#And I stopped here but what I want to do will never stop again | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sacredsorceress · 2 days ago

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lifeline / bob reynolds

PAIRING: bob reynolds x f!avenger!reader, enemy?void x reader SUMMARY: When you sleep, the Void visits you. This time, you can't hold your worries in and Bob is there to save the day. WORD COUNT: 3k A/N: originally based on this request, but I might have gotten a bit carried away with it! a lot angstier compared to my other bob fics so far but I hope you enjoy!! first time writing the void. WARNINGS: this one's a doozy! 18+, ANGST, violence, mentions of attempted murder, insecurity, general mental illness references, lack of self-worth, terror, anxiety- i probably missed something, but just anything that was in thunderbolts*

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・bob masterlist・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

When anyone asked you about your relationship with Bob, you'd reply that he was everything you asked for and more. They'd laugh and tell you that they were happy for you two. That they had had their doubts at the start, but seeing you now, smiling, a vision of the lovesick girlfriend, they were relieved to know they had nothing to worry about.

And you wouldn't correct them. By all means, dating Bob was everything you asked for. But that more... that addition that you hadn't anticipated, hadn't calculated for when you wished on shooting stars at night begging for another half...

'that more,' you wanted to tell them, 'they should be worried about.'

The thing about dating Bob, was that sometimes when you closed your eyes, you weren’t sure if you were living through a memory or a nightmare. Some were obvious- your teeth falling out, zombies, chainsaw killers- those were dreams and you knew it. But others, like a rewound record spinning you back to dance to the same song over and over, you weren’t sure were concoctions of your own mind or his.

Now though… this one you were sure was him.

“Where’s Bob?”

Your voice reverberated against the sterile, linoleum walls of the lab. Discarded lab equipment had been strewn across the floor and you could hear the crunch of test tubes under your feet.

On the far end of the room on an abandoned examination table, sat a familiar silhouette.

“Asleep.” The Void said.

His shaggy hair hung in front of his face as he pushed himself to his feet.

Your hands formed fists at your sides to stop them from trembling.

"Why am I here?" You asked.

The void chuckled as he made his way towards you. Although it wasn't your first time seeing him, it was more haunting now than it had been before you had truly known Bob. The void was a shadow, a cutout of the man you loved with the parts you admired most replaced with... nothing.

As if he could pull back the curtains and peer into your mind, he spoke again.

"You can't save him y'know." He said, "you can't even save yourself."

It was difficult to maintain your composure as he stepped ever closer. You knew the Void was a plague in your boyfriend's mind, but you never considered that he would be able to infect himself into yours as well.

It was hard to fight a demon who could get inside your head.

"What do you-"

His frame towered over yours just the same as Bob's did, but rather than comforting, it was menacing.

"I know you're scared of us." He chuckled, circling around you like a shark after his wounded prey. "He sees the way you look at him."

With love.. worry... concern. It wasn't that you were scared of Bob, but of him. Of the slithering, conniving darkness that loomed behind his eyes and whispered in his ears when you weren't there. Of the power that coursed through his veins that one day, you feared, you wouldn't be able to stop. You feared that some day he wouldn't be Bob anymore.

You knew you weren't scared of Bob, but did he?

Your voice trembling, you spluttered out words.

"I- I don't-"

The void's eyes narrowed.

"You should be."

His hand crushed your windpipe as your own rushed to your throat to ease the burn. Your feet dangled in the air, feeling for some sort of surface to push yourself off of but you were met with nothing. Instead, you thrashed in his grasp.

"How? How? How?" He asked, bringing his face to yours. "How will you save yourself against a god? You make it easy, y'know. Sleeping next to him. You want so badly to save him that you'll kill yourself for it. You're even more pathetic than him."

You gasped for breath and remembered Bob's words.

Get used to the pain. It won't kill you. Struggling will only make it worse.

"You think he's the sick one, but you're worse." He tilted his head, brighten golden eyes boring into yours. "You're the one sleeping next to a ticking time bomb. One of these nights," he whispered, breath fanning your face. "You're going to wake up with my hands around your throat, just like this, and see me instead of him."

You squeezed your eyes shut

"And the worst part?" He said. "You'll have no one to blame but yourself."

When you opened your eyes, the tangible darkness was gone... and had been replaced with Bob's face.

Before you had time to react, everything faded to black.

With a gasp, you shot up from your sleep. The comforter felt as if it was suffocating you and you needed out, out, out. Eyes burned in the darkness as you rapidly kicked off your sheets, climbed out of bed, and reached for the lamp on your nightstand. With a click it doused the room in its glow.

Still in bed, Bob tossed in his sleep, groaning at the blinding light.

It was Bob. Perfectly pink cheeks, a crinkle between his brow at the inconvenience, and his same soft fingers, reaching up to rub sleep from his eyes.

Not him. Not the Void.

Your brain might have known it, but your body hadn’t caught on.

Your heart raced rapidly in your chest and you wheezed as your lungs chased to meet its pace. Your hands shot up to your chest to try to quell your racing heart as you paced around the room, the burning in your chest growing insatiable.

“Baby?”

His voice cracked from the lack of use as he pushed himself to sit up, eyes still closed as he adjusted to the lamp.

“I’m… I-I-I’m fine, Bob.” You stuttered. “Go back to sleep.”

Bob had heard that story before. Usually from his own lips.

Hearing those words fall from yours- frantic, uneven- he sobered up quickly.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, reaching his hand out for you. “What… what happened?”

You wanted to tell him. You did. A good girlfriend would be honest, wouldn’t they?

But would an even better girlfriend spare her boyfriend the grief of a monster he couldn’t control? What would telling him do? It would relieve your stresses at the price of his own, making him spiral knowing that the Void was just ever beneath the surface, waiting to make his mark on you.

Tears burned behind your eyes as you leaned against the dresser to catch your breath.

He was in your head. You knew its what he wanted: to get in your mind and make you second guess yourself, Bob, your relationship- but the knowledge didn't make silencing his eerie voice in your head, mixed with the smooth tones of the one you loved, any easier.

He wanted Bob and you were in the way.

But what was better? To tell Bob and only further upset him, giving the Void exactly what he wanted? Or to keep it to yourself and know that he was waiting, plotting on your demise while Bob was none the wiser?

You felt a warm hand touch your shoulder.

You flinched, and pulled away on instinct. As you did, you clamored into the dresser, knocking spare trinkets onto the floor.

Bob held his hands up in the air in surrender. The worry painted on his face made your heart plummet to your stomach.

"Bob..."

"Y/n," Bob said, ever so slowly lowering his hands. "Let me help. I can help."

You were never much of a crier. Neither of you were. It was a last resort- the water crashing against the dam, splintering its cracks over time until it could no longer hold and the floodgates were opened.

You felt it now: the concerns that you had tried so hard to repress for Bob's sake, shoved so far down that you yourself had almost forgotten that they existed. But it was a foundation with only more rooms built on top- rooms flooded with tangible memories, fears, worries. They had all built up, one upon the other until it felt like you had run out of room. Like one more thing would make its walls splinter and burst.

And he- that shadowy void that represented everything you hated about yourself- got in your head, took a look around and decided to torch the place. The smell of it all made your eyes water.

Unable to speak, you flung yourself into your boyfriend's arms with such a force that he let out an oof. And as you buried your face in his chest, a sob escaped your throat.

"Talk to me," he pleaded, cradling your head in his arms against his frame. "I want to help."

Although he had the untapped abilities of a god, after a year, Bob had finally learned to accept that he may never be the hero that he was promised. He may never be the guy that children keep posters of, or the man a bus full of people cheer on after he saves them from a cliff.

This knowledge hadn't come to him naturally from a budding self-confidence, but rather, the realization that he didn't need to be the hero of everyone if he could be one for you.

And you had enough of your own abilities that you didn't need his super strength or flying- or any of the other Sentry powers- all you needed was what God himself gave him: Bob.

"I can't." You cried, holding him tighter to you.

His hands that had been brushing back your hair stilled for a moment.

"Was it... was it him?" Bob asked.

The way you froze against him and your breath hitched told him everything that he needed to know.

Bob would be lying if he said a chill didn't run down his spine; it would have been a futile endeavor regardless because they all knew Bob was terrified of him. To know that he was there, lurking beneath the surface-

But this wasn't his turn to run. Bob had done that more times than he would be proud to admit. He had cried into your arms, screamed into the pillow, threw punches at dummies in the training room pretending they were him. Bob had been the victim.

Seeing you here, vulnerable than ever in his arms, he knew it was his time to be the hero.

"Hey, hey." Bob cooed, cupping your cheeks in his hands. "He can't hurt you."

Bob wasn't sure if that was true. What he was sure about, was that as much as he'd let the void consume his own life, he wouldn't let it touch yours.

"It feels like he can." You said, catching your breath. "And fuck, he knew it would get to me, so it would get to you and he could-"

He knew this spiral. It was as familiar to him as his own face.

It felt sick coming from your mouth. You believed you had to suffer in silence, bear it all with a grin so you could protect him. He didn't know whether to blush or cry.

Instead, he shut out the voice in the back of his head leading him right into the trap you told him about: that he was worthless, that he ruined your life, that made everything worse, that you were afraid of him, and brushed the tears from your cheeks with his thumbs.

"Do I look like him?"

You scrunched your eyebrows and shook your head.

"No."

And he could never. As much as he had Bob's shape, his voice... the Void could never be him. He could never be your sweet boy with the unruly hair who touched you like you were glass. The Void didn't sing along to songs on the radio to make you laugh or tuck you into bed. He didn't help you bake the team's birthday cakes or give you butterfly kisses when their backs were turned.

The Void may have been the monster in his head, but he was your Bob.

Bathed in the warm light of the lamp's glow, you could see the sweaty curls sticking to his forehead and the worry lines that had begun to etch themselves into his forehead. But mostly, you could see his pupils blown out from the love they held for you.

"Look I- I'm just some loser from Florida." Bob said. "With a girlfriend wayyyy out of my league. But that.. that other guy's a dick. And I'm... I'm gonna fix it." He nodded as if he was convincing himself moreso than you. "I don't want you to worry about me, okay?"

A snort escaped your throat as a barely-there smile graced your face.

"I'm always going to worry about you." You sniffled.

It was the most simple fact in the world. It didn't matter that he was physically impenetrable or that he had lived ten lives before you two even met: you were going to worry about him until your dying breath.

And he knew that. Every day when he woke up with you beside him, Bob could feel it in your love for him. It made him feel like the luckiest man in the world.

He would be remiss if he didn't make sure you felt it too.

"Just let me worry about you for once." Bob whispered, a crooked, exhausted smile on his lips. "Please?"

And as you looked up at him, his tired eyes gazing down at you as he blinked, the Void felt worlds away from the man standing in front of you.

"Okay." You nodded, nudging your cheek against the palm of his hand. "I'm sorry for waking you up."

Bob shook his head and reached down for one of your hands.

"Don't be." He said, leading you back to bed. "I want to be there for you."

Bob lifted up the sheet and ushed you underneath it.

"My hero." You playfully sighed, reaching up to brush his curls back.

Bob didn't say anything, but at your adoring compliment, he stood up a little taller and felt a heat rise to his cheeks. Your hero. He liked the sound of that. The hero's hero.

Without another word, he leaned down, kissed your cheek, and shut off the lamp.

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

The next morning when you had left to grab a coffee with Ava, Bob hesitantly made his way to the kitchen where he knew Yelena would be sat for breakfast.

When he entered the room- robe haphazardly thrown on, hair a tangled mess from his tossing and turning, and dark circles forming under his eyes from the lack of sleep- Yelena drank him in.

"You look like shit." She said bluntly.

It was such a contrast to the night before that he couldn't help but chuckle awkwardly, running his hand up and down the back of his neck.

"Yeah, yeah," Bob laughed. "I feel like it."

Eyeing him carefully, Yelena pat the stool beside her.

"Let it out." She said.

And when he sat, the events of last night flew out of his mouth like word vomit. Bob went into minute detail on how you flinched when he touched you, how scared you were, but mostly, how worried he was about you.

Here he was that past year, rejoicing in the weight you took off of his shoulders, without considering that now the burden had fallen onto you- and you were being crushed under its weight. Bob knew you would never blame him: he had had enough therapy sessions and late night conversations with you to know that, but he still couldn't help but feel that he had failed you.

"I just, I don't want her to worry." Bob said, playing with the frayed ends of his robe. "I just... I want to take care of her, y'know? I don't want this... void... in me hurting her. You should've seen her, Yelena. Because of me-"

Yelena reached out her hand for Bob's.

"She is not scared of you, Bob-" Yelena said.

Bob squeezed his eyes shut.

"I- I don't want her to be scared at all."

And it's like he's a child all over again. All he wants is to protect the woman he loves, but just manages to make it worse.

The lights flicker above them dishes and silverware rattle in their cabinets.

"Bob..." Yelena warns.

"I should be able to protect her."

The frustration, the upset, the way that your eyes looked at him in fear last night. Bob couldn't do it again; he wouldn't.

But Yelena knew him beyond words. She could see that this wasn't the anger of a man who couldn't, but a man who hadn't- and he wanted to fix that.

"You can," she said. "You will. I'll talk with Bucky and we will figure something out. We've pushed it off for too long anyway. We will fix it, Bob."

The lights returned to normal as the glassware settled on its shelves. Finally being able to bring himself to look at Yelena, he nodded.

"Just... promise me you won't tell her?" Bob asked. "I mean, she's worried so much about me and I just wanna worry about her now. Promise, Yelena?"

She nodded.

"I promise." Yelena said, squeezing his hand. "And I promise he won't hurt her. We will not give him the chance."

She shook his hand in hers and shot him a playful smile.

"Now eat." She said. "Maybe the void is just hangry."

And so maybe from then on your coffees with Ava or John got even more frequent, the two methodologically taking you out whenever Bob worked with Yelena and Bucky as to evade your knowledge. And maybe Bob slept on the couch during his bad days, fearful that he might hurt you in the night, but return to bed before the sun rose so you'd never know.

And maybe he felt guilty, lying to you like he was. But for once in his life, Bob didn't want to be the victim. He wanted to be the hero who- with the help of his loved ones- could save the day for you.

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・inbox・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

#bob reynolds #robert reynolds x reader #bob reynolds x reader #sentry x reader #void x reader #thunderbolts*#mcu fanfiction #bob angst

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ilovejb · 2 days ago

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| Offside |

Pairing : Aitana Bonmatí x female!reader

Summary : A nude photo from Aitana Bonmatí landed on your phone. Now, playing on the same team feels different.

Warnings : slow burn, mature but not really smut

authors note : around 6k

You weren’t expecting anything unusual after training.

It had been the usual grind — two hours of nonstop drills, ball control, pressing under pressure, and movement between lines. You had a slight ache in your calves, a stain of grass on your thigh, and a knot forming at the base of your spine from all the pivoting and cutting.

You’d shared the pitch and locker room with the likes of Cata, Patri, Ingrid, and, of course, Aitana Bonmatí — the legend. The midfield queen. The tactical brain in cleats. She was the type of player who made you raise your level just to survive in her orbit.

Your interactions with her had been limited. Professional. Respectful. Polite nods, sharp passes, the occasional murmured “nice ball” or “watch the press.” Nothing more.

That’s why when your phone buzzed — walking home with headphones in, still in your training gear — you barely glanced at the notification.

Unknown number. Image attachment.

You should’ve deleted it.

You should’ve ignored it, assumed it was spam.

But you tapped it anyway.

And then you stopped walking.

Because it wasn’t spam.

Your breath caught. The street sounds fell away. The photo glowed on your screen — skin, lines, ink. A nude. Intimate, artful, confident.

You knew those tattoos. You’d seen them in passing, glimpsed them in the showers, on the edge of her hip, down her ribs.

Aitana.

Your heart thundered. You stared at the image as if it might morph into someone else. Some trick of the light. Some bad joke.

But it didn’t. It stayed exactly as it was.

The muscles in your stomach clenched. A strange wave of heat swept over you, crawling up your neck, blooming in your ears.

You locked your phone and stood there for a long moment.

Your fingers hovered over the screen.

What were you supposed to do?

Pretend it never happened?

Text her and confess you saw it?

Ask… why?

Was it a mistake? A wrong number? An accidental send?

Or — and here’s what made your brain spiral — was it on purpose?

And then you made an even bolder decision.

You texted back.

You: I think this was meant for someone else…?

Seconds passed.

Then minutes.

You stared at the bubble, watching for a reply that didn’t come.

Finally, when you’d almost convinced yourself to delete it again and let it vanish from your memory, your phone buzzed.

Aitana: Oh my god. I’m so sorry.

You read it. And then read it again.

She knew. She knew you’d seen it. She knew it was her.

And she was texting back.

You hesitated, fingers hovering again. Then typed:

You: It’s fine. Really. I just… wasn’t expecting that.

Another pause.

Then:

Aitana: I didn’t mean to send it to you. It was supposed to go to someone else.

That hurt. More than you wanted to admit.

You weren’t sure what you were expecting her to say. That she’d been thinking about you? That she’d hit “send” on purpose?

Wishful thinking.

Still, there was something about the way she texted — careful. Uncertain. Like she was trying not to scare you away.

Your thumbs moved before your brain caught up.

You: Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me.

She replied quickly this time.

Aitana: Thanks. I mean it.

You almost left it there.

But then you added one more message.

You: You looked… good. Really good.

Aitana didn’t reply.

Not that night.

But the next morning, something shifted.

You could feel it in training — the weight of her glance when you received the ball, the extra second she looked at you during rondos, the strange electricity that buzzed every time you stood too close.

Whatever this was… it wasn’t over.

You hadn’t expected anything to change, not really.

But from that morning on, it was different.

The pitch still looked the same. The drills hadn’t changed. The staff gave out the same tired instructions. But your skin felt more alert. More alive. Every movement felt watched — not by the coaches, but by her.

You caught her eyes more often than you should have. And when you did, she didn’t look away.

It wasn’t obvious. Not enough for teammates to catch on. But you knew the difference between indifference and awareness.

It wasn’t nothing.

After training, while you peeled off your shin guards and sat on the bench beside your locker, she passed by behind you. Close enough that her arm brushed your shoulder. She didn’t apologize. She didn’t flinch.

You didn’t either.

Then came the team flight that weekend — an away match in Valencia. You always hated these. The hours of prep, the packing, the weird hotel rooms with bad curtains and one working outlet. But this time, it felt charged.

She sat diagonally across from you on the team bus. Sunglasses on. Hoodie up. But you could feel her watching you from behind the lenses.

The match itself was a blur. A choppy 1–0 win. You got subbed on in the 70th minute, didn’t touch the ball much, but covered ground like your life depended on it. And Aitana? Aitana was her usual self — elegant, brutal, clever, always a step ahead.

After the game, the team celebrated quietly in the hotel lobby. Then slowly trickled into rooms, exhausted and sore.

You were halfway into your pajamas when your phone buzzed.

Aitana: Room 814. Don’t feel like sleeping yet.

You stared at it.

Not a question. Not an invitation, either. Just… a breadcrumb.

And you followed.

You found her sitting on the edge of her bed in a tank top and shorts, hair damp from a quick shower, a water bottle dangling from one hand.

She looked up when you entered. Said nothing.

So you closed the door and leaned against it, not moving.

A beat passed.

Then another.

“Hi,” she said finally, voice low.

“Hi.”

Her eyes dropped to your shirt — a Barça tee — then flicked back up to your face.

“I wasn’t expecting you to come.”

“Liar,” you said.

And she smiled.

The conversation that followed wasn’t what you expected.

It wasn’t charged. It wasn’t sexy. It wasn’t even particularly flirtatious.

It was… nervous.

She told you she hadn’t meant to send the photo. That it was stupid, careless. That she never did things like that.

You listened.

She told you she wasn’t seeing anyone. That she wasn’t out to most of the team. That she didn’t know what she was doing.

You told her it was okay.

You told her you weren’t looking for drama either. That you respected her. That you liked her, honestly, even before the photo.

That made her blush. Really blush.

“You did?”

You nodded.

“How could I not?” you said, smiling softly. “You’re kind of… impossible not to notice.”

She looked down. Fiddled with the cap of her water bottle.

And then she said, almost shyly, “I notice you too.”

The air in the room shifted.

It wasn’t sudden, but it was definite.

You moved first — slow, giving her time to stop you. When she didn’t, you crossed the floor and sat beside her on the bed.

Her shoulder barely brushed yours.

“Okay?” you asked.

She nodded.

And then your hand found hers.

Not rushed. Not desperate. Just there.

She squeezed back.

And then she leaned into you, cheek against your shoulder, like she’d been waiting all day for the permission to rest.

You stayed like that until your backs ached and your eyes burned from yawning.

You didn’t kiss.

Not yet.

You just sat there, together, and let the moment stretch.

The next few days were a strange mix of normalcy and tension.

Training was the same — long, demanding, relentless. But every time your paths crossed, there was an extra awareness in the air. A subtle tension that hummed between you both, like static.

It wasn’t awkward, per se. It was… something else.

She was more present than usual, more attentive, but in a way that didn’t draw attention. A glance here. A fleeting touch of your arm during drills. The smallest of smiles that felt different from all the others.

You caught her looking at you more often than before. And when you met her gaze, she’d just… smile. Not nervously. Just knowing.

It was maddening, the way she made you feel so seen, even when she said nothing.

But you didn’t talk about it. Not yet.

You couldn’t.

The day after the away match in Valencia, you found yourself alone in the hotel lobby. It was early — too early for anyone else to be up — but you couldn’t sleep. You didn’t feel tired. Not really.

Aitana had already checked out, you noticed, but you weren’t surprised. She always had this quiet, steady energy, like she was always a few steps ahead of everyone. You liked that about her.

It was then that you heard footsteps behind you.

You turned, and there she was, appearing almost out of nowhere.

She was wearing the same hoodie from the bus ride, her hair still damp from the shower, but now she had a quiet air of self-assuredness that you hadn’t seen before. It was like she’d decided something, made up her mind.

“You’re awake early,” she said, standing just a bit too close.

You smiled, a little embarrassed. “Can’t sleep.”

“You’re thinking about last night, aren’t you?”

Your heart skipped a beat. “I…”

She was quiet for a second, eyes catching yours, soft but intense. “I think about it too,” she admitted.

There was no hiding it now. She was here. You were here. And the moment was ripe with possibilities.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

She shook her head. “I think we’ve said everything that needs to be said.”

And then, with a slow, deliberate motion, she reached out, brushing your cheek with the back of her hand. The softness of her touch made your breath catch.

“I know what I want now,” she said, voice steady but with an underlying vulnerability that made your pulse race.

You swallowed, your mind racing. “What do you want, Aitana?”

Her answer came in the form of a kiss — sudden, but gentle. A soft press of her lips against yours, testing, waiting for your response. And when you kissed her back, everything shifted.

The world seemed to fall away. The bustling hotel lobby. The pressure of training. The uncertainty that had been hanging in the air since that photo.

For those few seconds, there was only the quiet, consuming connection between you.

You pulled away first, but you didn’t go far. Your forehead rested against hers as you both caught your breath.

“I’ve wanted that,” she admitted quietly, almost like a confession.

“I thought it was just me,” you said, smiling softly.

She chuckled. “You’d be surprised.”

The kiss was just the beginning.

The next few days were a blur of mixed emotions, lingering touches, stolen glances, and conversations that felt like they were building toward something you couldn’t quite define.

But one thing was clear: this wasn’t just a fleeting moment. Neither of you were content with it being that.

It was hard to describe what exactly changed between you two.

It wasn’t the kind of change that drew attention. No public declarations. No sudden bursts of passion that left the team gossiping. It was more subtle. A quiet shift, like the calm before a storm.

During training, your connection was undeniable. Every pass you made felt charged, every glance lingered just a little longer than usual. She was always a step ahead, anticipating your movements, helping you when you needed it, and when the play would slow down, she would look at you with something more than just professionalism.

When the team gathered for post-training meetings, Aitana would often sit beside you, her arm brushing yours in casual moments, and every time it happened, you could feel your pulse racing. You’d glance over at her, only to find her already looking at you, the corner of her mouth turning up into a soft, secret smile.

It was the little things.

She’d send you texts late at night, messages that weren’t about soccer but just about how your day was. And you’d reply, maybe a bit too quickly, but the conversations felt easy. Natural.

And yet, despite all the moments that felt right, you were still both dancing around the elephant in the room.

There was no discussion about what this was. No label. No “are we seeing each other” conversation. It was as if you were both comfortable with the unspoken connection, but the silence felt like it could burst at any moment.

It was late one evening after training when the air in the locker room seemed to thicken. You had just finished stretching, the usual post-practice exhaustion settling into your bones. You were almost done packing your things when you felt her presence behind you.

Her voice was low but clear. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

You turned to face her. She was standing a little too close, eyes searching your face, waiting.

“Of course,” you said, swallowing slightly, your heart picking up speed.

She hesitated, taking a step forward as she closed the space between you. The whole room seemed to fall away as she looked at you, the usual buzz of the locker room and chatter from teammates fading into the background.

“I need to know if this is something we’re both just… letting happen,” Aitana said, her voice quieter now, vulnerable in a way you hadn’t heard before. “I can’t keep pretending like I don’t care. Like this doesn’t mean something to me.”

You blinked, unsure whether your heart was in your throat or in your stomach. You felt suddenly exposed, as if she had stripped away all the layers you’d carefully built around yourself. She was waiting. You could feel her gaze on you, waiting for you to make a choice.

You could feel the weight of the decision hanging in the air. Would you continue this — whatever this was — or was it just another passing moment?

“I don’t want to pretend either,” you finally said, your voice steady, but your heartbeat still racing. “It’s not just something… I want to be real too.”

The words hung between you for a second. And then she closed the distance completely, cupping your cheek with one hand. Her thumb brushed across your skin, her touch soft and hesitant, but you didn’t pull away.

She leaned in, lips brushing against your ear as she whispered, “I’m glad you said that.”

The kiss that followed was unlike the one in the hotel. It wasn’t hurried. It wasn’t a spark of electricity. It was slow. Deliberate. A quiet promise that neither of you had spoken aloud but both understood.

When she pulled away, she didn’t go far. Her forehead rested against yours, breath mixing with yours in the still air of the locker room.

“We don’t have to tell anyone,” she murmured. “Not yet.”

You nodded, your hands finding their way to her waist. The thought of telling the team, of exposing this growing connection between you, made the edges of your mind feel blurry. There was no rush.

“I just want this to be ours,” you whispered back.

She smiled then, a real, full smile. And for the first time, you felt the weight of the world fall away, replaced by something lighter. Something… easier.

And it felt good.

Keeping things quiet wasn’t easy — especially not on a team like Barça.

Everyone was close. Too close. Teammates noticed everything: who lingered in the hallway too long, who sat next to who on flights, who shared extra looks in the locker room. You weren’t foolish enough to think no one had noticed the shift between you and Aitana.

But no one said anything.

And maybe that was part of the code. As long as you didn’t make it a problem, no one would call it one.

The moments you had together were short, but they meant everything. A quick glance across the pitch before kickoff. Her fingers brushing yours when passing a water bottle. Late-night texts that made your stomach flip. And once, after a particularly tough game, you’d both ended up in the gym late, saying you needed to stretch. The second the door closed behind you, she pushed you gently against the wall and kissed you until your knees gave out.

You didn’t say a word the entire time.

After, you both sat on the floor, backs against the wall, flushed and breathless, giggling like kids with a secret.

“Are we crazy?” you whispered.

She smiled and leaned her head against your shoulder. “Maybe.”

But you didn’t stop.

One afternoon after training, Aitana asked if you wanted to go to her place — not for anything, she promised, just to rest, maybe eat something, watch a movie. The team had a free evening and you hadn’t had time together outside hotel rooms and dark hallways.

You agreed. And maybe you should’ve known.

Her apartment was quiet. Minimal. A little cold, like she didn’t spend as much time there as she wanted to. But there were books on the shelves and a guitar leaning in the corner. The small personal details made you smile.

She handed you a hoodie — one of hers — and you pulled it on without thinking. It smelled like her. You caught her watching as you did it, her mouth curling slightly.

“You look better in it than I do,” she said.

You rolled your eyes. “Shut up.”

But she walked closer. “I’m serious.”

You weren’t sure who moved first. You just knew that within seconds, her lips were on yours again, and it felt different this time — slower, deeper, filled with everything you hadn’t said out loud. You sank into it. Into her. Into the quiet space you were building together.

It didn’t go further than that — not yet — but it left you both breathless. Touch-starved. Wanting.

You sat curled up beside her afterward on her couch, her arm around your shoulders, her fingers tracing idle patterns on your thigh. You watched a movie neither of you paid attention to.

At some point, she kissed the top of your head and whispered, “You don’t scare me.”

You looked up, confused. “What do you mean?”

She met your eyes, her gaze soft. “What I feel. With you. It’s not scary.”

And in that moment, all you could think was: Me neither.

But nothing could stay secret forever.

It started small. Mapi raised an eyebrow one day in the locker room when Aitana defended you during a tactics meeting a little too hard. Then Patri asked why you always sat together on the bus. You played it off. So did Aitana. But the team was beginning to notice.

One afternoon, during a water break at training, Ingrid leaned close to you and murmured, “Just so you know… we’re not blind.”

You almost choked on your drink. “What?”

She smiled, not unkindly. “You two. It’s cute. Just… be careful.”

You didn’t ask what she meant. You already knew.

You were two of the most visible players on one of the most dominant teams in the world. Anything personal could become public in seconds.

And still, you couldn’t stop.

It was supposed to stay simple. Private. Yours.

But everything changed after the Atlético match.

You’d both played brilliantly — connected on the field like you had a telepathic bond. Commentators mentioned it. Fans noticed it. There was even a clip going around online of a moment after your assist to her goal: the way she ran straight to you, the way your foreheads touched for a beat too long.

The team had won 3–0. Spirits were high. Everyone was buzzing.

But the moment you walked into the tunnel, your phone vibrated with a message from Aitana.

“Come to the hotel terrace. Alone.”

You didn’t hesitate.

The terrace was quiet, the city lights twinkling below. She was already there, standing by the railing, arms crossed, hair damp from her post-match shower. When she heard your footsteps, she turned — and you knew something was different.

“You saw the clip, right?” she asked.

You nodded.

She sighed, turning her gaze back toward the city. “They’re starting to talk.”

“The fans?” you asked, stepping beside her.

She nodded. “And the press. Maybe even the club.”

You leaned against the railing too, shoulder brushing hers. “Do you regret it?”

That got her to turn toward you again, her expression sharp. “No. Do you?”

You shook your head. “Never.”

She exhaled, something easing in her shoulders. “Then I don’t care.”

“You sure?”

“I’ve been sure about you since that night you texted me back. This… whatever it is, it’s the only thing that’s made sense to me in a long time.”

You didn’t answer — not with words. Instead, you reached for her hand, laced your fingers with hers.

That was answer enough.

You stayed careful, but the closeness between you was no longer deniable. The team didn’t say much, but the teasing increased. Alexia made a few jokes in passing. Lucy called you “the power couple” once during dinner. Even Pere had started giving you double glances during film sessions.

But it wasn’t mean. It wasn’t mocking. It was just… real now. And strangely, that made it easier.

For a while, everything was good.

Until it wasn’t.

It started with a leak.

A blurry photo. You and Aitana, on a bench near Ciutat Esportiva. She was leaning against you, head on your shoulder. It wasn’t scandalous. It wasn’t anything dramatic.

But the headline made it worse: Barça Stars Closer Than Ever — Romance Rumors Heat Up.

The comments flooded in. Some fans were supportive. Some weren’t. The media picked it up. The press asked questions. The club didn’t say anything, but there were whispers.

You and Aitana sat on her couch in silence, both staring at the same photo on your phones. You could feel her body tense beside you.

“I knew this could happen,” she said quietly.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

She turned to you, eyes wide. “Why are you sorry?”

“Because this is my fault. I leaned in, I let it happen—”

She shook her head. “No. Don’t do that. Don’t make this something it’s not.”

You looked at her. “Then what is it?”

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she reached out and took your hand again, grounding you. “It’s us. And I won’t let anyone make me feel ashamed of that.”

Your throat tightened. She was so steady, so brave — and you wished you could be like that too.

“What if they try to split us up?” you asked quietly.

“They won’t,” she said, fierce and certain. “And even if they did, I wouldn’t let them.”

You nodded, but your stomach still felt heavy.

This wasn’t just a secret anymore. It was a spotlight.

And the light could burn.

The following days felt like walking a tightrope.

Training resumed, and so did the pressure — not just from the media, but from within yourself. You felt eyes everywhere. Every glance from a coach. Every hushed conversation you weren’t part of. Your mind twisted it all into suspicion.

You weren’t sure if it was real or if the anxiety was just that loud.

Aitana was calm on the outside, but you could tell it was getting to her too. The jokes from teammates slowed. The mood shifted slightly — not cold, but cautious. As if everyone was holding their breath, waiting to see what happened next.

You didn’t sleep well that week.

Neither did she.

One night, after a win in the league, the team went out for dinner. Spirits were high again. The energy was lighter. You sat next to Aitana at the far end of the table, your legs touching under the tablecloth, though no one could see.

She leaned over after dessert and whispered, “Come home with me tonight.”

You nodded.

It wasn’t a question.

Her apartment was warm. Dim. Quiet. You toed off your shoes, threw your jacket on the couch, and turned to find her already watching you from the hallway.

The way she looked at you — like the only person in the world who mattered — made your heart stutter.

Neither of you said a word.

She walked toward you slowly, deliberately, and you met her halfway. Her hands found your hips, your arms wrapped around her neck, and she kissed you like it was the first time.

But it wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t frantic.

It was everything you hadn’t been able to say.

She kissed you like she needed to make you believe you were safe. That you were wanted. That she wasn’t going anywhere.

You moved toward her bedroom without planning it. Her fingers trailed along your wrist, your shoulder, your waist. You fell onto the bed together, tangled in each other — breathing, pressing, touching.

You undressed slowly, helping each other out of your clothes like you were peeling back armor. Every inch of skin revealed was a confession. Every whispered word, every sigh, every shaky breath — a promise.

She explored you gently, learning every part of you like she was memorizing it. Your back arched, your hands gripped the sheets, and her mouth was everywhere — your throat, your chest, your stomach — until all you could do was feel.

And then you returned the favor. Not out of obligation, but because you wanted to. Needed to. You wanted to make her fall apart, just like she had done for you. You wanted her to know that whatever this was — whatever was growing between you — you weren’t running from it.

It wasn’t just lust. It wasn’t just release.

It was care. Intimacy.

Afterward, you lay tangled in the sheets, your head on her chest, her fingers stroking your hair.

Neither of you spoke for a long time.

But you didn’t need to.

The next morning, she made coffee. You wore her hoodie again, padding around her apartment barefoot while she scrolled through her phone.

“Bad news?” you asked.

“Not really.” She glanced up, eyes scanning your face. “They want me to do a press thing next week.”

You nodded. “You’ll be great.”

She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “They want to ask about… off-pitch things. Personal things.”

You froze. “You think they’ll bring this up?”

“Maybe not directly.” She set the phone down. “But they’ll circle around it.”

You didn’t respond right away. Your heart picked up.

“What are you going to say?”

She walked over, wrapping her arms around your waist. “Whatever I need to. I’m not ashamed.”

You nodded, burying your face in her shoulder. You wanted to be brave like her. But you also wanted to protect what you had. You weren’t ready to lose it.

Not now.

Not ever.

The press conference came faster than you expected.

You weren’t there, but you watched it live from the players’ lounge, nerves making your stomach twist. Aitana sat calmly at the podium, her hair tucked behind her ears, expression composed and unreadable. Journalists asked the usual — tactics, recent matches, Champions League hopes.

Then came the question.

“Some fans have noticed you seem especially close with a teammate this season. Would you care to comment on that?”

There was a pause.

You stopped breathing.

Aitana smiled — not wide, but sure. “I think chemistry on and off the pitch is important. If people see something between me and a teammate, that’s because we care about each other. We all do. That’s what makes this team strong.”

Smooth. Vague. Safe.

But her eyes flicked toward the camera in a way that felt deliberate — like she was looking right at you.

Your heart squeezed.

Later that day, when she walked into training, everyone gave her a wide berth. Not in a bad way — in a respectful way. Even Alexia clapped her on the shoulder and murmured, “Well said.”

She caught your eye across the locker room. You nodded.

You couldn’t stop smiling.

Still, being careful became second nature.

You timed your exits. Sat apart during team meals. Didn’t share rides anymore. You still trained the same, played the same, felt the same — but everything had an invisible layer now. Like you were constantly performing.

One evening, after a Champions League match, you snuck into the showers after everyone had left. Aitana was waiting, leaning against the wall like she belonged there. You didn’t say a word. Just kissed her. Hard.

Later, breathless and wet-haired, you stood wrapped in towels, your forehead pressed to hers.

“This is getting harder,” you whispered.

“I know.”

“We can’t keep hiding.”

“I know.”

“So what do we do?”

She looked at you — steady, unwavering. “We win. Together. And we keep loving each other. Quiet if we have to. Loud if we can.”

You exhaled, tension breaking like a wave.

That was the plan. Simple. Powerful.

And then came the final.

The Champions League. The biggest stage.

You and Aitana were both in the starting XI. The pressure was unlike anything you’d felt before — not just for the club, not just for the fans, but for each other.

You could feel her eyes on you during the anthem.

Her fingers brushed yours during the huddle.

You played the game of your life.

Assisted the opener. Ran until your lungs burned. Held your line when it mattered. And in the 86th minute, with the game tied and the world watching, Aitana received a pass, cut past two defenders, and scored the winning goal.

The stadium exploded.

You ran toward her without thinking. She met you halfway. Arms wrapped. Bodies crashed. And this time, it didn’t matter who saw.

Her forehead against yours.

Her voice in your ear: “We did it.”

That night, in the chaos of celebration, no one stopped you when you pulled her onto the balcony of the hotel. No one cared when you kissed her under the stars. No teammates interrupted. No fans peeked. No coaches questioned.

It was just you and her — alive, victorious, seen.

No more hiding.

The photo that broke the internet wasn’t blurry.

It wasn’t from a distance or taken in secret.

It was you and Aitana, arms around each other on the pitch, cheeks pressed together, laughing like idiots with confetti tangled in your hair. A kiss hadn’t been captured — but somehow, it didn’t need to be. The closeness was loud. Obvious. Undeniable.

By the next morning, it was everywhere.

The hashtags trended. The fan edits multiplied. Headlines called you “Barcelona’s new golden duo.” Commentators praised your chemistry, your impact, your connection.

And though some voices online remained cruel or suspicious, they were drowned out by the support. You’d expected backlash — feared it.

Instead, you found freedom.

For the first time in months, you held her hand on the way to the team bus. No one flinched. No one stared.

It was real now.

Out loud.

Back in Barcelona, life shifted.

You started staying at her place more often. She stocked your favorite snacks. You left your cleats by her door. You learned her morning moods and her nighttime silences. You shared playlists. You fought over laundry. You kissed in grocery store aisles when no one was looking.

It felt like normal.

Or as normal as it could be, when your faces were still plastered across sports blogs and post-match interviews.

Pere sat you both down one afternoon at the training ground. Not for punishment — just to talk.

“As long as you don’t let it affect your performance,” he said, “I don’t care who you’re dating.”

Aitana looked him straight in the eye. “It won’t.”

He nodded. “Good.”

And that was that.

Of course, it wasn’t perfect.

There were still rough days. Games lost. Articles speculated. A few opponents made comments on the field that turned your blood cold. You learned quickly how to shield her — how to step in when her jaw tightened and her hands balled into fists.

She did the same for you.

There was one evening when you came home, silent and shaken after an ugly match. You didn’t talk. You didn’t need to.

She just pulled you into bed, wrapped her arms around your waist, and let you cry into her shoulder.

Later, she whispered, “You don’t always have to be strong for me.”

“I want to,” you said hoarsely.

“Then let me be strong for you, too.”

That night, you made love without urgency. Without the rush of secrecy or the thrill of stolen time.

It was slow. Unspoken.

Her hands mapped every part of you again — not searching, but remembering. Your sighs were soft. Your bodies moved like puzzle pieces fitting together. And when you fell apart, it wasn’t with a cry or a moan — it was with a whispered name and a breathless laugh.

Afterward, you curled into her chest, fingers drawing circles on her ribs.

“I think I love you,” you said quietly.

She didn’t flinch.

She didn’t hesitate.

“I know,” she murmured. “I love you too.”

You thought it would feel scarier.

It didn’t.

It felt right.

Summer break came like a warm exhale.

After months of matches, media, and emotional tightropes, you found yourself waking late in Aitana’s bed, tangled in sheets and sunlight. Some mornings she made breakfast, wearing nothing but your oversized tee. Other days, you took walks around quiet Barcelona streets, disguised under caps and sunglasses — not to hide from the world, but to keep the peace you’d earned.

No more secrets. But still, something just yours.

One afternoon, she took you to her childhood home. Her mother welcomed you in with a smile that said everything without words. Aitana showed you old trophies, old photos — her room with books stacked against every wall. You lay on her bed, flipping through photo albums while she sat beside you, face pink with embarrassment.

“You were such a nerd,” you teased, pointing at a picture of her at ten, clutching a soccer ball and a science trophy.

“I am a nerd,” she replied, grinning. “You just like that about me.”

You kissed her shoulder. “Yeah. I really do.”

Pre-season came too fast.

Your bodies were sore again. Drills resumed. The weight of competition returned. But this time, it wasn’t heavy.

The team noticed a shift — not just in you two, but around you. The chemistry wasn’t forced. It was fluid. Passes that found each other’s feet without looking. Celebrations that ended in shared grins. Arguments that ended in trust.

There was a foundation now. Something unshakeable.

One evening after training, you sat on the rooftop of Aitana’s apartment, the city stretching out below you.

“You know,” she said, “a year ago I didn’t even know if I liked you.”

You snorted. “That’s fair. I was kind of a ghost.”

“You were intense,” she admitted. “Quiet. Hard to read.”

“And now?”

She turned, brushing hair from your face. “Now you’re the easiest part of my life.”

It hit you then — all of it. What had started as a slip of a photo. A mistake. A moment out of context.

And how it had slowly, carefully become the best thing that ever happened to you.

You thought about how close you’d come to ignoring it. To pretending nothing happened. To walking away instead of leaning in.

You thought about everything you would’ve missed.

You leaned back on your elbows, smiling softly.

“So what happens now?”

She shrugged, playful. “We play. We win. We annoy the hell out of our teammates with our gross couple energy.”

You laughed.

“And?”

She kissed you, slow and sure.

“And we keep loving each other. Loudly.”

The stars blinked above you. Barcelona hummed below.

And for the first time in a long time, you weren’t waiting for the other shoe to drop.

You were exactly where you were supposed to be.

With her.

Always with her.

#aitana bonmati x reader #barcelona femeni #woso #aitana bonmatí x reader #barcelona femeni x reader #woso community #woso x reader #aitana bonmati #woso one shot #woso imagine #woso fanfics #aitana bonmati imagine

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sturnioz · 1 day ago

Text

fratboy!chris uses shy!readers tummy to sort out his edibles and package them, but when one thing leads to another...

based off this ask.

you're lying still as you possibly can, your body pliant beneath chris' touch as your gaze stays fixed on his hands, watching as he sorts the colourful edible gummies scattered across your tummy, acting like some sort of human countertop.

one by one, he groups them by colour—reds with reds, greens with greens, oranges with oranges, and so forth—before carefully sealing them into small plastic bags only for him to start the process all over again.

earlier, you had been far too energetic for chris to deal with; something about today just put a spring in your step, leaving you happy and buzzing as you bounced around the room—feet thumping against the floor and words tumbling from your lips in an endless stream until chris snapped, forcing you to remain still and quiet in promise of a treat later.

it worked.

you had laid down and stilled instantly.

those sweet, strawberry-flavoured lollipops that you love so much—the ones that he refuses to tell you where he gets them from—was enough to keep you obedient for the time being, but now, you're beginning to get a little fussy.

"stay," he warns you as you shift slightly, causing a few gummies to roll out of place. you let out a huff, but his eyes snap to yours, narrowing. "watch it."

"i don't want to do this anymore," you murmur, your lips pushing into a pout, yet despite your words, you don't actually move—apart from your eyes which flit back down to the gummies scattered across your tummy. "what flavour are the red ones?"

"raspberry." he answers flatly, not looking up from his task.

"why not strawberry?"

"'cos they're raspberry."

you pause for a moment before asking another, "what flavour are the green ones?"

"watermelon." he says, not missing a beat.

"why not apple? greens are usually—"

"bun." he hisses at you through clenched teeth, glaring at you.

the warning in his voice makes you press your lips together into a tight line, silencing yourself on instinct. you're left in the quietness of the room again, the only sound heard is the faint rustling of the bags that chris fills and moves to the side.

you can feel yourself getting antsy again, and before long, you're lightly wiggling your foot and toes, trying to shake off that stuck, heaving feeling of staying still for so long.

chris doesn't speak, but he notices, and he shuffles forward, his waist pressing down against your foot to pin it in place. the weight is firm, and it stops you immediately, but the pout on your face deepens—your brows knitting together as you peer down at him again.

the question slips out before you even realise it, "what flavour are the yellow ones?"

"lemon." his tone is flat again, like the answer should've been completely obvious, but you don't take the hint of the annoyance in his tone.

"do you think they make banana ones?"

"probably."

"i like bananas."

"i know."

for a moment, you're quiet again, now staring up at the ceiling. usually, you're fine with quietness, you didn't mind it every now and then. but for whatever reason, this time you didn't like it—it was strange.

was it because he was doing something, admittingly so, intimate? of course he wouldn't see it that way, he never will. to you it felt intimate—having to lay here, completely still, letting him use a part of your body to 'help' him do something.

well, it wasn't exactly to 'help' him—you were just irritating him with your energy, he wanted you to calm down. it should make you a little upset, but the thought of the treat he promised to give you after all this is completed makes you feel a lot better, a smile finding its way across your face.

however, the smile falters when you feel something wet and warm graze across your tummy, and your attention shoots down, the muscles in your core tensing as you watch chris mouth at the leftover gummies—his tongue flicking across your skin in his path.

"w-what are you—"

"shh." he interrupts you, hovering over another gummy before taking it into his mouth, his warm breath causing goosebumps to rise.

you squirm beneath him, your own breathing quickening as his lips brush against your navel, using his tongue to lick at a stray gummy resting over your belly button—chewing it slowly as he makes his way further down.

without warning, as usual, chris shoves his face between your thighs, his nose pressing against your underwear and you gasp, a strangled noise following as his tongue darts out, licking a slow path along the already damp fabric of your panties.

your hands fidget at your sides, fingers twisting in the bedsheets, your broken whimpers filling the room as he hooks his fingers beneath the band, pulling your soaked panties—all thanks to his tongue—to the side to expose your puffy pussy to the cool air, causing you to shiver.

he dives in, mouth attaching to your slick folds, tongue working its familiar magic over your clit, his arms curling around your thighs to keep you still for him to feast. your hips jerk involuntarily, uncontrollably noises seeping past your lips as your head falls back.

you're lost in the sensation already, tummy sucking in with large gasps of air, your spine arching off the bed as your toes curl in your socks—thighs trembling beneath his hold as you squirm again, unable to control the movement of your body as his tongue dips in and out of you, slurping you up so loudly that you throw your arm over your face to cover it.

"don't hide from me, bun," he speaks against your pussy, the vibrations making a whimper fall from your lips. "y'know i don't like that shit. watch me."

divider credits. @issysh3ll

#chris sturniolo x reader #sturniolo triplets smut #chris sturniolo smut #☆ fratboy!chris #☆ shy!reader #꒰ fratboy!chris x shy!reader prompt ꒱#©sturnioz

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mintyys-blog · 3 days ago

Note

Got any HCs of the Variants +Main Mark with a virgin reader (⌯˃̶᷄ ﹏ ˂̶᷄⌯)ﾟ♡ ♡

Love the new theme btw •̀.̫•́✧

HEADCANONS | variants with s/o is a virgin

INVINCIBLE MASTERLIST | WARNINGS:

MAIN MARK

Mark notices right away that you’re new to all of this. It’s in the way you hesitate when things get intimate—the soft, uncertain pauses when you try to express yourself, the shy glances that betray your inexperience. Instead of overwhelming you, he wraps you in a gentle patience.

He’d always say, “Take all the time you need, I’m not going anywhere.” He makes sure that every touch is comforting rather than intrusive, guiding you slowly and explaining what he’s doing, even when the topic is as personal as love or intimacy. Every time you ask, “Is this okay?” or murmur that you’re nervous, he reassures you with a warm smile and careful words, “You’re perfect just as you are, and I’ll always be here to protect you.”

In quiet moments after a long conversation about your past hurts—and how you’re scared of losing yourself in love again—he’d hold you close, patiently letting you open up. His actions speak louder than any grand declaration; he makes sure you always feel safe enough to grow, to learn, and ultimately, to trust him with all of you.

With Mark, being inexperienced isn’t a flaw—it’s something he cherishes, because it reminds him that love is about being gentle, supportive, and true.

MOHAWK MARK

Mark clocks it instantly. You don’t have to say a word—he picks up on the nervous laughs, the flustered reactions when things get a little suggestive, the way your eyes dart away when he leans in too close.

At first, he finds it kind of amusing—teasing comes naturally to him. He’ll smirk and throw in a, “Damn, baby… you’re cute when you get all shy like that,” just to see the way you squirm. But he never pushes too far. He might be rough around the edges, but he’s not cruel.

Once he realizes that you’re a virgin, something shifts in him. He dials it back—not because he’s afraid of messing up, but because he doesn’t want to ruin it for you. He wants to be the one who shows you how good it can be, not just physically, but emotionally too.

He’s protective in a big way—like, “You don’t gotta know everything right now, I’ll teach you,” kind of way. He’d take pride in being your first, not in a possessive or boastful sense, but because it means you trusted him. And he doesn’t take that lightly.

You’d catch him watching you sometimes with this soft look that doesn’t match his usual cocky energy. Like he’s wondering how someone like you ended up with someone like him. And when things get serious, he’ll take his time, murmuring in your ear, “Just tell me what feels good, baby. I got you.” It’s still Mark, so the teasing never really stops—but it’s always wrapped in care.

SINISTER MARK

Mark doesn’t flinch when he realizes you’re a virgin. It doesn’t change the way he talks to you, touches you, or pulls you into his orbit. If anything, it just confirms something he already suspected.

He doesn’t soften. He doesn’t slow down. He’s not the type to ask how you feel—he’ll watch you squirm, flushed and nervous under his gaze, and smirk like it’s a game he’s already won.

“You’ve never done this before?” he’d say, voice dripping in amusement, brushing a finger along your jaw just to see you shiver. “That explains a lot.”

He doesn’t change, but that doesn’t mean he’s reckless. Mark is calculated. He wants to ruin you, but slowly—completely. He’ll overwhelm you on purpose, just to watch how you react. Not cruelly, not violently—just with an edge that makes it impossible to tell whether he’s seducing you or studying you like prey.

He’s not patient, but he’s attentive. He reads you like a book. Every sound, every twitch of hesitation—he uses it. Turns it into a reason to keep going.

And when you cling to him, desperate and unsure, he’ll lean in, lips brushing your ear with a smug whisper: “You’re mine now. And you’ll never want anyone else after this.”

It’s not about comforting you. It’s about owning the fact that he’ll be the one burned into your memory forever.

OMNI MARK

Mark can tell you’re a virgin from the way you hesitate under his gaze. The way your fingers fidget, the way you avoid eye contact when things start to get serious. And though he’s powerful, brutal, and often cold to the world—this is different.

He’s not soft, not exactly. But he does adjust.

At first, he’s quiet. His eyes narrow slightly, watching your every reaction like he’s trying to decode you. “You’ve never been with anyone?” he asks, voice low—not judgmental, but serious, heavy with implication.

When you nod, maybe embarrassed or uncertain, he doesn’t mock or tease. He processes it.

Because to Mark, that means one thing: you’re his first. And that’s something he won’t take lightly.

He becomes meticulous—almost reverent in the way he touches you. There’s intensity in every motion, like he’s claiming new territory, like he’s making sure no one else will ever be remembered. He teaches with purpose, with control, with the kind of unshakable dominance that says you’re safe because you’re with me.

“You don’t have to worry,” he’ll say, wrapping an arm around you, pulling you close like you’re the most delicate thing in the universe—his delicate thing. “I’ll take care of everything.” Mark isn’t tender, but he’s intentional. And in his own way, he makes sure that the first time isn’t just unforgettable—it’s unmistakably his.

VILTRUMITE MARK

Mark doesn’t blink when he realizes you’re a virgin. If anything, he expected it. On Viltrum, strength and purity are often intertwined—so the idea that you’re untouched? To him, it’s not strange. It’s almost… honorable.

He sees it as a standard. A natural expectation. You’re his mate—why wouldn’t you have waited for him?

When you tell him—or when he figures it out—he doesn’t react with surprise or teasing. He just hums, nods once, and says something like, “Good. Then no one else will have touched you but me.”

And it’s not possessive in the way humans understand. It’s Viltrumite logic. A biological and emotional claim. To him, your inexperience isn’t a weakness—it’s a sign that you belong to him fully. Mind, body, and future.

When it comes time to be intimate, he doesn’t rush. He’s intense, yes—always—but there’s something almost ceremonial about the way he treats you. He’s firm, instructive, and attentive to every sound you make. If you hesitate, he simply says: “ I’ll teach you. You have nothing to fear.”

He moves with precision, power, and restraint, watching your reactions with a sharp eye, adjusting his pace, his grip, the rhythm—because for all his dominance, he doesn’t want to break you. He wants to mold you.

And when it’s over, when you’re curled against him, flushed and dazed, he presses a kiss to your shoulder and murmurs something quiet—barely audible over his breath: “You were made for me.”

PRISONER MARK

Mark is definitely surprised when he finds out you’re a virgin. Not in a mocking way—but more like: “Wait… seriously?” Like he genuinely didn’t see it coming.

You’re bold. You flirt. You kiss like you mean it. So when things start heating up and you get a little hesitant—he notices. At first he thinks maybe you’re just nervous, but when you finally admit it, his brows shoot up and he stares at you in disbelief.

“No way… all this time? And you’re untouched?” He’s grinning now. So smug.

You expect him to tease you—and okay, he does a little. He leans in close, voice low and cocky: “Damn, I must be doing something right if I’m your first.”

But what you don’t expect is the way his teasing fades into something softer. Not gentle—he’s not soft in that way—but careful. He might be rough around the edges, but once he knows, he switches up. Slows down. Checks in without making it obvious. His touches still burn, but he’s more focused, almost… reverent.

And when you’re under him, wide-eyed and clinging to him, he kisses your cheek and mutters: “You trust me with this?”

You nod. You’re already halfway in love with him, even when he’s frustrating and intense. He doesn’t say it back. Not yet. But the way he holds you afterward—arm locked around your waist, lips against your shoulder—says enough.

#mark grayson x reader #x reader #reader insert #x female reader #invincible x reader

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nejiverse · 2 days ago

Text

‘FLYING OBJECTS’ AND THEIR BIG MOUTHS..

Kinich, Ifa

In which Ajaw and Cacucu reveal all their partners’ hidden feelings. Fem! Reader

cw: kissing, hope they arent ooc🥹

1104 words

Y/n was walking a good few steps ahead of Kinich and Ajaw, humming a tune Kinich couldn’t quite put his finger on, but he would soon find out that was the least of his worries.

Ajaw, who was always looking for something to pester Kinich about, noticed how the male threw multiple side glances at Y/n's retreating figure.

At this, a sly grin spread across his face.

"Oho what's this?", Ajaw echoed suddenly, loud enough to make a few qucusauri frantically scatter.

"Is our proud warrior tripping over his own feet just watching her walk?!".

Kinich rolled his eyes and swatted ajaw away but to no surprise he came right back.

What he said wasnt completely off the mark, but it wasnt just her walk. It was her posture, the way she carried herself, and most especially the way she would quickly glance back to make sure they werent too far behind, accompanied with that small smile that if interpreted into words would say 'im glad youre still there'.

Kinich would find himself counting down the minutes until she would give him another quick glance.

"I'm not, now stop annoying me", he scoffed.

"You so are! I'm telling Y/n~", he sang as he made his way to her side before Kinich could even attempt to grab him.

Kinich swore to himself that after today, Ajaw would never see the light of day again as he hurried to catch up to the two, now only a few steps behind the girl.

"I will end you", he mouthed as to not attract Y/n's attention but Ajaw was unfazed.

Being by Y/n's side gave Ajaw confidence to say whatever he wanted. After all, Kinich would never do anything rash in front of her.

"Honestly, it's adorable", the dragon lord mocked. "If you write Y/n a poem i'm absolutely reading that out loud!", he snickered.

Y/n laughed at Ajaw's antics. "A poem you say?", Y/n turned around now walking backwards. "If you write me one I expect a dramatic delivery! Bonus points if you pathetically cry halfway through", she teased.

Kinich folded his arms. "If I were to write a poem it’d be about someone who steals my food and calls it bonding".

He didnt miss a step, but inwardly he was pleading ajaw wouldnt take it further than he already had.

"See? he hates me!", Y/n frowned. “And it’s not stealing...its tactical aquiring..".

"Actually, lover boy over here has a huuuuge crush on you!".

"Quit it ajaw—", after he saw Kinich's hand coming out to grab him, he swiftly manoeuvred to Y/n's other shoulder.

"Like a trip-over-your-own-feet, cant-look-her-in-the-eye, i-hope-she-doesnt-think-im-being-too-cold kind of crush!".

Y/n stopped in her tracks and closed what little distance was between them, her eyes meeting his own. "Really?".

Kinich was quick to avert his gaze.

"You know how Ajaw can be—"

He was cut off when her hand combed back the hair at his ears, a red tint now coating them.

They two had known each other for a long time, she knew all his tells.

He grunted in embarrassment, eyebrow twitching involuntarily.

Y/n placed her hands at either side of his face ultimately forcing them to make eye contact.

"Is it true Kinich? Your answer will determine what I do next".

What should he do? Just say no and play it off as ajaw being a nuisance? Or maybe not answer at all? Or—

"..yes", he said at last, gritted and honest. "It’s true".

And without another word, she placed a kiss on his lips.

Ajaw huffed. "Bleh. so much for light teasing and tragic denial".

Y/n was helping out Ifa with the saurians when Cacucu blurted. "Yo, bro Ifa has a crush".

Ifa nearly choked on air, internally cursing Citlali.

It was only yesterday, after Citlali had figured him out that he went home muttering to himself and had no idea Cacucu could hear him. "I have a crush on Y/n? How could she even know that?”.

He noted to himself to keep his schizophrenia in his head.

Ifa ran a hand through his hair. "That was supposed to stay between me and the cold side of the clinic tent Cacucu..". And also Citlali but that part was against his will.

Y/n perked up like a tepetlisaurus. "Wait—hold on. Hold on. You have a crush? On who? I wanna know!".

Ifa pointed a finger at Cacucu. "Just so you know, you’re banned from talking until moulting season".

"Ifa has a crush on Y/n!". Why cacucu kept going was beyond Ifa, he felt simply betrayed.

"Cool, love that for me", he muttered with a dry voice.

"Wait..me?", she pointed at herself in disbelief.

Ifa had a lopsided grin. "Yeah its you. Obviously. I mean, you’re out here tending to saurians with me, laughing at my awful jokes, making the hatchlings fall asleep with your voice, and im just supposed to not feel something?".

The pair's conversation was cut short when Ororon bursted into the clinic blabbering about how he messed up and how Citlali was gonna kill him.

So a short while later when the noise had settled down and Ifa and Y/n had finished up for the day, the two sat down against a tree, the last stretch of Natlan’s sunlight making its final appearance.

"Sorry about earlier", Ifa rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm just so used to fixing things, not feeling them", he admitted.

Y/n gave him a reassuring smile. "Well you're doing okay so far", she nodded. "And besides, it adds to your boyish charm", she teased.

Ifa chuckled softly. "Yeah?".

"Yeah".

There's a pause — soft, steady. The kind of silence that feels like it's holding its breath.

Ifa studied her face like he's still not sure he's allowed to want this. His fingers brushed up along her wrist, feather-light, as he leaned in just a little closer.

"...Can I?", he said with a low voice, almost unsure.

He raised up his hand, careful, fingers curling just under her chin to tilt her face up. His gaze flickered between her eyes and her lips.

"You're really asking? After all that?".

She laughed softly, and the sound is so gentle it tugs something loose in his chest. Her hand moved to cover his, holding it in place under her chin. "You better."

And that's all he needs.

If only she knew how long he had been waiting to do that.

masterlist :)

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fic-girlie · 1 day ago

Note

PLSSS a pedro x reader where they went clubbing for his bday!

Until the music fades

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x f!reader Summary: For Pedro’s 50th birthday, you celebrate with a night of dancing, laughter, and quiet affection. After a protective moment at the club, you end the night wrapped in each other’s arms, sharing soft words and tender love at home. Warnings: fluff, protective Pedro, clubbing, soft cuddling

The evening starts in that familiar way—a shared bathroom mirror, your playlists weaving between Pedro’s hums and jokes, warm light bouncing off glass bottles and soft cologne. The getting-ready part always feels like a secret ritual between the two of you, like a private show before the curtain lifts on the main event.

He watches you from the doorway at first, arms folded as you put on the finishing touches to your makeup. “You’re not even done yet, and I already need to sit down.”

You glance at him in the mirror, one brow lifting as you slide on your lipstick. “You better not fall asleep at the club.”

“I’m just saying,” he drawls, stepping further into the room, “this whole turning fifty thing comes with the right to complain about sore knees and bedtime.”

“But not about dancing,” you say, turning to face him with a playful smirk.

He stops. Actually stops.

And stares.

The look in his eyes is slow and deliberate, like he’s drinking in the sight of you all at once—your dress hugging your curves, the way your skin glows under the bathroom light, the glint of amusement behind your eyes. It’s not lust, exactly. It’s something softer, deeper. Something reverent.

“You look…” He swallows, then lets the corner of his mouth curve up. “I don’t have a word for it.”

You cock your head. “Is this you trying to flirt with me before your big birthday night out?”

He steps closer, one hand reaching for your hip, the other brushing lightly against the side of your arm. “This is me reminding myself that I get to walk into a club with the most beautiful woman there. And then dance with her like I own the place.”

You laugh, but there’s a warmth rising in your chest now, one of those small, quiet moments where love settles itself into your bones.

“You clean up alright too,” you tease, your hand smoothing the collar of his black jacket and patting a crease out on his t-shirt.

“Alright?” He pulls back just enough to dramatically look down at himself. “Excuse me, this t-shirt is tucked. I even ironed it.”

“You ironed it?” You squint at him, amused. “No wonder it smells like burnt hope in here.”

He gasps again—this time with even more theatrical flair—and drops his forehead dramatically onto your shoulder. “Wounding me. On my birthday.”

You laugh and wrap your arms around his neck. “You’ll recover.”

He doesn’t lift his head right away. Instead, he stays there a moment, nestled into your collarbone, his breath slow and steady against your skin. When he does finally speak, it’s softer—lower.

“I know we could’ve done something quieter tonight. Just the two of us. Dinner, a movie, couch cuddles with chocolate and wine. But… I don’t know. I wanted to feel alive tonight. Loud music. Dancing. Holding you close with sweat dripping down my back.”

You press a gentle kiss to the side of his head. “Then that’s exactly what we’ll do.”

He pulls back to look at you again, and this time there’s a smile tugging at the edge of his lips that’s pure gratitude.

“You’re always down for my weird ideas.”

“You danced in our kitchen with socks on and fell into the fridge, remember? After that, I’m pretty much in for anything.”

“Okay, that’s slander,” he says, grabbing his wallet and keys from the counter. “I gracefully slid.”

You grab your bag and give him a look. “Pedro, you took the magnet off the fridge with your ass.”

He shakes his head with mock solemnity. “I will never live that down.”

“Never,” you confirm, following him to the door.

Outside, the night air is warm and full of city life—traffic hums in the distance, voices float from nearby patios, and the sky is painted in the dusky glow of summer twilight. You both linger near the curb where the car service is supposed to arrive, his hand intertwined with yours, thumb gently stroking the edge of your palm.

Pedro glances sideways at you, his eyes twinkling. “You sure you’re ready for this?”

“You’re fifty,” you deadpan. “Not ninety-five.”

He scoffs. “Okay. But just so you know—I plan on grinding on you tonight like a man in his prime.”

You try not to laugh, but it comes out anyway—bright and warm, like he planned it just to hear the sound.

“Can’t wait to see you try, papi.”

His grin turns wolfish at the sound of that. “Say that again when I’ve got my hands all over you on the dance floor.”

You lean in and kiss the corner of his mouth. “Promise.”

The car pulls up just in time to save you both from descending into full flirty chaos. He opens the door for you like a gentleman—one hand pressed to your lower back as you slide in—and then joins you inside.

As the car begins to move, he laces your fingers together and lifts your hand to kiss the top of it, eyes never leaving yours.

“Tonight’s just for us,” he murmurs. “No press, no friends, no interviews. Just me, and you, and the music.”

You squeeze his hand. “Happy birthday, love.”

He smiles. “It already is.”

And as the lights of the city blur past the window, you know—tonight is going to be a memory you’ll come back to for the rest of your lives.

——

The club is already thumping with bass when you arrive, the low-pulsing beat vibrating beneath your heels as you and Pedro step out of the car and into the shimmering heat of the crowd outside. There’s a line wrapping around the building, voices raised in anticipation, camera flashes occasionally flickering—but you’re whisked right in, no questions asked.

Pedro gives the bouncer a casual nod, and the man claps him on the shoulder with an easy “Happy birthday, man.”

Inside, the lighting is dim and dreamy—blues and pinks sliding over bodies like paint strokes, catching the shimmer on sequined dresses and bouncing off cocktail glasses. It smells like citrusy perfume, velvet sweat, and neon dreams.

Pedro holds your hand tight as you weave through the crowd, his other arm protectively settling across your lower back. “Remind me to thank whoever set this up. I thought it would be all velvet ropes and awkward nodding at industry people.”

“You thought wrong,” you say, leaning in so he can hear you. “It’s perfect.”

You spot the DJ booth glowing in the far corner, surrounded by bodies in motion. The dance floor is alive—hips swaying, heads thrown back in laughter, strangers pressing in close without asking. Pedro’s eyes scan the scene with something close to mischief.

“Okay,” he says, tilting his head toward the bar. “One drink and then we’re dancing. Non-negotiable. I want at least one full-body grind before someone inevitably takes a photo of me sweating like a roasted pig.”

You laugh, fingers brushing against his chest. “Two drinks. I need to warm up.”

“You don’t need warming up,” he mutters, leaning in to kiss your temple. “You’re fire already.”

He guides you to the bar and flags down the bartender—a young woman who clocks him instantly, her eyes widening a fraction. “Two mezcal margaritas,” he calls over the music. “And maybe a water, too. Gotta hydrate like it’s a marathon.”

You rest one hip against the bar while he chats, letting the rhythm seep into your limbs, your eyes half-closed as the beat climbs and drops. You can feel your heart syncing to the tempo. The crowd is all motion and sparkle, chaos wrapped in sound.

Then you hear it.

A voice—close. Too close.

“Hey,” the man says beside you. Mid-thirties, probably. Confident in that calculated, too-smooth way. “I saw you dancing over here. You alone?”

You blink, slow to register him. “I’m not.”

He grins like you just challenged him. “Your boyfriend let you stand here all by yourself? Doesn’t sound very smart.”

Your smile tightens. “He’s right there. Just ordering drinks.”

The guy glances behind you. “Right, the old guy?”

You turn your head just slightly—enough to look him square in the eyes. “The birthday boy.”

The guy chuckles, bold now. “You sure you wouldn’t rather dance with someone who can keep up?”

And that’s when you feel it—a shift in the air behind you. Pedro’s presence, sudden and solid, settling like thunder.

He steps up beside you, places one of the margaritas gently into your hand, then turns to the guy without even pretending to smile.

“Everything alright here?”

The man straightens up, suddenly a lot less smirking. “Yeah. Yeah, I was just—uh, didn’t realize she was with someone.”

Pedro doesn’t look away. He’s not puffed up or shouting, but his body says everything—broad shoulders squared, one hand resting casually on the bar while the other hovers just slightly behind your waist. Not touching, not yet, but ready.

You glance at him, your chest warm with the way he doesn’t make a scene—just draws a quiet line.

“She’s very much with someone,” Pedro says, his voice low but steady. “So unless you wanna spend the rest of your night wondering how fast I can break a nose, I suggest you move along.”

The guy hesitates a beat too long. Then he’s gone, swallowed up by the crowd.

Pedro finally exhales, slow and quiet, and then turns to you. His hand settles fully on your lower back, pulling you a fraction closer.

“You okay?”

You nod. “I was fine. But that was—very hot.”

He raises an eyebrow, lips twitching. “Hot?”

“Yeah,” you say, sipping your drink. “Like… if we weren’t in public, I’d jump you right now hot.”

Pedro laughs—deep and low and unbothered now that you’re both back in your bubble. “You save that for later. Right now, you owe me a dance.”

You finish your drink, set it on the bar, and hold your hand out. “Lead the way, birthday boy.”

He takes it without hesitation, guiding you onto the dance floor with that quiet confidence that never fails to undo you. The music pulses, wrapping around your bodies as you find the rhythm together. His hands settle on your hips, his eyes locked on yours even in the chaos.

You move as one—slow at first, hips swaying lazily to the beat, your arms around his neck, his breath brushing against your cheek. His fingers tighten when you grind a little closer, and he leans in to whisper against your ear.

“See? Told you I could still dance.”

“I’ll give you that,” you say, pressing your forehead to his. “But if you throw your back out trying to impress me, I’m not carrying you home.”

He chuckles, lips brushing your cheek. “You’d carry me. You love me.”

You sigh dramatically. “Unfortunately.”

He grins and spins you, just enough to make you laugh before pulling you flush to his chest again. “Best birthday ever.”

And as the music surges and the lights spin around you, you know you’ll remember this moment forever—Pedro, the warmth of his arms around you, the safety of his presence, the thrill of the dance, and the simple truth of it all:

You’re wildly, stupidly, hopelessly in love with him.

——

You don’t even remember what song is playing when Pedro laces his fingers with yours and leans down, his nose brushing your temple as he says, “Alright, my birthday bones are starting to ache. You ready to head home, mi amor?”

You nod, your body pleasantly sore from dancing, your cheeks warm from the drinks and the way he kept pulling you close—protective, teasing, completely his. The noise of the club still thrums through your body as you slip outside, blinking into the cooler night. He throws an arm around your shoulder and tucks you in close, pressing a kiss to your temple as the two of you wait for the car.

You glance up at him, your eyes flicking over the slight sheen of sweat on his brow, the soft lines around his mouth from smiling all night. “You good?”

“I’m perfect,” he says, looking down at you like you’re the only person in the world. “I got to dance with the most beautiful woman in the room on my birthday. That’s hard to top.”

You squeeze his hand, biting back a grin. “You say that like you didn’t have a line of people trying to dance with you.”

He smirks. “I didn’t see anyone worth leaving you for.”

“You better not have,” you murmur, tugging his hand to your lips and kissing his knuckles. “Or I would’ve hexed them.”

“You’d hex them?” He laughs, eyes crinkling. “Remind me to never get on your bad side.”

“You’re too sweet,” you say. “I’d only hex you a little.”

He chuckles again and kisses the top of your head as the car pulls up. The drive home is quiet—not tired, just content. His hand rests on your thigh the entire way, thumb stroking gently against your skin, drawing tiny lazy circles that say I’m here, I’m yours without needing words.

You both kick your shoes off the second you walk through the door. Pedro shrugs off his jacket and tosses it over a chair with a sigh that’s almost comical in its relief. “Oh thank God,” he groans, rolling his shoulders dramatically. “I swear my knees just aged ten years in that club.”

You lean against the doorframe, arms folded, watching him. “You were dancing like you were twenty-five. I’m honestly impressed.”

“I’m gonna feel it in the morning,” he mutters, already tugging his t-shirt over his head.

You follow him into the bedroom, your fingers brushing over the exposed skin of his back as he heads to the bathroom to wash up. “You’re still hot as hell,” you call after him.

He leans back out of the doorway, grinning with toothpaste already on his toothbrush. “Say that louder for the record.”

You pad over and stand beside him at the sink, using a makeup wipe while he brushes his teeth, the two of you side-by-side in the mirror. You catch his eye in the reflection, and for a moment everything is still—the faint steam rising from the shower, the muted hum of city life outside your window, and the warmth that passes between you without needing to be said.

You finish up and trail back into the bedroom, changing into your softest oversized shirt—one of his old ones, naturally. When Pedro joins you, freshly showered and warm-smelling, he’s just in boxers, towel still draped over one shoulder. He pauses when he sees you curled up on the bed.

“Are you wearing my ‘Traumatized But Trying’ t-shirt?”

“Mm-hmm,” you hum, flopping dramatically onto your back. “It’s part of my emotional support outfit.”

He chuckles and climbs into bed beside you, yanking the comforter up over both of you and wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you in like you’re gravity. “Can’t argue with that.”

You settle into him easily, your cheek pressed to his chest, your leg tangled with his. He’s so warm—a slow, steady heat that lulls you into a half-doze immediately. His hand strokes up and down your back, lazy and slow.

“You know,” he murmurs after a beat, “I was kinda nervous tonight.”

You look up at him, surprised. “Why?”

He shrugs, his fingers still tracing shapes along your spine. “Fifty’s a weird number. It’s like… it sounds big. Like I’m supposed to suddenly be someone different.”

You tilt your head, watching him. “Do you feel different?”

“No,” he says, smiling softly. “Not really. Just older in the knees.”

You laugh gently, and he dips his head to kiss your forehead.

“I don’t know,” he continues, voice quieter now. “I guess I just kept thinking… what if this is the year things start to change? Like, I wake up and I’m suddenly out of touch, or I start wearing golf polos and caring about HOA fees.”

You grin. “I’d break up with you on the spot.”

He snorts. “Ruthless.”

“I’m just keeping you young,” you say, tapping his chest.

He’s quiet for a long moment. Then, “You do. More than you know.”

You look up at him, and his eyes are soft, serious now.

“I think I would’ve hated tonight if you weren’t there,” he says. “You made everything better. Like always.”

You reach up and cup his jaw, brushing your thumb along the slight salt-and-pepper scruff he’d kept neat for the party. “That’s because I love you. And because you are still very hot at fifty.”

He smiles and turns to kiss your palm, slow and warm. “Even after dancing like a dad at a wedding?”

“Especially after,” you whisper, and he groans playfully, pulling the covers over both of your heads.

“You’re a menace,” he mutters into your shoulder.

“You love it.”

“I really, really do,” he says, kissing along your collarbone.

For a while, the two of you just lie there, cocooned under the blankets, your limbs tangled, bodies relaxed into each other like puzzle pieces finally in place. His hand finds yours again and gives it a squeeze.

“Thank you for coming out with me tonight,” he murmurs.

“Pedro,” you say softly, “there’s nowhere I’d rather be.”

And when the silence settles, it’s not heavy—it’s safe. The kind of silence that’s full of knowing, of shared history and a future already blooming. He buries his face in your hair and hums something tuneless and sweet, and you feel his whole body exhale like he’s finally, truly home.

That’s how you fall asleep—wrapped around each other in the softest tangle of limbs, hearts steady, warmth shared, the quiet magic of knowing this isn’t just a night worth remembering.

It’s a life you’re building—and tonight, you got to dance in the middle of it.

#pedro pascal #pedropascal #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x f!reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fluff

292 notes · View notes

pagesfromthevoid · 3 days ago

Text

Future Fest | b. f. | 2

Bob Floyd x teacher!reader

She briefly considers that if he asked her, she’d go anywhere he wanted.

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: Tooth rotting fluff

Author's Note: My hand slipped

Masterlist | Talk to Me! | AO3

Bob is sitting to the side with Phoenix, anxiously shaking his leg. He’s been checking his phone every five minutes it feels like, waiting for a text from her. They’ve been at the Hard Deck for an hour or so. He’s pretty sure the school let out at four, but he wasn’t positive. Maybe she’d forgotten; he’s kicking himself for not getting her number instead.

“I can’t believe we go to a school thing and Baby on Board here manages to snag a teacher,” Hangman complains, hitting the cue ball across the table. He stands up straight, motioning to him. “C’mon. Look at him. No offense, I mean.”

“You really gotta stop saying ‘no offense’ when you say shitty things, Bagman,” Phoenix comments, rolling her eyes.

“She’s got a point,” Bob finally offers, looking up from his phone. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, keeping them in place. But he knows he has a shit eating grin on his face. “You’re the one that went out to lunch –I just happened to have stayed back. Right time, right place.”

“Don’t get cocky on us, Bobby,” Hangman warns, pointing the pool stick at him. “She hasn’t even texted you yet, has she?”

Bob deflates some, nodding sheepishly. Then, as if the universe wanted him to have a win, his phone buzzes.

Hey! It’s your new favorite teacher :)

He grins at the text, unable to help himself. Hangman groans in the background, but Bob isn’t paying any attention to him now as he focuses on what to say. Then he decides to be honest –it only made sense.

Glad you texted me. I was starting to kick myself for not getting your number lol.

There’s a beat, and he stares at the screen and the little bubble that pops up as she’s typing.

I’m pretty sure if I didn’t text you, my kids would have found out and murdered me. They’re so nosey lol

“You gonna play, Bob, or you gonna sit there and make eyes at your phone?” Fanboy teases, coming around to throw his arm around his shoulders. “Let’s see what your new friend is saying –,”

But Bob moves out of reach, holding his phone away from his friend as he stands up. “Knock it off –I’ll shoot later. I’ll be back in a sec.”

They all holler after him as he moves his way through the crowd and out the back doors. He considers, for a moment, if he should just call her. Would that be weird? He doesn’t really like texting; there could only be so much behind the words and it’s easy to misunderstand. And truthfully, he wants to hear her voice again.

He caves, and she picks up the first ring.

“I think you must have been able to read my mind,” she says from the other end of the call, and he can just see the pretty smile on her face. “I was just thinking I wanted to hear your voice.”

He blushes, running a hand over his jaw as he grins to himself. Then he sits on one of the chairs outside the bar, kicking his feet out. “I’m glad I’m not the only one, then,” he admits with a small chuckle. “How was the rest of your day?”

“Chaotic,” she admits with a laugh of her own. And Bob swears he’s never heard anything so sweet. “Once you left, the kids lost their damn minds on me. They’re so nosey –I couldn’t get them to focus at all.”

“I got the impression they’re a bit nosey,” he agrees, leaning back in the chair. “Are they always following you around, or was today a special sort of day?”

She sighs in a wistful sort of way, and he imagines her sitting in her living room. Maybe she’s relaxed after a long day, maybe she’s winding down. “Today was a special sort of day, but I do usually have a group that eats lunch with me every day. They were especially mad that I kicked them out.”

“I’ll have to make it up to them,” he offers without a second thought, sitting up again as Rooster comes outside. The pilot gives him a questioning thumbs up and Bob returns it with a smile. “I can bring lunch for them sometime, if you’d like.”

“Lieutenant Floyd, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to earn brownie points by being so nice to my students.”

He chuckles again, shaking his head. “Is it working?”

“It is,” she admits, and he covers his mouth because he knows he’s smiling like a damn fool. Even if she’s not here to see it, he can’t help it. “Let’s have that date before we start bribing my students to like you though.”

“I can make that happen,” he concedes, leaning forward now to rest his arms on the tops of his knees. “How’s Friday sound? I can pick you at six –there’s a nice little place on the water. The sunset’s always real pretty there.”

“That sounds like a great idea,” she agrees. “I’ll text you my address. What should I wear?”

“Anything you want.”

She hums at this, and he wonders what she’s thinking. But the thought is banished when she speaks again. “Well, I’ll see you on Friday, Lieutenant Floyd. I have to finish grading these essays before then, or our date will consist of you helping me grade.”

“I can do that too,” he offers without missing a beat.

“I…really believe you would do that,” she admits with a soft laugh. “Text me, though. Seriously. I can’t chat on the phone, but I…I would like to keep talking to you.”

“Yes ma’am,” he says confidently. “I’ll see you on Friday.”

He hangs up the phone and stares at the screen with what’s probably the dopiest grin possible. Bob stays there for a little while longer, texting back and forth with her until Fanboy comes out and forces him back inside.

I want to say duty calls, but all that really means is that they need me to drive them home –have a goodnight. I’ll see you soon

There’s not a beat missed when she replies back,

I can’t wait, Lt. Floyd. Goodnight.

There’s a little blue heart at the end of the text, and Bob swears that it makes his heart lurch in his chest. He’s already a smitten fool for a girl he just met; the team is going to give him so much shit.

*****

She’s not pacing exactly, but she’s definitely not standing still as she waits for Bob.

She doesn’t know why she’s so nervous; they’ve been texting back and forth all week and she called him at least twice after the initial chat. But she is, and so she’s finding things to do so she doesn’t sit and stew in her nerves. Touching up her lipstick, switching out the jewelry she’s wearing, changing her shoes…until there’s a soft knock on the front door and she takes a quick breath in.

“I got this,” she reassures herself, slipping her sandals back on, then opening the door.

Bob is standing there with a bouquet of flowers. He’s not in his uniform today; just a light blue flannel shirt that’s rolled up to his elbows and a pair of jeans. But she can’t help but think he’s just as handsome as the first time she saw him.

She’s distracted, and he clears his throat, but there’s a sheepish smile on his face as he speaks. “I wasn’t sure what flowers you liked, so I got probably one of everything.”

“These are beautiful,” she finally manages to say, taking them in her hands. “You can come in –I’ll put these in a vase then we can go.”

He follows her to the kitchen, where she fumbles around for a moment until she finds a vase big enough. She can feel his eyes on her for a moment but when she turns around, he’s looking at the photos on the wall just outside the kitchen. She comes up behind him, pointing at one of her as a little girl, with bright pink hair, and a younger boy with a green mohawk.

“That’s my little brother and I when we went back to Seattle for the first time since moving here,” she explains with a fond smile. “We weren’t supposed to be going anywhere, so my mom let us dye our hair and cut it up for the summer. My grandma got sick though and we had to go up there to help…My mom got the nastiest looks in the airport.”

“You miss it up there?” He asks, looking down at her.

“Sometimes, but it’s too cold for me now.”

He nods in agreement as she motions for him to follow again, grabbing her purse. “I was stationed briefly up in Bremerton, at Naval Base Kitsap. It rains…a lot.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” she laughs, shutting the door behind them. “Cold and wet. If it wasn’t so pretty, I couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to live here.”

He opens the passenger door of his truck without hesitation, holding out his hand to help her in. She blushes at the motion, smiling to herself as she settles into the seat.

The drive isn’t long, and when they arrive, they’re seated out on the deck, right on the beach. The sun is just setting, and she thinks it’s the most magical thing she’s seen in years. Then, he pulls out her chair for her there as well. She wants to thank his mother for raising a proper gentleman, because she can’t remember the last time anyone pulled out her chair for her or helped her get into the car.

“Where are you from, Lieutenant?” She asks after the waiter takes their drink order.

“Montana,” he offers with a grin. “And you can just call me Bob.”

“Bob from Montana,” she repeats, nodding as if she suddenly understood a lot about him. “That does explain the accent –that midwestern chivalry too. Were you a cowboy before you were an officer, Bobby?”

He leans back in his seat a bit, watching her with that same grin he gave her at lunch the other day. “I did work on my family farm –can’t say I was a cowboy, though.”

“Shame, I bet you’d look cute in a cowboy hat.”

He blushes at that, and she laughs as she lifts her wine glass to her lips. “What made you wanna join the Navy? Isn’t Montana landlocked?”

He nods in confirmation, looking over at the water for a moment. “My dad, and his dad, and his dad before him –they were all military. It wasn’t even a second thought to join. But I wanted to work with planes, so the Navy had my best chance at that.”

“How often do you deploy?” She asks, and it’s a question she doesn’t really want an answer to, but she knows she needs to get it out of the way now before she’s hooked. Though, it might be too late.

“I just recently got back from deployment,” he explains, leaning his elbows on the table to look at her. His tone has shifted some, a bit more serious than before. “I’ll be here for a while, I think –they’re having our squad train a few teams of pilots on a new weapons system.”

“So that bodes well for a second date,” she offers, trying to ease any tension or concern he might have.

His smile says it all as he nods. “I think it does, yeah.”

The rest of the evening goes just as smoothly, conversation flowing easily between the two of them. They talk and eat, sharing a variety of things about themselves. She tells him about her favorite books, both personally and the ones she likes to teach. He tells her about his favorite movies and what he did before he moved to California. They don’t have a lot of things in common, but she tells him she’s interested in the things he talks about and is open to trying new things –but he has to be the one introducing them to her. He shares the sentiment, a grin on his face.

By the time the check comes, neither of them want the night to end.

“C’mon,” he suggests, taking her hand in his.

She follows without question, distracted by how large his hand is compared to hers. How calloused it is, which she knows is because of his work. There’s a brief moment where she considers how they would feel on other parts of her body, and the thought makes her flush as he pulls her down the boardwalk to the beach.

They slip off their shoes, leaving them up on the boardwalk in hopes they’re there when they get back. Feeling a little more bold, she pulls herself close to his side as they walk, other hand moving to hold onto his arm. Bob looks down at her, and even in the dark, she can see the blush creeping up his cheeks.

“I’m having a great time tonight, Bob,” she sighs when they stop, sitting down in the sand. She rests her head on his shoulder, still holding his hand, and looks out over the water. “Thank you for this.”

He squeezes her hand gently, and she can feel him looking down at her. “Thank you for saying yes. I’m not…usually one to ask a pretty girl out the moment I meet her. But I’m glad I did.”

She looks up at him, and they lock eyes for a second. A fondness is in his eyes —more than just a passing date or two, but actual care —and she smiles. There’s a charge between them; a tension that they both know all too well. It’s just up to them now to decide who's going to give into it first.

“I’d like to kiss you,” he admits, and she can’t help but let out a laugh. Because of course he’d ask; he’s too sweet not to.

“I’d like it if you did too,” she promises.

And that’s all it takes for Bob to lean in and close the gap between them. He’s soft, but a bit urgent, like he’s afraid if he stops, he’ll never get to kiss her again. But when she reaches up and touches his cheek, deepening the kiss, he slows down just enough to let her enjoy the feeling of his mouth on hers.

He tastes sweet —and a little salty, though that could be the ocean sticking to their skin. His hands find her waist, and he’s pushing her back into the sand. Her tongue traces along his bottom lip, a silent question of more. And he accepts, half on top of her, as she tangles her tongue with his.

She thinks she’s definitely hooked now. There’s no way she’s not; his weight against her, his hands on her hips. He tastes like honeysuckle and vanilla, and she briefly considers that if he asked her, she’d go anywhere he wanted.

When they finally pull apart —half because they need to breath and half because neither of them want to push this any further in the sand —he rests his forehead against hers. That boyish grin is plastered on his face, and her lips are swollen from kissing. They’re staring at each other like they think they both hold the stars in their eyes.

“Can we skip to the part where you ask me to be your girlfriend?” She asks, voice soft as they sit up slowly.

“After one date?” He points out, but not because he doesn’t want to. But because he’s surprised she does. “I…yeah. Absolutely.” She stares at him expectantly, grinning at him until he catches on. Then he nods quickly, fixing his glasses like it’s a nervous habit. “Sorry, yeah —I’d…I’d kill for you to be my girl, if you’d want that?”

“I do like the sound of being called your girl,” she admits, leaning over to kiss his cheek gently. “I definitely want that, Bobby.”

He nods again, unable to help the smile that’s spreading across his face. Then he’s kissing her again, like his life depends on it. But she’s laughing into the kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“My girl,” he whispers against her lips when he pulls away.

“Your girl.”

#bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #robert floyd x reder #robert floyd #top gun maverick #top gun #lewis pullman x reader #lewis pullman

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bittersuitekim · 2 days ago

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Her

word count: 2,034??

You knew you would never compare to her but Billie’s friend Eissy did but always made sure you knew it every time especially if you were around when billie would bring you to her friend group when they would all get together to hangout.

You tried, and tried to make yourself feel like you’re enough for Billie and she would soon replace you but you couldn’t.

You’ve done changes but wasn’t sure if billie noticed but sooner or later she did. She always did but Billie was waiting and seeing how far it got and if you would communicate with her on what’s going on and how you were truly feeling.

Especially tonight when billie got invited for a group hangout but you didn’t know if eissy would be there but you were afraid billie would question if you asked if she would be there.

You were finishing up getting ready for dinner at a restaurant that Billie’s friend group planned and Billie wanted you to be there with her.

You were middle of doing your hair when Billie came in your guys shared bedroom wrapping her arms around your waist and Billie’s wearing an oversized white FTP Osiris tee with a light wash baggy jeans and a green bandana under a dark green cap and converse from Billie Eilish X Converse line collaboration Billie did with converse.

She began placing soft kisses on your neck, distracting you as you softly giggled and said, “Stop, baby,” trying to finish styling your hair into two cute long braids.

Billie smiled against your skin and whispered, “I can’t stop, baby—you look so beautiful.”

You smiled and turned around and kissed her and Billie kissed back with a smile on her face before pulling back

“I like your hair like that,” she said softly, her eyes meeting yours in the mirror.

You froze for half a second. “Yeah?”

She nodded. “Been liking all the little changes lately. Just didn’t want to say anything too soon.”

You laughed, a little breathless. “I wasn’t sure you noticed.”

“I notice everything about you,” she said, more serious now. Her hands tightened slightly around your waist. “But I’ve also noticed you’ve been quiet. Distant. Like your smile’s been rehearsed.”

“Baby I promise it’s nothing just been feeling down but it’s nothing too serious.” You said softly

“Are you sure? I’m always here for you mamas, I love you always.” Billie said.

“Yes, I’m sure baby and I love you too more than anything.” You said smiling and kissing her and Billie kissing back with a smile.

“We should get going before I jump on you and we never get to leave.” Billie chuckled giving your waist a squeeze but you thought that was a better idea but you didn’t say anything and nodded with a smile.

The car ride to the restaurant was quiet, the kind of silence thick with unspoken thoughts. Billie held your hand tightly, but you could feel the tension simmering beneath her calm exterior. The streets blurred past, city lights flickering against the window, but all you could think about was what was waiting for you inside.

When you both arrived, the restaurant was full of chatter and laughter. Glasses clinking, silverware tapping against plates, and familiar voices filled the room with warmth. Billie looked at you with a loving smile and gave your hand a gentle squeeze before guiding you to the long table where her friends were already seated.

As always, Eissy was there front and center, laughing a little too loudly, dressed effortlessly in something you’d never feel brave enough to wear. She gave Billie a tight hug, eyes flicking to you with that familiar look a mix of challenge and jealousy.

“Wow, you actually brought her again,” Eissy said bitterly, not even pretending to whisper. “You’re brave.”

A few of the others chuckled awkwardly, and Billie shot Eissy a look, but she didn’t say anything. Not yet. You just smiled weakly and sat beside Billie, pretending it didn’t bother you.

But it did

The whole dinner felt like a game of silent jabs. Every time you spoke, Eissy interrupted. Every time you leaned toward Billie, Eissy always found a way to pull her attention back. You stayed quiet, trying to keep your composure, trying not to ruin the night for Billie.

Later on the night you decided to join Odessa and Zoe's conversation who included you in it and you relaxed and grateful for the distraction from how you were actually feeling.

But then dessert came

Billie had leaned in to whisper something sweet to you something that finally made you feel seen, wanted, safe but Eissy cut in, loud and sharp.

“Didn’t know you were into the clingy type, Billie. Since when do you go for girls who act like they’re on a trial run for being your shadow?”

The whole table went silent.

Your stomach dropped. You blinked, unsure if you actually heard that right. Billie stared at Eissy, and her jaw tensed.

“That’s enough,” Billie said flatly. But you were already done.

You stood up quietly and walked away from the table, out into the night. The cold air hit your skin like a slap, but it was nothing compared to what you felt inside.

Billie caught up with you at the car, grabbing your hand before you could get in. “Babe, wait—” Billie spoke.

“You just let her do that,” you said, voice shaking with tears in your glossy eyes.

“I didn’t let her—” billie said

“You didn’t stop her either.” you interrupted billie before she could finish speaking up.

Billie sighed, frustrated. “I did. I told her to stop.”

“You told her after she humiliated me in front of everyone. Like it was a joke. Like I’m a joke.” You pulled your hand away. “I told you she does this. I told you how it makes me feel.”

“She’s my friend! What do you want me to do, cut her off?” Billie raises her voice slightly.

You stared at her. “No. I want you to choose me, billie. I want you to stand up for me. Not once have you actually defended me until it’s already too late.”

The car ride back was silent. But this time, it wasn’t thick with unspoken things—it was hollow, tense, empty.

When you got home, the front door had barely clicked shut before it exploded again.

“You’re mad at me for not jumping to your defense fast enough, but do you know how hard it is to be in the middle of this?” Billie said, kicking her shoes off hard.

“No, Billie. I don’t. Because I’ve never made you feel like you’re not enough. I’ve never stood by and let someone you love treat you like that.” Your voice cracked. “You always talk about how you notice everything but you don’t see how much this hurts me.” you said with your voice cracking and shaking even more shaky and tears falling down your cheeks.

“I do see it! But I’m trying to keep the peace. You think I like being stuck between you and someone I’ve known since I was fourteen?” Billie said defensively, trying to make you see her point.

“I’m not asking you to choose between us. I’m asking you to have my back when people treat me like I’m disposable. Like I’m temporary.”

Billie ran a hand through her hair, pacing. “You think you’re temporary? Is that what all these changes have been about? Trying to be someone else so I won’t leave?”

You looked at her, tears brimming while speaking. “Yeah. Because I already feel like I’m losing you, Billie. One comment at a time, I feel like our relationship is going downhill.”

Billie stopped, her expression softening, but her voice still tense. “I never asked you to change.”

“No. But you didn’t stop the people who made me feel like I had to.” you said trying to keep composure.

The room went silent again. But it wasn’t peaceful. It was heavy. Loaded.

Billie sat down on the edge of the bed, elbows on her knees, head in her hands.

“I’m sorry,” she finally said, voice low. “I should’ve said more. I should’ve done more.”

You sat next to her, but didn’t speak. Not yet.

Because apologies were a start but they weren’t always enough.

You sat beside her, but the space between you felt miles wide like the connection between you both is slipping away.

Billie stared at the floor like it held all the answers she didn’t have. You wiped at your eyes, trying to steady your breath, but your heart still felt like it was crumbling slowly in your chest.

“I don’t want to keep doing this,” you said quietly.

Billie looked up. “Doing what?”

“This. Fighting. Feeling like I’m walking on eggshells around your friends. Around you.” you said a little more calmly.

Her jaw tensed again before speaking. “You’re not walking on eggshells around me, Mamas.”

“Aren’t I?” Your voice is sharp now especially hearing billie calling you that nickname that always makes you fold. “You think I don’t notice how different you are when you’re around them? How can you barely look at me unless we’re alone? Like you’re trying to pretend I’m not there.”

“That’s not fair,” Billie said, standing. “You’re twisting it.”

“No, I’m just finally saying it out loud, Billie.” you shot back, standing too. “I’ve felt it for months, Billie. I’ve watched you laugh harder at Eissy’s stupid jokes than you ever do with me. I’ve watched you let her disrespect me while you stay silent. And it’s killing me, Billie. It’s killing me.”

Billie looked like she wanted to deny it. Wanted to argue. But she didn’t.

Instead, she turned away, hands tugging at the roots of her hair in frustration. “You don’t get it.”

“Then help me get it,” you said, tears slipping freely down your face now. “Because I’m exhausted, Billie. I’m exhausted trying to hold onto someone who doesn’t fight for me.”

Billie turned back, her eyes glassy. “You think I’m not fighting for you? I’ve given you everything—”

“No, you haven’t,” you cut in, voice trembling. “You’ve given me pieces. Scraps. Just enough to keep me from walking away but never enough to feel safe. I have to convince myself every day that I’m worth staying for and that’s not love, Billie. That’s survival.”

Silence.

She didn’t speak. Didn’t move. And that silence? That silence hurt more than anything Eissy ever said.

You shook your head, chest aching. “I changed everything trying to be someone you’d finally see. And you still didn’t.”

“I did,” Billie said quietly, almost a whisper. “I just didn’t know how to say the right thing. I didn’t want to make it worse.”

“It already is worse,” you said. “And the worst part? I don’t even know who I am anymore when I’m with you.”

Billie’s lips parted like she wanted to stop you, like she wanted to fix it but nothing came out.

So you walked past her.

Not out the door.

Not yet.

But into the bathroom, shutting the door behind you because you needed a moment. Because if she wasn’t going to fight for you right now, then you had to fight for yourself even if it meant breaking in the process.

Divider credits: @bernardsbendystraws

a/n: Finally got this done! I’m so proud of this story but I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did when writing this!

Part 2?? maybe or maybe not..

Taglist: @sayitspititout @prettygiaaa

send me an ask or comment to be added to my taglist!

#billie eilish #billie eilish oneshot #billie eilish angst #billie eilish x reader #billie eilish fic #billieeilish #bittersuitekim ♡‧₊˚#billie eilish x you #billie eilish x fem!reader #billie x y/n #wlw #billie eilish blurb #billie eilish fluff

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soda-sparkss · 2 days ago

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collab with @deadlysoupy !! she did the writing drabble and i made the art!!

There wasn't time to ask. Bumblebee didn't need to know, anyway.

The only thing he needed to know was right in front of him: Starscream, coming into the room, his posture slumped, optics flickering on and off, expression on the edge of toppling down and crashing.

So Bumblebee didn't ask. He simply got up from their shared desk, took Starscream's trembling servos, guided him to their berth, and embraced Starscream in a way that would offer comfort. Protection. It was the only thing he could do, even if he wanted to do so much more.

There wasn't time for that now, though. The only thing that mattered was letting Starscream know he wasn't alone. He'd never have to be alone if Bumblebee could help it. As long as Bee was around, Starscream should never feel lonely.

Starscream didn't need a lot of time to wrap his own servos around Bee's torso. His helm buried into a nook of Bumblebee's servo, faceplate hidden from view. Bee wouldn't pry unless asked, so he simply laid there, rubbing circles into the seams of Seeker's wings, fiddling with their intricacies and roots.

Eventually, Starscream started shifting, his movements erratic, body shaking, and Bumblebee swore his spark could crack and die out — and he'd let it.

Lubricant wasn't often found on a mech like Starscream. Bumblebee saw it, of course, more often than others, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt, no matter how many times Bee saw it. Star's glossy, shining optics met Bumblebee's, for a fleeting nano-second, and it's as if a dam has been burst open. Helm hung low again, the top of it rubbing into Bumblebee's chassis.

If Bee's spark didn't shatter before, it did now.

As Starscream's servos made their way to grasp onto Bumblebee's, Bee brought up his to cup Star's helm, first the top, then the bottom.

"Star," he whispered, afraid to utter even a word to discourage the Seeker. His own optics threatened to leak, but he couldn't afford to when Starscream needed him.

When he felt a small give, an indication, a clue, of Starscream being somewhat ready, Bumblebee clasped his helm, his digits finding the faceplate and gently rubbing there, and turned Starscream's gaze away from the darkness he sought out.

Bee didn't know what to expect, but Star has never looked more vulnerable than right there. Mouth pressed in a frown, quivering, lubricant leaving glossy marks around his perfect gray faceplate. Optics still not facing Bumblebee, exploring some part of Bumblebee's neck that he can't see, they looked so undeniably sad.

He has never seen Starscream quite like this.

"Oh, Star…" he mouthed, just barely, to at least let him know he wasn't shamed, and wasn't scrutinised for it. Cared for, instead, Bumblebee's spark was an open book for him, only for Star to see.

Finally, Starscream stopped wrestling with himself, and locked optics. Bumblebee couldn't let that go to waste.

"I'm sorry, Star," his left servo comes a little closer and wipes away the tears he cried. "I'm here. Always. You're safe."

And Starscream was. They didn't move from the spot for a long time, Star's helm collapsing on Bumblebee's chassis, and Bee letting his servos wander on Starscream's frame, brushing over comfortable and familiar spots. Starscream didn't need to utter a word. Bumblebee was here, regardless.

It was a constant Bumblebee intended to keep.

#spark's art #my art #and soupy's art #art #artists on tumblr #transformers #maccadam #starscream #bumblebee #starbee #tfe #transformers earthspark #tf earthspark #tfe starscream #tfe bumblebee #collab tag #fanfic

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brookghaib-blog · 1 day ago

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The ghost I left behind - VI

Pairing: Robert 'Bob' Reynolds x reader

Summary: Y/N and Bob had a life before he disappear, full of love, hope, and a lot of chaos, but they managed each other, she was the only one who truly could make him avoid the void inside his mind. How could he turn his only light into a shadow in his mind ?

Word count: 5,5k

Note: This has been an emotional rollercoster, but welcome to the final chapter!! I hope you all enjoyed the story as much as I did!

The soft thump of a hammer echoed through the apartment again, followed by the high-pitched whine of an electric drill that had definitely seen better days. Y/N barely reacted—just lazily flipped a page in her fashion magazine, her legs swinging slightly off the side of the couch, toes brushing the worn rug. The model on the page wore something entirely impractical for pregnancy, but Y/N still admired the color.

Her belly shifted under the oversized shirt she’d stolen from Bob weeks ago—though she refused to admit that out loud.

The sound of shuffling tools and an exasperated grunt came from the hallway, and then Bob appeared, wiping sweat from his forehead with the bottom of his shirt. His hair was a mess again. Thank God the gel hadn’t made a reappearance in weeks.

He looked tired—but in that satisfied, proud way that came after a long day of fixing what was broken.

“I finally got the damn cabinet to stop swinging open every time someone breathes near it,” he announced, stepping barefoot onto the carpet. “Your shower isn’t leaking anymore either. Window in the kitchen’s fixed. Crib’s done. Everything’s… done.”

Y/N looked up from her magazine. “You say that like you’ve conquered Everest.”

He leaned his weight on the armrest of the couch, giving her a crooked grin. “I basically have. You know how long I’ve been fighting that crooked hinge in the pantry? Longer than I fought Abomination.”

She raised an eyebrow. “And which one smelled worse?”

“Definitely the pantry.” He smirked, but then paused, looking at her with something quieter in his eyes. “You’re comfortable, right? I mean, the place—it’s finally good again?”

She didn’t answer right away. Just flipped another page, then closed the magazine and set it beside her.

“I’m comfortable,” she said, finally. “For now.”

Bob nodded, like he knew that tone well by now. He did. Two months of it.

Two months of brushing past each other in the kitchen. Two months of long conversations that always stopped right before they could be about them. Two months of him staying on the blow-up mattress in the other room, waking at every noise she made, every time she turned in her sleep.

He’d offered her everything: the Watchtower, an apartment in the city, a bigger bed, a quieter life. She hadn’t taken any of it. She’d chosen the walls they once called theirs, now patched up and reimagined as hers again.

Still, he never left.

“I know I’m being stubborn,” she said softly, rubbing her stomach as the baby gave a lazy kick. “I just… I need to know that I’m doing this right. For me.”

“I get it,” Bob said, without hesitation. “I messed up. I was gone. I left you holding everything. You don’t owe me anything.”

There was a pause, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.

“And still,” he added, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Y/N looked at him, really looked at him—hair falling in his eyes again, knuckles scraped from fixing pipes and building furniture, shirt stained with sweat and dust. His whole being radiated exhaustion and devotion.

“Do you even sleep anymore?” she asked quietly.

He gave a breathy laugh. “Yeah. When you do.”

She felt a pang in her chest, unsure if it was affection or guilt or both. She leaned back into the cushions, hand absently rubbing her stomach.

“You’re doing all this for someone who hasn’t even told you if she wants you here.”

“I know,” Bob said, softer now, sitting down slowly on the floor beside the couch. “But I’m not doing it to earn anything. I’m doing it because I want to. Because you deserve someone who fixes things when they break—even if it’s just a loose screw or a cracked tile. Or me.”

He looked down, like maybe he’d said too much. Like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to say that yet.

Y/N reached for her water bottle on the coffee table, then thought better of it and instead reached out, fingers brushing his.

“You’re better with the hammer than I thought,” she said, half-teasing.

He smiled at that. “You should see my drywall technique. Masterclass.”

The late afternoon sun bled softly through the curtains, painting the apartment in hues of gold and rose. Y/N shifted a bit on the couch, pulling a pillow behind her lower back, groaning as she tried to get comfortable.

“Hey,” she said casually, as Bob reached for his toolbox again. “You feel like going on a noble quest?”

Bob looked up, one eyebrow raised. “Oh boy. What now?”

“I want a sandwich.”

“That’s it?”

“Bacon and egg. Toasted bread. A side of fries. And a Coca-Cola.”

He blinked. “That’s a feast.”

She gave him a small grin, teeth biting her lip just slightly. “It’ll do.”

Bob exhaled like he was being sentenced to war. “Alright. Want me to go milk the cow and bake the bread from scratch too?”

Y/N leaned back into the couch, hand over her belly. “Don’t tempt me. You’ve got strong arms and the energy of a loyal man in love—I might put you to actual labor.”

He gave her a look, wiping sweat from his brow dramatically. “You are having fun slaving me around.”

“I am,” she said without apology, smug. “But you love it.”

Bob just shook his head, grabbing his wallet and keys, heading for the door. “You’re lucky I can’t say no to you.”

“I know,” she called after him sweetly.

Twenty minutes later, the door clicked open again, and Bob stepped in with two paper bags of hot food, a pair of soda cans tucked under his arm. He was already chewing on one fry, like he’d earned the reward. “Mission complete,” he said, dropping the goods on the coffee table like a hero returning from battle.

Y/N practically pounced. “God, bless you.”

They ate in silence for a while, the soft crackle of wrappers and the faint sound of city life outside the window filling the space. Y/N was already licking salt off her fingers before Bob was halfway through his sandwich.

He glanced at her plate and snorted. “You devoured that. I don’t think I even blinked and it was gone.”

She looked smug again. “I’ve got a whole human being inside me. What’s your excuse?”

“Touché,” he chuckled, and then, more gently, he reached out and rested his hand on her belly. “How are you two doing? I mean… you’re already seven months.”

Her smile softened. “We’re good. Tired, mostly. My back hates me. But he’s growing. Doctor says he’s healthy.”

Bob’s thumb traced slow, small circles on the curve of her bump. The expression on his face melted into something reverent, something quiet and heavy with awe.

Silence lingered for a few moments, the kind that feels full instead of empty.

Y/N looked down at his hand, then up at his face. “Bobby?”

He glanced up, still smiling. “Yeah?”

She watched him for a second longer, eyes unreadable, then said, “You should probably start packing up my things, you know clothes and everything.”

Bob blinked. “Huh?”

She tilted her head slightly. “I’m moving in with you.”

He froze. “Wait—what?”

“I already put the apartment up for sale,” she said with a small smile, brushing a crumb from her shirt. “Had a couple people interested. Figured I’d wait until all the fixing was done so the value would go up.”

Bob slowly lowered his sandwich, staring at her like she’d just told him the moon had fallen out of the sky.

“And you’re telling me this now?”

She shrugged, grinning. “I wanted to make sure first. And I needed a reason for you to fix everthing, you wouldn't do it if ou knew it wasn't for me. But… yeah. I’m moving in with you. I want to be there. For all of it. The baby. The crazy superhero stuff. Us, whatever we are.”

Bob still looked like he was trying to process oxygen.

“I mean, I heard,” she added with a teasing glint in her eye, “there’s a luxury suite available in the Watchtower. And a great man who sleeps on the other side of the bed. Big arms.”

His eyes went wide. “You’re serious?”

She nodded, beaming now. “Dead serious.”

Bob launched himself forward so fast the remaining fries toppled over. He wrapped his arms around her, careful of her belly, holding her with the full force of his love. He kissed her hair, her cheeks, her forehead, murmuring breathless declarations between kisses:

“I love you—I love you so much—you’re everything, everything to me—God, I’ve missed you—I can’t believe you’re actually—Y/N, I’m gonna cry—”

She laughed through it all, wrapping her arms around his neck, smiling like she hadn’t in months.

“You’re ridiculous,” she whispered into his ear.

He pulled back just enough to look at her, eyes glassy. “And you’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”

They stayed like that for a long time—wrapped in each other, the smell of fries and warmth in the air, the flickering golden light of a day well-lived wrapping around them like a promise.

The elevator doors of the Watchtower slid open with a soft chime, revealing Bob awkwardly juggling two cardboard boxes stacked so high they completely blocked his line of sight.

“Can someone—uh—get the doors?” Bob grunted, bumping into the wall with a thud.

Y/N followed right behind him, visibly amused, a tote bag over her shoulder and a small plant in hand. “He insisted on carrying all the heavy stuff. Said it was his superhero duty.”

Bob peeked around the boxes just in time to see Alexei, Yelena, Ava, and Walker all sitting around the common room, half-eating, half-arguing about the best combat drills. They turned toward the elevator in unison.

Alexei blinked. “What’s this? Is Bob moving out?”

“Please say yes,” Walker muttered with a mouthful of trail mix.

Bob, ignoring them, stepped forward dramatically and proclaimed with a big grin, “She’s moving in!”

Y/N elbowed him gently. “Not into your bed.”

“Yet,” Bob whispered proudly, causing Yelena to cough suspiciously and Ava to hide a grin behind her water bottle.

Alexei nearly jumped up from the couch, arms thrown wide like he was welcoming a national holiday. “YES! I knew it! The baby is coming, the woman is here, life is beautiful!”

Bob beamed, setting the boxes down and slinging an arm around Y/N’s shoulders. “She’s selling the old place. Said she wanted to be here for everything. The baby, the team… me.”

Y/N rolled her eyes at his cheesiness but didn’t pull away. “More like I didn’t want to miss out on seeing Alexei pretend to be a baby whisperer.”

“Oh please,” Alexei said proudly, thumping his chest. “I already have plans! I will teach him to wrestle before he walks. We’ll bench press together. First words will be Red Guardian.”

Y/N laughed. “Right, because nothing says healthy development like a toddler trying to do kettlebell swings.”

“By age three, he will punch Walker in the knees!” Alexei continued, completely serious.

Walker threw a chip at him. “Try it and I’m throwing him into orbit.”

Ava smirked from the other couch. “We’re taking bets on who he bonds with first. I say me. I’ve got quiet mystery aunt energy.”

“Please,” Yelena said, raising a brow. “He’ll bond with me. I’m the cool one. I’ve already bought him four tiny tactical vests.”

Y/N covered her face, laughing. “You’re all insane. But fine, he’ll need uncles and aunts to balance out whatever chaos Bob contributes.”

Bob looked mock-offended. “Hey! I’m going to be a great dad. I fixed her kitchen window. That’s like… 70% of fatherhood, right?”

“I mean… it’s a good start,” Y/N said, leaning into him slightly. “But let’s see how you do with diapers before you get cocky.”

Walker stood and clapped his hands. “Okay, well if she’s living here now, do we need to create a safe zone? Somewhere baby-proofed where Alexei isn’t allowed?”

Yelena raised her hand. “I second that.”

“Traitors,” Alexei muttered.

As they all bickered and teased each other, Bob took a quiet moment just to look at Y/N. Her smile, her comfort, her laughter blending into the rhythm of this strange, dysfunctional family—they were all here. And soon, the baby would be, too.

“Feels good?” Ava asked softly, sidling up next to him.

Bob nodded, still watching Y/N as she scolded Alexei for something ridiculous. “Feels like home.”

Y/N stood in the center of the Watchtower suite, turning slowly as she took it all in. The space was enormous—modern, sleek, with floor-to-ceiling windows that let in soft golden light. Bob’s bedroom was bigger than their entire old apartment, and somehow still felt empty, like it had just been waiting for someone to fill it with life.

“So, uh,” Bob said, a little nervous, scratching the back of his head. “This closet’s all yours.” He opened a set of sliding doors to reveal an embarrassingly bare rack with maybe four of his T-shirts hanging. “I mean, technically it’s mine, but… as you can see, I don’t have a whole lot of style to make room for.”

Y/N stepped inside, running her fingers along the open shelves and empty hangers. “You weren’t kidding,” she laughed. “It’s practically begging for my shoes.”

“That was the plan,” he said with a grin, dropping the boxes of her clothes beside the bed. “Take over. Redecorate. Make it yours. Whatever you want.”

She smiled softly, a flutter in her chest she chose not to acknowledge just yet. Still holding on to that healthy distance, she reminded herself.

Her attention turned to the bed and she couldn’t resist—she flopped backward onto it with a dramatic sigh, arms stretched out like a starfish. “God… this mattress… it’s like it molds to my body. I might never get up again.”

Bob chuckled. “You like it?”

“I feel like I’m being hugged by a thousand clouds.”

“Well, good.” He smirked and backed toward the massive bathroom door. “I’m gonna jump in the shower real quick. Don’t worry, I’ll leave you the bathroom next, promise.”

“Take your time. I’ll start making sense of this chaos.” She gestured to the open boxes with a wave, still sprawled on the bed.

He disappeared into the ensuite bathroom, and a moment later she heard the water turn on. Curiosity got the better of her and she wandered over, cautiously peeking in through the open door. The bathroom was ridiculous. Marble floors. Double sinks. A tub big enough to fit a family of four. A glass walk-in shower where the water cascaded like rainfall from a ceiling fixture.

Y/N blinked. “What the hell is this place? A five-star hotel?”

She turned back, letting him have his privacy, and started unpacking her clothes, folding them neatly into drawers and rearranging the few things. She was halfway through organizing when she caught movement out of the corner of her eye and turned—only to freeze in place.

Bob walked out of the bathroom, towel slung low on his hips, steam trailing behind him like he was in some slow-motion cologne commercial. Hair wet and dripping onto his broad shoulders, muscles firm and… very different than the last time she saw him shirtless.

Her gaze lingered—just a second too long. Her mouth went dry.

Bob smirked.

“You can stare, you know,” he said, casual, smug.

She snapped her eyes away, cheeks burning. “Shut up.”

“I’m just saying. I work hard, might as well be appreciated.” He winked, grabbing a T-shirt and boxers from a drawer and disappearing briefly behind the closet door to change.

She shook her head, trying to focus on folding a pair of jeans. This is going to be hard, she thought.

A minute later, he reemerged fully dressed, rubbing a towel through his damp hair. “We’re making dinner with the team. Nothing fancy, but I promised Alexei I’d supervise or he’d just fry everything in bacon grease again.”

She raised an eyebrow. “That actually sounds kind of amazing.”

He laughed. “Yeah, well. I’ll bring you a plate. But if you need anything, just call, okay?”

She nodded, offering a small smile. “Okay.”

As he opened the door to leave, she turned back to her clothes. Fold. Stack. Breathe. Then, under her breath, barely above a whisper—

“…Hold back Y/N.”

After organizing the last of her clothes and letting herself unwind for a bit, Y/N finally stood up, stretched, and headed toward the bathroom. The warm water felt like a balm on her tired body, and she took her time letting it relax her, scrubbing away the day, the dust, and the residual nerves of the big move. After drying off, she changed into a pair of soft sweatpants, a fitted maternity tank, and one of Bob’s oversized zip-up hoodies she’d quietly stolen from his drawer when he wasn’t looking. It smelled like him—clean, warm, comforting.

She made her way down the sleek Watchtower hallway, following the faint sounds of laughter and clinking silverware until she reached the dining area. The long table was completely set up—plates stacked high, dishes of food steaming, drinks poured. Bob and Yelena were still fussing over the placement of side dishes.

Bob caught sight of her first and grinned, wiping his hands on a dishtowel. “Hey,” he said gently, walking over. “You came down.”

“I figured it was either this or let Alexei bring me a plate the size of a car tire,” she said, glancing at the food. “This all smells amazing.”

Yelena grinned. “You’d be correct.”

Y/N stood awkwardly at the side, unsure where to go.

“Where should I…?”

Bob gently pressed a hand to her back and nudged her toward the empty chair beside his. “Right here. Always here.”

She didn’t fight it. Just smiled a little and sank into the seat.

Around the table sat Alexei, Ava, Yelena, Bucky, and Walker, all already halfway into their meals. It was surprisingly loud, the team mid-conversation, joking, teasing one another. They made room without question, offering her drinks, napkins, pointing out which food was “safe” from Alexei’s over-seasoning.

She still felt like a guest, but… less like a stranger.

Then, in the middle of a lull between jokes about Johnny’s tragic attempt to use the toaster oven, Ava leaned in across the table with a curious smile.

“So… have you two decided on a name yet?”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard. “Oh, uh—no. Not yet.”

Bob turned to her. “We haven’t really talked about it, actually.”

“I do have an idea,” she said softly, eyeing him. “I just haven’t run it by you yet.”

Bob leaned closer, curiosity written all over his face. “You do?”

“Ohh,” Yelena chimed in, sipping from her water. “Let’s guess.”

“Oh god,” Y/N groaned, already regretting the openness.

Alexei leaned back, cracking his knuckles. “Okay. Hear me out. ‘Red Guardian Junior.’”

“Absolutely not,” said literally everyone at the table, in unison.

“I like Bacon,” Walker said, unironically, pointing at the leftover strips on his plate. “Strong. American. Versatile.”

Y/N gave him a look that could kill. “You're banned from suggesting anything.”

Walker shrugged, trying to be helpful. “How about something normal? Like Matthew. Or Tyler.”

“That’s what you call a labrador, not a baby,” Ava muttered.

“What about Blaze?” Walker added.

Yelena deadpanned. “No.”

“Wait, wait,” Alexei said. “What about—Vladislav?”

Y/N stared at him. “Absolutely not naming my baby after a vampire.”

“I take offense,” Alexei grumbled.

Bob, half-laughing, turned back to Y/N. “Okay, now I have to know. What was your idea?”

She hesitated for a second. Then met his eyes and said, softly, “I was thinking… Georgie. Short for George.”

He paused, genuinely touched by the simplicity of it.

“…Because of Mr.Cooper?,” he echoed, testing the name on his tongue. “I really like that.”

“It's warm,” she said. “I like the name and...I don't know, I feel like I will always have him but... I feel like he would be honorable.”

“It’s perfect,” Bob said, and for a moment the room quieted, letting the soft sincerity settle.

“Wait, wait,” Walker suddenly said, raising a finger. “Middle name suggestion. Blaze. Just think about it.”

Y/N groaned and threw a bread roll at him, laughing.

The room was dim, quiet except for the distant hum of the Watchtower's systems and the soft rustle of sheets. Y/N lay back against the cloud-like mattress, belly gently curved under her oversized pajama top, flipping through her phone lazily while the glow of the bedside lamp cast a cozy hue over the space.

Bob was still moving around, digging through drawers and talking.

“So I was thinking we need one of those changing tables,” he said, pulling a shirt over his head. “The kind that doesn’t make me bend like a ninety-year-old every time. Oh—and maybe blackout curtains? You haven’t been sleeping well. Or is that just me snoring?”

Y/N smiled tiredly. “That, and your habit of kicking blankets off me in your sleep. But yes… blackout curtains. Add that to the list.”

“Also…” He paused, tugging off his jeans. “We’ll need a monitor. The fancy kind, not the creepy baby-camera-that-looks-like-it-wants-to-steal-your-soul type.”

Y/N chuckled, but then her voice faltered when she glanced his way—he was standing near the dresser in just his boxers, back to her, his muscles more pronounced than she remembered. Defined shoulders, strong arms, broad back. His transformation since Malaysia hadn’t just been emotional—it had left its mark on his body too.

She quickly looked away, cheeks heating.

He noticed.

He turned slowly, running a towel through his still-damp hair, catching the shift in her expression. His brows knit together as he walked over quietly.

“Did I—?” he asked gently, “Did I make you uncomfortable?”

She blinked, shaking her head quickly. “No, no. It’s not like that. I just… I haven’t seen you like that in a long time. Haven’t been… intimate with anyone since you left, obviously. And we’re not technically together, so I guess I just don’t know the rules. The boundaries.”

He stilled at the side of the bed, looking down at her with his heart practically pounding through his chest.

“Y/N,” he murmured, voice deeper now, low with something both urgent and tender.

Then, still in just his boxers, he slowly crawled onto the bed beside her, his hands pressing into the mattress on either side of her, his face hovering close but not touching. His eyes searched hers, full of sincerity and longing.

“We have to change that,” he whispered. “Not because I need you to be mine like some claim... but because I am yours. I don’t want anyone else. I can’t even look at anyone else. You’re everything to me—always have been.”

He moved even closer, brushing her hair gently behind her ear.

“I know I’ve hurt you. I know I need to earn back every ounce of trust. But I need you like I need air. It’s not about boundaries. It’s about wanting this to be real again. Us. And I don’t want there to be a single night where you wonder where we stand, or who you are to me.”

Y/N swallowed hard, blinking up at him. Her body flushed warm, half from nerves, half from want. He was being vulnerable—honest in a way that struck deep.

Her hand lifted instinctively, finding his cheek, fingers pressing into the sharp lines of his jaw. She held his face like something precious. Then, with a breathless whisper—

“Come here.”

And she kissed him.

It started soft—slow, like her lips were relearning the shape of his—but quickly deepened. Months of longing, grief, and unspoken love surged up between them. Her other hand tangled into his damp curls, pulling him closer. He let out a shaky breath into her mouth, hand sliding behind her back as he shifted to hold her more securely, reverently.

They kissed as if making up for every lonely night, every missed morning. They weren’t rushing—they were remembering.

When they finally broke apart, foreheads pressed together, Y/N was still flushed and breathless.

Bob exhaled a soft laugh. “You always did know how to shut me up.”

She smiled faintly, fingers still in his hair.

“You said you didn’t want me to wonder where we stand,” she said. “Then prove it. Stay. Don’t go back to the couch or disappear when it gets too much. Let’s take this one night at a time. You, me, and him.”

He pressed a kiss to her cheek, then her forehead, then hovered his lips over hers again.

“One night at a time,” he whispered. “Forever, if you let me.”

The Watchtower meeting room was unusually tense, mostly because no one wanted to admit they were wildly underqualified for what was coming. A potential cosmic threat—something about "energy fluctuations" and "unidentified space debris"—was heading toward Earth. And their greatest weapon against it?

One guy. Who had godlike powers… but only when he felt mentally stable enough to use them.

"Okay," Bucky started, leaning against the couch, arms crossed, "so we’ve got a new alien enemy possibly crashing through our orbit in less than 48 hours. And our only actual superpowered asset is—no offense—kind of unpredictable."

All eyes turned to Bob, who was slouched on the oversized chair by the window, a book in hand, legs half-draped over one armrest like a gangly teen. He didn’t even look up.

"Sorry, guys," Bob said, flipping a page. "I can’t be the Sentry without the… you know."

He twirled a finger in the air vaguely, then pointed it at his own head.

Walker leaned forward, squinting. "What, you mean the psychotic alter ego part, or the part where you glow like a nuke and throw mountains?"

Bob glanced up and raised a brow. "Bit of column A, bit of column B."

"So what are we supposed to do?" Walker muttered. "Ride Bob into the sky?"

Alexei perked up, nodding. "Yess."

Just then, the elevator dinged. Heads turned.

Y/N stepped in, effortlessly cool in her hoodie and joggers, sunglasses pushed up on her head, a diaper bag slung over one shoulder, and a smirk on her face. On her hip sat one-year-old George—who had his dad’s impossibly blue eyes, a mop of golden curls, and an undeniable fixation on gnawing the zipper of Y/N’s hoodie.

"Ride Bob?" Y/N echoed, raising a brow. "That seat’s taken, sweetheart."

The room broke into laughter—except Bob, who was instantly upright, already holding out his arms like George was the greatest gift on Earth (which, to be fair, he was).

George squealed, "Dada!" as Y/N set him on Bob’s lap. Bob didn’t hesitate, dropping the book and scooping the toddler up, planting loud, exaggerated kisses on his chubby cheeks.

"Hey, little dude," Bob whispered, as George grabbed a fistful of his beard. "You’ve been working on your super-strength again, huh?"

George responded by smacking Bob’s cheek with a soft babble and a pleased shriek.

"I see the Void in him already," Ava said deadpan, sipping her tea.

Alexei stood, hands on his hips. "He’s ready. Let me train him. I’ll make him unstoppable. Like Red Baby Guardian."

Y/N narrowed her eyes. "He still poops in a diaper and I'm his source of food, Red Guy. He’s not ready for the Avengers."

"Avengerz... with a Z." Walker corrected.

"Whatever."

Before Alexei could reach for the baby, Y/N scooped George back up with a practiced mom move and took off running, George laughing hysterically as he bounced on her shoulder like a giggling backpack. "No combat training till he stops licking windows!" she called.

Bob stood up, watching them disappear around the hallway with a dazed look in his eyes, a soft, stunned smile pulling at his lips. The light from the window hit something on her left hand.

The ring. That ring.

It caught the sun perfectly.

"Engaged and still blushing when she calls dibs," Bucky muttered, rolling his eyes with a half-smile.

"She can call dibs on me forever," Bob said dreamily, still staring down the hall like he’d just seen a vision. "I’d let her ride me into a warzone if she wanted."

Walker snorted. "Man. That's disgusting—but kinda beautiful."

Alexei crossed his arms. "Fine. But I still want baby to punch something someday."

Ava sighed. "Maybe start with a stress ball."

1 Year ago - NYC Hospital

The pale light from the window cast a soft golden hue across the hospital room. The city outside was slowly waking up, but inside, time felt suspended. Y/N was propped up on the bed, a little tired, a little puffy-eyed, but glowing—not in the superhero way, in the I-just-birthed-a-whole-human-and-he’s-perfect way.

Her hospital gown hung loosely around her shoulders as she gently cradled her newborn, baby George, to her chest. He suckled quietly, little fingers twitching, soft breaths mixing with the occasional squeak. The room was silent but for that delicate sound—until a small sniffle came from her right.

Y/N glanced over. Bob was sitting beside her, hands on his knees, just… staring. His eyes were glassy, lips parted slightly, like he was watching the sunrise from the edge of the universe. A few tears tracked down his face.

She chuckled quietly, brushing a thumb over George’s cheek. “Why you crying, Bobby?”

Bob blinked, looking at her like she’d just asked why the sky was blue.

“You’re feeding him. You’re—he’s here. You’re okay. He’s okay. I just—I didn’t think…” His voice cracked as he wiped at his cheek with the back of his hand. “We made it, Y/N. After all of it. You’re here. He’s here. I can’t believe it.”

She smiled, resting her head back against the pillows, watching him quietly fall apart in the most beautiful way. “You almost didn’t make it. You passed out when they pulled him out. Hit the wall like a cartoon.”

Bob groaned softly. “Don’t remind me. That nurse is never going to look at me the same again.”

Just then—CRASH.

The door swung open with the force of a thunderclap. The team spilled in like they'd been waiting outside the entire time with their ears to the door.

“Where is he?! WHERE IS MY NEPHEW?!” Alexei boomed, holding a bouquet made entirely of red and gold flowers, and also—somehow—a small toy bear in tactical gear.

“You brought a tactical teddy bear?” Ava said, eyeing it. “Of course you did.”

“He must learn early,” Alexei insisted.

Behind them, Bucky, Walker, and Yelena entered with various levels of coordination, each holding a bouquet or balloon, all arguing over who would be the best babysitter. At the very end, nearly trampled by Walker and a rogue "IT’S A BOY!" balloon, came Mr. Cooper—older, kind-eyed, holding a simple, handpicked bouquet of bluebells and baby’s breath.

Y/N carefully detached George, now full and half-dozing, and shifted him to a blanket as Mr. Cooper approached the bed.

“Everything go okay?” he asked softly, eyes flicking from her to Bob.

She smirked. “Smooth sailing. Baby’s perfect. Mom’s tired. And Bob—well…” she looked at him, “…almost caused a second code blue.”

“I thought the monitor flatlined!” Bob interjected from his seat. “There was a beep!”

“It was somebody screaming on the corridor, sweetheart,” Y/N said.

The team had gathered around the bed like it was the Holy Grail, peering over each other’s shoulders trying to see the baby, even though Bob was now holding him again, arms perfectly cradling the tiny human like he was made for it.

“He’s got your curls, Y/N,” Ava noted. “He’s got Bob’s big eyes,” Yelena said. “He’s got my fighting spirit,” Alexei declared proudly. “He’s been alive for four hours,” Walker deadpanned.

Mr. Cooper stepped forward, still looking between Y/N and the baby.

“So…” he asked gently, “what’s his name?”

Y/N looked around at the chaos—the grown adults bickering over who got to hold him next, Bob softly humming to George, who blinked up with those sleepy blue eyes.

She turned back to Mr. Cooper with a small smile.

“George.” She paused, then added, “Well, Georgie, really. That’s what we’ll call him.”

Mr. Cooper stared. The silence fell heavy for a beat, then his eyes began to well up.

Before he could speak, Y/N held up a hand. “Yeah, it’s after you, old man. Don’t start crying.”

But he was already crying. No sobs, no theatrics—just quiet tears sliding down his wrinkled cheeks. He stepped in and wrapped her in a soft hug, careful not to jostle her too much.

“I told you, Y/N,” he whispered, voice tight, “everything was gonna be okay. And you… you’re gonna be a good mom.”

Y/N smiled, eyes stinging now too. “I should’ve doubted you less.”

He pulled away with a nod, then looked around the room—at the laughter, the love, the baby everyone was trying (and failing) not to wake up.

“Well,” Mr. Cooper said, clearing his throat, “this kid’s got the weirdest, most dangerous family I’ve ever seen. But also the luckiest.”

Alexei, meanwhile, was whispering Russian lullabies at the baby, Walker and Yelena were arguing over pacifier brands, and Bucky was quietly tying balloons to Bob’s IV stand for “aesthetic purposes.”

Bob stood, rocking George gently and watching Y/N from across the room—his eyes full of everything: disbelief, pride, relief, love.

241 notes · View notes

authorhjk1 · 3 days ago

Note

IU caught for a crime, reluctantly fucked & bukkake by the cops while handcuffed at the station and walk through paparazzi drenched in cum after her release

May 16, 2025

(IU) word count: 3664 words

"Wake up."

Jieun stirs awake as an unfamiliar voice reaches her ears. It takes her a moment to gain full consciousness. She's trying to remember where she is, because whatever she's lying on, it's definitely not her bed.

Her eyes slowly start to open, but the bright light from the ceiling forces them shut again. It takes Jieun a second try, but now she can see most of her environment. Her eyes grow wide when she sees someone standing only a couple of meters away. And it seems he and Jieun are separated by metal bars. She's definitely not at home.

"Where am I?"

The sleepiness now quickly leaves her mind, but when she tries to lift her head, an excruciating pain threatens to burst her scull. Jieun groans and she can barely think straight. What the hell happened last night?

"At the police station."

She hears a key opening a lock. The metal bars in front of the man start to move.

"Get up."

Usually Jieun would be upset with someone being so rude with her. But realization hits her like a truck. What did she do to wake up in a police station? She can't remember what happened last night. Nothing at all. Her head hurts so bad as she tries to slowly get up. Did she drink too much last night? But why would she be here then?

Jieun stumbles to her feet and the man has to grab her arm to stop her from falling.

"Follow me."

The walk through the police station feels like a dream to her. Eventually, the two of them reach an interrogation room.

Jieun sits down on the first chair she sees, her head still spinning. She feels the man grab both her arms and a moment later she hears the click of handcuffs. She looks down on herself in disbelief.

"What? What is this for?"

She's still fighting through the fog of sleepiness and hangover as the man sits down on the other side of the table.

"I'm detective Lee. And you're Lee Jieun. Is that correct?"

Jieun nods, still waiting for an answer to her question.

"Last night you got arrested for public indecency."

"Public what?"

Jieun furrows her eyebrows.

"Indecency?"

"Yes. The official report says that you undressed at a restaurant and started to dance naked on a table."

Jieun's cheeks heat up in embarrassment. That couldn't be her, right? Why would she do something like that? She was drunk before, but she never got naked in public or anything.

When IU looks down on herself she realises she isn't wearing her dress from last night either. Just a red turtle neck that is way too big for her. She can tell she's wearing panties, but otherwise she is naked underneath. No bra, no pants, nothing.

"A-And what am I supposed to do now?"

She watches detective Lee lean back in his chair. His eyes seem wander across her body, until he finally answers.

"Well, your case will be brought before a judge and he or she will determine your sentence."

"O-Okay. And what kind of sentence could that be?"

"A huge fine. Or...up to one year in jail."

Jieun feels like her heart skips a beat. Jail? For something she doesn't even remember? For something like being naked in public? Her career and her life flashes past in front of her eyes. That would be the end of her.

"N-No! I can't go to jail!"

Her voice rises as she starts to panic.

"It's okay, it's okay."

The detective rests a hand on hers to calm her down.

"There is an alternative."

Jieun almost sighs in relief, thinking she can avoid such a sentence. But the detective's smirk quickly destroys her hopes.

"What-What kind of alternative?"

She asks hesitantly, although she isn't sure if she even wants to hear it. She glances at the man's hand on hers, which is now gently caressing her skin.

"You do me a favor and I let you go. No evidence, no trial, no sentence."

Goosebumps form on IU's skin as she thinks about it for a second. She definitely understood that he's expecting a favor in a sexual sense. But is it worth it? Is it worth her career, her freedom? Maybe...

Her thoughts run wild as she tries to choose. Of course she doesn't want to do anything sexual with a random guy. But then again, she can't go to jail. It would ruin her career and her life. Maybe he isn't even asking for much? Maybe just a handjob or something?

"W-What kind of favor?"

Her voice is weak as shame rushes through her body. The detective's smile grows wider.

"Oh fuck. You have such a nice pussy."

The man behind Jieun groans in pleasure. She's bent over the desk, her hands still in handcuffs while she's getting fucked from behind.

"You're so tight and warm. Just amazing."

She doesn't even know the man's name, but he's buried deep inside her pussy. Detective Lee left a while ago after using Jieun's mouth and pussy himself. After him a couple of more guys came in one after the other and left. If she counted correctly, this guy is currently the sixth man who is taking her pussy today. The sixth stranger. A police officer she has never seen before.

"Fuck, I bet you love getting fucked by one cock after another, don't you?"

He's definitely the most vocal out of all the guys so far, but Jieun doesn't mind. As degrading as it is, his voice at least covers her pathetic moans. And it's not wrong what he's saying. She's embarrassed to admit this to herself, but Jieun is starting to get into this.

She feels his cock thrusting in and out of her, his hips snapping against her ass while he holds onto both her shoulders to pull her back against him. She can tell he's close by the way his cock is pulsating inside her pussy. For a moment, Jieun is afraid he might cum inside her unprotected cunt. But it seems like all the guys seem to have talked to each other. Like the other police officers before him, he pulls out of her and walks around the table. With his hand in her hair, he forces Jieun's face closer to his cock. She watches him stroke his cock a couple of times as his groans grow louder.

"You're such a slut. Using your body to get out of jail."

Then he finally cums all over Jieun's face, adding to the loads that are already sticking to her skin. She can't help but let out a moan of pleasure as she feels his hot cum paint her face. She has her eyes closed to make sure that nothing gets into them. But when she opens them again, she hears the click of the door. The man who just came on her face already left.

Barely a minute later, the door opens again. Jieun turns around, hoping to see detective Lee. Is she finally done? Is she free to go now?

To her dismay, it's not him. Another man in uniform steps into the room while already taking care of his belt. Her eyes follow him as he walks closer. Standing right in front of her, he takes out his cock and starts to stroke it.

"You look so sexy with cum on your face."

He almost laughs as he takes her chin in one hand and guides her mouth towards his cock.

"Wouldn't mind watching you perform on TV like this."

Even more embarrassment rushes through Jieun's system as his cock parts her lips. It's degrading enough to have all these officers cum on her face. She can't even imagine what it must feel like to perform on a music show with her face covered like this. Everyone would think she's a slut.

Jieun continues to imagine herself dancing with cum on her face as the man starts to fuck her mouth. His hands on either side of her head keep it in place while he thrusts in and out of her. She feels his tip brush against the back of her mouth with every other stroke and soon Jieun is starting to gasp for air. With detective Lee it was more like a blowjob than full on fucking her face. But now the man in front of her uses her mouth like a toy. Soon, he seems to have become fully hard, which makes it even harder to take all of him in. His cock is now making her struggle as her jaw starts to hurt due to being forced open like this.

"What a mouth. No wonder you're a singer."

He groans, one of his hands moving to grab a fistful of her hair. She feels him starting to loose control. His rhythm breaks and his deep powerful thrusts turn into quick, shallow pumps. But before he cums down her troat, he retreats, stepping back until his tip is only barely resting on her lower lip.

"If your pussy is only half as good as your mouth..."

He doesn't finish the sentence, too captivated by the sight of his cock finally falling out of her mouth. It's fully covered in Jieun's saliva, her spit glistening in the bright light. She glances down at it, the feeling of his length still lingers in her mouth.

"You like to get fucked that bad, huh?"

Jieun hesitates, but then nods quickly. She has to admit this to herself. As degrading and shameful it is, it's hot to have her holes used by one man after another. The fact that they're are all police men only heightens her arousal. She can feel herself getting into it. She can feel her pussy getting wet in anticipation as she watches him walking around the table. Still bent over, she loses sight of him once he stands behind her. She's holding her breath now, waiting for what is about to come.

To Jieun's surprise it's not his cock, but a hard slap on her right ass cheek. She yelps in surprise and shock. The slap makes her cheek sting. Another one to her left cheek. She gasps, the split second of pain leaving her breathless. Then she feels his cock rubbing against her wet folds. She catches herself slightly backing up. Her own arousal continues to rise. And when he finally thrusts inside of her for the first time, Jieun feels like she just crossed a new threshold. Most of the shame and embarrassment leave her as she takes his pounding. Instead of just being silently and passively bent over the table, she now lets out a needy

"Oh my god."

as she pushes back against him. Her small body starts to move in the same rhythm as his own, enabling him to penetrate her pussy even further.

"Fuck, you're such a tight little slut, aren't you?"

Another slap to her cheeks makes Jieun gasp before she can answer.

"Yes, sir."

A mewl escapes her lips after she says those two words. The thought of submitting to his authority as a police man has her dripping. Instead of spreading her legs wide, he is holding them together, which makes his cock feel even bigger inside of her. Jieun's thighs rub together as well, adding even more pleasure to her system.

"It's so good."

Another moan escapes her lips and the man behind her reaches forward to grab a fistful of her hair once more. Her loose bun is a complete mess by now, but she doesn't care at all. The most important thing right now is his cock. She lets out moan after moan as he continues to fuck her. Jieun is starting to ask for more, while the man behind her starts to get rougher with her. His hand is tightly holding onto her hips, while the other now reaches for her peach colored panties, which are lying next to her on the table.

"Open wide, little slut."

Jieun obeys his order, without thinking. He stuffs her panties into her mouth and then holds onto her bun once more.

"Fuck, you look even better with your mouth full."

He gives her ass a couple of slaps again, which makes Jieun moan into her panties. She can taste a little bit of herself, while he continues to thrust in and out of her pussy. The peach colored cloth is partially dangling out of her mouth and swinging to the rhythm of her getting fucked. She feels him trying to get even deeper and deeper inside of her, trying to make her pussy take all of his cock. In the process he's pushing her further onto the table, until she's almost lying on it.

"I don't think I can stop fucking this tight little cunt of yours."

He groans as he picks up her left leg and puts it on the table as well.

"Oh god!"

Jieun shouts through her panties as he now pushes deeper into her than ever before. His entire cock is now properly buried inside of her. He starts to slap her cheeks again too, making them sting. The mixture of pleasure and pain soon prove to be too much for her. Jieun's small body starts to shake and jerk on top of the table. She never expected to ever cum from being fucked by strangers. But here she is now. Jieun is climaxing on the table in the interrogation room as one of the police men makes her take his cock as deep as possible. Her moans and whines are mostly muffled by her panties, but they're still clearly audible.

"You love cuming on my dick, don't you?"

The man behind her groans. Jieun's pussy tightly squeezing his dick steers him towards his own orgasm as well. He fucks her even harder once he notices he can't hold on for much longer. His hands use her small ass cheeks as handles as he drives his cock into her cunt again and again.

Jieun expects him to pull out when she feels him pulsating inside of her. But instead, he buries himself as deep as possible inside her throbbing pussy. A gasp of surprise barely makes it past her panties as she feels him filling her pussy to the brim with his cum.

"Good girl."

He leans over her as he makes sure that her walls drain every last drop of his cum.

"You're a great cum dump."

He kisses her sweaty neck. Jieun feels him pulling out of her. Slowly his cock drags along her slick walls. Once she's empty again, she feels some of his cum escape her pussy and run down her legs. He gives her ass a final smack and then gets dressed and leaves her lying on the table.

Jieun tries to catch her breath. She is spread out on the cold surface, the bunched up turtleneck just barely covering her ass. The man's cum is leaking onto the table, while she just waits for the next person to claim her pussy. She hears the door open again and feels her body react to the sound with silent anticipation. When the next person stands in front of her, she finally manages to look up.

"Detective Lee."

She tries to say, but Jieun's mouth is still stuffed with her panties.

He enjoys the view of her lying on the table, totally spent, before he finally says something.

"I've got some good news and some bad news."

Jieun glances down at his crotch when she notices him gently cupping his cock through his pants.

"The good news is that the deadline of your release papers is over soon, so we have to let you go in around 20 minutes."

Now he undoes his belt, while he continues to talk. His eyes glued to her slightly pink ass cheeks.

"The bad news is, there are around 10 more officers outside, waiting for their turn."

Jieun takes a couple of moments to take the hint. She understands what he is insinuating.

"What-"

She tries to speak, but her panties keep her quiet.

"Let's hurry up a little."

Detective Lee's last words had a bit more volume to them and are followed by several pairs of footsteps.

Jieun swallows heavily as she feels several men entering the room at once. She can still only see the detective, but she knows that everyone is looking at her. For a second, the room is completely silent. Then everyone begins to get rid of their pants.

Five minutes later, Jieun feels like the world is spinning out of control. She's now lying on her back still on the table. Someone is holding onto her thighs while he's pounding deep into her cum filled pussy. She feels two men sharing her mouth, not caring if she's constantly gagging and choking. Her hands are still cuffed together, but her arms are reaching upwards. Two men are kneeling on the table, one on either side. They're basically fucking her hands, while Jieun does her best to stroke their cocks. Five more men are currently standing in the background, all touching themselves to the sight of Jieun getting used in any way possible.

She doesn't even notice that her panties have gone missing, because the cocks in her mouth still stop her from talking. Or breathing for that matter. The man thrusting into her pussy is digging his fingernails into her thighs, making her squirm on the flat surface. A couple of thrusts later, he's replaced by the next guy. The new man inside of her places a finger on her clit and starts to rub it in the rhythm of his thrusts.

Jieun becomes a broken, filthy mess in record time. Her eyes are barely open as the pleasure that flows through her system overwhelms her. The men using her hands have to hold her arms up, because her muscles are already sore.

For a second, she gets a breath of fresh air, before another pair of police men stuff her mouth with their cocks. Jieun can't tell how long it has been since detective Lee came in. Five minutes? 10 minutes? She's sure that she can't take it for much longer. Her pussy starts to feel sore as well after being fucked by almost a dozen different men in one day.

Jieun suddenly flinches when she feels someone reach underneath her turtleneck. His fingers pinch her nipples, sending even more pain into her body. She can't tell who it is though. Her entire body becomes their personal sex toy.

"Time is up."

A sigh of relief leaves Jieun's body as she hears detective Lee's voice. She knows she was close to loosing her mind. Although, a small part of her is disappointed that it's over now. She feels one man after another letting go of her body.

"Get up."

A pair of hands lift her tired body off the table. Jieun finds herself kneeling on the floor as she opens her eyes fully again. She realizes she's surrounded by the ten men who used her body mere seconds ago. And it quickly dawns on her what's going to happen next. All of them are stroking their cocks while looking down on her. And Jieun has just enough time to close her eyes again as the first load already hits her face. She can't tell who it was, or where it came from. But the stranger's sticky cum warms the skin on her face. The next load mostly hits her forehead. The next officer aims at her closed eyes. Jieun feels his heavy load weigh down on her eyelids.

She takes the other eight loads of cum as well, silently kneeling inside the ring of ten police officers. She eventually hears them all walk out of the room again. Except for detective Lee.

"Get up. Your manager is waiting outside."

She scrambles to her feet, her eyes slowly start to open, but the weight of several loads of cum forces them shut again. It takes Jieun a second try, but now she can see most of her environment.

"Your dress."

He hands her the dress she must've worn last night and motions for her to walk out of the interrogation room. She's only wearing the oversized turtleneck, which she only realizes when she's standing in the front door of the precinct.

"Wait, my panties..."

Detective Lee just laughs and gives her a gentle nudge. Jieun stumbles outside the building, her tired body barely keeping her standing. Then suddenly she goes blind as cameras start to flash. Raw horror creeps up her spine as Jieun is standing in front of the precinct, face covered in cum, only wearing an oversized turtleneck, her elegant dress bunched up into a lump of white cloth in her arms while reporters take picture after picture.

She tried to get out of jail and to protect her career. But here she is now, knowing that she's ruined. In more ways than one. With shaking legs and head hanging low, Jieun makes her way towards her manager's car. She can't even feel shame anymore. It's all about her career being over. Probably.

She opens the door of the car and quickly gets inside. When she turns to her manager, wanting to ask for something to clean her face with, she sees him staring at her. Her gaze moves lower. Her breath hitches when she sees that his cock is out and he is slowly stroking it.

"Just once, please? I always wanted to know how it'd feel like to-"

He doesn't even get to finish the sentence. Jieun can still hear the shutter of the cameras and the chatter of the reporters outside of the car as she leans over and wraps her lips around her manager's cock. Her career is ruined anyway. Might as well have some fun while she watches it all collapse.

----------------

Happy IU day everyone!

I hope you guys enjoy this small fic. Thanks for waiting so patiently for me.

Stay healthy!

#ask #anon #kpop #kpop smut #kpop girls #kpop gg #iu soloist #iu smut #iu #jieun smut #lee jieun #jieun

343 notes · View notes

siri-ike · 7 hours ago

Text

(This got a little long)

Danny quieted down when he realized he wasn't in any danger. He stumbled out of bed, his legs were numb and wobbly, and everything looked out of focus. He grabbed onto the window sill to stay standing, but he just couldn't.

Suddenly, someone wearing white burst into the room. He couldn't tell who it was, or even if he knew them. It didn't help that he couldn't seem to keep his head still. The figure rushed toward him, and he flinched.

"It's ok, you're in the hospital. My name is Katie, I'm a nurse here. I can help." The woman had a Midwestern accent. She slowly stroked his sholder and held his cheek until he caught his breath and stopped shaking.

He sniffled as his vision slowly faded into focus. Katie was holding his head still. It really helped. He let his shoulders relax. "There was- th was a woman, she, she threw me into the water. And, and, and-"

"Vivid dreams are normal. But you're safe now. How about we get you back in bed? You can tell me everything you saw while we wait for Doctor Benton to get here." Katie helped him up and onto the bed. She held out his arm and reached for a butterfly needle hanging from an IV bag.

"What's that?" He asked diffencively, pulling his hand away.

"It's just some IV fluids. Saline, B vitamins, electrolytes, a little glucose." She listed reassuringly, but Danny didn't give her his arm. She smiled and put the needle down. "It can wait. Do you still want to tell me about your dream?"

He looked at her full of questions, but he did want to tell someone about what he saw. The problem is; how much does she know? He probably can't tell her about being Robin or the League of Assassins. Whether he's here as Jason Todd Wayne or Jon Doe. To them, he should have no reason to know about that. "How, long- ha-has it been." He stuttered. He never had a stutter before. Could it have been caused by the explosion?... wait. There was an explosion. How is he in one piece? He looked at his arms and lifted up his pant legs. Everything was still intact. Aside from some fading lichtenberg scars on his hands, he was fine.

"Six months." She took his hands in hers. "The scars will heal in due time. But until then, you'll certainly have the coolest thing to show off at school." She grinned like they were planning a prank together or something. "Now, how about telling me about your nightmare?"

Jason picked at the inner corners of his eyes and wiped the clumps on his soft pajama shirt. "I was -, arguing with my dad. About - something. He sent me to my room. But I didn't listen. And this guy, I never learned his name, he hit me. Over and over. Then I was alone, and I died... after that, this woman, she's always flirting with my dad, took me to her home, and threw me in the water." He wanted to say more. But how? Even if he told these things to a therapist, they would be obligated by law to report to the police.

"Sweety. Do you want to see your dad? Your family's been over a lot. I'm sure they'll drop everything when we call them."

"Drop everything," ha. Bruce probably "dropped" the joker after what he did. But it would be nice to see him. Even if the last time they spoke wasn't on the best of terms. "Thanks."

"Ahem," a woman in a labcoat cleared her throat in the doorway. She probably didn't wanna startle them.

"Doctor Benton. Danny, she's just going to give you a checkup. I can go call your parents, so they'll be here when you're done."

Danny? Why would she call him Danny? And parents? Plural? Has Jason been confused for someone else? Come on, this isn't like mixing up newborn babies. He's 15. Plus, he had to have been flown in from Ethiopia. And how would Bruce not have noticed? Is some other boy living at the manor pretending to be him?

Katie affectionately touched Dr. Bentons upper arm. "Speech, reflexes, and attention, normal. Temperature, low. Breathing patern, stable. His IV and catheter fell out again." She was testing him? The whole time? He couldn't even be mad. That was pretty impressive.

"Now then, Danny. I have a few simple tests here. Most people in your position need to relearn some skills, and these will help us figure out which ones." Dr Benton pulled out a table and placed a note card and several colored pens on it. "I would like you to draw a clock that reads ten thirty, a green square with an orange letter G in it, and write your name."

OK, so a memory test and a dexterity test in one. Danny picked up the red pen. With a shaky hand, he drew a circular clock, one hand down, one up, and to the left. He picked up the orange pen and wrote the letter G, then drew a green square around it and filled it in. He hastily wrote his signature and handed the card over.

Sure, the lines were unsteady, and he didn't put any numbers on the clock, but he's still going to get a good grade in waking up from a coma. "What's next?" He eyed the folder Dr Benton held.

She placed a sheet of paper with a few simple math problems and shapes with the names of colors written under them.

The tests must have lasted at least 20 to 30 minutes. By the end, his handwriting didn't look half bad anymore.

There was a bit of ruckus in the hallway that seemed to put Dr Benton in a bit of a rush. Who could blame her? There was a guy yelling and clearly getting closer. Working in a hospital probably means dealing with a lot of people like that. Danny was just going to ignore it and hoped they weren't headed to a nearby room. But then.

"DANNO!"

The guy came into his room. He was huge, loud, and worst of all. He was holding Jason in a bear hug. Two women walked in behind him. One of them was all too eager to leave lipstic marks all over his face, but the younger one, the red head, stood back and scolded the large man for making such a ruckus in a hospital.

Who are these people? How are they not noticing that the person they are talking to is someone else? Does Jason have a doppelganger? Or better yet, a clone. He's overdue to be cloned. Hmm. But then, wouldn't it be the other way around?

"Dad! Would you put Danny down. He could have had serious mental regression or new sensitivities. You didn't even ask him how he's doing. Or if he remembers who you are." The girl was right. All of this was a lot so soon.

"Nonsense, Jazzy pants." The guy ruffled Jasons hair. "You remember who we are, right?"

They're probably civilians. If Jason was switched with someone, chances are these people are obvious to it. "You're... my family." Keep it vague. Don't wanna make too many assumptions.

Something about his dismissal made Jason feel uneasy. It was so fast. He expected to stay another night, or at least have more tests run. They just handed him his hoodie and practically dragged him out the door. He was already in a car less than an hour after waking up. The receptionist seemed so relieved. Most of the staff seemed relieved.

Is he actually ok to go?! Does anyone care?

The car was weird, too. It was full of add-ons like the batmobile, but nowhere near as sleek and clean. At least the driving was eaqualy reckless. Although they weren't chasing anyone.

"Danny... Danny." The girl spoke to him.

Oh, right, he's Danny. "Yes?" He rubbed his eyes to sell it. Gotta keep those expectations low.

"Are you alright? How are you feeling?"

"Uhm, I guess I'm kinda hungry. And stiff."

"I mean, emotionally, how are you feeling?"

Emotionally? He literally just woke up. He's supposed to have feelings this early. Let a guy shake off the rigormortis, whatever your name is. "I... don't know." Maybe he can use this to his advantage. "Did anything happen while I was asleep?"

There was a record scratch, somehow, and everything went silent.

"Honey," the woman in the front seat spoke up. "Maybe it would be best to have this conversation when we get home." She had a slight Midwestern accent. Just like Katie. Are they in the Midwest?

"Why? Did you get divorced or something? I'm not dead."

And there was the awkward silence again.

Crap, bad joke, bad joke. That was a full-on Jason response. Danny might have a completely different sense of humor.

This time, the silence lasted until they got home. He awkwardly shoved his hands in the pocket of his hoodie and felt a folded up piece of paper inside.

They still didn't say anything when they got home. He didn't get punished for joking about death, at least. That was a nice touch. But it was weird that they all went in different directions. The two adults ran straight to the basement, yelling something about "overheating" and "GHOSTS!". And the red head went for the stairs before Jason stopped her.

"Could you help me? Dr. Benton said I shouldn't cook anything unsupervised."

She looked surprised at the request. It's not like he wants to have someone cook for him. It was literally doctors' orders.

"I'm not supposed to be around sharp knives of fire." He justified.

"Oh, I read about that. Some people can be self-destructive after waking up from a long coma. Often, they are trying to test if they're still dreaming." She sounded too excited about his potentially dangerous mental state.

While... crap, gotta find out their names. She cut up some vegetables and left him to assemble a sandwich. That sure was quick. Usually, he would have had to sit through endless conversation just to eat something. This gave him time to snoop.

The sandwich was amazing. It was like eating something for the first time in months. When he was done, he remembered the note. He pulled it out of his pocket, and, ok, Jason swears he is a good reader. Why are only some of the letters making words?

He powered through and eventually managed to decipher the letter.

Dear Mr. Fenton

It is important that you continue your brain exercises. You may also experience some decline in fine motor skills. Below is a list of activities that can speed up recovery.

Reading, puzzles, writing, drawing.

-Nurse Katie

She must have slipped it in before she left. Would it still be developmentally appropriate to have a crush on his nurse? She seemed to be in her late 20s to early 30s... "we could make it work." Jason nodded delusionaly.

*bdrrrrr*

The doorbell cought Jason off guard. He answered it and saw two teenagers, the same age as him. One male, African American, red barrette, yellow t-shirt. Height 5"4, teal eyes. The other female, Caucasian, black clothes, black hair. Height 5"6', violet eyes. Their facial expressions suggested they were friends, but of course, Jason didn't know them.

"Danny!" They cheered in unison.

"We came as soon as we heard."

"Are you ok?"

"Sam was so worried about you." The boy mocked, only to get jabbed in the abdomen.

"I'm fine." This "danny" sure has a lot of people to keep track of. Why couldn't Jason have been switched with some loner?

They both stared at him for a moment. "Can we come in?"

Jason looked back inside. Put on a show for five people, or for two people? "Uhm, let's go somewhere else." He practically shoved himself outside.

They looked at each other, and it was clear they were avoiding saying something.

Jason couldn't risk choosing where to go, so he let them pick. He wasn't really sure what he expected, what with the lack of third places in American cities now a days. But a science museum? He would have preferred a library, but he could still read here.

"What should we look at first?"

"Your choice. This place has gotten three new exhibits. There's a brain maze-"

"A human skeleton-"

"And they added a thing that you can stand on, and it zaps you."

They looked at each other in silence.

"We can ignore that one." They seemed to agree.

"Why? I wanna get zapped. Which way?" Jason grabbed a map at the front desk while the girl paid for 3 passes. "The brain is closer. Let's start there." He looked back at the others. "Bet I could get through faster than you." He grinned and dashed through the hall.

Jason stopped in front of the big plastic brain. He expected the others to run after him, but they were far behind. He had to take his shoes off in order to enter the structure. It's kind of like those indoor playgrounds. Except way bigger.

Despite all the big talk, Jason ended up wandering into every dead end in order to find all the fun facts. Each one came with a small stamp on the arm, and if you find all of them, you get a sticker.

On the way out, Jason spotted the two teens he came here with. They didn't even go inside. He can't beat them if they don't even play. The brain has no pain receptors!" He shouted to them as an employee put a sticker on his hoodie. It was a brain wearing pants with the words "Smarty Pants" written under it.

"I know you didn't go in, but I'm still counting this victory. I win." Jason showed off his sticker with that sassy little smile. You know the one.

Their supportive smiles looked fake. Jason could tell they were hiding something. He didn't even need to look for micro-expressions. These people were terrible liars. Finally, he snapped. "What's wrong? You two have been acting like you covered up a murder or something."

Mini Prompt: Death Runs in the Family

Danny and Jason are twins separated at birth. When they were born Danny was very sick and it didn’t look good for him from the start. As a final act of love or malice Sheila abandoned Danny at the hospital–making sure that there is nothing connecting him to her–leaving him to whatever fate desired for the small boy.

On the other hand she took Jason with her who then ended up being raised by Willis and Catherine. With them being completely unaware that Jason has a twin brother.

Jason’s life continues on as normal with him eventually being found, adopted, and becoming Robin. He dies at 15 in Ethiopia with his bio-mom never knowing about his brother. He comes back

Meanwhile Danny gets better and is later on adopted by the Fenton’s. Living in a crazy ghost-invested town. His parents build the portal in the basement, and at 15 dies with a press of a button. He comes back.

What no one knows though is that both meet their fate at the same time. A portal opening and a bomb going off. The two become twins in life and in death.

#im not too familiar with the things that happened right after jason came back. so maybe someone else can write his side #danny phantom #i did not look up the medical info that Jazz is stating. i made it up. unless it's true. in which case im a genius #fanfic #dpxdc #dp x dc #jason has a little puppy love. i needed to give him something teenagery. and catching stray feelings for a grown woman is the most 15 year #old thing i can think of. even if the thing he likes about her is her sneakyness. i feel you bro. id like katie too if she were real #shes just built different. and by that i mean she was built to exist in one scene and then never show up again

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jakesimfromstatefarm · 2 days ago

Text

──── JUST LET ME LOVE YOU, OKAY? ↳ one shot // also part of the no doubt series !

✎ᝰ .ᐟ aka the one where you come to a certain realization over some peach ice cream and a jacket.

── sim jaeyun x f!reader ౨ৎ wc. 783 ⌗ freaking fluff, literally nothing new it's just simp jaeyun back in action once again .

↳ IMPORTANT NOTE .ᐟ ── this is part of my no doubt series ─ a sequel series of short drabbles that take place after the events of my fic no doubt, and show jake & reader's relationship throughout their first year together (& how jake wins her trust & love back hehe) ── THIS CAN BE READ AS A ONE-SHOT, however, there will be some easter eggs if you've read no doubt before!

↳ addie's ✉ .ᐟ ── ok so i lowkey had an existential crisis with this one because i fear i've been too repetitive with how SIMPY our jake has been in these past few ones...but then i realized i love our certified lover boy jake and never want to say goodbye to jakeyn so i'm gonna milk this out as much as i can (jk we have six parts left chat help) in all seriousness though i promise next one we finally let jakey feel just as loved as yn is ;) ALSO !!! im gonna start taking nodoubt!jake & yn requests so i might post the first one after this part soon :D

You’re shivering.

It’s entirely your fault.

Jake told you to bring a jacket. A hoodie, at least.

And you? Being the absolute genius that you are? Had insisted that you’d be fine and that you don’t need a jacket because you run warm and we’re only walking a little bit, anyways.

And Jake had looked at you. Looked at you.

With the face of a boyfriend who knew—deep in his bones—that this moment would come.

The moment in question?

Twenty minutes later, here you are—

Frozen solid, outside of a convenience store while Jake is at the counter paying for your snacks and ice cream.

Because, again, you’re a genius. And insisted on getting ice cream.

Genius.

Your arms wrap around yourself, your paper-thin sleeves doing absolutely nothing to protect you from the nighttime chill.

And, of course, because the universe loves to humble you, a gust of wind decides to cut through the air—and your entire existence—and you let out an actual whimper.

And before you can turn back towards the store—

Thump.

You blink.

You look down.

At the warm, heavy, oversized fabric now covering your shoulders.

Jake’s jacket.

You turn just in time to see him shoving his wallet back into his pocket, completely unfazed, like he’s casually not standing there in just his t-shirt in the cold.

“Jake.”

“Mhm?” He looks at you, all sweet and easy smiles as he takes your hand into his and starts walking next to you.

You hesitate.

Your fingers instinctively squeeze his.

“You’re not cold?”

A shrug. “Nah.”

You squint. “Liar. You definitely are.”

“Wow. So aggressive,” Jake dramatically clutches his chest with his free hand. “Why don’t you just say thank you, my incredibly selfless, devastatingly handsome, perfect boyfriend—”

“Oh my god,” you groan, smacking his arm—though it does absolutely nothing to stop his carefree laugh.

He reaches into the small plastic bag swinging from his forearm, pulls out your favorite peach-flavored ice cream sandwich, unwraps it, and hands it to you before casually draping his arm over your shoulder and pulling you into his side.

Tucking you perfectly into him.

Like he’s done this a thousand times and plans to do it a thousand more.

Like loving you is the most natural thing in the world.

And maybe it is.

Maybe it’s always been this easy—how he tucks you into his side without thinking, like you belong there. How he carries the bag with both your favorite snacks like there was never any question of who’d be holding it.

And maybe—

It’s always been this easy to love him.

Your chest tightens.

“Jake—” you swallow, staring down at the ice cream in your hand, “You really don’t have to keep doing all this.”

Jake glances down at you, brows raised, “All what?”

“All…this,” you wave your ice cream vaguely in his direction, like that explains anything (it doesn’t). “The jacket. The snacks. Every tiny little thing you’re always doing for me.”

Jake frowns. His head tilts slightly—confused, like the concept is foreign. Like it genuinely hadn’t occurred to him that this might be something worth pointing out.

And then—

“…But I like doing those things.”

You almost miss a step.

“Yeah, but—”

“Y/N.”

Jake stops walking.

You stop walking.

And when you turn to face him, he just sighs, taking your face in both his hands, shaking his head with a small smile.

One of those barely-there, eyes-too-soft, I-love-you-so-much-I-don’t-know-what-I’m-going-to-do-with-you kind of smiles.

And then, in the gentlest voice—

“Just let me love you, okay?”

Your throat closes.

You might cry.

Because god, he says it so simply.

Like it’s not the overwhelming, tangled, terrifying thing the way you make it.

Like it’s not complicated or conditional.

Like it’s just true.

You stare at him, frozen. Blinking. Trying to breathe around the ache in your ribs.

And Jake?

Jake just laughs under his breath, like he sees right through you. He shakes his head again before leaning down to press the lightest kiss to your temple.

He pulls back slightly, just enough to look at you—but you don’t let him get far.

And for a second, you just stand there, eyes on each other.

No explanations. No grand declarations.

Just that quiet kind of knowing.

That this is it.

That this has always been it.

And as the truth settles into your bones, as the warmth of it finally overpowers the fear, you know—

You love him.

You love Jake so much it hurts. So much it heals.

And as he finally gently tugs you forward, lacing his fingers with yours like it’s second nature—

You think you might let him love you, after all.

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