropped in the middle of it to try and navigate around the impossible.

Even worse though–he knew what it would mean for him, if he had to fall asleep knowing you were just a few feet away. Close enough to touch. Close enough to hear you breathe. Close enough that when he opened his eyes he would see you, after spending the entire night dreaming of you. It made him ill, and he didn’t know how the hell he was going to handle it when the time came.

———————

The night before the trip, everyone had gathered in the common room to sort out who was bringing what, how many bags were going to fit in the back of the van, who was on snack duty, and who was going to sit where. It had been a loud, chaotic and predictably annoying back and forth, and all you wanted to do was retreat and go to sleep, but you knew that you were going to be a subject that was going to be brought up, so it would be easier to be there.

Bob on the other hand had turned in early.

Said he wasn’t feeling great, a headache according to him. He mentioned he just needed rest.

You overheard him murmur it to Yelena when she passed him in the hallway, and she didn’t push for any information, she just gave him a nod and let him go. It was something that he was doing frequently these days, ducking out of night events to go to bed, and there was always a convenient excuse for him. It was either a headache, lack of sleep, or just not feeling good, and it got him out of everything, including this conversation.

“Okay, okay!” Bucky exclaimed, raising his voice just enough to cut through the arguing, “Even if everyone brings only one bag, we’re still going to be short on space in the van. So we need to figure out how to get everyone there safely without anything happening.” There was a pause in the chatter, the kind that signaled the shift that you were anticipating–the part where you became the logistical variable.

Nobody said your name though.

Instead, there was some fumbling. Alexei muttered something about using the roof racks to tie Walker up onto it. Ava agreed with the suggestion. And Yelena was looking at you out of the corner of her eye like she was waiting for you to offer a solution before anyone else tried to come up with one on your behalf.

”I can drive myself…I have my car,” You said, eyes glancing down at the laminated packing list in your lap, “I can just meet all of you there.” You added. There was a small shift in the atmosphere, like you had immediately taken the tension out of the room. Bucky looked up from the clipboard he was holding, his expression unreadable but focused.

“Thank you, Y/N. That helps more than you realize…But we still won’t have enough space to fit everyone comfortably, would you be able to take someone else with you?” Your eyes flicked up to him.

”Sure.” Bucky bit the inner side of his cheek, like he was contemplating who he was going to send with you. Knowing that you would have final say regardless of the suggestion he gave.

”Would you be able to take…Bob?”

For a moment, all you could think about was how Bob had looked that morning when you offered him your marshmallows. The way he hesitated, and flinched when you tapped the counter, the way his eyes lingered on your gloves.

You thought about how he didn’t look at you again after that, and it made your throat tighten slightly.

Not because you were offended…But because it hurt.

Because there was something about Bob Reynolds that made your chest ache in ways you didn’t know how to soothe. Something about his silence–gentle, tentative, never invasive–that made you feel seen even when you couldn’t be touched. And the worst part was knowing that he wanted to. Not just physically. Not just a hand on your wrist or a brush of fingers. But all of it. The closeness. The company. The conversation that didn’t come laced with protocols.

That’s why you tried to build walls around you as much as possible…Because you knew Bob would never try to scale them. He respected you too much to ignore the rules. Yet you still found yourself thinking that one day he would try to cross the line.

”That’s fine.” You said. It came out even, and controlled, but inside you were anything but.

Bucky gave you a small nod and marked it down with the click of his pen. The others went back to their tasks, but your fingers were stiff against your lap–your gloves creasing every so faintly from how tightly you were gripping the paper.

You left the room not long after, and nobody stopped you.

————-

The next morning came quickly.

Your bag was already packed, and your car was fully prepared for the ride up. You had checked yourself–the gas tank was full, the heat was working, and the backseat was empty. You even shifted the passenger seat back to accommodate Bob’s knees so he didn’t slam them into the glove compartment when he stepped in.

The sky was still a dull blue-gray when you stepped outside, and you could see your breath puffing out in front of you in soft white clouds. The compound behind you was buzzing faintly with the chaos of people double-checking their bags and fighting over seat assignment, but out here in the quietness of the early morning, it almost felt peaceful.

You stood by your car, leaning against the driver’s side door, gloved fingers curled around your thermos. You took slow sips of your coffee–not because you needed it, but because the warmth gave you something to focus on–a distraction from the impending drive. It was only going to be three hours, but you could tell it would be the longest three hours you had ever experienced.

Each passing second was a breath you didn’t want to admit you were holding. Part of you hoped Bob wouldn’t show up–that he would decide last-minute to ride in the van instead and send someone else, to spare you both the awkwardness of being locked in such a small space with nothing but music, the road, and the weight of every unspoken thing between you.

But the other part of you–the one buried deep beneath layers of self-preservation and fear–hoped he would. Hoped he would sit in your passenger seat and glance over at you, and maybe this time…He wouldn’t look away.

The front doors of the compound hissed open.

You didn’t have to look to know it was him. You felt it. The shift. That subtle pressure in your chest like gravity had tilted slightly in his direction. You turned your head just enough to catch him walking across the lot, backpack slung low over his shoulder and a tupperware container cradled in his arms. His hoodie was pulled over his head, and his coat was zipped all the way up, making him look smaller than usual despite the broadness of his shoulders.

He spotted you and slowed.

Bob always slowed when he saw you. Like he needed an extra second to brace himself.

He adjusted the container in his grip and gave a shy, uncertain wave. You lifted your thermos in return.

”Morning,” You said quietly.

”Morning,” He echoed, voice hoarse like he hadn’t spoken to anyone yet today, “I uh…I brought that banana bread that I made yesterday evening. It’s not…I mean. It’s not good, but Yelena tried it last night and didn’t die, so…” You let out a small breath, as a smirk slowly tugged up on your lips.

”Low bar, but I guess it’ll do.” That made him laugh a bit, like he was a little embarrassed, but it was something. He moved towards the passenger door, shifting from foot to foot. You reached into your pocket, clicked the fob and unlocked the doors.

”I adjusted the seat already for you,” You mentioned, opening your own door, slipping in and putting your thermos into the cup holder, while he did the same on his side, “Didn’t want you cramped the whole drive.” You added, when he was able to hear you.

”Oh…Uh…Thanks.” He said after a beat, sliding his backpack off his shoulder, before easing himself into the seat beside you, and shutting the door. The quiet that followed wasn’t uncomfortable, but it settled between you like mist–thick with things that neither of you wanted to say to one another. You didn’t look at him right away. You focused on adjusting the heat, on clicking your seatbelt into place, on the scrape of your thermos as you nudged it deeper into the cup holder. Anything to keep your hands busy.

But the air had already changed.

The moment he sat down, you could feel it. The warmth of his body chased out the cold that had lingered in the space all morning. He smelled like laundry soap and something sweet–vanilla, maybe. Cinnamon. The faintest trace of sleep still clung to him, and something about that undid you a little. He had clearly just rolled out of bed, eyes still rimmed with the softness of sleep, his hair slightly mussed beneath his hood.

And worse–there was a part of you that wanted to lean closer, just to breathe him in.

Bob didn’t move much, but you could feel the tension radiating off him. His shoulders were rigid, like he was afraid to take up too much space. His hands stayed clasped around the tupperware in his lap, like he needed something to hold onto–some anchor to keep him from saying something he shouldn’t. Like, I dreamt about you again last night. Like, You touched my face and nothing happened. Like, I don’t know how to sit next to you now without wanting things I can’t ask for.

“Did you sleep well?” You asked quietly, putting the car in drive, almost like you were asking for him to tell him about what he had been dreaming about, “I heard you mention to Yelena that you weren’t feeling too well.” Bob looked over at you fast, like he hadn’t expected you to say anything to him for the drive. He was thankful that the hoodie over his head hid his flushed ears, but his face wasn’t shielded from your gaze, and you could see the way the red creeped up on his cheeks.

”Uh…Yeah. Yeah I slept well…Feeling much better.” You nodded once, lips pressing together in a way that wasn’t quite a smile, nor a frown. You didn’t believe him, not fully at least. His voice was too soft, and too careful, like he was picking his words carefully. And maybe that’s what hurt you the most–how gentle he was even when he was lying.

“Oh. Good.” You said simply, eyes fixated on the road ahead as you pressed on the gas, pulling out of the parking lot. Bob sank into the passenger seat, still tasting the ghost of your name on his tongue from the dream he’d barely left behind.

The field had been brighter last night. You laughed at something he said. The kind of laugh that made him feel like the world wasn’t so sharp anymore. Like maybe it didn’t hurt to breathe when you were near. You’d touched his face in the dream–cupped his cheek like he was breakable and safe all at once–and he’d felt it linger long after his eyes opened. He was surprised you didn’t notice how red his eyes were from crying, but then again why would you be concerned with that.

Now he sat here, beside the real you, and he couldn’t even meet your eyes for more than a second.

You glanced at him, catching the way he clutched the tupperware container like it was the only thing anchoring him to the moment, the way he fiddled with the edges, the nervous twitching he always did that you couldn’t help but notice. It was one of his many tells that something was bothering him, but you didn’t push, your eyes just returned to what was in front of you.

The highway stretched ahead like a ribbon of grey silk, unraveling beneath your tires. The sun hadn’t quite risen yet, and the pale light bleeding through the windshield was casting a bluish tint over Bob’s face. You kept your eyes on the road, but you could feel his presence like heat on your skin.

“You really didn’t have to bring anything,” You murmured after a stretch of quiet, nodding toward the banana bread.

Bob looked over at you quickly, then back down at the container like it had surprised him to still be there. “I… I just thought it might be nice. For the cabin. It’s dumb, but I—uh—sometimes baking helps when I can’t sleep.”

Your grip on the wheel tightened slightly. “It’s not dumb to want to do something nice…I wasn’t saying it to be…Cold or anything. It’s just a nice thing to do.”

He looked at you then. Really looked. Just for a moment. And for the first time in what felt like ages, you looked at him.

A breath passed between you. Heavy. Loaded.

But it didn’t last. Bob glanced back down at the container again and shifted in his seat. The tension in his shoulders softened marginally, and you could tell the lull of the ride was beginning to get to him. The rhythm of the road, the warmth of the heater. You caught the slow, unconscious twitch of his fingers against the plastic lid before he rested the tupperware gently on the floor by his feet and leaned his head back against the headrest.

“I think…I’m going to close my eyes for a bit,” He said, voice barely above a whisper.

“Are you alright?” You asked, concerned about the sudden change in his demeanor.

“Yeah…J-Just tired.” He murmured, his lashes fluttering once before settling. You didn’t push. You didn’t ask if he was sure. You just adjusted the heat a little higher and turned the radio down low, giving him the space he always gave you.

The car fell into a soft hush, broken only by the low hum of the engine and the distant thump of tires over uneven pavement. Bob’s breathing slowed next to you. Gradually. Unevenly at first. Then steadily.

And then it was silent.

Until.

“…Y/N.”

Your name. Whispered like a secret. Like a prayer.

It wasn’t loud, but it wasn’t quiet either. Just clear enough to freeze your hands on the wheel.

You glanced over at him, and his face was tilted toward you now, not fully, but just enough to expose the vulnerability in his features. His brows were drawn slightly together, lips parted, and the softest tremble lingered on the edge of them–like he was mid-sentence in a conversation he couldn’t have while awake.

“…M-Miss y-you.” You didn’t mean to slam on the brakes.

Technically you didn’t–but your foot did twitch hard enough on the pedal to make the car lurch slightly, just enough that your coffee sloshed in the cupholder and Bob stirred in the passenger seat with a soft grunt. But he didn’t wake–not fully. He just shifted his head slightly against the seat, curling further toward the door like he was bracing himself for something, the way someone does when they expect to wake up heartbroken.

You stared at him for a long, stunned second. Your fingers had gone numb around the wheel. You weren’t even sure you were breathing. All you knew was you had to pull over to try and regain some sense of stability before continuing, because your thoughts were derailing and spinning out of control.

You pulled off to the shoulder as smoothly as you could, but your hands were trembling too much to hide it. The car dipped slightly as it slowed to a crawl, the crunch of gravel beneath your tires filling the sudden silence now that the radio had gone quiet. You didn’t turn the engine off. You didn’t unbuckle your seatbelt. You just sat there, staring at your own reflection in the faint gleam of the windshield, breathing like someone who’d just run a marathon.

Bob shifted again beside you in his sleep, brow creasing like he was trying to hold onto something—some fragile thread of whatever dream he was caught inside. But all you could hear was your name, still echoing softly in the air between you.

Y/N.

Miss you.

Your throat tightened so hard it hurt.

Because no one missed you. Not like that.

You didn’t let them.

You couldn’t.

Not when the cost of closeness was something you couldn’t afford. One wrong brush of skin, one slip in control, one heartbeat too fast, one lapse of judgment–and everything you cared about could shatter. You had spent years learning how to exist at arm’s length, how to keep every tender instinct buried beneath gloves, sleeves, distance, and detachment. You had become an expert at denial. At convincing yourself that loneliness was better than guilt.

But Bob Reynolds–quiet, sweet, trembling Bob–was dreaming about you like you were something he had lost. Like he’d had you once. Touched you once. Held you once.

And the worst part? You believed him.

Because deep in your bones, somewhere beneath the power that was humming like electricity in your bloodstream, you felt it. That dream wasn’t just a dream. You knew what it felt like when someone’s subconscious pressed into your atmosphere–when they wanted you so badly that even your powers couldn’t keep them out. And if he’d been dreaming of you enough, if he’d carried that version of you with him night after night…There was a chance his dreams had reached into yours too.

That would explain the phantom warmth you sometimes woke up with. The laughter you’d hear in your sleep and never understand. The way your chest had started to ache when he walked into a room.

“Oh my god…” You breathed, so softly it barely counted as sound.

Your gloved hand hovered, trembling slightly, before you set it down in your lap again. You couldn’t reach out. You wouldn’t. But your heart was thudding so violently in your chest now that you could feel it behind your eyes.

You turned to look at him again.

His lashes were still down, mouth parted slightly in sleep, but the edges of his expression were laced with pain. It wasn’t rest he was getting–it was longing. A quiet, desperate kind. And if you listened carefully, you could hear the tiniest whisper leave his mouth again–like a plea caught in the middle of a storm.

“…Don’t go…Please d-don’t go.”

And your heart broke into a million pieces, because as much as you wanted to reach out to comfort him, there would be no use. It would only draw you in deeper, and somehow you would end up losing him, and that was something you couldn’t risk, something you wouldn’t risk. Bob was part of your constant whether you liked it or not, but you couldn’t be what he needed, or what he wanted, not with the powers you held, and you knew that right from the start.

You just didn’t realize how hard it would be to suppress everything and bury it, but now was just the beginning of the pain.

[barnesandwilsons]

Maybe, Just Maybe

a/n: yess guys i watched thunderbolts and i had to do something about it. lovedd the movie sm so here’s a little something i wrote… idk if i should write more because it’s literally just an introduction..??? didnt even bother to proof-read before i end up deleting everything

pairing: bucky x reader

tw: really bad thoughts from reader, bucky being sweet, walker being semi-mean, Red Room mentioned, bucky gives reader his clothes.

PART 2

word count: 2k+..?

summary: you're a new recruit to the thunderbolts, only knowing yelena from your old days, you struggle to find your place in this new environment.

You stepped off the black transport van, keeping your shoulders tense with your eyes scanning everything. A special thanks to your time at the Red Room –giving you paranoia forever. The cold air immediately greeted you as it pushed past your thin ass jacket, you didn’t shiver at all. You’re used to these types of climate, you couldn't afford to look weak in front of your new team. The Thunderbolts.

Behind her, Yelena dropped down from the van and gave her a light push with her arm. “You good?” she asks, in a low volume for only you to hear.

You gave her a curt nod and looked ahead of you, Yelena led the way towards the New Avengers tower. You notice a buff man with a metal arm standing in front of the doors, his arms crossed over his chest. 

One thing about the Red Room – it traumatized you. You were conditioned to have no fear. But, after years outside that hellhole – thanks to Yelena and Natasha – you started to feel things. Emotions. Fear. Distrust. Sadness.

Many people will describe you as always uncomfortable; in other terms you were uncomfortable around people you didn’t know. Coming back to the States, you realized some people truly are evil assholes. 

Yelena greets the man with the arm, “Hey, tin-man.”

He looks at her and nods his head towards you in confusion. You immediately grow nauseous.

“She’s with me.” Yelena reminds him.

He looks at you for a beat too long, your fingers twitch at your sides. You hate this feeling – actually being seen, a strong contrast to your old ways – disappearing in a flash. You turn your gaze away, fixating on a crack on the floor near your feet.

“Right,” the big guy said – Bucky Barnes, you remembered, the Winter Soldier, without his long hair he looks like a new man, he steps aside and realizes his harsh demeanor as he fixes it with a small smile, “Welcome.”

You say nothing as you walk past him with the blonde. Yelena says, “Y/N keep walking straight to the elevator and wait for me.” You continue walking as Yelena turns to Bucky.

“She’s not great with people.” Yelena says protectively, “So, don't take it personally.”

Bucky scoffs, “Didn’t notice.” Bucky really doesn’t blame you. He hasn’t met you for longer than 4 minutes and he can already tell you were damaged. In the nicest way possible, you reminded him of his old self.

Yelena tuts and walks to where you’re standing really awkwardly. You give her a smirk. “Nice digs.”

Yelena smirks, glad she finally has a place to call home, “You should see the kitchen, totally worth it.” She hits the button for the elevator, causing it to immediately open as you both step in.

—

NEXT WEEK

The mission didn't go exactly as planned. Many more bodies were wasted than anticipated. Bucky and You were partners in the same sub-division, meanwhile Walker and Yelena were on the other side of the building.

As the team made it inside the Avengers tower, Walker yelled, “Are you guys really that incompetent you can’t follow simple procedures?”

You frown, jaw tense, you know you messed up but he was being a tiny bit harsh. He turns to you and immediately frowns, “And you! The fuck is your problem–”

Before he says anything else, Yelena steps between you silently, face held up, like a shield. 

Walker’s sentence falters – because let’s be real who isn’t a tiny bit afraid of Yelena.

“She made a mistake,” Yelena says, her voice even.

Walker scoffs, clearly done with this shit, “Whatever. Next time, keep her in check.”

No one moves until he storms out the room, his footsteps finally fading away to his room. Bucky then turns to you, “You okay?”

You’re about to answer, but Yelena does that for you, “She’s fine.”

Bucky looks to Yelena, then to you, then back at her and nods awkwardly, “Alright then.” Then he makes his way to the kitchen, probably to get himself some much needed coffee. Yelena follows him and you can’t help but feel helpless, you know you made a mistake, but it isn’t your fault. You did seem a bit kill-hungry, maybe it was the way the Red Room had embedded this hunger into you. Or maybe it was the coping methods you used to relieve yourself from the never-ending weight of the world on your shoulders.

After they leave, you exhale a breath you didn’t even know you took. You make your way into your room and look around. You curse yourself for thinking you can do this —- because you can’t.

Not with how your hands won’t stop shaking once you’re alone. Your heartbeat trying to claw its way out your chest, and certainly not with that terrible voice in your head whispering that you’re shit, and that you always will be.

You sit on the edge of your bed and dig your fingers into your stomach, hopefully trying to drown out these thoughts with pain. Repeating that you’re fine and this is totally normal. 

Add that to the list of the many things that's wrong with you.

You sit in the dark for a while, the warmness of your room seeping into your bones, the soft hum of the compound being the only sound. You think about how Walker’s words sting, you think about the 4 bodies that happened to die by your hand today, you think about how Bucky looked at you as if he was trying to understand you. 

You almost chuckle at the thought because you're still trying to understand yourself. You hated that he looked at you so gently. How his blue eyes tried to unravel your soul and purpose of being here. You hated it because it made you want to spill your secrets, on why you’re like this, on how the Red Room forged you into this fucked-up piece of shit who can barely form a single thought without thinking about the blood on your hands.

You dig the fingers against your stomach harder. 

Oh the unnecessary deaths.

You hate that part of you still flinches when someone raises their voice, even if it is Walker being a jackass. You hate that you aren’t normal enough to love the fact that someone as sweet and kind-looking as Bucky motherfucking Barnes even looks your way. Because what if he sees your worth? What if he finds out that you truly are damaged and unfixable?

You’re not good. You’re not a hero. Hell, if the perspectives were turned, you were a villain. You’re blessed to have Yelena fight for you because you’ve done immeasurable things. You don’t even count yourself as a person anymore, you were forged and made into a weapon. Someone who was kept on a leash from an early age, you have to pretend you’re healed from it. No emotion and no hesitation showing; just how it was back in the Red Room. You’re not even sure about how you didn’t snap yet.

You press your forehead into your knees, maybe staying this way will dull away the pain. Just for the night. You need to find a way to deal with this before it gets worse, because you can’t afford to fall apart now. Not when you can feel something good within these four walls. A family. The Thunderbolts didn’t turn you away when Yelena brought you here. You have to prove to them that you belong here.

A knock raps gently on your door.

Once. Then Twice.

You freeze. You don’t answer. Silently praying to any God that can hear you that whoever it is will go away. As you hold your breath you hear a voice,

“It’s me.” 

Your face cringes. Fuck. You blink, once, then twice, then again for good measure.

Bucky.

“I–” He pauses, careful about his choice of words, “I know you’re probably not in the mood. I just wanted to – I made you a sandwich.”

You frown, tilting your head to the left. He made you a sandwich?

You don't speak yet. You don’t even move from your spot.

But he doesn’t leave, he continues, “It’s a peanut butter sandwich.”

You stare at the door. You hate how sweet this man is. His kindness feels as if you’re using him, like if he offers you a sliver of kindness, you’re taking something that you don’t deserve.

You get up from the bed, because now that you think of it. You are hungry. You open the door and see that he has changed into a much comfier set of clothes; a black shirt showing off his metallic metal arm, along with gray sweatpants. You can’t lie, he looks good right now.

As soon as you open the door, he looks down at you and notices you still in your gear. But before he even mentions that, you say something, “I’m allergic.”

He looks confused. “Huh?”

“To peanut butter.”

He blinks, “Allergic?”

You nod sadly, “Deadly, even.”

Silence. Another beat of silence passes as you guys share eye contact. Then, Bucky chuckles, “Yelena literally made you a peanut butter sandwich yesterday.”

You freeze. Oops. “It was my cheat day.”

“Yeah, okay,” His lip twitches, almost like he’s fighting a smile. You’re funny, he’ll give you that. “Well besides your allergies, I can make something else?”

You cringe. Maybe Bucky Barnes is something good. Maybe he is the light at the end of the tunnel. Or maybe you’re spiraling to have something good in your life. Either way, it doesnt change the fact that he’s practically begging you to eat.

You glance down at your tactical boots, you still see remnants of blood on them. “You don't have to.”

“I know,” he says simply, “But, I’m still here.”

Your eyes flick back up to meet his. Warmth. He’s not trying to push. Just offering.

“I dont know what, I would like to eat,” You admit softly as you cross your arms across your chest.

But that doesn't faze him, “Good thing, we have a big ass kitchen, with an even bigger food selection."

You snort under your breath softly, he smiles at your response. Grateful that he’s finally seen you smile ever since you got here. He’s about to turn to lead you back to the kitchen but he remembered you’re still in your gear.

“Go on and change,” He started, “I know you’re uncomfortable right now.”

You look back into your almost empty room. Kinda embarrassed you admit, “The few clothes I came with happen to be in the wash..”

He pauses, brows furrowing slightly before his expression softens, “Hold on.”

He disappears back into his room at the end of the hallway, leaving you at the doorway, half regretting that you opened the door and the other half grateful that you did. When he returns he’s holding a black hoodie and gray sweats – which looks incredibly too big for you.

“Here,” He offers you, as he holds it out to you as if he’s giving you a high five.

You hesitate. “Isn’t that yours?”

“Uh, yeah. It’s clean though.” He smiles awkwardly. Maybe he’s coming off too strong. He doesn’t wanna scare you off.

You take it. “Thanks.”

He nods. No problem.

“I’ll be in the kitchen.” He says, before heading off.

You watch him go and as soon as he’s gone from your vision, you look down at the clothes in your hand… and smile.

You quickly change out your clothes and immediately wear Bucky’s. It’s soft. A nice alternative to the previous clothes you’ve worn. It smells so warm as well. You look into your bathroom mirror and see yourself, you look tired and worn out. Setting a quick reminder to yourself that after your meal, you need to sleep for about 12 hours.

Bucky’s hoodie easily covers your whole torso and is almost too long for your arms. The sweatpants are almost dragging the floor, but they are soft and warm, so who are you to complain?

You couldn't believe it. Just a few hours ago, you were taking lives. But now? Now you are in a new home. With people who might become your new family.

With another quick glance at the mirror, you walk outside making your way into the kitchen.

Not because you’re fine. But because maybe, you’re starting to believe that you could be.

[just-some-random-blogger]

Tormented Spirit | 2

Part 1 2 3

"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 4k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, smut (piv, loss of virginity, fingering, semi-public sex, Daemon talking you through it), DD:DNE, panic/anxiety attacks, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, mentions/depictions of death/suicidal ideation/murder, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: i am surprised I got as many comments as I did on chapter 1 🥺🫶 it's not that I think my writing is bad... Well... Idk it felt aimless when I started so I am grateful for the positive reinforcement. 👉👈 I am once again asking for more pls comment n reblog I would love u forever if u did | cross posted on ao3

Tagging: @arabellasleopardcoat

Daemon heads to your chambers, eager to shake you awake and ruin your morning once more. When he arrives to the room, he stops in his tracks, disappointed to see you were risen. That is, until he realizes the state you were in.

You roused long before the sun had and could not find sleep no matter how badly you searched. You decided to draw yourself a warm bath in hopes of finding sleep in the tub; you only find more restlessness and simply accept your fate.

You hear Daemon's entrance and turn to him from the vanity you were wallowing. You were half dressed. Your corset was undone and you had given up on braiding the sides of your head. You smile weakly at him, "good morrow."

Nothing about your tired, sullen eyes agreed with that, and it irritates him to know that you're one of those people. Pretenders.

"Well, finish up then," Daemon furrows his brows, "get dressed. We have yet to accomplish our task."

You mimic his expression, brushing your dark hair back, "task?"

He rolls his eyes, "I do not believe yesterday counts as an introduction."

Upon realizing he meant the introduction to Caraxes, your body tenses. You look sick. You stand to try and convince him out of it, but Daemon reaches you before you can get on your feet. He places a hand on your shoulder, keeping you in place. Your heart thunders when he brushes your hair to one shoulder. He secures your dress from behind, and your breath grows heavy as you watch him from the mirror.

"It is not so bad, riding a dragon," the prince says to plant a false sense of trust in you, "who knows? You might enjoy it."

There is an unnatural warmth that spills across your form when your husband then completes your braids. He weaves in a manner far gentler than Gwayne ever has. It makes your lips part.

He brings you to your feet. Daemon takes in your expression, lips curling slightly, "there you are, wife."

Your brows knit.

He knew his artificial gentleness has you off-guard. There is no better moment to have you do his bidding than now.

One might be surprised to know that Caraxes actually enjoyed having you on his back, as did Daemon, not because they suddenly liked you— gods no, but because the sound of your screams were oh-so satisfying.

You could do little else but release cries of terror as you clung to your husband from behind. Daemon made it a point to do flips and all sorts of unnecessarily moves whilst flying, hoping your hold would falter. The time you spent in the air felt like eternity. It seemed your husband was set on touring the entire 7 realms.

You never thought you would be so ever happy to see the pit. The pit could not say the same about you however. You spill your guts out to the floor exactly like the first time you were here.

Daemon makes a face. He turns to the keepers and orders them to clean your mess up, lest it get on Caraxes' claw.

Woe is you who is forced to repeat the exact thing the next morning. You could not even plead your case, for your throat was sore. The sound of your screams this time were not as entertaining to Daemon, as your voice is hoarse. At some point, the terror is too great, you cannot scream. Because of this, he cuts the flight short in boredom, excited instead at the promise of watching you suffer through another retch. But, oh, by the gods, were you an inconveniencing woman.

Instead of remaining consistent, you just had to make a show and faint into him, did you?

He could not care less for you, which is why he chucks you off into the arms of a dragon keeper, but the damned old man could no longer carry such a weight, and so he was begrudgingly forced to throw you over his shoulder and bring you to a maester himself.

In truth, he'd all forgotten about his wife fainting until the next morning, when he came to the maester's quarters to ask for something to soothe his hammering head from his heavy drinking the night before. He was, in fact, offended, when the maester insinuated that he had come to check up on his bride.

Before he could give the greying maester a piece of his mind, he hears a terrible voice barking from the ward. Its grating timbre made it clear to Daemon that Lord Hand Cunttower was off on a yapping session again.

He walks deeper into the room. Weeping sounds become audible.

"—no, you do not understand," Otto snaps, hunched over at the side of your bed.

Ah, twas you who was being terrorized.

You dare not turn to your father, for you knew your throat would only tighten more that it already has. You force yourself to take deep breaths, but it's easier said than done. You remain still on the bed you laid on.

"You must sire as many children as your body can take, or you will die," the man says.

But you were dying anyway.

"The process will not be pleasant."

Nothing is pleasant.

"It will hurt-"

Everything hurts.

"-but it is a better fate than-"

"Enough!" you snap, glaring at him with angry, red eyes. You repeat, though your voice is weaker, "enough, enough, eno-"

Otto gravely speaks your name. Your body recognized the danger, but having realized upon waking up to the face of a maester, it mattered little where or who it came from, you were destined to hurt- to die.

"Do not fall complacent be-"

"You are no longer my lord," you quip. Sweat forms on your nape. This is the first time you've ever interrupted your father.

He is gobsmacked. He is bewildered. His back straightens, "what?"

You feel yourself descend into heavy fraught. Your saliva tries to choke you.

"What," he presses, "did you say, girl?"

"You are my father," your voice falters, "but not my lord."

Otto's face warps.

Your breath grows shorter and shorter, "my liege lord is my-" pant "-husband, and what he-" pant "-desires, I will-" pant "-do."

Daemon's ears and brows perk at your misplaced loyalty. Part of him wants to laugh out loud and make himself known, but then he sees, even from where he stood, how it got Otto twisted. He chuckles to himself instead.

Your father enunciates as though he means to stab you with them, "you stupid fucking whore."

You crumble like chalk. You fall into another round of body arresting tremors. Your chest is tight and you screw your eyes painfully shut. It becomes apparent to Daemon, as it would anyone who'd witness, where your condition sourced. Otto grabs your shoulders, "you know nothing of-" but then recoils.

Daemon shoves him away, glaring as he says, "unhand her."

Otto manages to balance himself, but he looks as though the veins on his temples were about to pop. He clenches his jaw, "I am speaking to my daughter."

"You mean at her," his silver hair slips over his shoulder as he turns to you, "she does not look like she can hold conversation."

"This is personal matter," Otto steps forward.

"Mmm," Daemon turns back to him, "I do say, I am glad to have interrupted," he shifts on his leg, linking his fingers together, "a dutiful husband should know all personal matters of his wife. Don't you agree?"

Though you were still wrestling with yourself, you heard every word. You knew if you did not interject, they will fight each other for your carcass. You feel lightheaded, but you force yourself to open your eyes and speak.

Of course, the only sound you manage to make is a strangled and pained one.

Otto averts his attention to you, and tries to come to your side.

Daemon steps in front of him and tilts his head back, "oh... I would adore it if you give me a reason to kill you."

You choke out, "Daemon."

Your father stiffens as he looks past the said man to inspect you, missing the way the said man smirks. Otto turns back to Daemon, feeling bile spread in his mouth as the prince says, "see. She does not want you."

Otto's lips curl and his hands ball into fists.

Your husband waves a hand, "go away. You're clearly upsetting her."

Otto does the most to remain calm, "she is my da-"

"She is my wife," Daemon snaps, imposing upon him.

You gulp with difficulty as you catch the way your father's jaw clenches. You force yourself to sit up and open your mouth to speak, but everyone's attention is averted to the Kingsguard that walks into the room.

Daemon's forehead curls at the Cargyll knight, "my prince. Lord Hand."

"Which one are you?" asks the prince.

"Arryk, my prince."

"State your business, Arryk."

"I-"

"I requested a ward for the princess," Lord Hand answers instead.

Daemon makes a face at him and chuckles dryly under his breath.

Arryk looks between the two again then slowly continues, "I and my brother have been awarded the honor of serving ward to the Princess of Dragonstone. I take first watch today."

Daemon chuckles again, "a bit late, aren't you?"

The white cloak stiffens then bows, "I was just given word this hour."

"Hmm. Well, Arryk," he motions, "why don't you go escort the Lord Hand out of the room before someone dies."

He stiffens again, but turns to the said man nonetheless. He does not question it and merely does what was instructed.

Or at least tries to.

"I do not trust you with my daughter's well-being," Otto steps forward, pointing a finger to the ground, "you are the very reason she is in that bed."

Daemon gasps dramatically. At this point, you finally had enough wits about you to speak, "please-" but your voice is easily drowned out however.

"Do you not remember thanking my brother for the, what was it," the prince pretends to think, "joyous union? Or would you like to watch me stake my claim upon he—"

Otto's face twists in horror and repulsion, but that is not why Daemon's words are cut short. It is because of the cold, clammy, trembling hand that takes his own that he looks down. He watches as you sigh out, "leave us, father."

The said man turns to you in grave offence. In your fear, you do not notice the betrayal that is mixed with it. His anger flares and he scoffs. He gives you one last look, and you knew exactly it was just that. This would be last time he would ever look upon you. When he storms away, you feel it in your chest: this is the last time you will ever call him father. You were forsaken, truly forsaken.

Otto is seen out by Arryk.

Your hand slips from Daemon's, as you no longer had the strength. You muster all your remaining energy to reach the drink propped on your bedside table. It was a futile attempt though, as instead of grasping it, you knock it over, which only leads you into another fit of tears.

Daemon curses and shakes his foot that's gotten soaked. He did mean to snap at you for it, but you were already clearly suffering. Your breathing is short and it seemed like you were mumbling something.

He hunches over in an attempt to hear you, "what?"

It takes a myriad of repetitions for him to realize you were apologizing.

His face contorts, "gods," what pathetic creature had he been given to?

Daemon's upper lip curls and he can no longer bear the sound of your whining any further. He calls for the maester, asking for another cup of water because you had knocked over your own. Just as the maester goes off to get you another drink, he remembers he came here for his own affliction because his head begins to hammer again. He rubs his temples and sits on the vacant bed besides yours.

"Here, my prince," the maester says upon arrival, "milk of the poppy enough for the both of you."

Daemon squints as the man places a tray on your bedside table. Daemon is handed a cup first, but does not drink it until after he watches you be helped to drink your own fill. After, the maester promptly leaves with a curt nod. The drink does not take effect on you until after Daemon finishes his own

Your voice shakes, "t-thank you."

Daemon puts his cup down.

"You did not have to come," you say softly.

"Do not flatter yourself," he scoffs, "I did not come for you. I came for my headache."

"Yet it remains," you turn to him, face tight and gleaming from all the tears you've shed, "you did not have to come."

He stares at you for a moment. You looked so frail, so devoid of hope. Truly, death would be mercy to you at this point.

Just then, ser Arryk returns. He finally sees you and gives you a deep bow, "princess."

Being addressed as such makes you feel sad... and lonely.

"I am ser Arryk Cargyll. I will be your ward, along with my twin brother, Erryk, who you will meet after my shift." The kingsguard straightens up, "I will do all that I can to ensure your health does not falter and that you are always seen to."

You think of your own twin as you take in the man's features. The idea that your father purposefully chose twin brothers as your ward made you feel sad and sick, but it was hardly Arryk's fault Otto liked mocking you, so you smile at him, "I have a twin."

The man nods, offering you a smile far more genuine than yours, "aye. Ser Gwayne Hightower. He is deft with the short sword."

You turn to your hands, recalling just a few days ago when you had watched him train. Your lips curl upwards, "though, not as good as I."

Daemon pulls his head back, face contorting. He is taken aback when Arryk's sniggers. The latter nods, "perhaps you will show me your tricks, my lady."

There is a twinkle in your eye as you turn back to him, "perhaps."

Daemon raises a brow at the interaction and decides to stand, "come," he reaches a hand to you, "some fresh air would do you good."

Fresh air? Your jaw slacks and you turn to Daemon with a fallen expression. Be as it was, you were no fool. You did not believe your husband had your best interest in mind, and yet, it was not like you had much of a choice. Against yourself, you to take his hand.

He pulls you up and Arryk comes to your side to assist you. He helps you to your feet, hand on your arm and shoulder.

Daemon is annoyed by his fussing. "Yes. Very good, Cargyll. I can manage to bring her to the dragon pit myself."

You close your eyes and sigh. Just as you dreaded.

"Dragon pit?" Arryk repeats.

"Yes. She needs fresh air." The prince narrows his eyes, "do you contest me?"

Arryk releases you and shakes his head, "I would not."

"Good," he motions with nod, "out of the way then."

You see, after being scorched by the fire of your maker— your father, the sight of Caraxes emerging from the depths did not strike as much fear into you as it did before. In fact, the promise of malice from the beast felt... cathartic, and for once, you welcomed Daemon's insistence on being brought to its maw.

You stumbled against Caraxes' scaly cheek. Having done nothing but lay in the maester's chambers, your hair was not tied or braided in any way. As the wind blew, it tickled against the dragon's face. Caraxes did not seem to enjoy the sensation, and so he growled and snapped his teeth.

Daemon was quick to chastise his mount, and for that, he did not realize your lack of self-preservation. Oh, but Caraxes did; he even growled again, only to be met once more by your unflinching demeanor.

Daemon would only realize your change after taking flight and landing on a beach. Upon dismounting, Caraxes takes it upon himself to screech as you hover. The prince doesn't know who is more bewildered, him or his dragon, when you screech back.

Your neck veins pop and spit comes out of your mouth at the intensity of it all. A harsh wind blows your hair and your skirt. You heave after releasing such a harsh noise.

In truth, perhaps Caraxes is more perturbed as, unlike Daemon's who presses forward, the beast pulls back and shakes his head. He bleats as he watches his rider grab your arm.

The prince means to berate you for your insanity, but then, gods, you rather conveniently succumb to another arrest to your heart and lungs. He does not know why he catches you when your legs give in but he knows exactly why he suggests: "get in the water."

You look up at him, your glassy eyes meeting his violet ones.

He lets you crumble to the ground and bends down to undo your dress, "a swim would do you wonders."

"N-no- you will regret-" you sputter.

But Daemon ignores you, not that it took much effort, for you were incoherent soon enough.

He pulls you out of your dress until you're in nothing but your slip. You sob, and he hushes you, assuring he will be by your side. He removes his tunic. Soon, he is dragging you down deeper and deeper, and you are choking and spitting saltwater.

Daemon decides to simply release you and wait until your body floats lifeless. With how you were gasping, it would not take long. He turns his head when his face is splashed by your flailing arms. When he looks back, the water is calm and your body is nowhere to be seen.

... well, that was rather quick.

He waits for a moment, watching bubbles float up. After a while, he purses his lips and decides to go back ashore. He should have done this sooner.

He freezes when you emerge in front of him, pushing your brown hair off your face. He is perturbed by the serenity across your features; it was as though you were reborn.

You sigh, "I told you you would regret it."

Daemon blankly stares at you.

"There is a great river in Oldtown," you wade around, "the water there is not nearly as pleasant or warm as this, but still... swimming was one of the only ways I could calm myself."

His jaw clenches. He does not even try to hide his disappointment.

You lick your lips at it and turn to Caraxes, who was happily soaking in the sun from the sandy shore, "take heart. Your dragon might entertain himself by eating me yet," you turn to him, "or perhaps my Lord Hand will kill me himself."

His face twists, "what?"

You shake your head and roll your eyes.

He pulls his head back, offended and confused by your sudden nerve.

You allow your body to float up in the water, "you need not pretend. I know you long to kill me."

Daemon is insulted by your brashness. He grabs your floating hip and pushes you down until you're once again face to face. Not a semblance of fear is on your features. It only angers him further.

He snaps, "I could have your tongue for that."

He cannot deny the way his stomach rolls when you place your hands by the base of his neck. The complete change in your temperament puts him on edge. Have you been playing him all along?

"Would it not be simpler to have my head?" you speak plainly, as though you were genuinely curious of his response.

His nostrils flare.

Before he can act, you are swimming off. You emerge from the water, dripping wet. Your clothing is sheer and hugs every part of your body, leaving nothing to the imagination. He could not help but look, but then he was sorely insulted all over when you pet Caraxes head and he lets you.

It was a twisted hallucination. He is suddenly reminded of the milk of the poppy he'd drank; you've probably poisoned him and planned all of this with your cunt father like the conniving whore you really were.

You do not hear him emerge, but only know he did because he is upon you. He forces you around through a severe squeeze on your arms, "what is your game, Hightower cunt?!"

Your body seizes, but you do not succumb to the thundering of your heart, as you had just been relaxed.

He shakes you, making you gasp, "SPEAK!"

"There is no game!" you whimper.

He chuckles dryly, shaking you harshly once more "perhaps it should be said that I need no assistance from my dragon to kill you."

A shiver runs down your spine, "please-"

"Then tell me th-"

"-just do it."

The sound of Caraxes huffing brings Daemon back to reality. And yet it takes you speaking, "just kill me," for him to realize you meant exactly what he thought.

He stills where you descend into further torment. He knows then that it is true. There was no plot, or at least not one where this creature of agony could ever oversee. You were calmed by the water, but not cured. Very truly, he thinks again death would be mercy, convenient for him as well. Yet, in his nature, Daemon does opposite of what he is told and pries his hands off. He mutters under his breath, "ao mūdas run," you terrible thing.

You sob, as if you understood him.

You shed tears unlike the others he's witnessed; there is no panic or fear, only pain.

"Surely you agree it is better than living this way."

The clarity of your voice takes him aback. He turns away, uncomfortable of your sudden agency.

"I have been this way since I can remember," you confess, "and they've all have counted my days for just as long."

"Why must I bloody my hands for you?" he squints, "if you despise living so much, do it yourself."

Your laugh is haunting. You shake your head and wipe your face, "I am not as brave as you. I could not even kill the fishes Gwayne caught for me, though I ate them."

Daemon is unmoved, twice so at the mention of your brother.

"And Gwayne..." you sigh, "he would blame himself." You turn to your feet, warmed by the sand beneath it, "I would not do that to him." You shake your head again, "but again, take heart," you smile, "it will happen soon enough."

His forehead curls.

"I can feel it in my gut," you rub your belly, "it is putrid and festering... whatever it is."

He tilts his head, "then do me a favor and wallow in silence—" he walks off, sparing one last glance, "and try scheming with your cunt father somewhere you will not be caught."

You manically laugh and rip at your hair, "he is my illness, if it is not plain to you."

He stops and turns back to you.

"I am the way that I am because I-" you poke your chest, "am he, had he been born a woman." You rub your sternum, "he loathes me because he is I. I am his hair, his nose, his temper, his... weakness, only amplified because I did not inherit his cock.

"When I pray..." you sniffle, "sometimes I think the gods keep me alive for I am his reckoning— that I must torment him for all the years he has tormented others... tormented me."

Daemon watches the salt from your eyes join the salt on your slip. He stares at your pert nipples then watches you chew your lower lip. He licks his own, "did you mean what you told him?"

You watch as he inches closer, "what?"

"That he is no longer your liege lord," he reaches for your arm, "that I am."

"I-"

Daemon pushes the shoulder of your slip dress down.

Your hand darts to his chest, "i-it is the truth."

He hums and tilts his head. You gasp when he kisses your neck. He licks the saltwater off your skin, enjoying the sound you make when his teeth graze you, "very well then."

Goosebumps form when he pulls your skirt up your thighs.

"It would be beneath a prince to withhold aid for such a tormented spirit."

You do not speak for soon his mouth is claiming yours. It is not as horrid as you imagined it would be. You did not think someone who's shown nothing but aggression could behold you so tenderly. You shiver when he continues to rid you of your sopping clothes. When you break away for air, you manage to mutter, "someone c-could see."

Daemon's expression is changed as stares at you and pushes you to the ground. You gasp as you find yourself atop the garbs he already managed to remove. He undoes his breeches, "who? My dragon?"

You do not know if he means Caraxes.

"You are my wife," he drops to his knees, grabbing yours, "the sin lies with the looker," he pushes your legs apart, "not us."

You bite your lips, feeling the the need to repel him, but decide against it. You simply close your eyes and dig your fingers into the sand.

His loins burn at the sound of your sigh. He sinks into you and relishes your submission. He wraps your legs around him and rocks his hips into yours. You mewl and dig into his back. He bites your lobe before whispering, "you belong to me."

You scratch your nails up his back as his rocking hips send bolts of pleasure in your body.

"Say it."

"I-I-" you heave, "belong to you."

He squeezes your thighs, "you are to do what I so desire."

You gasp softly when he grabs your jaw, making you turn to him.

"-especially if it is against your father, yes?"

You gulp, unable to speak. You simply nod.

Daemon's eyes become hooded. He releases your jaw, claiming your thigh again, "good."

You both remain this way, kissing and rubbing, but then you begin to grow impatient. You bring your mouth to his to catch his attention but do not kiss him. He is taken aback by your unintentional tease and digs his fingers into your flesh. This is why you whimper as you speak, "you- can... enter."

He is broken from his trance, "what?"

"I," you scratch his skin gently, as if to encourage him, "know you are ready. You do not have to hold back. I am accustomed to pain."

He knits his brows, then tilts his head, "how could a virgin know such things?"

He watches bashfulness claim you. You shake your head, "I read it."

"Did your book not tell you it need not be painful?"

"I-" you let out a loud noise when you feel his fingers touch your womanhood, "Daemon-"

He purrs at the sound of his name, "I will show you how good it can feel so that you can tell your father all about it."

The horrifying thought does not even register as he makes you feel things you did not know possible. You begin to shiver and whine, but it is entirely opposite to what your body is accustomed to. Your breath begins to shorten and you instinctively begin to panic, but Daemon's voice keeps you grounded.

"Breathe," he licks your pulse, "it feels good, does it not? Breathe and think of how good I'm making you feel."

You are entirely subservient to him, to his baritone, to his fingers, to his hips. There is nothing but sand and Daemon. You whine when you feel a hard intrusion. The sensation is foreign, and it causes your belly to tense.

He kisses the line that forms between your brows, "relax, my wife. Now is not the time for pain," he hooks his hands behind your knees, "it's a time for pleasure."

It's all a blurry haze after this. Daemon moves into you in a way that makes you wonder how this could ever hurt. Every thrust sends ripples of bliss down your spine. Every hit draws out the lewdest of sounds from your throat. You understand then why they call it love making; you love every moment of it. Your bliss is heightened when he touches something inside you, and again, and again-

For once in your life, as your breath grows heavy, you do not feel like you're about to die.

Daemon alternates tempos, but ultimately resigns to fast and hard. He does not cease until your rigid body goes limp beneath him. The pressure in your stomach breaks into a million burning pieces, and just as it becomes all too much, he pulls out, propping himself up on one arm. You gasp at the heat thats spills on your thigh as he strokes himself. Soon, his arm gives out and he collapses beside you.

You behold the mess of red and white between your legs, but find no shame, only arousal, which you did not expect. You turn to your husband, watching his chest heave, his temples sweat, and his tongue lick his lips.

He's... he's beautiful.

[itneverendshere]

little miss perfect - r.c - introduction & masterlist

pairing: siren!reader x rafe (non-fantasy). they grew up side by side—her, the golden girl; him, the reckless heir. their dads were old money best friends, bound by business and legacy, blind to the games she played. she was always the favorite; he, the scapegoat with a temper. everyone saw her as sweet, perfect, untouchable—but rafe saw through the act. to him, she’s just the siren: made to ruin him. warnings: suggestive, +18 themes, future smut.

Rafe opens the door to find you already in the kitchen—barefoot, in white linen shorts and one of his old t-shirts you’d probably stolen years ago and somehow still owned.

You’re halfway through his dad’s bourbon cherries, pretending to inspect a cookbook you weren’t reading.

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” He mutters, brushing past you.

You don’t look up. “Missed you too, Rafey.”

He tenses.

That voice—sweet as honey with arsenic under the tongue.

You’ve been using it against him since you were eight and blamed him for breaking the Cameroons’ pool table. Somehow, even now, even after all these years, everyone still believed it when you batted your lashes and said, "Rafe did it." 

Of course they did.

You were Daddy’s little darling, picture-perfect in pastels, and he was the one with skinned knees and a short fuse.

Once, you switched out the detergent in the Cameron’s laundry room with something that reeked like gasoline. His dad lost it when his suits came out ruined.

Guess who got blamed? He got grounded for a week, you cried to your dad and got ice cream.

He used to pray for the day you'd grow out of being a little shit.

Instead, you just got better at it.

Siren.

That’s what he calls you in his head, has since you were kids. Evil, always singing some sweet lie to drag him into hell. 

“I told Dad you were excited I was coming,” you add, looking up at him now, wide-eyed. “Said you were asking about me.”

He scoffs, leaning against the counter. “You’re insane.”

“And you’re obsessed.” You pop a cherry into your mouth, your tongue catching the syrup. “Kinda cute.”

That sets him off. 

When you both hit high school, the game changed.

You started flirting. Not cutesy, nor shy—calculated. What made it all worse, unbearable, was that you were fucking gorgeous. Everything about you looked like it was designed specifically to fuck with his self-control.

You’d lean in at family barbecues, whisper dumb shit like, “You’ve got a little something…” and swipe your thumb across his mouth slowly.

You’d wear the shortest skirts when you knew he’d be at the club, then dance like you forgot your daddy was on the board. 

At one Fourth of July party, you cornered him in the pool house and said, “You ever wonder what it’d be like if I weren’t so good?” before walking out like it was nothing. Leaving him there with wet swim trunks and a hard-on, he had to drown in beer and denial.

That was always the worst part—you never let it go anywhere, never gave him what he was sure you knew he wanted.

“Still running your little games?” He sneers in disgust. “You’re not ten anymore. Nobody’s falling for that good-girl bullshit.”

“Oh, Rafe…” You tilt your head. “They don’t have to.”

Summer’s back.

You’re here, in his house. Wearing his shirt.

Sleeping one hallway away, still smiling like the devil incarnated. 

He hates you, he does. But every time you sashay into the room, all slick lipgloss and wicked grins, his brain fries more. He wants to shove you against a wall, yell until you cry.

He wants to break you. Most of all, he wants to know what it looks like when you finally drop the act. When the fake angel burns.

He watches the way you eat that cherry, knowing what you’re doing. You want him to look. You do—of course you do, you're doing it for him. The T-shirt hangs loose on you, but he knows it’s not an accident.

You have that fucking smile again—you’re winning.

Rafe forces himself to look away, opening the fridge for something, anything, to focus on that isn’t you sucking cherry syrup off your fingers like you’ve got no fucking manners.

“You ever stop talking?” He peeks into the fridge.

“You ever stop being so grumpy?” you counter, lazy and sweet, your warm poison. “You used to be fun, you know.”

“I was never fun around you.”

“Sure you were,” You hum. “That one time I flashed your friend Kelce. You grabbed my wrist so hard I bruised. Still have a picture of it somewhere. Kinda hot.”

He slams the fridge shut.

You flinch, but you’re grinning, you love this. 

“You think this is cute?” He grinds out. “Trying to get a rise out of me like you’re twelve?”

“Works, doesn’t it?”

That’s the last straw.

Rafe stalks toward you and you don’t move, you never fucking do.

You want him mad and he doesn’t know if he wants to scream or kiss you just to shut you the fuck up.

He stops a foot away, looking down at you.

Your eyes are bright, shining with mischief, biting your cherry-stained lip like it’s the funniest thing in the world that he looks ready to murder you. Or fuck you. Or both.

You’re poison wrapped in sugar. Fucking Siren. Every goddamn year, worse than the last.

“You know what’s crazy?” he says low, cold voice. “Every year you get worse.”

You blink innocently. “Worse?”

“Worse,” he spits. “Worse at pretending you don’t love this. Worse at hiding how much you want me to snap. And one day—”

He leans closer, so close his breath hits your cheek.

“One day, you’re gonna push too far.”

You look up at him—sweet little mask slipping enough for him to see the devil underneath.

Then you say, syrupy, “I hope so.”

You step closer, enough for your breath to ghost across his neck.

Rafe has to close his eyes, he’s not overwhelmed per se, but if he looks at you for one more second, he might do something stupid, something that proves you right. Your fingers graze his jaw, feather-light, enough to make his skin prickle.

You tilt his face toward you like he’s yours to taunt, to toy with. You’re still smiling when his eyes snap open. He’s glaring at your mouth, the gloss is sticky, red from the cherries, shining like sin.

You lean into the counter, thighs brushing his hips. Your legs part to invite him in, offering him hell on a silver platter.

And then— “Is anyone home?”

Sarah’s voice.

You don’t flinch. Of course you don’t.

Rafe, though, jerks back like he’s been shot.

His sister stands in the doorway, brows pulled together, looking between the two of you.

You let out a soft giggle.

“Sorry, Sarah. Rafe’s such a messy eater.” You pick up the cherry bowl and lick syrup off your thumb—deliberately. “He got juice on his face. I was helping.”

Sarah squints. “Seriously, Rafe?”

You blink at her all wide-eyed and saintly.

“He went through half the bowl. You’d think he was starving.”

Rafe says nothing. He can’t. His jaw is locked so tight it might crack.

Sarah shakes her head and sighs like she’s the older one—even though she’s eighteen and you’re both older than her.

“Dad’s gonna flip if you eat his stash again, dumbass.”

You hum. “I’ll tell him it was an accident. He believes me.”

Sarah disappears back upstairs, muttering about boys and stains and god-knows-what. The second she’s gone, Rafe turns to you—rage curling under his ribs.

“You think this is funny?”

Your lips twitch. “I think you’re funny.”

Then you pop another cherry between your lips, wink, and glide past him—brushing his shoulder. For the second time in five minutes, he’s left standing in the kitchen, rock hard, breathless, and burning.

He hates you. He does.

So why the fuck can’t he stop chasing the high of you ruining him?

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

masterlist⍣ ೋ

.*. ⋆1st dinner of the season*. ⋆

*. ⋆pool day for us!. *. ⋆

*. how do i look?*. ⋆

*. ⋆hole in one. *. ⋆

*. ⋆girl who cried wolf. *. ⋆

*. ⋆exes and oh's!*. ⋆

*. ⋆boy who made a mess*. ⋆

. *. ⋆the perfect dip*. ⋆

*. ⋆payback's a bitch*. ⋆

[thewritingfairy]

↪ 07. An explosion of emotions

PREV PART trigger warnings: anger, medical + emotional neglect, shouting, Reader loses their shit because Jason triggers their fight and flight, mental breakdown, mentions of wanting to die, basically a very angsty and dark chapter misgendering (Reader isn't out yet), introduction of a dc character main m.list           series m.list

Ignorance is bliss, and you wish you kept that ignorance. After Maria sent you an article that has been logging Penguin crimes, you just couldn’t help but research them obsessively as you walk back to the manor.

You wince as you see a mugshot from your supervisor flash by. Yeah, you are closing this article and forgetting everything you read. The job pays well, and when you get into university you’ll just quit and get a job or two on campus. It will most likely be shit pay, but at least it wouldn’t morally weigh on you. “Just until you can move out,” you mumble as you open the front door. “and the colleagues are kind…”

When you walk through the door, there was Jason, you try to ignore him. Swimming in your thoughts, yet to notice how impatient he has been, how irritation was brewing in the air.

“You and I are going to have a chat about your behaviour towards Alfie,” Jason says, snapping you out of your thoughts and your eyes snap up to his. You could feel your heart start to pound, why was Todd speaking to you. “and before you refuse, we are going to the park.”

He looks irritated, but his eyes aren’t that glowing green. They are dull, not the vibrant colour that haunts you every time you close your eyes. “...No…” you assert, picking the skin around your fingers, your posture slumped and you look terrified. “I see no need to go anywhere with you, I see no reason why you would need to speak to me about my behaviour.”

He just sighs and shakes his head. “My god, I suggested a public area, we need to talk because you’re a disrespectful piece of shit. Stop being a---”

“No. We don’t, and you are the piece of shit! I am just done taking everyone’s bullshit.” you interrupt, your tone harsher and your stance more confident than before but you still look pathetic to Jason. You still look like the same teen he beat up that day, sure your eyes are harsher and your body is littered with scars he gave you. But you are still the same pathetic child clingy to the memories of your mother. “You have yet to show remorse for your actions after all these years, I will never be alone with you again.”

He scoffs, but he doesn’t say anything. It’s not like he could deny that the apology was insincere, and he still feels little to no remorse. He sighs; “It was years ago, grow up.”

“Why don’t you fucking grow up!” you suddenly shout, throwing your bag on the ground. The echo of your shout loud and you could hear doors open. “You beat up a child! I was barely a teen and you still can’t fucking apologise! You still can’t look me in my eyes and admit what you did was wrong! None of you can! I was attacked by my supposed brother in my own room!” You could feel your muscles tense as your pain intensifies, anger is a painful emotion to have. But to hold it in is even more painful. “You destroyed most of what I had left of my mother and her family! Why?! Because you were jealous that Bruce took in his recently orphaned biological child?!”

You step closer to Jason, your eyes are scaring him, you look like you are in pain. But at the same time you look vengeful. You look like you’ve been pushed to the limit. “You don’t understand,” he hisses, stepping closer to you. He won’t be intimidated by a civilian.

“Then fucking let me!” you shout, basically spitting it out. Your nose flaring and your hands shaking. “You all tell me that I don’t understand, yet you all tell me that I have to forgive and forgive as you tear my heart out! And I am done! I am finally getting my life together, finally taking the next steps. And now you suddenly want to talk?! But you still refuse to explain?!”

You laugh, it was hysterical. If Jason didn’t know the laughs of the Joker, intimately, he would compare them in a heartbeat. Without thinking he grabs your arms, trying to force you away from him. Your siblings were watching the fight, he didn’t want to turn around to see Stephanie, Cassandra and Barbara. If he did, he would see their confused faces. He would see how they don’t understand your anger, and he would see Tim finally telling them the full story. A story that Cassandra had deciphered from just your shouting. A story that made it seem like you were in great physical pain.

“None of you have any rights to my time!” You shout, trying to get your arms lose from Jason’s grip. “And you have no right to touch me!” But Jason still didn’t let you go, you want to keep shouting, you want to shout at him until he let’s you go. Until he realises what harm he has done to you. Until your whole family finally realises all they’ve done, why did Tim seek you out? Why couldn’t Alfred just leave you be?! Why couldn’t you just keep your anger hidden until you were gone?! “Stop touching me, I hate you. I wish I died that day! I wish I didn’t have to live like this!”

You weren’t even shouting at him anymore. You were shouting at all of them, you were shouting about everything they’ve put you through. But you were also finally letting out the emotional pain your illness has given you. You’re shouting to the heavens, you are shouting to whoever will listen. You are shouting because the pain has finally become too much to handle.

The straw that breaks the camel's back has finally come.

You’re like a bucket overflowing with water, you are full of emotions that Jason had never seen you express. The only time he has ever seen you shake like this was that day, oh gods, what has he done?

You’re broken in ways he will never understand. You are in pain, and he’s the reason why. You are slipping, you’re breaking down and he doesn’t know what to do. “Step away from them,” he suddenly hears Duke’s voice, a boy that Bruce had recently thought about adopting, a meta that joined their ranks. Wait, is he calling her, them? “before I knock your teeth out.”

Jason steps backs in shock, his hold of you disappearing, but you didn’t even notice. Your hands going up to your shoulders as you start scratching. Oh my dear, you look crazed, you look as if you belong in Arkham Asylum. And Duke, he looks like he knows you. “(Name)” Duke whispers, trying to get you to stop scratching yourself. It almost seems as if you were trying to scratch away your pain, and by the gods, you were attempting to. Your fingertips bleeding, your eyes full of tears. “I am here, it’s Duke, your lab partner, what can I do for you?”

“I need to die,” you whisper, your eyes snap to his. “can you kill me?”

“You know I can’t,” he whispers, brushing some of your hair out of your face. Carefully making sure that his fingers don’t get tangled in your hair, if his fingers were to do that you would panic even more. Your mind would set you back even more, at least now you seem partly lucid. “but I can and will listen.”

You choke on a sob, and tears start streaming down your face as you slowly stop scratching. You barely know him, and here he is in your home (for whatever reason unknown to you), offering his ear to you. “What’s going on?!” Jason whisper-shouts, staring at Dick for guidance. He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know how to act, not with the slimy feeling in his chest. Not with this voice in his head whispering that this is all his fault. Dick stares at him and mouths; ‘I have no idea’

But you ignore it all.

“You promise?” You ask Duke, your eyes show how scared you are to be hurt. Your body language defensive. Black spots were slowing clouding the corner of your eyes.

“I promise.”

And with that you close your eyes.

NEXT PART Notice how I was in a dramatic mood here?

taglist: Taglist: @prettiest-thing-in-the-morgue, @bunniotomia, @devotedlyshamelessdetective, @princessbonnie-bell, @seemee3, @pix-stuff, @venomsvl, @amber-content, @stove-top96, @frank-vanderboom, @leeiasure, @1abi, @shadowytravelerlover, @chericia, @lithiumval, @lingxio, @cssammyyarts, @marsmabe, @foolishseven, @kore-of-the-underworld, @bunbunboysworld, @homeless-clown, @miashico, @alwaysholymilkshake, @1cxndy, @kittzu, @rtyuy1346, @exactlynumberonekryptonite, @hopingtoclearmedschool, @artistwithcreativeburnout, @alishii, @vanessa-boo, @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni, @91-kya, @ryuushou, @jjsmeowthie, @justthere1956, @depressed--therapist, @xzmickeyzx, @cheappremingerfromdelululand, @plsfckmedxddy, @itsberrydreemurstuff, @trashlaternfish360, @leogf, @dirtydiavolo, @lilyalone, @welpthisisboring, @kenman00001, @nxdxsworld, @icefox8155, @ironsaladwitch, @holderoflostmemories, @asillysimp, @wisefuncherryblossom, @eyeless-kun, @marina27826, @muggleloveralways (is there a limit with tagging people or something???)

[sortagaysortahigh]

Loverboy | Robert 'Bob' Reynolds

A/N: Ok yall i had to get Bob out of my mind ok, idk man, ive got some hurt/comfort cooking up in my drafts but i wanted something cutesy and loving ok!!! Plus im on a witch!reader high rn like sorcerer type shi, it's only really mentioned a few times, nothing too crazy fr, Contains Thunderbolts* spoilers

Summary: It started as a joke, but truthfully, you would be the only one riding Bob into space. (Somewhat established relationship)

Warnings: Spelling and grammar errors </3, 2ND PERSON POV, Fluff!!!, cursing, mentions of violence, allusions to child abuse (bob/readers past), John Walkers a dick sorry guys im a hater, mention of Sam and Buckys divorce </3 smut: hair pulling, kissing (with tongue! o em gee!!), grinding, lowkey dry humping, handjobs, p in v unprotected secks (wrap it before you tap it), dirty talk if you squint, praise!, switch!bob & switch!reader tee hee, oral (m receiving), spitting, hand holding

Word Count: 5.9k (shoutout to me for writing smth under 10k)

Robert 'Bob' Reynolds x Fem!Witch!Reader

Idk bro id kiss him on the mouth fr, even if he has thin lips he can still get a kith!!

It was supposed to be a joke, something light hearted! Today was already stressful enough, you hadn’t meant to make things awkward or tense!

Typically the New Avengers base wasn’t that bad, sure everyone had their quirks, and you honestly couldn’t stand John Walker, but over the past year or so, things had been going relatively well.

Everyone had found a sense of purpose, something that most of the anti-heroes lacked prior to deciding to become the ‘Thunderbolts’. Of course there were still bad days at the tower, everyone had bad days, especially a ragtag group of ex-criminals that had initially been sent on a mission to kill one another.

But, the more missions everyone went on, the stronger their bonds became.

That wasn’t enough to distract from the elephant in the room, being the fact that Valentina’s introduction of you all as the New Avengers spiked a multitude of controversy and bad press. Yes, you’d done good things together, but you weren’t exactly good people, not going into this at least.

Then there was the ongoing lawsuit between the ‘New Avengers’ and the team of Avengers that Sam Wilson had been creating. Those were the people that were deemed as real heroes, they were loved and adored, meanwhile you all were questionable at best.

The newest Space threat had been stressing Yelena out for a few months now, and considering most of the people in the room were juiced up super soldiers, science experiments gone wrong, and former assassins, it wasn’t exactly easy to get the U.S. Air Force and NASA to agree to provide you all with adequate ships that would transport you into space.

So all everyone could do was continue to monitor the situation.

You didn’t necessarily agree with being forced into the New Avengers, not when the only reason that you’d been there for the entire Void fiasco was because Sam had sent you to Washington D.C. to help with Bucky’s political agendas. More specifically his lackluster ability to speak on camera and in interviews.

“He’s a dumb, litigious man” you scoffed at Alexei, throwing the water bottle in hand at him, the bottle hitting him right in the abdomen earning a loud groan as the older man winced while grabbing the right side of his body. “Seriously? Why are you attacking me! I am right, Sam Wilson does not know anything”

You rolled your eyes from your seat beside Bob, now standing and walking over towards everyone while shaking your head. 

“No, Sam Wilson is right, we were never supposed to be the Avengers, and I’m sorry but I don’t ever recall the Avengers working under the government. It makes sense that everyone ever is literally on his side, not ours”

Yelena sighed, now slumping over in her seat while looking down at the digital satellite report.

“If you were ugly and didn’t have super cool witchy magic, it would be so much easier to dislike you, you know?” you laughed at her, smiling as you took a seat on the large sectional beside her, glancing at the report, brows knit together in confusion.

“Your diagnostic scan is off, somethings interfering with the feed” Yelena looked from you to the tablet screen, then across the room at Bucky who looked miserable.

Everyone knew he wasn’t handling his ongoing fight with Sam well, and the fact that he was no longer a congressman as he didn’t get re-elected really damaged his ego.

You always told him he’d be fine, it’s not like he was turning into a full fledged brainwashed murderer anymore! A marital dispute wasn’t that bad. They weren’t even married, but the way they’d been bickering over the phone for the past six months, it sounded as if Sam and Bucky were in the middle of a heated divorce.

Then Alexei started on one of his rants about team, and unity, and the very eccentric jumpsuit he had on. He looked like a mediocre NASCAR driver, and the suit was way too colorful for you. Plus the velcro patched on ‘z’ at the end of Avenger was making it look even worse.

“I’ve got one for all of you!”

You shook your head, then glanced back towards Bob who was already looking in your direction, you smiled at him before focusing back on Alexei. It was easy to drown everyone out, you’d gotten used to their presence, most days it was like Walker and Ava weren’t even there.

Although, Ava liked to keep to herself, so that part made sense. But Walker? He was constantly flirting with you, especially after practically announcing to the team that he and his wife were splitting for a while, but he did get to visit his kid often. He was like a feral dog trying to chase whatever bitch in heat he could find.

Except you were not a bitch in heat, and you did not like that man whatsoever.

“If only we had the Sentry who could fly!” you sighed again but before you had the chance to give Alexei shit for talking about Bob, he’d already responded.

“Sorry guys, I can’t be the Sentry without, well y’know” you nodded at him, he’d spent countless nights telling you about it, his fear of becoming the Void again, his fear of hurting everyone, of hurting you.

Before Alexei could respond you waved a hand, now the man couldn’t speak, frustration evident in his expression while he shook his head, hands waving in the air as he glared at you.

“I did the dishes though” you laughed a bit, smiling while looking back at Bob, shooting him a quick wink. Then you waved your hand again, Alexei now being able to speak.

“Woman! I have told you to stop doing that to me!” he shook his head, hands on his hips like a disappointed father while you shrugged, exchanging a look with Yelena before the both of you laughed again.

Then John spoke up “What are we just gonna ride Bob into space?” you responded before fully thinking about it. It was just a joke afterall.

“I’m the only one riding Bob.” 

The tablet Bucky was holding was now on the floor, having slipped and fallen face-first against the concrete floors, while Bucky looked utterly shocked and disturbed at the comment.

Yelena simply laughed, nodding her head while high-fiving you.

Alexei’s neck cranked back as he held a disgusted look “you are like daughter to me! Don’t speak like that in front of me! I do not need to know what you and Bob do!” 

Ava’s eyes widened, looking from you to Bob, back and forth over and over again “Oh my god! Is that what you two are always doing?! Having sex?! I thought you two just like really liked to read and stuff oh my god!” 

Then John scoffed, arms crossed in front of his chest, rolling his eyes at the comment. “Yeah right, we all know Bobby over there isn’t getting laid” your brows knit together at that, slowly turning to face John, who now held eye contact with you.

You were debating on smiting him, it wasn’t the first time either. Bucky had stopped you from fighting John Walker on several occasions, he was always a pompous asshole, sure he’d gotten a bit better, but it was like he never recovered from getting the shield and his military honors revoked.

Then Bob spoke up “Sounds like you’re just jealous man”

Your jaw practically hit the floor.

Yelena nodded her head a few times, a proud look on her face while she observed everyone’s reactions. “The Bob I met fourteen months ago would’ve never said that, I’m proud of you-” she then glanced back at you “-and you, keep doing your thing with him” then she winked.

Before you knew it you were on your feet, rushing over to him and practically dragging him away with you while the room was full of shouts and cheers. Yelena had even been clapping.

Once you were fully out of earshot you turned to face him, lightly slapping his chest, your face and neck were on fire, your skin felt flushed and you were a definitive mixture between embarrassed and turned on.

“Dude! What the hell!” he laughed, the same shy smile that you’d fallen in love with on his face while he shrugged.

“Baby he had it coming” you nodded at that, shaking your head again with another groan “we’re never living that down! Did you hear what Ava said! Geez, mister confident over here” he smiled again, nodding at you before shrugging.

“He’s just kind of an asshole, I had to defend you-or us I guess…wait is there an us?” 

It wasn’t a secret that you’d both grown rather close, it initially began when everyone had settled into the tower, the team getting more and more missions, and because you believed in free will, anytime they’d try to make you join them, you would decline. This wasn’t something that you’d wanted, your job was supposed to be one of Bucky’s political advisors pertaining to public relations.

You’d moved past using any form of magic to fight evil, especially after what had happened to Peter, but the only people who remembered him were at peak stages of insanity, or from other universes. Then there was you, the both of you had practically grown up together at one point, but he Blipped and you didn’t.

But after nearly breaking the fabric of the universe to combat the idiotic spells that Stephen Strange had cast to prove a point, you swore off of sorcery. It had it’s helpful moments, small tasks here and there, but fighting crime or being a hero wasn’t something you wanted for yourself.

So you opted to stay at the tower on ‘Bob duty’, and at first it was awkward, a lot of silent exchanges, a few accidents pertaining to dropping things or jump-scaring one another, but then something changed one day.

He asked you to brush his hair, it was so soft and subtle, he said he’d tried, but he just couldn’t, that he was too tired, he’d even explained how difficult it was to leave his room. So you invited him into your space, had him sit between your legs, and you brushed his hair for longer than necessary, running your fingers along his scalp to offer some form of comfort.

Then you both started warming up to one another, you’d ask him for help with the dishes, he’d ask if you wanted to read with him, and the more time spent together, the more you’d both started opening up to one another. Hell, you’d even dragged him plant shopping with you several times under the guise that ‘Bucky said I can’t leave you alone’.

It wasn’t difficult to fall for Bob, he made it really, really easy. 

Sure, he had his bad days, but so did you. 

He was one of the few people to ask you about your childhood for genuine reasons, most just wanted to know where the whole ‘magic’ thing came from. He asked you about the good and bad times, it was comforting in a way that you hadn’t expected.

You’d both sit together for hours when the tower was relatively empty, some days all you would do was read, others you’d talk through the sunset, into the sunrise. He’d shared bits and pieces of his past with you, gradually giving you more and more details.

Bob had even told you why he hated when Walker called him Bobby, you weren’t there in the void with them at that point, they had to find you in your own shame room. It wasn’t exactly horrible for you though, by the time they’d found you, you were repeatedly punching your own father in the face. 

Everything had felt so real that day, when Bucky dragged you away, you’d thrown him off of you at first.

It wasn’t until a few months ago though, that you’d both finally crossed the line between being just friends and something more. You’d been watching the sunset on the rooftop of the building, your head leaned against his shoulder while you both sat in a comfortable silence when he finally asked why you constantly rejected Walker.

At first all you said was ‘cause he’s an asshole’, but when you finally moved to make eye contact with him, he was already looking down at you, and when you caught him, he didn’t blush and look away like he usually did.

He did blush though, but then you’d made the first move, slowly leaning into his space more and more until your lips were on his.

That night pushed you two past just being friends, and since then, he’d been wrapped around your finger. But to be fair, you were wrapped around his as well. 

Things had gotten heated relatively fast, a few nights of built up tension led to you falling into his sheets easily, of course the first few nights did involve a few shattered glasses, one broken plant pot, and a cracked window, but once he figured out how to fully control the overwhelming rush of emotions that went hand-in-hand with genuine intimacy, things got easier.

He blinked a few times, brows knit together while he stared at you, you weren’t fully focused on him, a distant look in your eye at his question. You were clearly zoned out, thinking about something and at this exact moment he wished he could read minds. He was starting to overthink things, maybe you two were just friends and he’d been thinking too far into it, people that were friends hooked up all the time.

But he wasn’t sure if they stayed together for hours after, holding one another while speaking in hushed voices about anything and everything.

“Uh it’s okay if we’re not y’know-a thing, uh” you shushed him, blinking a few times, then your smile was back on your face. You were quick to lean in and kiss him, it was a fast kiss, if anything, just a light peck.

But your smile was genuine and reassuring “Yes-there is an us”.

Then the door to your left slammed open, smacking the wall while Yelena and Ava fell to the floor.

Without thinking Bob had pulled you towards him so you were now standing a bit behind him, it was instinctive. Meanwhile Yelena and Ava rolled over, now on their backs while they caught their breath.

“You know, you two are so cute! I knew I was right about you guys! Ava didn’t believe me, can you believe that! Also why are the floors so hard here, that really hurt” you shook your head at Yelena, doing your best to fight the laughter bubbling in your chest as you grabbed Bob’s hand.

“Okay nosey rosies, we’re gonna be in my room! See you guys later!” with that you gently pulled him behind you, walking towards the elevators that led to your floor.

The elevator ride was relatively quiet, but it was a comfortable silence between the both of you, and once the elevator had stopped at your designated floor, without zero hesitation you grabbed his hand, dragging him behind you while heading in the direction of your room.

He didn’t protest, instead he walked right behind you, the same dopey smile on his face that he always had when you two were together.

Once you were both inside, you locked the door while he made himself comfortable on your bed, now laying flat against the plush mattress and pillows. Turning around made you laugh at the sight, he was surrounded by your several different pillows and blankets while he leaned his head forward a bit to look at you.

“You’re so pretty” your smile was bright as you approached the bed, easily slotting yourself beside him, pushing a few blankets to the ground in the process of getting comfortable. It wasn’t like the bed was small, but you’ve always been the kind of person to need twenty pillows.

Eventually you ended up on your stomach, one leg tangled between his, meanwhile you held your upper body up with one hand resting against your chin, the other tracing shapes into his chest. He was flat on his back, one hand resting against his abdomen, the other outstretched to make space for you beside him.

“Robert, do you wanna get married and run away?” his eyes shot open, he’d been enjoying your embrace, eyes shut while he relaxed, but the minute you finished your sentence his heart was practically pounding out of his chest.

“W-what?” you couldn’t hold in your laughter.

“Okay I’m sorry, bad time for random jokes, I just wanted to see if you were awake” he nodded his head, eyes still wide, facial expression emulating distress and shock.

“I’m definitely awake now, y-you can’t just say things like that to me” you raised a brow at that “why?” he sighed “because-you know why-what the hell baby?” The nickname made you smile again, now leaning closer to his face, a few inches away from him.

“I don’t think I know why, you think I’m like un-marry-able or somethin? I’d marry you, probably give it a year or so, but I would” the tone shift in your voice was evident as you spoke, starting off in a joking lighthearted manner, then flowing into a seriousness that you only reserved for specific occasions. 

“But I think I’m okay with being your annoying girlfriend for now, besides, I love you” his fingers intertwined with yours, offering a gentle squeeze while his brows knit together, eyes studying your features as if he was looking for an ounce of doubt. He’d never heard you sound so sure of something.

“Y-you love me? You sure?” you looked taken aback by the question.

“Did you just ask me if I’m sure I love you?” he nodded at that. So instead of responding you took a second to sit up, then grasped his arm, pulling him forward slightly, using a tinge of magic to help. Now he was sitting up and you were resting on your knees staring at him.

“I mean I’m me, and you’re-well you’re you. I dunno, I just didn’t think you’d like let alone love someone like m-” you shushed him, jaw clenched slightly as you shook your head “don’t even say that. You’re perfect the way you are, and yeah you’ve been through some rough shit, but we all have. It doesn’t make you unloveable or undeserving Bobby”

There it was, the nickname that you’d only ever brought out in moments like these, private moments away from the world, when it was just you and him.

It was the only time that he loved the nickname, if anyone else called him it, it brought forward feelings of distress, anger, and shame, but with you, you said it so softly and lovingly. It was as if all of the bad had been washed away the second the word would slip past your lips.

He bit his bottom lip, glancing down at your hands, now noticing that you’d still been holding his hand, except now you held his larger hand in both of yours, thumbs carefully caressing his skin in back and forth motions. He took a few moments to look at you, the soft golden glow in the room highlighted against your skin, painting you like an angel.

He didn’t know what he did to deserve someone like you in his life, someone who cared so deeply and loved so passionately. Plus you were mean to anyone that was an asshole, so that was always a bonus.

“I love you. I don’t care if we’ve only known each other a year, I don’t give a shit if it makes me crazy, I don’t care- I love you” as you spoke, you straddled his lap, arms wrapping around his shoulders, resting your forehead against his. 

“I love you too” 

Then your lips were against his again and your hands were in his hair. You took the lead, your body was practically on auto pilot as your lips connected with his. The kiss wasn’t soft, but it was passionate, lips moving in sync, a bit of teeth clashing as you lightly tugged on his hair, then the kiss was filled with heavy breaths, tongue, and smiles. 

Naturally your hips started slowly grinding against him, one of his hands on your waist, the other caressing your cheek, pulling you into him even further. The deeper the kiss got, the faster your hips moved against his prominent bulge. 

When you pulled away for air you made sure to bite his bottom lip slightly, offering a sultry smile after, eyes moving from his now swollen lips to his hooded eyes, they were glazed over, a hint of gold shining through his pupils.

“I’m the only one riding you right?” he nodded his head, his dopey smile back on his face, then you leaned back into his space, except you were now trailing kisses along his jaw, your teeth lightly nipping at his ear before whispering “can I ride you today?”.

Then your lips were back on his throat, sucking and nipping marks into his skin, prior to his, you did your best not to leave any visible marks on him, but after certain comments today, you had a point to prove. 

His breathy moans spurred you on, your hips still grinding against him, moving a bit faster while you focused on his throat, moving from one side to the other before lightly tugging on the collar of his sweater then slowly biting against his pulse point. 

You looked at his throat like a piece of art, a satisfied smile on your face at the look of the pink and red marks covering his pale skin. Then your eyes found his and he stared at you with a sea of emotion, the slight golden flicker prominent while he bit his bottom lip, smiling.

“I think you’ve proved your point” you shrugged, laughing a bit “mmm, I dunno Bobby, I haven’t even gotten to take my ride” with that your hands moved to the bottom of his sweater, slowly sliding it up his torso until he’d pulled it off, tossing it aside somewhere, then you were pushing him back onto the bed again, lips back on his skin.

He let you do whatever you wanted to him, one hand behind his head, now watching your movements, his other hand grasping the comforter below. 

You moved lower and lower, kissing along his defined abdomen, leaving a trail of wet bruising kisses against his warm skin, then you were staring at him from between his legs, eyes half-hooded, biting your bottom lip, while you dragged your fingers along his waistline, tracing the defined edges of his lower abdomen before slowly unbuttoning his pants.

“You’re gonna kill me baby” you smiled at that, nodding your head “if I wanted to, I would pretty boy” he practically whimpered, the sound made you giggle while unzipping his pants, taking a moment to lightly tug them down his hips a bit, giving yourself more access to him.

“Can I see you?” the question was so sweet and subtle, his mind felt hazy watching as you stared up at him, eyes on his own while you waited on his answer. He nodded his head a few times, letting out a low gasp as you slowly slid his briefs down, fingers grazing over the thick shaft of his cock.

Once you’d pulled his cock out of its constraints you moaned, the sound had him bucking his hips into your hand that was wrapped perfectly around him. Your movements were slow and precise, it was clear that you were teasing him, but before he could protest, you were spitting on his cock, pumping your hand along his cock faster and faster, giggling at his strained moans and whimpers.

You leaned forward, placing a kiss to the tip of his cock before kitten licking it a few times, then wrapping your lips around him, taking him slowly into your mouth, inch by inch until you’d gone as far as you could-gagging on him slightly.

Then you moved away, a string of spit connecting your bottom lip to the head of his cock. 

“Have I ever told you how pretty your dick is Bobby? How pretty you are?” he nodded his head again, both hands now on his face while he leaned back into the pillows, muffled moans leaving his parted lips.

Your eyes moved along his cock from its base to the reddened tip, tracing the few prominent veins along his shaft, alongside the swollen head of his cock, all of it with a spit-slick sheen. Then your tongue was back on him, licking along the thickest vein, tracing it like a lollipop.

Beads of precum were leaking from his tip, you switched between using your tongue to gather it, and spreading it with your thumb. You were playing with him, and he was going crazy.

“Baby-please fuck-honey” you looked back up at him, tongue out as you tapped his cock against it, he was now looking at you, desperation evident on his flushed features. His entire upper body had a light red flush, his chest rapidly rising and falling while he moaned above you.

“Okay, I’ll stop teasing you” With one final kiss to the head of his cock you stood up, making a show of taking off your pants, slowly unbuttoning them, bending over and arching your back as you slid them down your body. Once they were off, you reached for your sweatshirt, taking it off and tossing it at him-earning a laugh in response.

You stood in front of him in just your panties and a fitted spaghetti strap tank top.

“You want me to do a little dance for you?” he smiled, shaking his head, now sitting up on his elbows, eyes moving along your figure, very clearly admiring you with a shy smile as if you weren’t just sucking him off. Then you spun around, laughing while jumping a bit, the fat of your ass jiggling at the motion-then you were bending over and his eyes were wide as he watched you slowly slide your panties down your legs.

The evident wet patch in the dark fabric had him biting his lip, but the way they slightly stuck to your slick cunt as you shimmied out of them had him groaning again. Then you were standing up again, facing him while tossing your panties directly at his face.

“Consider it a gift for later” you winked while getting back on the bed, easily slotting yourself above his waist, straddling him yet again, then you were reaching between your thighs, grasping his cock again, slowly sliding it along your cunt before sinking down. You were tired of the teasing, and truthfully, you’d been soaked the entire time.

It was easy to fall into a rhythm with Bob, one of his hands now on your waist, the other intertwined with your own while you did your best to focus on riding him, your hips rising and falling, bouncing against him, enjoying the fullness.

Your moans were getting louder, and your pace was faltering.

While you usually took the lead, you didn’t exactly have the best stamina, not when it came to riding him especially given his size. It wasn’t an easy adjustment the first few times you’d slept together, but now you were used to it, and it drove you mad. 

He knew you were already getting tired, offering a love-drunk laugh as you leaned down, forehead resting against his shoulder while you bounced on his cock. He slowly started meeting your movements, hips lightly rising into you, the new movement made you whimper, teeth grazing against his skin.

“You’re doing so good baby” you nodded at his praise, moving to place open mouthed kisses along his jaw. “Just like that, ‘s okay, keep going honey” you whimpered, doing your best to keep going, but your thighs were burning and the pleasure was overwhelming.

Then he wrapped his arm around you, and in seconds you were on your back and he was above you, the sudden movement making you laugh while looking up at him, you squeezed his hand, smiling at the sight of your intertwined fingers.

“Figured you needed a break” you giggled again, rolling your eyes, voice a bit raspy as you mumbled “was it that obvious?” he nodded his head at that, now laughing with you.

Then he was using his other hand to push one of your thighs back slightly, adjusting the angle of his hips before he started slowly thrusting into you, both of your moans blending into one another while he built his own rhythm.

It wasn’t too fast or too slow, the perfect inbetween that had your nails scratching along his back, while you moaned his name, over and over again-enjoying every second of this. 

Once he had the perfect angle, he used his free hand to gently pull your tank top down, your tits bouncing with every thrust, the sight had his mouth watering. He was quick to lean into your space, lips on your chest, kissing along your breasts, tongue trailing your hardened nipples one at a time, earning several moans.

While he nipped marks into your skin, he moved his hand to hold your thigh in place, using it to better leverage himself.

Your hand was in his hair now, tugging at the chestnut locks while you moaned his name. The coil in your abdomen was tightening, pleasure overwhelming your senses.

“I’m gonna cum” he nodded his head, now moving his hand from your thigh to between your legs, fingers quickly finding your clit, rubbing half-moons into the sensitive bundle of nerves, as he listened to your high-pitched gasp, your walls fluttering around him at the added pleasure.

You started rolling your hips into him, using your free hand to pull him closer to you, lips back on his, struggling to kiss him as you whimpered against his lips. Your nails dug into his back while you held him close, feeling the coil in your abdomen getting even tighter to the point that you were practically panting against his lips.

Your words were clear as you moaned “I fuckin love you-oh shit”, your back arching into him, hand pulling him closer as your orgasm washed over your entire body, legs shaking slightly at the feeling of him fucking you through it, cock still rocking into you, prolonging your orgasm.

Then as you slowly started coming down, you felt his hips tense slightly, then he was pulling out of you with a low moan, and in seconds he was coating your stomach with thick ropes of cum, the sensation making you giggle.

“Y’know, you could just cum inside of me” he groaned, head now resting in the crook of your neck as he caught his breath, then he slowly moved back, resting on his haunches while you lifted yourself with your elbows, glancing down at the edge of your now ruined tank top, and the evident strings of cum coating the soft pudge of your stomach.

“I don’t think I’m ready for a kid” you were laughing again, hazy smile on your face as you shook your head at him.

“Seriously pretty boy? I’m on the pill y’know” he shrugged at that, slowly tucking himself back into his briefs as he stood up, adjusting his pants for a second before walking towards your en suite bathroom. He was back within a few minutes, now holding two small towels, one wet, the other dry. 

He took his time cleaning you up, he always did. “Even if you’re on the pill, we uh-gotta work up to that. I think I might shatter a window the first time I do that” you smiled, shaking your head, now glancing over at the window on the opposite side of the room, eyes tracing the glass to check for any cracks. 

“Don’t worry, I didn’t break anything-I already looked around” he spoke as he walked towards one of your dressers, opening the second drawer from the top, pulling out a pair of pajama shorts and a tank top for you, he then threw them at you, smiling while you caught them, tossing your ruined shirt on the ground beside your shared pile of clothes before pulling the new top on.

After freshening up in the bathroom, and putting the new shorts on, you joined him in bed once again, except this time he was in pajama pants without a shirt on, clearly waiting for you to join him.

“Y’know maybe John’s always an asshole cause he’s totally jealous of your abs” you wiggled your brows while you spoke, climbing into the bed beside him, easily propping yourself up beside him, fingers back on his chest and abdomen while he wrapped an arm around your shoulders knowing that it would most likely be numb within ten minutes.

“Or he’s an asshole cause he’s just as asshole” you nodded at that “yeah, probably huh?”

Then you kissed him again, a light peck “I love you Robert” he laughed at your serious tone, followed by you wiggling your brows at the mention of his full name. 

He said your full name, winking “-and I love you too”.

The two of you had fallen asleep shortly after that, you were nuzzled into his side and he was flat on his back, embracing you and your warmth.

It wasn’t until several hours later that the hushed commotion in the room had woken the both of you up, well that combined with the large overhead lights that you hated turning on, being on. 

“See! I told you it was real! I mean look at Bob! He looks like he was attacked by a vampire! And look how close they are! Plus the pile of clothes! They’re clearly dating and having sex!” Yelena’s whisper was more like a hushed shout as she motioned around the room, then at the two of you in bed together.

“Yel, invading their privacy isn’t being good team members or found family members or whatever your dad calls it!” Ava groaned, her hands on her hips while she looked from Yelena to you and Bob’s resting figures. Her eyes widened slightly as she noticed you shifting around, and in turn, Bob moving as well.

“God damnit, here Yelena” John was clearly irritated as he handed Yelena two twenty dollar bills, shaking his head at the sight of Bob’s hickey-covered skin, and you nuzzled against his skin. It didn’t help that you were both also sharing a blanket, and you looked so calm and comfortable, the exact opposite of how you typically looked.

“Can you all shut the fuck up and get out?” your voice was raspy and hoarse as you squinted your eyes, sitting up slightly at the sight of them. Then Yelena shushed everyone else, mumbling out ‘sorry to interrupt! Please go back to sleep and being in love and stuff!’ then the lights were off and the door slammed shut.

Bob laughed, leading to you lightly slapping his chest.

“Don’t encourage them before they try to ride you into space” he snorted at your joke, shaking his head, a sleepy smile on his face.

“I thought you were the only one riding me?”

-

Thanks for reading secksies <3 MWAH