#as you can see i started getting too into this but then i was like NO. its a stupid joke i can post something thats just a sketch. be free

[em1i2a3]

I Wanna Get Lost With You

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/Sentry/The Void x Stark!Thunderbolt!Reader

Summary: After a rough night, you find yourself with a rare day off–the one that you take on the same day every year in memoriam for the fallen. So you head into the city to spend your feelings away on the only thing that makes sense to you: gifts for your favourite team of scrappy anti-heros…And Bob.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, Spoilers for Thunderbolts because everyone from Thunderbolts is in this and is involved and there is events from the movie that are mentioned :). Fluff, a hint of angst (because of the reader having a rough night…and a rough couple of years in general), Brief Mentioning of Grief and Loss, Bucky is kind of a reluctant father figure to the reader, Bob is Bob and he’s a softie who’s seen it all, Reader and Bob have an established friendship, Smut.

Smut Warnings: Hot and Heavy Makeout Session, Grinding, Cuddling with Some ✨Spice ✨(ahem…Fingering and handjobs lol), Unprotected P in V Sex (wrap it up y’all, you know the drill), Bob is a softie, reader knows what she likes (a bit of a soft dominant vibe but not really). This is like a mix of comfort sex, and like purely desperate sex, you’ll see, you’ll see. Lol, Aftercare (because that’s hot too)

Author’s Note: This request was given to me by @xlittlemissydjx and I just had to do it when I read it (I also accidentally deleted the request by accident lol). I really expanded the landscape of it though, but I hope it meets what you were looking for :). Thanks I know I have a lot of pending part 2’s of one-shots, but I really couldn’t resist the opportunity to put a little bit of everything into this story, Angst, Fluff, and Smut. The holy trinity lol. Enjoy :))

Note About Requests!!!: I’m working through them! I have about 14 things I need to do! So be patient! They should all be done at varying times within the next week and a half (I get in the zone enough to get two a day out so hopefully that can help!)

Word Count: 18,416 (…Wow)

You had been tossing and turning all night, and it showed the second you stepped into the kitchen that morning. It was written in the heaviness of your steps, the way you continuously readjusted your sweater as if it was too tight–even though it was two sizes too big–, and it was painted across your eyes with the faint smudge of exhaustion that clung to the corners of them.

You had your tells–the little things that gave it away, and the team knew all of them. They knew when you didn’t get enough sleep, or when you didn’t get any sleep at all. You didn’t even have to say a word to them, they could just gauge it from your facial expressions. If you weren’t your usual chirpy self–the version of you that compensated your sadness with jokes and filled the room with noise–they knew what they were in for.

And today? You hadn’t said a word.

The moment you walked into the kitchen though you were pulled into the chaotic scene unfolding in front of you, as the scent of scorched butter hit your nose.

“I told you to spray the pan, Bob. Did you spray it or not?” Walker’s voice rang out, sharp with his distinct signature brand of early-morning frustration. He stood by the oven, hunched over it with a spatula in his hand wearing a pair of plaid pajama pants and a “Grill Sergeant” apron. Bob stood a few feet away, sheepish and visibly wilting by the tone that Walker was taking with him. His shoulders were hunched forward, and his fingers were busy wringing the hem of his flour-streaked sweater–the nervous habit he hadn’t kicked.

Over the past few weeks, Bob had started volunteering for kitchen duty more and more–not because he was good at it, because unfortunately he wasn’t and everyone had learned it the hard way–but because he liked the idea of it. Of helping. Of contributing back to the compound as he was in his recovery process from his incident in New York. He had also mentioned to you in passing that it helped him feel like he was normal again, and it reminded him of the simpler times.

But now, with flour scattered everywhere, batter dripping down the front of the counter, and Walker looming over him with the interrogating questions, he was clearly second-guessing his life choices.

”I…I thought I did.” He mumbled, looking around the kitchen, “I could’ve sworn I had the can in my hand.” He whispered, confused.

”Then what happened, hm?” Walker questioned, “Did the damn thing disappear out of your hand or something?” You reached up to rub the tiredness out of your eyes, letting out a sigh, which got the room's attention almost instantly–like you sucked the air out of it.

“Walker, what have I said about taking it easy on Bob, for the love of God.” Your voice wasn’t loud, because it didn’t need to be. Even with being the youngest in the group, you were seasoned enough to be feared, especially by Walker–which was always surprising for the ones who would see the both of you interact.

Bob looked over at you immediately the moment your voice broke through the room–firm and quiet, how you always were–and just like that, his posture shifted. Not completely–he was still wringing the hem of his sweater and looking sheepish–but something in him softened.

You always did that to him. You walked into a room, and it was like the gravity in the room shifted. You were never loud with him, your energy was controlled, but even if you were the loud person that you were around the others, Bob still lit up, in the same way a quiet house lights up when someone finally opens the blinds. His breathing got a little easier. His shoulders dropped just a little lower. Like he knew–even without words–that if anything ever went wrong, you’d be there to shield him from the worst of it.

And you always were, since the day you met in the O.X.E Vault, the day things changed for you–for the better of course.

You defended him the way no one else really did. The way nobody else really could replicate. You caught every nervous tick he had, you knew when to pull him out of situations he couldn’t handle, and you filled in his silences when he got overwhelmed and went quiet, answering hard questions for him with that calm, dry tone that let everyone know there were lines that were crossed.

You didn’t baby him, but you stood with him.

And Bob–who had spent so much of his life being pushed to the side, forgotten, or abused–had never really known what it was like to be protected like that, and he paid you back in the only way he knew how; by being your constant. A little planet in your very tight orbit, always trying, always showing up, always offering whatever soft, steady care he could muster.

You would say you took care of him in public, and he took care of you in private.

You’d never talked about it–not in direct words–but the arrangement was understood. He knew when to slip a cup of tea into your hand on the nights when your hands shook too hard to make one yourself. You knew when to plant yourself between him and a room full of sharp voices. He knew when to knock gently on your door and ask if you’d eaten. You knew when to tug him by the sleeve and get him out of conversations that made his breath short and his voice crack.

‘Hey, there’s only so many ruined breakfasts a man can take before he snaps.” Walker replied, holding up the pan that had what looked to be a burnt pancake glued onto it, “Look at what he did. This is literally my last one.” You didn’t even flinch. You gave the pancake a passing glance, then turned your attention back to Walker, your arms loosely crossing over your chest.

”And yet somehow the world keeps spinning, Walker. Why didn’t you take the harder stuff if you knew there was a possibility of Bob ruining your prized pan?” There was a long pause, until Walker held his hands up in mock surrender.

”Fine…Fine…You’re right. I’m sorry.” You raised an eyebrow.

”And apologize to Bob.” You added, watching Walker glance sideways at him.

”Sorry, Bob.” Bob gave a quick, awkward nod.

”It’s okay…” He whispered under his breath.

You didn’t wait for the rest of the interaction to be done, as you walked from the entrance of the kitchen and made your way toward the fridge, cracking the door open to grab a chilled bottle of water. The cold bit into your palm–and you lingered there for a moment, letting the cool air brush over your skin before closing the door again.

You stepped towards Bob then.

”You good?” You asked, voice low now, like it was just meant for him. He nodded, hesitating for only a breath.

”Yeah…I-I didn’t mean to screw things up so badly…I was just trying to help.” You let out a quiet sigh. The kind that carried the tail-end of exhaustion and affection at the same time, in equal measures, giving Walker a death stare, before reaching out to Bob, patting the side of his arm. It wasn’t too soft, nor too hard–it was just right to comfort him.

“Well,” You murmured, letting a touch of warmth back into your voice, “Go help by setting up the table, okay? I’ll order some food for everyone, and if you hear Walker screaming for his life, just ignore it.” This drew out a laugh from Bob–small and unguarded, a little surprised, like he hadn’t expected it to break free from his mouth in the way it did. It wasn’t loud, but it was full-bodied and real, the kind that deepened the flush that was always on his cheeks. Walker furrowed his brow from where he stood.

”What was that?” You didn’t answer him, you were already pulling your phone from the front pocket of your father’s hoodie, tapping through the food delivery app with the kind of speed that only came from someone who routinely cleaned up the emotional aftermath of other people’s messes.

”Nothing, I was just telling Bob I’m ordering breakfast for everyone, hope you like hash browns.” You said flatly, your tone disinterested as your thumb hovered over your usual go-to breakfast place, the one that you used to go to on your birthday.

Bob, still smiling faintly to himself, took this as his cue to duck out of the kitchen without another word, moving towards the dining area with a new sense of purpose. Walker watched him for a second as he left the room, leaving the two of you alone together, before shaking his head.

”You’re too soft on him.” You didn’t look up from your phone as you added seven orders of bacon to the cart.

”I’m just going to give you a friendly reminder that he helped us out of the Void and bought us time to save him, and another reminder that he saved our lives at the vault too. We owe him the softness, and the stability.” Walker sighed, rubbing at the back of his neck like he was trying to physically scratch the tension out of his spine.

”Still. The guy’s not made of glass. I think you forget that he beat the shit out of us in this very tower.” He shot back, which made you look up from your phone.

”That was the Sentry. You know that. And you only bring that up because you’re still butthurt that your shield hasn’t been fixed.” Walker grunted, caught somewhere between irritation and reluctant defeat. He shook his head again, slower this time, then dropped his spatula into the sink.

”Fine…You win.” He muttered.

”I always do,” You replied, looking back down at your phone to add three extra croissants to the order just in case someone got picky, going to check out.

”You gonna be in the training room later, thought we could spar together.” You paused for a second, glancing up at him for a moment, before processing your order and locking your phone, sliding it back into the hoodie pocket.

”No,” You said simply, turning the cap off your water, taking a quick sip, letting the coolness spread across your chest, “It’s my day off.” You added, which caught his attention immediately.

”Off? You don’t take days off.”

“I do today, we haven’t known each other long enough for you to see me take a day off anyways…So why is this such a surprise?”Walker furrowed his brow a bit.

”It’s just a bit weird, taking a random Tuesday off, what’s the occasion?” You met his eyes, almost annoyed by the line of questioning.

“It’s just for me, that’s all.”

——————-

After cleaning up everyone’s plates after breakfast, you collected your keys from the dish on the counter and slipped them into your pocket. No one questioned you. No one stopped you.

Bob had been in the middle of rinsing out the orange juice glasses, sleeves damp with his concentration fixed on the smallest marks, like he was trying not to think too hard. You gave him a soft pat on the back as you passed. He didn’t turn, but you felt the way he leaned into it, a silent acknowledgement.

You didn’t say goodbye. It wasn’t that kind of day.

Instead, you made your way down the corridor, past the glass-paneled lounge where Yelena and Ava were arguing over something that sounded like movie night logistics, and past the half-lit training room where the mats were still scuffed from the week before.

The elevator greeted you with a soft ding, and you stepped inside, pressing the button for the main lobby, knowing you had to make a stop before travelling into the heart of the city. The doors slid shut in front of you, sealing off the noise of the compound, and the silence that followed settled in your chest. The elevator hummed quietly beneath your feet, the numbers ticking down slower than usual, like it knew what kind of day it was for you.

When the doors finally opened, the lobby was quiet. You stepped out quickly, turning on your heel to go down the hallway that was right beside the elevator. It was silent, cleaner than the rest of the compound, and dimmer–there was less foot traffic so that’s why it was normally lit like a mortuary. The air down this hall always felt heavier, because it was the lead up to something you visited frequently.

Your boots echoed against the polished tile, until the corridor opened into the memorial wing. A long, curved hall with framed photos and holographic projections lining both sides–names etched into the glass like ghosts.

The “Hall of the Fallen,” they called it. A name you hated to say out loud, because to you they were your people.

The entire wing had only come to be because you forced it into existence. During the final round of renovations, when Valentina wanted the east wing reserved for press briefings and high-tech sparring simulations, you had walked into her office, dropped a folder full of lawsuit drafts onto her desk, and told her plainly that if your father didn’t have a place in this building, neither would you. You knew you sounded out of line, but because the tower used to be his, you thought the leverage would be something to hold over her head.

“I will sue you into the sun,” You had said calmly, “And I’ll have Pepper on the line within the hour to back me.”

So she relented.

And now… Here it was.

Each section of the wall was backlit in soft amber light. Not cold and sterile, but warm–like candlelight. Like the kind of lighting your dad always insisted on in the Tower because he said it was more comforting and less lab-like.

Your eyes tracked instinctively toward the far right. You never had to look for it, because you knew exactly where he was, call it a daughterly instinct.

The large framed photograph of Tony Stark stood in front of you. No helmet, no Iron Man suit. Just him, in a slightly crooked tie and a hand resting on your shoulder. The image had been cropped, but you remembered where this was taken. He’d been giving a press conference and you snuck up beside him mid-speech. He had rolled his eyes and laughed, pulling you into the shot like it was nothing.

You slowly stepped forward, putting out your hand to reach for him, but before you could, you noticed someone already standing near the center of the hallway, facing a different frame.

Tall. Broad shoulders. Hands tucked deep in his jacket pockets, hair slicked back like he was going for a meeting…Bucky.

He didn’t turn at the sound of your steps. He didn’t have to. He knew you would be here. It was the anniversary of your fathers death after all.

He was standing in front of Steve’s photo–head slightly bowed, jaw clenched, like the weight of all the memories he had with him had curled itself around his spine and wouldn’t let go.

You approached him slowly, your boots muffled now by the soft carpet that lined the central arc of the memorial wing. Bucky hadn’t moved, his eyes were locked on the image of Steve–clean-cut, square-jawed, with his warm smile forever frozen in time. You stopped beside him to stand shoulder to shoulder.

For a few moments, neither of you said anything, you just stared at the photo, breathing deeply, in reflection of the moments you all got together. After a minute you cleared your throat, pushing the lump to the side so you could speak.

”You missed breakfast.” Bucky let out a slow breath through his nose.

”Didn’t really feel like having pancakes today.” You cracked a small smile.

”Wasn’t pancakes…Bob ruined Walker's last pan by burning them.” His lip twitched just a little.

“Sounds like I didn’t miss much then.” He said, the ghost of a smile flickering at the corners of his mouth before fading again. The silence between you returned, but it wasn’t empty–it was heavy. Full of everything neither of you had ever needed to say out loud.

Your eyes lingered on the picture of Steve for a moment, before shifting sideways to study Bucky instead. He looked older in this light. Not tired–just…Quieter. Softer around the edges in a way that only grief can carve into a man.

“How long have you been down here?” You asked.

”About thirty minutes, I had a meeting today actually so that’s also why I missed breakfast.” Bucky shifted his weight slightly, eyes still trained on the photo, “Didn’t think I’d end up staying this long, but you know…Memories make you lose track of time.” You nodded slowly, getting a bit closer to him, slipping your arm into his, feeling the coolness of his vibranium radiating through his jacket. He let out a slow, steady exhale, letting your hand rest there, and in that small gesture, you felt the quiet return of the role he’d carved out between the both of you–it was reluctant at first, but unshakable now.

”You know…” You murmured after a beat, “He would’ve been really proud of you.” Bucky didn’t speak right away, but you could see his jaw clench at your words, before nodding.

”Tony would’ve been proud of you too.” That made you scoff, but softly. You looked down at your boots, your fingers curling slightly around the curve of his arm.

”Definitely not,” You said with a dry laugh, “I don’t think he ever intended on me being on a team like this…Or carrying on his legacy at all, really. Especially not with how I started this…With Val and everything.” You added.

”We all do stupid things sometimes, but now you’re a part of something bigger than yourself. I’m telling you…He would’ve been very happy to see you in action.” You looked down at your feet, with a soft smile coming up on your face before nodding.

It hit you again–like it always did this time of year–that Bucky had become the closest thing you had left to family. Apart from Pepper and Morgan, he was the only one that truly stood by you. This year was different of course, especially with your new teammates, but it made you think back to how far the both of you truly came.

Because it never started that way. In fact, you didn’t think Bucky would’ve offered you the protection he did. He was quiet and watchful, always keeping people at arm’s length. But something changed at your father’s funeral.

He found you that day–after the speeches and the silence, after Pepper had walked Morgan inside of the house to make her some food and Rhodes offered his condolences. You were standing by the water, not crying, just looking out onto the way the sun was setting, wearing one of Tony’s old jackets because it still smelled like his aftershave.

You didn’t even hear Bucky approach until he was beside you, and when he spoke, it was the only thing that had cut through the fog in your brain that day.

“If you ever need anything…” He said, quietly, like it wasn’t a promise he had been planning to make, “Anything at all…I’m one phone call away. No questions asked.” You had looked up at him, surprised that he was even talking to you, especially after everything that had happened between him and your father, but all you did was give him a nod, and a thank you.

Then, four years later, when you found yourself stuck in the desert with Walker, Ava, and Yelena, after escaping the death trap that was the O.X.E. Vault, and witnessing Bob turn into a human asteroid, you had pulled out your phone and dialed his number.

You remembered the look on Walker’s face as you pulled out your phone and started dialing.

”Who the hell are you calling in the middle of the desert?” You looked up at him, shielding your phone away from him.

”My emergency contact…Someone who’s not going to let us die out here.” You muttered, putting the phone to your ear. It only had to ring once, before he picked it up.

”Y/N, hey, you think I can call you back in a few minutes.” He said, like he was in a rush, like he was packing.

”Bucky, I’m in trouble.” Walker’s face had immediately dropped, his mouth opening slightly. Yelena had seen the look, and she had whispered something to him, not understanding the visceral reaction.

“Bucky!?” Walker exclaimed, you looked over at him confused, pressing your finger to your lips–afraid that his voice would echo through the open space and gain some sort of attention possibly.

”…Y/N…Was that John Walker's voice that I just heard?” Your brows furrowed, still trying to piece together what the hell was happening.

“Y-Yeah. Listen, we don’t have time to go into details because I need to conserve my battery, but we are in a desert in Utah, and we’re lost. I need you to help me…Will you please help me?” He had already been packing his motorcycle to start making his way over after receiving a call from Mel with her coordinates, and immediately he started connecting the dots that you were somehow involved. Before the line of questioning even left his lips, he remembered what he told you at the funeral and reluctantly spoke.

”Okay. I’ll track your coordinates and be there as fast as I can, just…For the love of God stay safe.” You nodded.

”I will, I’ll see you soon…Thank you Bucky.” Then you hung up the phone.

”How the fuck do you know Bucky Barnes?!” Was the first question out of Walker's mouth.

Then all the details were out in the open for everyone to know; how you knew him, how you were Tony’s daughter, how you joined Val’s list of operatives because you felt like you wanted to do something and she offered it to keep you busy. You were surprised that your identity wasn’t known to the group, so it was a relief when they quietly gave a nod to you almost as if to say they were sorry for even asking. Then the unplanned limo pickup from Alexei had happened, which intruded on the plans a little bit and ended with you having to reset your own shoulder, but to be reunited with Bucky Barnes was a heaven sent.

“Been watching you on TV at those congress hearings, congratulations by the way.” He let out a soft laugh at that comment, adjusting your shoulder into the proper position.

”Yeah well…I guess a lot of unexpected things have happened over the past couple of years.” He said, still a bit concerned with the details on how you somehow got wrapped up in all of this. But once again, he said no questions asked and he stuck to it.

Now as you stood side by side today though, it was easy to say that he was like a father figure you never thought you would have again, and you were grateful for all of it, regardless of how it fell into place.

”…I sometimes wish he got to see me with you guys too…” You whispered, breaking the silence. Bucky glanced at you from the corner of his eye.

”I’m telling you, he would’ve liked it. Sometimes when I see you at briefings you have the same mannerisms he had, same attitude and stuff. I was never really around him but I heard stories from Steve. It’s like you’re a carbon copy of him in female form.” That drew a soft laugh out of you.

“While I do appreciate being compared to him, I can never be as good.” There was a pause, and he sighed.

”There’s no ‘good’ kid…You’re doing the best you can with the cards you’ve been dealt. And I’m proud of you, we all are, even though none of us really say it often enough.” Bucky’s words settled into your chest like something warm and grounding, something heavy in the best possible way. You blinked a few times, swallowing the knot in your throat before it could turn into something embarrassing, and that’s when an idea popped into your mind.

The two of you stood in silence for a moment longer, just breathing. Just being.

Then, slowly–almost uncertain–Bucky shifted, and his arm moved around your shoulders. He didn’t pull you in abruptly. He didn’t force the moment. It was gentle. Intentional. Like he was offering the hug, not giving it. It was something Bucky rarely did, but in a moment where comfort was needed he would push the discomfort off for you.

You leaned into it immediately.

Your arms came around his middle, anchoring yourself to the familiar weight of him. You didn’t close your eyes, but you let your cheek rest against his chest and took a breath. He smelled like leather and clean soap, and the faint trace of a piney cologne he always insisted he didn’t wear. You both stayed like that for a few beats–just enough to feel steady again.

“Thanks Buck,” You mumbled, your voice quiet.

“Anytime,” He replied, equally soft.

You pulled back, brushing your sleeve against your face subtly wiping a small tear that was forming in the corner of your eye as you stepped away.

“Alright…Enough with the sappiness…” You sighed, your tone turning a bit lighter now, “I’m heading into the city to do a bit of shopping therapy…” Bucky arched an eyebrow.

”Shopping therapy huh? Guess it’s better than drinking. And you’re going without your second shadow?” You looked at him confused.

”Who?” Bucky gave you a look, one of those deadpan, all-knowing stares.

”Bob,” He responded, “You think he’s not going to notice that you’re gone for the whole day?” A guilty grin tugged at the corner of your mouth. Everyone knew how close you were to him, but Bucky was the one person to know how deep it truly went, how much Bob actually knew about you, down to the little details, and the darkest parts.

”I slipped out while he was rinsing the glasses, I figure I’ll have about an hour of radio silence until someone calls to tell me he’s looking for me.” Bucky huffed a dry laugh through his nose, shaking his head slightly.

“I’ll shoot let him know of my whereabouts in a bit…Don’t worry.” You promised, stuffing your hands into your hoodie pocket. “Just wanted a little time to myself. Got an idea I need to run with, and I think it’ll help.”

He didn’t press for more. He never did. That was the good thing about Bucky–he could read you like a book, but he only turned the pages when you were ready.

“Well,” he said after a moment, adjusting the collar of his jacket, “Don’t get lost in any candle shops.”

“No promises.”

You turned to go, but paused halfway down the hall and glanced back. He was still standing there in front of Steve’s photo, hands back in his pockets, eyes distant. You softened.

“I’ll be back later tonight. Might be close to dinner, maybe after. But tell the others not to start movie night without me.”

Bucky nodded, glancing over his shoulder.

“They’ll wait,” He said. “I’ll make sure of it.”

You offered him a small smile–one of the rare, real ones–and gave a little wave as you turned and headed out.

The elevator doors closed behind you with a soft ding, and for the first time that day, you felt the flicker of excitement hum through your chest. You weren’t sure exactly what you were looking for yet–but you were going to find something for each of them. Something thoughtful. Something that said thank you for being here, for staying, for putting up with me.

Even if you’d never say it out loud.

———————

You had returned that night thirty minutes after dinner was wrapping up. Everyone was still mingling in the kitchen, the remnants of takeout cartons and half-eaten desserts scattered across the island, but when the elevator dinged, every head instinctively turned toward the hallway.

When the doors slid open and you stepped out–flanked by two interns struggling with your overflow of tissue-paper-filled bags–you didn’t even get a full step before you called out.

“Everyone stay in the kitchen! No peeking!” You warned, your voice commanding but playful. “I’m serious, if I catch one head in that hallway, I’m throwing dessert in the trash.”

That got a ripple of muffled laughter from the group.

“You act like we don’t eat dessert before dinner,” Yelena shouted back.

Despite your warning though, Bob didn’t get the memo.

You barely made it halfway to the living room, with the interns trailing behind you, when the sound of socked feet came pattering rapidly around the corner.

Bob appeared, cheeks flushed, his light brown hair a little mussed, his eyes wide and brimming with unfiltered concern. He wore a pair of black sweat pants and an oversized dark grey sweater that covered his broad frame, it made him look fragile and small–even though beneath his clothes it was far from the image he was trying to portray. You had caught glimpses of his body in little increments, sometimes by accident you would walk in as he was pulling on his shirt and you’d catch the lean muscles on his back flexing, once you saw his abs when he reached up to grab something, and once in a while you’d catch him with his sleeves rolled up, and you’d see the cool blue veins that rose from the planes of his forearms. Sometimes you wished you’d see more of him, but you were fine with what you had the privilege of seeing. He looked like he’d been waiting by the kitchen threshold all evening, just listening for the elevator.

“Hey—are you okay?” He asked, his voice already rushing. “I—I remembered what day it was, and I didn’t know if you wanted space or if you wanted company, but then you left without saying anything and I didn’t wanna crowd you but—”

“Bob!” You cut in quickly, spinning around to shield the bags with your body. “Close your eyes!” He startled like someone had set off a firecracker behind him.

“Sorry! Sorry!” He blurted, immediately slapping his hands over his face. “I didn’t see anything! I swear…I only saw you, not the-uh-the stuff-whatever the stuff is…”

You let out a long sigh, shaking your head as one of the interns behind you adjusted their grip on a delicate gift bag.

“Here,” You whispered to them, handing off what you were holding. “Take these into the living room...And thank you again for the help, oh and make sure the box is put in my room okay? First on the right.”

“No problem.” The intern nodded, already moving with the caution of someone who had been thoroughly briefed with the other intern trailing behind.

Once your hands were free, you turned back to Bob. He stood perfectly still with his palms mashed over his face like a kid in a surprise party gone wrong–lips pressed into a worried line, shoulders a little too rigid. You let out a soft sigh, stepping towards him–knowing you scared him a bit– and reached up for his wrists, pulling his hands away from his face slowly.

”You can open your eyes now…I didn’t mean to scare you…I just have a surprise for everyone. Sorry…” You said gently, watching as his lashes fluttered open, his eyes instantly meeting yours, with that all too familiar look–soft and worried and wired, like he had been on the edge of his seat waiting for your return.

”I-It’s okay…I was just…I was w-worried about y-you. I remembered what today was after Walker mentioned to me that you took the day off…And I felt like such an idiot f-for not che-.” Bob’s words halted immediately when your fingers touched his lips–just two of them, soft but still–to quietly tell him to stop talking. His breath caught in his throat, and you could feel the way his shoulders tensed under your touch, frozen like a deer in headlights. His eyes went wide, and then slowly his cheeks flushed a deep, unmistakable red, blooming from his cheekbones to the tips of his ears.

It was the kind of color that told you everything without a word.

You didn’t tease him for it. You didn’t move your hand right away either.

You just held his gaze, steady and gentle, letting the silence do the heavy lifting.

“I’m okay,” You whispered, your voice barely audible above the distant murmur of the others in the kitchen. “Really.”

His brows drew together just slightly, like he didn’t believe you entirely, like he was still cataloguing every detail of your expression for proof. But your hand stayed right there between you, steadying the weight that always seemed to pile up in his chest when he couldn’t fix things, or make you feel better.

You felt him breathe in–and that tiny shift, that barely-there exhale through his nose, was the signal that he heard you. That he believed you…Even if just for now.

You slowly dropped your hand, the warmth of your fingers leaving his skin with the ghost of your touch. He blinked, like coming out of a daze, and looked like he didn’t quite know what to do.

“Okay,” He said quietly. He was still flushed, avoiding your eyes, knowing that he just had to take your word for it, even though he knew how much this day was a dark reminder of what you were most ashamed of.

He only knew this because he had seen it.

In the O.X.E vault, after you, Walker, Ava, Yelena, and Bob had barely escaped the incinerator, you had all collapsed into a breathless heap in one of the elevator areas., sweaty, and rattling with adrenaline. No one celebrated. It was too soon for that. Tension still clung to the air like smoke, and the five of you were still strangers.

You had sat against a wall, jaw clenched, blinking through the pain that was radiating from your ribs. The quietness was deafening.

Yelena hadn’t moved much. She sat cross-legged on the far end of the room, her elbows on her knees, and her sharp eyes trained on Bob–who was pacing a few feet away, muttering under his breath. His hands trembled slightly, and his voice barely registered above a whisper, like he was listing something he didn’t want to forget. You couldn’t quite make out what he was saying, but just watching him pace in that mint green scrub set, made you tense up, there was just a feeling in those moments that something was wrong.

That’s when you noticed Yelena’s expression. Not skeptical. Not calculating. Just…off.

You pushed yourself to your feet, wincing as your ribs protested, and made your way toward her. She didn’t look up until you crouched beside her.

“What’s going on?” You asked, voice low, “You hurt or something?” Her eyes didn’t leave Bob, when she shook her head at your question.

“I need you to touch him.” She whispered under her breath.

“Touch who?” You asked, shifting on your feet a bit, confused at what she was saying to you.

“Bob.” Her voice was even, but her brows furrowed. “I saw something…But I need to know if I’m just going crazy or if it was real.” You could feel yourself grow more and more concerned just by how shaken up she looked.

”Yelena…What did you see?” She shook her head at you.

”Can you just go do it? Please.” You stared at her for a second longer, then nodded. You didn’t understand it, but something in her voice had pulled up, like she was scared of something. You stood up and dusted your palms off, turning around to approach Bob, who was still pacing back and forth, taking four steps before turning and doing the same towards the other side, whispering to himself still.

Walker and Ava were still talking, strategizing how you were all going to get out, and neither of them noticed when you moved past them. Bob didn’t hear you coming either, he was too wrapped up in his own storm to even see your slow approach.

”Hey,” You said gently. He startled almost immediately, his eyes snapping to you like you had dropped him in a pot of ice cold water, “Do you mind coming with me for a second?”

“I-I’m f-fine.” He replied quickly, a reflexive panic in his voice, like he had done something bad, and he was afraid of being punished. You gave him a soft smile though, almost like you knew you needed to make yourself a little less aggressive, especially after he had seen you go head to head with Walker over something so minor you couldn’t even remember..

”I know, I just want to check something, okay?” He looked down at you with such hesitation that you honestly thought he was going to say no, but even back then he had a distinct soft spot reserved for you. His eyes were an odd shade of blue that day, and you had seen distinct little flecks of what seemed to be an off yellow peering through. Back then you chalked it up to being the lighting.

”…Okay.” He whispered. You gave him a little smile, and took hold of the sleeve of his scrub top, leading him towards the side of one of the concrete pillars, just far enough to shield you both from the rest of the group. The tension in Bob’s shoulders hadn’t eased. If anything, being pulled away from the others made him more rigid, as if you were going to reprimand him.

“You hurt anywhere?” You asked, nodding toward his chest, his ribs, his shoulders.

“No…No…I mean, not really j-just some scratches and stuff b-but I’m okay, r-really.” You squinted at him, and you could see the way his breath hitched in his throat a little, like he was nervous or trying to hide something. Your eyes scanned over his dust covered face, watching him shift uncomfortably, as if being under your gaze felt like he was being smothered.

“Mind if I check?” He looked like he wanted to say no, like he wanted to tell you he was fine again so he could go back to his pacing, but instead, after a beat of hesitation, lifted his arm up slowly to you, with his palm up.

You reached forward slowly, and grabbed his hand.

Then everything slipped.

The world around you–the gritty concrete, the stale air, the faint hum of the vault’s broken systems–all vanished in an instant, replaced by heat, light, and the faint crackle of fire.

Your body didn’t move, but your heart slammed like it was being punched. You knew this place. The ruined battlefield. The shattered husk of the Avengers compound after the snap had been reversed. Twilight bleeding across rubble. Smoke curling in the air. The air was so thick it clung to your skin like regret.

You saw them–Peter, Pepper, Rhodey. All of them gathered around the figure on the ground.

And there he was.

Your father.

Collapsed. Barely breathing. The right side of his face blistered from the energy surge of the Infinity Stones. His arc reactor flickering like the dying heartbeat it had become. His mouth was slack, his breathing shallow.

He was dying.

And you were nowhere near him.

But you had been. You remembered it clearly now, clearer than ever–how you had stepped forward when they pulled him from the wreckage. How you’d seen him, gasping for air. How you’d started walking toward him and then–froze. Stopped in your tracks.

You had walked away.

The grief you’d locked down in the deepest corners of yourself–boxed and buried for years–rushed back to the surface with the brutal weight of tidal force. Your knees hit the ground in the memory, even though your body in the vault hadn’t moved.

Your chest heaved.

Because this wasn’t a memory.

This was your shame.

The moment you’d never told anyone about. The moment even Pepper didn’t know. The moment you abandoned him because you couldn’t watch the man who raised you die.

And now Bob—Bob, who you barely knew at the time—was seeing it too. Sucked into the deepest darkest secret you had. You tried to pull away, but the memory gripped you like a vice.

Tony’s eyes fluttered shut.

Peter was crying.

Pepper leaned in and whispered something too quiet to hear.

And you–you were nowhere near him. You had your hands over your mouth, hiding behind a crumbled slab of wall, like a coward. Crying silently, too ashamed to show your face.

The memory ended like a door slamming shut.

The vault came crashing back into view. Cold. Harsh. Fluorescent.

And you stumbled backward, your hand jerking away from Bob’s as if it had burned you. Your back hit the pillar, hard, and you bent over, one hand gripping your ribs like they were splitting open. You were breathing heavily, but holding back the tears, because you needed to remain strong, you had to or else you weren’t going to get out of the vault alive.

Bob didn’t say anything at first.

He just stood there, his hand still half-raised like he hadn’t realized you’d let go. His chest rose and fell unevenly, not with fear, but with something more fragile—remorse, maybe. Guilt. A kind of stunned softness that only existed in people who had never been given permission to hold something that delicate, and now had to live with the knowledge that they did.

He didn’t look at you right away. He was staring at the spot where your hand had touched his, like it still lingered there.

“I-I’m sorry…” He whispered, which caused your head to snap up at him. You had been expecting confusion. Denial. Questions, maybe. But not an apology.

“I-I don’t know how to c-control it. I didn’t mean to do it.” He said under his breath, kind of like he was muttering it to himself. The strangest thing about it all though was that you didn’t feel angry. You should have. You should’ve been furious that he’d been pulled into something so private. But there was something in the way he looked at you now–like he understood you in a way–that made your breath catch.

“Just…Don’t tell anybody about this.” You said hoarsely, wiping your nose on the back of your sleeve, as you pushed yourself up off the pillar to recover.

”I-I won’t,” He said immediately, “I’d n-never do t-that, I-I promise.” He added, and you believed him.

Even though the moment passed, even though Walker barked something from across the room and Ava told everyone to regroup, even though Bob turned to leave first to give you space–you knew in your gut that it had shifted something.

And now, standing in the present day, in the quiet hallway outside the kitchen, you realized that he really did keep that promise he made all those months ago…But that just spoke to who Bob was, and who he had always been.

——————

The lights in the compound’s living room had been dimmed for movie night, the projector humming softly behind the couch as the team shuffled in with snacks in hand.

You stood in the middle of the chaotic scene of bags and boxes, arms crossed, eyeing them as they made their way over to their designated spots that they typically claimed during movie nights. Yelena kicked her feet up onto the coffee table like it was her birthright. Walker was already grumbling at Ava for stealing the corner seat he liked to stretch out in. Alexei lumbered over with a bowl of popcorn that definitely wasn’t for sharing, and Bucky, as always, took the spot by the far armrest, the one with the clearest view of the exit. Bob lingered near the back of the couch, waiting–always waiting–until he was sure everyone else was settled before choosing a spot closest to you.

You cleared your throat, but it barely registered above the chatter that was happening around you.

”Hey!” You exclaimed, and that’s when heads turned. Walker paused mid-bite. Yelena glanced over her shoulder. Bob straightened immediately like someone had called his full name in school. Even Bucky looked up, one brow arching in curiosity. The projector hadn’t started yet, but the anticipation for the movie had everyone on autopilot. Until now.

“I, uh…” You started, then immediately hated the sound of your own voice. Awkwardly, you cleared your throat, and tried again, “Before we start the movie, I need to say something.” They sat in anticipation, thinking that you were going to announce something either tragic, or shockingly happy. Your hands fidgeted with the hem of your sleeve as you took a breath, the hush in the room now bordering on tense.

“Today’s always been a shitty day for me,” you said simply, and the honesty of it settled over them like dust. “Most of you probably figured that out. Some of you knew… or saw more than you were supposed to.” Your eyes flicked briefly toward Bob, and then back.

“But this year felt different. I didn’t want to sit with it by myself. I didn’t want to spend the day pretending it wasn’t happening just to make it easier to breathe.”

You exhaled.

“And I didn’t want to feel alone. So instead… I went shopping.”

There were a few scattered smiles at that. Ava smirked. Yelena tilted her head. Alexei made a noise that sounded like a chuckle and a snore at once.

“I got you all something. Nothing huge. Just things that made me think of you. Things I thought might make you smile. Because whether you like it or not, you’re my team now. You’re my people��my family. And I wanted to say thank you. For being here. For staying.”

You paused, blinking away the weight behind your eyes.

“For putting up with me.”

There was silence. But the kind that meant something. The kind you didn’t want to break too fast.

Then, you turned to the bags behind you and grabbed the first one.

“Ava,” you said, walking it over. “Noise-cancelling headphones and a pass to a rage room. Because, let’s be honest, we annoy the shit out of you.”

Ava cracked a genuine smile. “They better let me bring my own bat.”

“No promises.”

Next: “Yelena.” You passed her a smaller black box. “New utility belt. And some custom knives and batons I had made. Not saying you need them. But I also didn’t want to find out what would happen if you didn’t have them.”

Yelena grinned, flipping the latch open immediately. “You do love me.”

“Very much.” You replied with a smile.

“Walker,” You said, tossing him a medium-sized box that thunked heavily into his lap. “New pans, and a mini travel sized grill.”

“Thank God,” He muttered, already tearing the paper. “And they’re even better quality than the last ones.”

“Alexei.” You handed off two heavy bottles wrapped in tissue paper. “Vodka. The expensive kind.”

“Oh…Oh this is not going to survive night,” He replied, already cracking the top open.

“I figured.”

Then, you looked at Bucky.

“For you,” You said more quietly, stepping over and handing him a neatly wrapped parcel, “A metal polishing and cleaning kit, so you can stop using the dishwasher on your arm. And I got you an appointment for a bike detailing. Full job. New coat of black, too.”

He blinked slowly, surprised. “You remembered that?”

“You yelled about it for thirty minutes. I’d have to be concussed not to remember.”

He smiled. It was the small kind, but it stayed on his face longer than you expected.

You turned to Bob last, and something in your chest fluttered a little harder than you were ready for.

He was sitting upright, hands folded in his lap, trying not to look too eager, but his eyes flicked up to yours like he was bracing for impact. You walked over slowly, cradling the last item with more care than the others, and stopped just in front of him.

“This one’s for you,” You said gently, and handed him the book.

It wasn’t wrapped. No fancy paper, no ribbon–just a hardcover in a matte finish, with The Creative Act by Rick Rubin printed across the front in clean black letters.

Bob’s eyes flicked down to it. His hands moved slowly, reverent almost, as he turned the book over, like he wanted to feel the weight of it first before opening it. He ran his thumb along the edge before he finally slipped the front cover open–and there it was, tucked just inside the front page.

A handwritten note on a small square of folded paper that you had taken from Bob’s desk when you snuck in just before the movie.

Written in your slanted, slightly chaotic handwriting.

’The real gift is in your bedroom.’ Just the words alone affected him immediately.

His ears flushed red at first, before blooming down to his cheeks, and over his neck like a fire that couldn’t be put out. His eyes darted up to you, then back to the page, like he was checking to make sure if he’d read it right.

Then, with a bit too much urgency, he shut the book. Yelena was already leaning over from her seat to look at him.

”What’d you get?” She asked, her voice laced with amusement, seeing the deep blush that continued to burn on his cheeks.

”Yeah, let’s see,” Walker added, craning his neck, “It didn’t even have wrapping. What is it?” Bob shook his head quickly, holding the book close to his chest like it might be pried from him if he held it out too far from him.

”It’s…It’s j-just a book.” Everyone exchanged glances at one another, then looked over at you, then Bob.

”You’re turning that red over a book?” Ava raised an eyebrow. You watched as Bob sank slightly into himself, clutching the book like it was something far more scandalous than a hardcover on creative philosophy.

“You didn’t even open it all the way, you just opened the cover.” Yelena added.

”I-I don’t have to,” He stammered, adjusting the book in his arms, “It’s o-one Y/N and I saw at the b-bookstore a while ago that’s all.” Now all eyes turned to you. You gave a small, innocent smile.

“It really is just a book guys,” You said simply, meeting their suspicious looks with a calm ease, “Like Bob said…We saw it at the bookstore a while ago and he didn’t buy it. So I just got it for him now. No big deal.” Then you went to the couch to take up your space, looking back at Bob who was already coming to sit in the space that was available beside you. “Now…We can commence movie night.” You added, feeling Bob adjust beside you slightly, bumping his knee against yours almost like he was giving you a nudge, before settling in completely.

——————-

Eventually, everyone fell asleep in their spots apart from you and Bob.

The projector had long since gone dark, the soft white glow replaced by the quiet hush of breath and shifting limbs. The living room had become a patchwork of tangled limbs, half-eaten snacks, and drooping blankets. You and Bob sat in the warm silence at the edge of it all, knees still brushing where they’d been for the past hour.

He hadn’t opened the book again–not since that first flustered glance. But his fingers never stopped grazing the edges of the cover. He was still holding onto it carefully, like it might slip through his hands if he blinked too fast. You leaned toward him slightly, just enough so that your shoulder nudged him to get his attention.

”Hey,” You whispered. He glanced over at you, like he’s been waiting for you to say something because he was too scared to do it himself, “Wanna see your real gift now?” You asked, a small smile appearing on your lips. Bob could feel his heart pumping out of his chest as he began to overheat like a furnace.

“Y-Yeah…I mean…Y-yeah if you’re ready to s-show me.” You rose slowly, careful not to kick over a stray popcorn bowl or stir anyone from their half-snoring sprawl. Your eyes flicked briefly over the room to make sure no one was stirring—Yelena had curled into a blanket cocoon, Walker was snoring like a truck engine, and Alexei’s head had slumped against the back of the couch, drool threatening the upholstery. Bucky’s eyes were shut, but you could tell by the slight twitch in his jaw he was only pretending to sleep, which was typical for him. Turning back to Bob, you extended your hand toward him, palm open, wrist loose.

“Come on,” You whispered, just loud enough for him to hear. “Just make sure to be quiet cause if they wake up we’ll never hear the end of it.” He nodded–one firm, terrified little nod–and slid his fingers into yours. His hand was warm and clammy, but you didn’t mind the feeling. Quite honestly, you wished he did this more often, because it gave you this ease, the kind that only he truly provided. You squeezed his hand gently before tugging him up onto his feet, and he followed like you’d cast a spell over him.

You led him carefully through the living room, toes skimming across the floor like a cat, weaving between bodies and blankets until you reached the edge of the wing that led to your rooms.

The hallway was dim and quiet, the only light coming from the soft golden hue of the floor runners and the faint spill of moonlight through the high windows. You padded down the hardwood floor hand in hand, every step muffled, every breath shared. Bob stayed impossibly close to you, so close in fact that you could practically feel his breath on your neck, as if putting too much space between the both of you might make the whole moment disappear.

When you reached his door, you stopped just short of the frame and turned to him with a look that was half excitement, half warning.

“Okay, you’re gonna have to cover your eyes.” You whispered, looking up at him with one of the soft smiles you always gave him when you needed him to do something for you.

“W-What? Why?” He asked quietly under his breath, still holding onto your hand, only it was a little tighter now, probably from the nerves that were clawing away in the pit of his stomach.

“Just trust me…You won’t regret it.” Bob let out a quiet, breathy laugh–more like a whimper, really–and gave you the softest, most defeated sigh, like his heart had already left his chest and he was just trying to keep his limbs from shaking.

“A-Alright…” He whispered, leaning just a little closer to you, close enough that you could feel his breath hitting your cheeks, “Just…Just don’t let m-me trip or walk into something…Please.” You gave his hand another reassuring squeeze.

“Hasn’t happened before, and I’m not planning on letting that happen now.” You teased, before softly adding “Now…Close your eyes.” Bob obeyed, raising his free hand over his face with careful fingers, blocking his vision as if you were leading him into a sacred place rather than his own bedroom. You nudged the door open with your foot and gave his hand a gentle tug, leading him across the threshold.

You didn’t need to turn on a light.

His room always felt a little like stepping into a different plane of calm. The kind of space that knew quiet in its bones. Moonlight fell in soft silver lines across the floor through his half-open blinds, slicing the darkness into gentle pieces. The windows of his room were quite large, which was the reason why everyone assigned it to him, because if he ever had an episode and didn’t want to come out of his room, he would at least get some sunlight.

His bed was unmade, but it was clean, it always was–Bob didn’t like messes too much, and the comforter was crumpled in a way that suggested he hadn’t been able to stay still for more than a minute. His nightstand had a glass of water and a half-melted candle that still smelled faintly like lavender, which was something that he had learned calmed him through you. There were books stacked under the window. T-shirts folded too neatly on the open shelves. A jacket draped on the chair in the corner.

His room was basically a manifestation of things he picked up from you and bits and pieces of himself that he couldn’t shake. It was a perfect balance, especially when he was too scared to go to your room when you were out on missions–when he was missing you terribly.

And then–right there in the center of the room, illuminated perfectly by the soft glow spilling through the curtains–was the record player.

Matte black, sleek, minimalist. Quiet in its confidence. It sat on a low wooden console table that you had bought pre-assembled. Beside it, propped open just slightly, was a padded carrying case–and inside there were three of your records that he had constantly put on whenever he would end up in your room: Loveless by My Bloody Valentine, Last Splash by The Breeders, and Elton John’s Self Titled.

On nights like these–when you had nothing to do–Bob would come and listen to a record with you while lying on your bed. The both of you would stare at the ceiling and talk, usually it was about anything and nothing at all, that’s just how it had always been. Sometimes you guys would touch, hold hands just as a source of comfort, but it never went further than that, because neither of you wanted to possibly put the friendship in jeopardy.

Tonight would be one of those nights that you would be able to lie with him thankfully.

You looked up at Bob who was still shielding his eyes even though he was clearly trembling with anticipation. You gave the hand that was intertwined with yours one last squeeze and leaned close enough that your arms brushed.

”Alright,” You whispered, “You can open them now.” Bob’s hand dropped from his eyes like he was lifting the lid on something sacred.

And the second his gaze landed on the record player, his entire face changed.

His shoulders softened, his chest lifted like he’d just taken the first real breath in hours–and then came the smile. Wide, radiant, boyish. One that reached all the way up to his eyes and cracked something open in you.

He stepped forward slowly, like he was approaching something precious. His fingers hovered above the turntable for a moment before he crouched down in front of it, knees tucked in, head tilted with something like awe. The soft light haloed around him, catching on the strands of his hair and the curve of his jaw. You saw his lips part slightly, saw the way he swallowed thickly.

Then his sleeve came up–quick and almost sheepish–and he dabbed at the corners of his eyes with the back of his wrist. He thought you wouldn’t notice if he did it quickly but you knew his tells, and you knew when something was wrong with him. When he let out a small sniffle, you were at his side in an instant.

“Bob?” You whispered, dropping to your knees beside him, voice soft, uncertain. “Hey…What’s wrong?”

He didn’t look at you at first. Just shook his head quickly, eyes still fixed on the player.

“Nothing–Nothing’s wrong,” He said quickly, but his voice cracked halfway through. “I’m just–God–this is…It’s too much.”He whispered to himself, pressing a trembling hand to his eyes again to wipe off another set of tears.

Your brows knit together, and you lifted a hand instinctively, hovering just above his shoulder but not quite touching.

“I didn’t mean to overwhelm you, I just–”

“I love it,” He interrupted gently, finally turning to face you. His eyes were wet, his cheeks flushed, and there was that dazed smile again, wide and aching. “I love it so much.”

You let out a soft, quiet exhale, the kind you didn’t even know you were holding, relieved that you didn’t do anything wrong.

And then–without warning–he leaned into you.

Not cautiously. Not halfway.

Fully.

Bob wrapped his arms around you with all the care and all the weight of someone who had wanted to do it for a very long time. One arm slid around your lower back while the other curled protectively around your shoulders, tucking you against him like you were the only thing he could hold onto. His forehead dropped to your shoulder, and you felt his breath hitch against your neck.

You froze for just a second–stunned by the sheer intensity of it–before you melted into him. Your arms wound around his back, your hands gripping at the soft fabric of his sweater. You closed your eyes and held him, not just because you were trying to comfort him, but also because you needed it just as much as he did.

Bob breathed in deeply, inhaling your warmth, and your sweet scent–a mixture of iris and clementines. He said you smelled like summer to him once, and he stuck by that even to this day, because it was intoxicating to him, and it was you…That’s what he liked most.

Your hand drifted up slowly to the back of his neck, letting your fingers brush through his hair with a tenderness so natural it almost startled you. He didn’t flinch, or shy away, instead you felt him melt into you just a little more, like your touch was untying the knots that were within him.

“I-I’m sorry,” He murmured, his voice muffled against your shoulder, “I-I didn’t mean to cry…No one’s ever gotten me something t-this nice before.” You let out a soft huff against him, pulling back just enough so you could look at him, your fingers curling gently so you were cradling the back of his head.

”Bob…” You whispered, then smiled with a soft ache, “You don’t need to be sorry. I’m glad it means something to you…” He looked up at you with wide, glassy blue eyes, still watering slightly at the corners.

”It really…It really does…It-It means everything to me Y/N…” He replied.

A silence settled between the both of you in that moment, not awkward but charged–thick with feelings that were just cresting on the horizon. You brought your other hand up to his face, letting your thumb brush along the curve of his jaw before you dropped it to rest over his chest, right where you could feel his heartbeat drumming just under the fabric of his sweater. When you pressed a little harder you could feel the muscle flex against your touch,–a reflex from Bob.

“So…Uh…Does this mean I c-can’t come to your r-room anymore to listen to vinyls?” You raised an eyebrow at that comment, leaning in just a little so your noses were almost touching, as you allowed the edge of your voice to dip playfully.

”Actually…It’s an excuse for me to come in here once in a while.” He was taken aback by your comment, but it had hit him like a lightning bolt.

His mouth parted slightly, eyes locking with yours as if you just upended gravity. You could see when it fully clicked for him–what it meant, what you wanted it to mean. The warmth in his face scattered deeper now, but this time, he didn’t look away.

”W-Well then…I-I think you should use that e-excuse…A-All the time then.” You tilted your head a bit, a smirk coming up on your lips, realizing what he was giving back now.

”All the time hm?” He nodded, keeping his eyes glued to yours, his pupils dilating slightly to adjust more to the darkness, and to take more of you in.

”A-As much as you want Y/N...Every n-night even i-if you want.” Your heart fluttered–too loud, too strong–but you didn’t let it show except for the little smile that cracked wide across your face. You slid your hand up to the collar of his sweater, your thumb running along the thin skin on his neck.

“Well,” You said, leaning in, “Why don’t we start now then…” Bob didn’t answer.

He couldn’t.

Because the second those words left your lips–why don’t we start now then–the air between you changed. Like it folded in on itself. Like the gravity in the room evaporated completely and every ounce of tension that had lived in stolen glances and almost-touches finally snapped tight, pulling the two of you together like you’d never really meant to be apart in the first place.

Your lips found his.

Soft. Certain. Slow at first–just a press. Just a whisper of something that had been waiting so long to be real. Bob shuddered under you, like every nerve in his body had lit up at once. His hands came up instinctively, almost blindly—one settling on your waist, the other cradling the curve of your back like he was afraid you’d vanish.

But you didn’t.

You kissed him again.

And again.

Breathing into each other between the spaces. Your mouths never fully parted–they just shifted, adjusted, and learned. His lips moved with yours like he was starved for the taste, like he had imagined it so many times but never dared to believe he’d ever actually feel it. You felt his breath catch in the back of his throat, felt the way he tensed, and then eased, melting into it like he finally believed it was happening.

When you moved closer to him Bob let out the softest gasp into your mouth, it was barely a sound, but it still hit you like an electric current. You deepened the kiss, tilting your head as your hands slid higher into his hair. You gripped at the soft strands and gave them a gentle tug, just enough to guide his head back just a little–earning a low, breathless sound, stealing it straight out of his chest.

With trembling strength, Bob shifted, pulling you with him slowly until you were in his lap, your knees sliding on either side of his thighs, straddling him. His hands gripped at your hips, thumbs pressing into the fabric of your shirt like you were something holy to him. When your weight settled over him completely it made Bob feel like the world had gone totally quiet–like he could live in this moment and never need anything else for survival.

You pulled back just enough to breathe, your forehead resting against his as your fingers brushed his flushed cheeks. Bob’s lips were still parted, his breath coming in soft, stuttered exhales that fanned across your mouth. His hands had stilled on your hips, still holding you like he was scared to grip too tightly, like if he held too hard you might vanish again.

“Is this okay?” you whispered, voice low and weighted with something deeper than just desire. Bob nodded immediately, so fast it was almost a flinch.

“Y-Yeah,” He breathed, “Y-Yeah, anything you want–just–God, I want you to take whatever y-you want.”

You smiled, touching your nose to his briefly, before leaning back enough to sit upright on his lap. Bob’s hands stayed where they were, unmoving, as if he was afraid to go any further unless you guided him. And you would. Because this was yours to take if you wanted it–and he had already given it so freely.

Your hands slipped to the hem of your shirt, and you pulled it over your head in one smooth motion. The fabric whispered over your skin as it came off, and you dropped it onto the floor beside you without looking away from him.

Bob’s breath hitched.

You were wearing a thin, slate-colored bra–and barely anything between your body and the chill in the air. The moonlight caught on the curve of your breasts and the subtle rise and fall of your breathing, but it also revealed more than just your skin.

Faint, jagged lines kissed across your ribs and shoulders. Scars from old missions, burns, nicks, remnants of the life you’d led before this–before the Thunderbolts. Each one a story you rarely told. Some puckered. Some silver. A few newer, still healing. They caught the light and glimmered in ways they never had before–because now, someone was really looking at them. You saw Bob’s eyes flicker down over them like he was cataloging each one with the kind of care and thoughtfulness that made your throat tighten.

And then there was the necklace.

Stark tech. Thin chain. Sleek design. The pendant was small, flat, shaped like a coin and glowing faintly from within–pulse blue, soft as breath. It had been a gift from Tony. A prototype for a fail-safe, disguised as a keepsake. Only a few people in the compound even knew it wasn’t just jewelry. You never explained it, never offered context. But you didn’t move to hide it now

His eyes lifted again–tentative, trembling–and met yours. You saw the way he swallowed hard, saw the way he tried to stop himself from looking lower, like he didn’t want to disrespect the moment. But his gaze dropped again anyway, helpless against the gravity of you. He didn’t speak. He couldn’t. He looked stunned.

“I know,” You murmured, softer this time, like you were trying to soothe the bashful panic behind his wide-eyed stare. “It’s a lot.”

“No–n-no, it’s not–” Bob’s voice cracked as he tried to sit up straighter, his hands tightening a little on your hips. “You’re–God, you’re beautiful, and it’s e-everything I imagined.” You tilted your head to the side, a teasing glint blooming behind your eyes as you traced your fingers slowly up his arms.

”You’ve imagined this?” You asked, voice light but thick with hea, watching Bob’s entire face turn a deeper shade of red in the moonlight, like he was caught committing a crime. His lips parted as he scrambled for a respectful response, but you didn’t give him a chance. You leaned in, lips hovering just above his, your breath slipping into his mouth as you whispered, “What else have you imagined?” Bob exhaled shakily, the sound brushing your mouth. His hands flexed unconsciously on your hips as though trying to ground himself–like if he didn’t hold onto you, he might drift right out of the moment.

“I’ve…” He whispered, his voice barely audible over the heavy breathing the both of you were doing, “T-Thought about touching you…Like t-this.” He began to kiss the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, leaving a trail of heat and wetness from his lips all the way down to your neck, before he opened his mouth against you, right below your ear, placing a lingering kiss that made you push your chest against his with the heat that curled around you.

“I’ve t-though about what your s-skin would feel against m-mine,” He murmured, trembling as his lips traced the column of your throat, “And how you would sound i-if I kissed you h-here…” He added, placing a kiss against your pulse point, listening to the small sigh that escaped your mouth.

His breath was shaky against your neck as his lips lingered at the little patch of skin that thumped against his touch, his nose brushing against the soft dip of your throat while his hands remained firmly planted on your hips–too still, too solid, like he didn’t trust himself to move without falling apart.

But then, as if pulled by some gravitational force he could no longer fight, one of his hands slid upward. Slowly. Tentatively. Fingertips brushing over the hem of your bra, skimming your ribs, following the curve of your waist until they reached the delicate strap resting on your shoulder. His knuckles trembled, but his touch was impossibly gentle, as if even the fabric you wore deserved to be worshipped.

He kissed your jaw again–open-mouthed, soft–and then you felt the light tug at your shoulder as he slipped the strap down. The fabric eased across your skin with a quiet drag, and you shivered beneath it, watching the way his eyes followed the path like it was sacred scripture.

His lips returned to your skin, grazing over the hollow of your collarbone before whispering into it–so quiet you almost didn’t catch it.

”C-Can I look?” You nodded.

”Yes…Of course.” You whispered. His hand twitched where it rested at the curve of your spine, and then, with a sort of hesitance that nearly broke you, he slid his hand up to the clasp of your bra, his fingertips brushing clumsily along them, missing the latch twice. You couldn’t help but smile at the fumbling, as he let out a breathy, nervous laugh against your skin, while his forehead dropped to your shoulder in a sheepish show of surrender.

”I-I swear I’m trying,” He murmured, the corners of his lips curling up. You laughed with him, soft and unhurried, before pressing a kiss to his temple.

“I’ve got it,” You said, reaching one arm behind yourself with practiced ease. The clasp gave one tiny click and you slid the loose straps down your arms, letting it join your t-shirt that was beside you. When you straightened back up, bare now in the soft glow of the moonlight, Bob didn’t move at first, he just stared.

Not in a greedy way, not in the way you were used to being looked at, it was with such desire and want it made your stomach turn. Like he was trying to memorize the details of your body so when he closed his eyes he’d be able to picture it.

His hands slid up slowly from your waist, palms wide, cautious, and trembling just slightly as they moved to trace along your ribs. His thumbs brushed upward–barely skimming the outer swell of your breasts–before he let out a long, shaky breath and leaned in. His lips pressed to the curve of your breast, just above your heart, and you felt the sigh leave him as he held you like you were something holy.

You curled your fingers into his hair, watching him.

“Bob…” You whispered, but it was barely a sound.

He lifted his head just long enough to meet your gaze. His cheeks were flushed, his lips already kiss-bitten and pink.

“I-I’ve imagined this so many times,” He said softly, almost apologetically. “But it never felt like this. I-It never felt this real.”

And then his mouth returned to your skin–this time lower.

He kissed across the top of your breast, then the underside, open-mouthed, so gentle you almost whimpered. His tongue barely grazed, only enough to tease, to taste. You felt the warmth of him, the way he held one breast up in his hand with delicate fingers while he mouthed softly at the other. You gasped when his lips closed over your nipple, sucking gently, and your back arched toward him without meaning to.

You slid your hands beneath the hem of his sweater, then under his shirt, fingers meeting hot, bare skin. He jumped slightly at the sudden contact, pulling back from your chest just enough to pant softly against it.

“C-Cold hands,” He whispered breathlessly, grinning faintly against your skin even though his whole body was burning with heat. “Or maybe I’m j-just really warm…” You laughed again, low and soft.

“You are, I think I can even feel your blood boiling.” You joked, keeping your hands under his shirt, palms smoothing across his back and up over the planes of his stomach and chest. You could feel how solid he was beneath you–not just strong, but sensitive, pliant, like he wanted to give all of himself over to your hands, your mouth, your gaze.

And he did.

Bob went back to your breasts, now kissing them between worshipful sighs and breathless, choked words.

“You’re so…So soft,” He murmured against your skin, his lips brushing your sternum. “So warm… I didn’t know it could feel like this. I-I didn’t know it could feel this good just…Just to be close to you...”

You felt a swell of something tender and aching crash into your chest.

You cupped his jaw, tilting his face up so he’d look at you. And he did with red-cheeks, wide-eyes, and lips that were still shining faintly from the saliva that coated them. And then you leaned in again and kissed him—deeper this time. Slower. You pushed your tongue into his mouth, tasting him, letting him taste you.

His arms wrapped tighter around your waist again and this time, he moved.

“C-Can I…” He panted into the kiss, “Can I bring you to t-the bed?”You nodded against his lips.

“Yes, Bob. Please.” He stood slowly, hands steadying you as he rose, and then–without any real effort at all–he lifted you into his arms. You clutched at his shirt as your legs wrapped instinctively around his waist, a soft gasp leaving your lips.

”Jesus, sometimes I forget you’re a superhuman basically…” He laughed–nervous but proud that he surprised you with his strength.

”I d-don’t really show it off, so I don’t b-blame you for forgetting.” He murmured, as his skin continued to heat up against you. He walked the two of you the short distance to the unmade bed and lowered you gently onto the cold sheets.

But instead of climbing on top of you, he slid in beside you, curling close–not out of hesitation, but intimacy.

You turned onto your side, your body instinctively seeking him, and hooked one leg over his hip, bringing your thigh around him and pulling him in. The moment he was close enough, you kissed him again–your hands sliding up into his hair, fingers threading through the soft brown strands at the back of his head.

Immediately, he melted into the kiss, groaning softly into your mouth–barely audible, but it vibrated through your chest, and curled low in your stomach– where the tension began to build. Your lips moved against each other in a rhythm that felt like it had been written in the marrow of your bones, like the both of you belonged there together in that moment.

And then Bob pulled back–just enough to look at you. His pupils were blown wide, eating away at the lush blue, his lips were wet and parted as he breathed shallowly, trembling slightly.

”I-I wanna feel everything,” He whispered.

Then with a move that felt bolder than anything he’d ever done, he pulled at the collar of his sweater, pulling it off. The hem dragged over his head, catching slightly on his hair before he tossed it aside, his t-shirt following soon after–slightly rumpled and damp from how hot he was getting.

The moonlight etched the shape of him–slender but strong, pale skin kissed splashed with little drops of freckles and barely-there scars. You saw the muscles move under the skin of his stomach when he breathed in, saw the way his chest rose and fell like he was trying to stay steady in a storm of want.

He slid his arm under your neck and around your shoulders, pulling you close, gathering you into the crook of his body like he needed every inch of contact. Your leg stayed hooked over his waist, your hips now pressed firmly together, heat and need blooming where your bodies touched.

His hand slid slowly down your spine, palm wide, curling gently around the dip of your lower back.

And then he kissed you again.

It wasn’t hurried. It wasn’t rushed. It was molten. Deep. Slow and desperate.

You could feel the way his lips moved with a kind of hunger that didn’t want to consume you–it wanted to worship every inch of you.

As your tongues brushed, you shifted your hips, rolling gently against the line of his thigh. His breath hitched, a surprised little gasp breaking the kiss.

And then his knee shifted.

He tilted his leg slightly between yours, giving you the perfect angle to move against him–and you did. Slowly at first. Just the press of your body rocking into his. You moaned softly against his lips as you rolled your hips again, dragging yourself along him with just the right amount of pressure. It wasn’t loud, but it vibrated between your mouths, slipping into him like a secret you wanted him to feel in his bones.

His lips barely touched yours now–just ghosting–warm and open and trembling, like he was terrified to break the moment. You breathed in at the same time he exhaled, your lips parting in tandem, and it felt like you were drinking each other in. Breath passed between you in small, shared gasps, heat curling where mouths nearly met, where words became vapor.

“Bob…” You whispered into him, and his name felt like silk on your tongue.

The air between your mouths wasn’t even air anymore. It was communion. Heat. Exchange. Like you were tethered by the sheer force of needing each other. His nose brushed yours. Your foreheads pressed together. His breath hit your tongue before it hit his own lungs.

And still–you craved Bob’s touch even more.

You reached between your bodies, your fingers skimming over his wrist before curling around it gently. His pulse jumped under your touch.

You guided his hand down until his knuckles met the waistband of your sweatpants. His breath faltered.

“I need more…” You whispered, voice raw and low–on the brink of begging, “Please…”

Bob didn’t speak at first. He just nodded, quickly like that word please had been carved into him. Then, with trembling fingers, he tugged at the tie of your sweatpants, undoing the bow with care, like he was unwrapping something sacred.

As he did, your fingers slipped down to the tie of his–mirroring him. Equal.

He froze just a little.

“W-What…What are you doing?” he asked, voice cracking like a matchstick in the dark.

Your hand kept working the knot, lips hovering over his, your nose brushing his as you breathed:

“I don’t want to be the only one being touched like this.” His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, jaw tightening, chest rising as he tried to hold himself together. But your voice–your need–had undone him completely. He nodded again, slower this time, gaze trailing down to where your hands were now at each other’s waistbands.

And then you both moved.

It wasn’t graceful–no art to it. Just need. Just fumbling, frantic hands pushing sweatpants down over hips, wriggling out of the fabric together in a tangle of half-laughs and sharp breaths and grazes of skin.

Your legs kicked the soft fabric off the edge of the bed and his did the same.

And then you were back–wrapped around each other again. The arm beneath your head pulled you in slowly, as his hand splayed between your shoulder blades, fingers curling slightly like he needed to grab onto something to keep him in the moment. Your thigh returned to his hip, locking yourself into him, and the kiss you shared was now pure fire. It was teeth and tongue and breath and a low, desperate sound torn straight from his throat.

You kissed him like you couldn’t get deep enough. Like you’d climb inside his chest if he let you. And he would. He would.

His hand slid up the back of your neck and into your hair as your mouth’s finally slowed, pulling back slightly to breathe. Your lips stayed apart for him, letting a whisper of space between you.

Your noses touched. His forehead pressed to yours. And when you opened your eyes, he was already staring–flushed and wide and wrecked in the most beautiful way.

Then Bob’s hand moved. Slowly. Purposefully.

He brought it to your mouth, two fingers extended–not tentative, but gently.

“Let me,” He whispered.

You nodded, opening your mouth just a little more for him. You took his fingers in without hesitation, wrapping your tongue around them, wetting them with slow, deliberate passes. His eyes fluttered closed, his breath shaking as you sucked softly–just enough to coat them in warmth.

When he withdrew, he immediately slid his hand down. Beneath your underwear.

And when his fingers found you–hot, wet, already aching for him–he moaned into your cheek.

“Oh, God…” Was all he could choke out, as he slid through your arousal, slow and careful, dragging every drop of slickness to your clit in gentle circles. You gasped–your whole body arching forward into him, closing your eyes at the sensation of his fingers against you.

Your hand moved too now–down his chest, over the soft lines of his abdomen–until your hand slipped beneath the waistband of his briefs. He hissed at the contact, his forehead dropping to your shoulder.

You found him hard and hot in your hand, thick and twitching under your fingers as you wrapped around him, stroking slow. Just once. Just enough to feel him jump in your palm.

Bob groaned, low and guttural against your skin.

You both moved together, hands working in tandem–your touch on him firm and steady, his fingers stroking you in slow circles until he dipped one inside. Then another. Stretching you gently, curling just enough to make your breath catch, your thighs tremble.

The bed creaked softly beneath you as the both of you writhed beneath each others hands

Skin to skin. Mouth to mouth. You moved together like a tide pull–rocking, gasping, fingers slipping and sliding against one another.

Bob adjusted himself slightly, pressing closer to you, before moving his fingers quicker now–they were still gentle, but there was more purpose to his movements. Like he couldn’t help it. Like your body had hypnotized him into doing exactly what you needed him to do, and his only job was to listen. The pads of his fingers pressed and curled inside you, while his thumb circled your clit with more pressure than before, and the sensation that came from this change bloomed in sharp and immediate trembles.

You gasped–high and sudden–your head tilting back into the solidness of his arm that was wrapped around the back of your neck. Your hand that was wrapped around him, stilled. You couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

It was too much.

Your free hand flew to his shoulder, fingers digging in, nails curling against the slope of muscle. You clung to him like he was the only thing anchoring you to the bed, to the moment, to yourself.

Bob’s breath caught as he felt you seize around him, as he watched your eyes flutter and your mouth part in a soundless moan that finally broke into a quiet, desperate whimper. His name left your lips like a secret you’d never told anyone else–torn from the center of you. He could feel it, the way your body trembled against him, the way your muscles clenched around his fingers in tight, rhythmic pulses.

And he watched.

He watched you come undone with a look of sheer awe painted across his face. His lips parted slightly, eyes fixed on yours, and then on your mouth, like he couldn’t decide what was more beautiful: the way you looked when you fell apart, or the sound of his name when you did.

Your brows furrowed with the force of it, your thighs tightening around his hips, your breath breaking apart like waves crashing on rock.

Bob didn’t stop—not until he felt you ride the last crest of it, your body softening again beneath him. And when you finally blinked, eyes unfocused and lips still parted, he leaned forward and kissed your cheek. Reverent. Almost trembling.

He withdrew his fingers slowly, gently, like he didn’t want to startle you after such a fragile, shattering moment. You shivered at the loss, and he whispered something into your skin—too soft to make out. But his breath was warm. His lips were warm.

And then he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze.

His hand hovered between you, the slick still glistening faintly in the low light. But he didn’t wipe it away. He just looked at you like you were the most divine thing he’d ever seen.

“C-Can I take these off?” He asked, his voice thick with longing, with excitement, with the weight of everything he was holding back.

His hand ghosted over the band of your underwear, waiting.

You nodded slowly, still breathless, still catching your bearings.

”Yes…Yes please…Please just do what you want to me Bob…I’m already yours.” The moment those words left your lips, one thing inside Bob snapped like a wire that had been wrapped too tight. It wasn’t in a wild, unruly way though. No–this was quiet, controlled, but powerful.

His breath shuddered in his chest as he surged forward to kiss you harder this time, deepening it almost instantly. It was desperate but gently, like he needed to pour all the feelings he couldn’t say into your mouth, into the space between your teeth and tongue and breath.

As he kissed you, his fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your underwear, dragging the last barrier down slowly, reverently. His knuckles skimmed your thighs, your hips, the swell of your backside. The fabric clung slightly, then surrendered, pooling around your knees before you helped kick it away.

Bob’s hand dipped next to his own waistband, and you could feel the moment he slid his briefs off. The subtle lift of his hips. The faint brush of heat and bare skin against yours. He was pressed close now–every inch of him.

And when you looked down between your bodies, when your eyes caught the sight of him fully bared–his length flushed light red and thick, curving slightly, the tip glistening with need–you felt heat flood every nerve in your body. The moment was more than just physical. It was overwhelming. He was ready, so ready, not just in body but in soul, in the way he looked at you like you were gravity and breath and sky all at once.

Bob swallowed hard, as if he could feel you seeing all of him, as if the intimacy of being witnessed so completely was almost too much to bear.

But he didn’t look away.

Instead, he shifted–slowly, carefully–until he was over you. His hands pressed into the bed on either side of your body, muscles tense as though he were anchoring himself to the world. You welcomed him with a soft sigh, parting your legs wider to cradle his hips, letting him settle into the space that had always been meant for him–since the day you realized you wanted him like this.

He leaned down first–pressing a kiss to your chest. Right between your breasts. Then another to the slope of one, then the other. Then higher. His lips grazed your sternum, your collarbone, the hollow of your throat. Each kiss was warm, slow, and sacred.

By the time his mouth found yours again, you were breathless from just the journey of it.

He kissed you with everything. Not just hunger, but reverence. Like your lips were a language he’d studied for years but only just learned how to speak.

And then–without a word–he reached for your hand.

You let him take it easily, watching the way his long fingers wrapped around yours. He brought it up gently, pressing it down into the mattress beside your head, his grip secure but soft–like he wanted to hold you in place but never trap you.

That one motion nearly undid you.

It wasn’t restraint.

It was his way of closeness. The kind that made you feel tethered to him, like your bodies weren’t just aligned–they were entwined, they were marking. Like they were made to be this close. Built for this level of intimacy for only each other.

His forehead rested against yours again. You could feel every exhale fan across your lips.

“I wanna go slow,” He whimpered, voice breaking like dusk light through the curtains. “I wanna…Wanna feel all of you…Every second of you…”

You reached your free hand up to his face, and your thumb brushed across his cheekbone, slow and tender, like you were tracing the edge of a secret only you were allowed to know. His skin was warm beneath your touch–warmer than it had ever been–and you could feel the tremble in his breath as he waited, eyes searching yours like they were the only compass he had left.

“And I want you to lose yourself in me.” You replied. His eyes fluttered shut, and for a moment he just breathed like your words had cracked something open in his chest. When he looked at you again, there was something new behind his expression–like awe and fear had melted into devotion.

“If anything becomes too much, you have to tell me…” He said, voice almost broken with the weight of care. You nodded, but your hand tightened in his.

”It won’t…But I promise if it does I will tell you.” He dipped his head lower again, as if he couldn't bear the space between your mouths any longer, and pressed a kiss to your lips again absorbing the softness of them, the warmth. Your hand threaded through his hair, fingertips curling at the nape of his neck, guiding him so he was pressed right against you.

And then–his hand moved down between your bodies. You felt the slow drag of his palm against the outside of your thigh, then the careful slide of his fingers as he reached down and guided himself to you. He breathed out when he felt you coat him, your wetness catching on every ridge of him as he slid himself against your entrance–once, twice, gathering all of you onto him. His body twitched with restraint. His jaw clenched. He pressed his forehead harder against yours as if the contact was the only thing keeping him from breaking apart entirely.

The moment he pushed in, your bodies stopped breathing.

Your mouth parted with a gasp–sharp and soft–as he sank into you slowly, inch by inch, until you felt your body stretch and adjust to every curve of him. Bob choked on a breath the second he felt your warmth take him in, his face screwing up in something between a sob and a moan. His forehead pressed harder against yours, like if he moved any other way he’d fall apart.

“God–oh, God…” He whispered, voice ragged and frayed at the edges. “Holy…You’re…You’re so” He couldn’t finish the sentence. He was too overwhelmed by the feel of you wrapped around him, every pulse and tremble drawing him deeper into the haze of you.

Your hand clenched tighter in his, and you felt the way his fingers locked with yours, grounding himself with your grip as he bottomed out. A low, aching sound slipped from your throat and caught in the space between your lips, and you felt it shake against his mouth as he kissed you again–slow, reverent, his tongue barely brushing yours as he tried to breathe.

“You’re doing so good,” You whispered into him, your voice like silk over fire. “Just stay right there. Just let me feel you…”

He whimpered at that, a broken noise into your mouth, like the praise undid him. He didn’t move–couldn’t, not yet at least. He was just holding himself there, buried inside you, feeling the way your body fluttered around him.

“I-It’s like…Like you’re pulling me apart,” He said, breathless. “And putting me back together all at once…”

His hand left yours slowly, reluctantly, fingers sliding down your wrist with a feather-light touch as he reached for your thigh. You felt it happen in stages–the way his hand cradled the back of your knee, the way he gently guided your leg up higher on his waist, opening you up further, angling himself deeper.

The shift made your breath catch. He slid in even further, the new position sending a wave of pressure right through your core, and you gasped into his mouth. Bob groaned–breathlessly low, lost—and his hips jolted forward once, like he couldn’t help himself.

You could feel him trembling above you, his hand still gripping your thigh like it was the only thing anchoring him to the planet.

“I need…” he murmured into your neck, voice barely coherent, “Need to be closer—need to feel all of you.”

“You are,” You whispered back, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, holding him close. “You’re already in every part of me.”

He rocked into you, slow at first–agonizing in its care–like he wanted to memorize every detail, every sound you made when he moved. Your bodies stayed pressed together, chest to chest, lips to jaw, gasps shared like breathless secrets.

And then you reached up.

You cupped his face, thumbs brushing over his cheeks, until your fingers slid gently into his mouth. Bob’s eyes fluttered open, glassy and stunned–and then he groaned, low in his chest, as he closed his lips around them.

You watched him–watched his lashes flutter, his breath hitch, the way his hips stuttered forward harder now, more desperate, like the taste of you on his tongue had undone something deep and buried inside him.

You moaned at the sight of it–at the way he sucked your thumbs, not rough, but with such reverence you almost passed out, on the brink of obedience.

You slipped your thumbs from his mouth slowly, watching the glossy string of saliva stretch and catch in the moonlight like silk spun from reverence. Bob’s lips stayed parted, his breath hot against your fingers, his tongue brushing the edge of one thumb as you pulled it away. And then, without breaking the contact, you trailed the damp touch down his jaw–soft, deliberate, leaving a glistening line in its wake.

His whole body stilled.

You felt him twitch inside you, felt the sharp inhale he tried and failed to control. And then your fingers tilted his chin up.

“Look at me,” You whispered, your voice low and rich with everything you couldn’t say with words alone. His eyes lifted to yours like he was coming up for air, like your gaze was the only thing keeping him from dissolving into the moment completely. He looked wrecked–beautifully so. Lips kiss-bruised, cheeks flushed to the tips of his ears, pupils swallowing the blue of his eyes completely now. You could see every flicker of awe in his expression, every ounce of need, of surrender. You brushed your fingers along the edge of his jaw, then swept them up into his hair, pushing the sweat-dampened strands from his forehead with aching tenderness. His breath caught when you did it, like your touch alone unraveled something buried too deep for him to reach.

“You’re doing so good…You feel so good inside me, Bob.” You whispered, voice like velvet as your thumbs stroked the sides of his face. His hips stuttered forward—once, then again. A trembling gasp slipped from his throat as he sank in deeper, the pace no longer slow but no less careful. It was desperate now. Steady and aching. Each thrust felt like it was pulled from the center of him, like he was trying to carve himself into your body—leaving a part of his soul there.

The sound of skin meeting skin filled the room in soft, rhythmic slaps. Your breathing hitched with each one, your legs tightening around his hips to pull him in, to keep him close. You could feel how badly he was trying to keep control, how every movement was threaded with reverence and restraint. But his body–his need–was beginning to override his fear.

And you wanted that.

“Don’t hold back,” You said between soft gasps, brushing his hair back again, curling your fingers against his neck. “I want you to give it to me. Everything.”

His face twisted like he was going to cry. He dipped down and kissed you hard, and sloppily, like he was already too far gone to keep it clean. His tongue slipped into your mouth, searching for yours, and when he found it, he moaned into the kiss like he’d been starving for it. He fucked you through it–deeper now, faster–his hips rolling in a way that had your head falling back onto the pillows.

“Oh God…Oh–fuck–Bob,” You whined, your nails raking lightly down his back. He gasped at the sharp drag, chasing the friction because he liked the burn it brought him.

“I-I’m s-sorry,” He choked, voice breaking as his thrusts grew uneven. “I can’t—I can’t slow down—I n-need—”

”No…Fuck. Don’t apologize you feel so fucking good. Please––Please don’t fucking stop.” You interrupted, desperate now, feeling your stomach twisting into knots. He dropped his forehead against yours again, lips brushing yours with every breath, and drove into you harder. Deeper. Each movement was more desperate, more pleading, as if his body was trying to reach some part of you his words couldn’t. The bed shifted beneath you, the frame creaking, but neither of you noticed. Not when it felt like your souls were colliding.

You felt everything building again, fast–hot and coiled and pulsing at the center of you.

“Bob…” You whimpered, your voice cracking with need, “I-I’m close, I’m so close…” His eyes met yours again–blown wide, glassy, nodding.

“I-I’m gonna come too,” He panted, and then the question tumbled out of him, desperate and ragged–“Where—Where do you want me to…?”

Your body trembled.

“In me,” You breathed, cupping his cheek again, pulling him close, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Inside me, Bob. I want to feel it dripping out of me all day tomorrow.”

And that was it.

Bob cried out–barely a sound, more of a broken whimper–and buried himself to the hilt inside you. His hips stilled with a violent shudder, and then he came. You felt the heat of it, the way his body jerked as he pulsed inside you, moaning your name like it was the only prayer he knew. His arms locked around you, trembling as he held you through it.

And then–seconds later–you followed.

You clenched around him as your body went tight, your back arching off the bed, your lips parting in a soundless cry that turned into a whimper of his name. He felt you come around him, fluttering, pulsing, your legs tightening around his waist as your body shook with the force of it.

He kissed you through the aftershocks–soft and slow now. Like a thank you. Like an apology. Like he was still trying to give you more even after he’d already given you everything. Then he collapsed into your arms, chest heaving, lips brushing against your throat with such tenderness you were beginning to feel overwhelmed by how much he truly cared about you.

And then–out of nowhere–you laughed. It wasn’t loud or mocking. It was soft, breathy, and stunned.

“W-What? What did I––Did I do something?” He asked, lifting his head quickly, eyes wide and flushed with concern. You reached up, still giggling as your fingers gently swept the hair off his forehead.

”No,” You said with a smile so wide your cheeks ached, “No, it’s nothing like that, it’s just…I can’t believe we didn’t do this sooner.” You could see the relief in Bob’s eyes when you said it, as he let out the softest laugh. A breathless, giddy kind of noise.

”I-I was so scared to mess the friendship up…” He admitted, his nose brushing yours again, voice low and shy, “But I’ve wanted you for so long…” You nodded.

”I know,” You whispered, kissing his cheek, “Me too Bob.” He let the moment linger for a heartbeat longer, then shifted slightly, wincing as he carefully pulled back. You gasped quietly at the sensation of him slipping out, a hot flutter leaving your core in the wake of it. You tightened your thighs reflexively as you sighed, and Bob caught the look on your face instantly.

“Are you okay?” He asked, concerned now, pushing your hair back from your forehead.

”Just a bit sore,” You admitted, cheeks flushed, “It’s been a while since I…Y’know.” Bob nodded, slowly getting up from the bed, pulling on the boxers he had on before.

”I’ll be right back–I’m gonna grab a warm washcloth, okay?” He said gently, giving you a gentle kiss on your lips, “Don’t move.” You smiled at him.

”Okay.” You whispered, watching his silhouette pad across the room and disappear into the bathroom, as he turned on the pale white light. You could hear the gentle rush of water, the sound of the towel drawer sliding open, and the rustle of cloth.

He returned a minute later, stopping at his dresser to pull a pair of boxer shorts and one of his old, soft t-shirts, before making his way back to you.

“A-Alright,” He whispered, setting the clothes beside you as he kneeled back onto the bed, “You tell me if anything hurts…Okay?” You nodded, watching as he eased your thighs open. You winced slightly at the sting, but bit back a gasp. He brought the cloth between your legs and cleaned you carefully, delicately, like every part of you was sacred. The warmth helped a bit with the soreness thankfully, so now all you felt was the euphoria of the come down.

Once he finished, he set the cloth on the bedside table, then helped ease the boxers up your legs. They were soft and loose around your thighs, a simple comfort, as you lifted your hips slightly to help. He then tugged the shirt gently over your head, guiding your arms through the sleeves with a kind of tender concentration like he was worried he might do it wrong.

When it was all done he let out a soft sigh, one full of warmth and the heavy pull of contentment. You were blissed out, sore in a way that felt good. And he was still looking at you with such admiration it made your heart race.

You lifted your arms in front of you.

The motion was simple–gentle, slow, but deliberate. An offering. A request. And Bob’s entire body reacted to it like it was instinct. He didn’t say anything–didn’t need to. His shoulders dipped forward as he crawled up into your arms, letting himself be folded against your chest, nuzzling in like he was coming home. He was careful, even now–making sure his weight didn’t press too much into your legs, tugging the thin top sheet off the corner of the bed before wrapping it loosely around both of your bodies.

He laid his head on your chest, just over your heart, and you felt him exhale fully for what might’ve been the first time all night. His arm slipped around your waist, his other hand curling loosely over your ribs as he pressed his cheek to the center of you, listening.

You held him close, your arms winding around his shoulders, fingers sliding gently into his hair, brushing slowly along his scalp in lazy, thoughtful strokes. He hummed–barely a sound, more of a breath–but it vibrated softly into the shirt you wore.

The sheet was thin, barely a whisper of fabric between you and the cooling air, but you didn’t need more than that. Not when you had this. The weight of him. The heat of him. Bob tilted his face slightly, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the fabric at the underside of your breast, where your heartbeat fluttered near the surface. You smiled at him, your hand stroking down the back of his neck, feeling the way he melted into you even further.

“Y-You’re amazing Y/N…” He whispered, “And I’m so…So in love with you.”

[holeforzenin]

Hiking with Kento <3

The air is crisp, practically biting at your cheeks and exposed skin as you brace yourself against the cool surface of the rock, its jagged edges digging into your delicate palms. The view stretches out in front of you—endless mountains, blue sky, birds cutting through the breeze—but all you can focus on is the way Kento’s cock is buried deep inside you, the loud plah! plah! plah! of his hips colliding with your rippling ass echoing loudly in the air, it’s almost embarrassing.

“Look at that beautiful view, Darling,” he murmurs behind you. His hands are heavy on your hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh in the greediest way possible as he fucks into you like he’s permanently trying to connect your bodies together. “Incredible right? But I’m guessing you’re enjoying what I’m doing to you waaay more”.

You try to focus on the view, you really do—but the way his cock drags against your walls, stretching you open and filling you up completely has your eyes fluttering shut instead. “K-Kento…” you breathe out, barely above a whisper. He chuckles, the sound vibrating against your back as he leans over you, his larger body pressing you further into the stone, and ending up lifting you off the ground so that you’re just standing on your tippy toes because of his sheer weight.

“Come on, eyes up,” he commands, one hand sliding up your spine to grab a fistful of your hair, gently yanking your head back just enough to make you gasp. “Told you to look, didn’t I?”

Your eyes snap open, catching the sweeping landscape—the distant peaks, the endless stretch of green, birds soaring above—but the only thing you can really process in your head is the lewd way your husband’s brutally pounding you in broad daylight, purposely rolling his hips deep, making you feel every fat inch of his girth. It’s so nasty, the way you’re bent over the rock in the middle of nowhere, your pants pooling around your ankles with his cock stuffing you full, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing through the quiet.

“Kentooo—” His name falls from your lips in a broken moan, and he just hums in that patient, attentive tone he always does, one hand slipping down to rub tight circles over your throbbing clit. Your back arches, eyes rolling back as he bullies that spot inside you, making you squirm and whimper against the rock.

“That’s it—Look at you. So pretty when you’re taking me like this, what a good girl,” he grunts, his pace quickening, hips smacking your poor ass hard enough to echo. “Bet those birds are getting a nice show, huh? Watching you get fucked stupid out here”.

His words make your cheeks burn, your walls fluttering around him so tight he has to bite back a groan. “Oh, you like that?” he coos with condescension. “Like knowing anyone could look out and see you spread out for me? Letting me fuck you like this?”

Your knees start to buckle, legs shaking as his thrusts grow rougher and more desperate. He’s practically slamming into you now as if you were just a Gloryhole stuck in the rock, his cock punching deep with every snap of his hips, pulling fucked-out moans from your throat. “Gonna cum, sweetheart?” he pants, his voice strained. “Gonna soak my cock while you stare at the mountains like a good girl?”

You can’t even respond, too lost in the way he’s tearing you apart, pleasure coiling hot and tight in your belly. Your fingers dig into the rock, nails scraping uselessly as you clench around him, your orgasm crashing over you with a force that makes you cry out.

“Theeeere it is” he moans, hands tightening on your hips as you spasm around him, milking him for everything he’s worth. His hips stutter, and then he’s burying himself to the hilt, grinding deep against your cervix as he fills you up, the warmth flooding your cunt and making you shiver.

You’re both panting, still bent over that rock with your legs shaking and his seed dribbling down your shaky thighs. He leans down, pressing a rough kiss to the back of your neck, voice husky and out of breath. “Told you hiking was good for the soul”.

[sharlsworld]

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆ nonsense - 𝐋𝐍𝟒 𖤓

（ 𝗅𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗈 𝗇𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗂𝗌 𝗑 𝗅𝖾𝖼𝗅𝖾𝗋𝖼 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 ）

（ 𝗌𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗒 ）𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝖺 𝖻𝗎𝗇𝖼𝗁 𝗈𝖿 𝗇𝗈𝗇𝗌𝖾𝗇𝗌𝖾 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗅𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗈 𝗇𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗂𝗌， 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝖾𝖼𝗅𝖾𝗋𝖼 𝗌𝗂𝖻𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌，𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺 𝖻𝗂𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝗋𝗂𝖽

✫ i started this last summer and literally just finished so i had to go back and change lando and kikas username also just pretend like it’s mother’s day if you’re from the UK 😭

🝮

yn

liked by pierregasly and 1,134,875 others

yn gangs all here

charles_leclerc Are you still mad at me bug?

charles_leclerc I didn’t mean to push lando off the boat but it was a silly coincidence right after he slapped you

⤷ lando you make me sound bad i just slapped her butt

⤷ charles_leclerc Don’t test me Lando.

⤷ lando sorry 😔

francolapinto hot (in the respectful kinda way)

⤷ lando i will k word you

⤷ alex_albon ur gonna kiss him?

⤷ francolapinto yes kith me lando!!!! 💋 i’ll go put on my chapstick real quick

⤷ maxverstappen ally!

⤷ yn i knew you were gay for my brother

⤷ maxverstappen1 ???

⤷ charles_leclerc no???

⤷ yn it’s ok guys we all know lestappen is real

kikagomes body tea 😍😍🥵

alexandrasaintmleux Hey pretty girl 😍

⤷ yn hey cutie pie 🥰

♥︎ by alexandrasaintmleux

estiebestie i know the pain she goes through with having 3 over protective older brothers 😭

mclaren Our favorite 🧡

lovely_leclerc the things i would do to see charles push lando off his yacht 😭

scuderiaferrari Have a good break queen, you deserve it 😉

⤷ arthur_leclerc She literally just walks around with alex and eats???

⤷ scuderiaferrari And she does it well

landolovesyn omg the picture of leo & alex 🥹

🝮

yn

liked by carmenmmundt and 2,699,714 others

yn pictures i sent to the family gc this week

lando why did you make alex look aesthetic but not me?

⤷ yn baby i tried you looked clapped in every picture i took

joris__trouche Giving your brothers wrinkles and grey hairs in their 20s

⤷ yn it’s okay though cause it’s me 💖

♥︎ by charles_leclerc, arthur_leclerc, lorenzotl, and leclerc_pascale

lilymhe lando ruining the aesthetic as always

⤷ yn that’s what alex was saying too

⤷ kikagomes she’s right

lorenzotl Surpried lando wasn’t eating in his picture 😂

⤷ lando what he say fuck me for??

⤷ arthur_leclerc almost every picture y/n posts of you you’re eating something

⤷ lando so you’re saying i’m dumb ugly and fat then?

⤷ charles_leclerc well…

⤷ lando WOWWWWW i’m telling bug you’re bullying me charles

⤷ charles_leclerc nonono!!! i was just kidding! please she’s still mad at me for tripping you the other day

arthur_leclerc 1st picture “we’re talking about all of you except maman and cha” (charlotte not charles she was very clear) 2nd “why do you guys only get me bunnies where’s the diversity”, 3rd “this is gonna be gone in 2 minutes”, 4th “bro finally decided to hit the gym instead of the pantry”

⤷ lando OH SO YOURE CALLING ME DUMB UGLY AND FAT??

⤷ charles_leclerc wellll…….

⤷ lando @yn

⤷ yn quit bullying my boyfriend you fucking loser that’s why people always think your french cause you’re a fucking bitch

⤷ charles_leclerc wow you really know how to make a grown man cry…

⤷ pierregasly Hey what’s wrong with French people?? 💔

⤷ yn nothing i love timothée chalamet

⤷ lando babyyyyyy

⤷ yn jk i hate timothée chalamet

⤷ tchalamet whad i do 💔

⤷ yn jk i love you timothée

⤷ lando babyyyyloveeeeee

⤷ yn jk i HATE you timothée

⤷ tchalamet wow 😔

⤷ yn AGH FUCK LEAVE ME ALONE

🝮

lando

liked by oscarpiastri and 1,126,974 others

lando my babylove I LOVE YOU FOREVER 🤍

charles_leclerc Bro…you look really handsome

⤷ lando i knew you loved me 🥹

⤷ georgerussell63 So I sense bug had a stern talking to with you Charles

yn i fw u heavily 🩷

⤷ lando i’ll take what i can get 🥰

alex_albon i’m gonna telling my kids that this was romeo and juliet

pierregasly 🔥🔥

tchalamet mkay

⤷ lando if i see you in my girls comments or dms i will find out where you live and i will sneak in at 3am and stand over you until you wake up and when you do i will kill you

⤷ danielricciardo “there were no signs”

leclerc_pascale Mes bébés 🥰🥰❤️

⤷ lando ❤️❤️

arthur_leclerc That jawline though 😍���

⤷ lando you ol’ charmer 🙂‍↕️

carlossainz55 Cute mate 👌👌

alexandrasaintmluex Oooh who took this super duper cute and aesthetic picture?? 🥰

⤷ lando the best third wheel ever

⤷ alexandrasaintmleux 😐

maxverstappen1 I just want everyone to know he sent this to the gc to ask if it was cute

⤷ lando you bitch

lorenzotl 😍😍

⤷ lando omg enzo stop, you’re practically a married man 🙂‍↕️

🝮

yn

liked by demitrakalogeras and 1,792,204 others

yn miami you will always be famous 🤍 super proud of my baby lando & my sassy brother

lando i tried my best for you

⤷ yn and you did so well

⤷ lando wow im so easy you just warmed my heart up

kikagomes fitted asf 😍

charles_leclerc Thank you petite étolie 💛

oscarpiastri What about me?

⤷ yn of course i’m proud of you oscariño dafuqqq that griddy after the race?? 👌👌👌👌

alexandrasaintmleux 🩷🩷🩷🩷

landosland the L charm on her necklace for lando i can’t 🥹 they’re endgame i fear

♥︎ by author & lando

mclaren Our boyyy 🧡4️⃣

⤷ yn …get dafuq out my face before i have a b.f

⤷ mclaren A b.f?

⤷ charles_leclerc She’s gonna have a bitch fit!!!

⤷ landossluttywaist she put mclaren in timeout

⤷ scuderiaferrari Best believe she’s gonna be in our garage in Imola 😊😊

♥︎ by author & charles_leclerc

carlossainz55 I can’t believe I had to witness you and Lando do body shots off of each other

⤷ lando you literally bought the shots for us

⤷ charles_leclerc You did what to my sister??

⤷ lando NO NO NO CARLOS WAS ENCOURAGING US PIERRE LITERALLY HAS A VIDEO OF HIM CHEERING FOR US TO DO IT

⤷ charles_leclerc PIERRE WAS THERE?

⤷ pierregasly ALEX INVITED ME AND KIKA DON’T BE MAD AT ME

⤷ charles_leclerc MY OWN GIRLFRIEND WAS THERE?? WHEN WAS THIS?????

⤷ yn our first night in miami

⤷ charles_leclerc When you told me you two were staying in cause you didn’t feel good so lando was taking care of you??

⤷ yn yeah

⤷ charles_leclerc You’re giving me grey hairs kid

🝮

lando

liked by terrycrews and 1,416,873 others

lando back with my favorite person (we were never apart we’re just back home)

kimi.antonelli Thank you for clarifying I was going to ask if she had an identical twin

charles_leclerc Are you guys ever apart? 🙄

⤷ lando no 🥰 i need her for emotional support

mclaren Our favorite couple 😍

⤷ yn don’t piss me off

alexandrasaintmleux Best double date buddies

⤷ yn oh heck yes double dates for life

carlossainz55 “back with my favorite person” i’m confident that haven’t spent a single minute apart since getting on that jet back to Monaco

⤷ arthur_leclerc Can confirm he made her go into the airport bathroom with him

⤷ charles_leclerc And you didn’t stop her??? Who knows what they did in there

⤷ arthur_leclerc 110% sure he literally just went pee they were in there for like 2 minutes

⤷ yn can confirm i just held it for him

⤷ charles_leclerc BUG??? WHAT???? THATS DISGUSTING WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT

⤷ yn it was a joke fawk 😔………..😏

⤷ charles_leclerc I don’t even wanna know if you’re just messing with me or not

⤷ lando she’s not

⤷ charles_leclerc you two are freaks

maxverstappen1 This is why you canceled our paddle date?

⤷ lando soz mate we can have our date today

⤷ maxverstappen1 Can’t wait 👌

⤷ charles_leclerc Can I come

⤷ carlossainz55 Me too

⤷ yn my charlos & lestappen & versainz & charlando & carlando & mando heart 🥹🥹 (why have i never seen a ship name for max and lando)

🝮

yn

liked by sydney_sweeney and 2,709,175 others

yn little bit of this little bit of that

pierregasly When did lando become such a good photographer

⤷ yn i’ve trained him well

alexandrasaintmleux Last picture is so real

⤷ yn me waiting for a happy mother’s day text from lando after breastfeeding him like one 🙄

⤷ charles_leclerc what…

⤷ yn must’ve been the wind

⤷ arthur_leclerc NO OMG WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT I CANNOT UNREAD THAT OMG YOU TWO ARE FREAKS I HATE YOU OMG STOP MY EYES

⤷ yn girl

lando my biggest supporter 🥰

⤷ danielricciardo Acting like you didn’t just traumatize your brother in laws

mclaren What?

⤷ yn must’ve been the wind

yn if aaron taylor johnson likes this comment i’ll give lando the most nastiest messiest toe clenching cum guzzling head of his life

♥︎ by aarontaylorjohnson

⤷ charles_leclerc WHAT?

⤷ lando @aarontaylorjohnson PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE BRO HELP A GUY OUT IK YOU SEE MY DMS BRO

⤷ charles_leclerc I HATE YOU AARON TAYLOR JOHNSON AND I HAGE YOU LANDO NORRIS AGH IM GONNA RUN YOU BOTH OVER

⤷ lando she’s busy bro

⤷ oscarpiastri 27 year old French man found dead after realizing his little baby sister isn’t a little baby anymore

⤷ charles_leclerc I’M NOT FUCKING FRENCH OSCAR!!! LANDO NORRIS I’M COMING FOR YOU

⤷ lando oh someone’s definitely cumming alright

⤷ charles_leclerc YOU SLUT I HATE YOU I CANNOT BELIEVE I WELCOMED YOU INTO MY HOME AND LET YOU EAT WITH ME

⤷ danielricciardo why is bug not helping 😭

⤷ lando she’s busy bro

⤷ francolapinto can i join?

[bluukive]

This is my first time actually making a request/ ask of any kind because I feel like such a pervert 🫣 but could you possibly write how the JJk guys would react to a reader who’s a surprise squriter? -🦎

!MDNI: Surprise? - JJK

an - I actually know nothing about sqwuirting so this might be unrealistic? Ty for the ask tho <3

ᡣ𐭩 G. Satoru

Starts crying

Like he's so dramatic about it, lower lip jutted out as he thinks 'Oh, shit. My girl's a supersoaker???', all whilst he's staring at your twitching body below him.

Tries giving you a high-five, ignoring the fact you're boneless right now. You can't really blame him, he's beyond excited. Probably just ends up slapping your thigh.

He's brought back into reality when your pussy refuses to let him go almost, gripping him like a vice.

Says he needs to see you do it again for 'scientific purposes' - he's got his phone out with the flash on, recording from all angles possible as his fingers slide in and out, curl up inside you with his face as close to your pussy as possible so that he can throw a cheeky wink at the camera.

Non-stop yapper after, like... worse than usual. He's laying on his belly in bed, legs swinging as he goes on and on about how flattered he is and how you must love him so much

ᡣ𐭩 G. Suguru

Quiet when it happens. He just stares for a while before exhaling and pulling his cock out of you. Suguru's head is tilted as he admired his still pulsing length. It as hard as ever, but the only difference now is that it's glistening with your release.

Slaps his cock against your clit, smirking when you curl in on yourself due to overstimulation. Will also whisper about how nasty of a slut you are, getting his dick wet like that

He restrains you (consensually ofc) with whatever he can. Suguru wants to see you frustrated, so he'll use anything to edge you, whether that be his tongue, fingers, toys. etc.

Dare I say when you finally orgasm and squirt again, he comes untouched too. He developed a fascination with edging just because it made that final release all the more satisfying for you both

All cuddles and praise after, but he's thinking of different ways to make you do it again

ᡣ𐭩 T. Fushiguro

Nearly stops completely, cursing as his hips falter. You've been folded in half when it happens, and the spurts of your release hit his aps, coating them in a glossy sheen that he's staring down at. Feels his heart thumping in his ears, Toji's that turned on

Smug as hell once he's recovered (acting like he didn't pull out and squeeze his cock slightly to prevent himself from cumming on the spot)

Runs his entire hand down both his abs and chest and makes you lick it all clean after staring at it. You swear it looked like he was rebooting, and you mentally log it in your head to tease him about it later.

Once that's all done, your knees are practically by your ears as he pushes your legs back even further (idek how that's possible, my fatass could never). Toji's swearing to wring you out like a damn towel, determined to make you do it again

You both end up overstimulated, Toji just couldn't stop himself from getting hard whenever he saw your pussy gush all over him

ᡣ𐭩 N. Kento

Mr. Short-circuit pt 2 yessir. Starts saying stuff like 'Did I do that to you?, 'Was that because of me?', and he knows damn well it was all him.

You squirt for the first time when he's eating you out, actually. His glasses are covered in stray drops of your orgasm, and he politely wipes them clean, all whilst taking a moment to smile privately. He's made you do that, no-one else. Nanami's face is a pretty pink throughout it all.

First makes sure you're okay. After all, your comfort is Nanami's priority above everything else. He wants verbal confirmation that you felt good, a nod isn't good enough.

Once you give him that shaky 'yes', something shifts in Nanami. He's borderline clinical with how he touches and inspects your pussy after. His glasses are off, and his eyes remain trained on your pussy whilst he's fucking into you.

A thumb stays on your clit throughout it all, and he's changing the pace of the focused digit. When Nanami feels like you're close to orgasm, he slows down. He's unintentionally edging you, but neither of you are complaining when your back arches off the bed for the nth time that night

Thanks you when you squirt, for trusting him this much

ᡣ𐭩 S. Ryomen

Pretends that it's an inconvenience when you accidentally squirt on him. He's actually hiding how obsessed he is with you at that moment

Grabs your face, practically snarling when he degrades you. Sukuna's hissing out commands, talking about how you've soiled him. It's apparently now your duty to squirt again with ONLY his permission

It's become a challenge for him to make you soak his body over and over, and he's dragging his tongue all over your cunt when it happens (even if that means he has to pull his cock/s out of you)

Calls you weak multiple times. Frankly doesn't care if you're crying, he'll just lick the tears right back up. Time to recover from an orgasm is practically non-existent

Develops a need to have you ride his thigh at least once a day whilst he's on his throne. It's a way for him to humiliate you, making you buck your hips like you're in heat until he can feel the wetness coat the thick muscle.

[monstersholygrail]

Sometimes as a Puppy Hybrid you get distracted when in public. There’s just so much to look at and explore that you can’t help it when you see something and instantly wanna go check it out. Often without saying anything to your Wolf Hybrid bf.

He’s often joked about putting a leash and collar on you. Just to make sure you don’t wander and get lost. Totally no other reason.

But when these sorta things happen you do eventually realize that you had strayed from your bf’s side and got lost. And he knows by now that your nose is good enough to sniff him out and find him in a matter of minutes. So he usually doesn’t panic too much and when he does you smell him that much stronger and return to comfort him more quickly.

Though as you look for him now through the crowded mall you start to get a bit worried yourself. It’s taking much longer than it usually does to find him. A whimper leaves your throat as you start to worry if he left you. But no, he would never do that to you. He refuses to leave the bed without you let alone a whole mall.

Lifting your nose in the air you search for his scent, your brows furrowing as more whimpers escape. You close your eyes and let your nose guide you, picking up his scent soon as you focus your senses.

And when you finally open your eyes you’re in front of the last store you ever expected to be in front of.

A baby store.

From there on it’s easy to find him, your Wold Hybrid bf with his bulking arms crossed, and his signature scowl on his face. The saleswoman in front of him smiles brightly despite looking a bit nervous. Your first thought is to immediately go save her. Your bf didn’t always do well in social situations.

Rushing over you break their conversation with a light laugh. Immediately both of them turn their attention to you and your bf’s features soften into a warm smile. You curl your body against his, both as a silent claim and as a barrier encase the woman wants to escape his intense stare.

“Heyy, sorry about him! I-I’ve got it from here.”

You give her your best dazzling smile but it falters when she brushes it off telling you that your bfs been a delight. There’s no time to ask what she means as another customer asks for her assistance.

When you turn to your bf he’s looking down at you with amusement. Like he can already read what must be going on in that head of yours.

“What have you been doing, mister?” You ask accusingly.

Wolf Hybrid bf chuckles that raspy laugh that makes you tingle deep inside. He gathers you in his arms and whirls you both around to face what he was hiding behind his frame. You gasp as you see a whole baby crib before you.

A deep rumble moves through your bf’s chest and vibrates into your back. His hands smooth over your frame and the rounded curve of your belly. Already imagining it all swollen and big with his litter.

“Planning for the future,” he responds, nearly growling in your ear. “The very near future.”

Feeling a prick zap through your ear you yelp as he nips at you, tempting you far more than either of you realize. Pulling your cute plump self further into his chest he molds himself to you, nuzzling and rubbing his scent all over you. It leaves you breathless and writhing against him with a building aching need.

“M-maybe we can get started now?” You ask cheekily, laughing as he growls in response.

“I like the way you think, mamas.”

And then he’s dragging you out of the store. But not before calling the saleswoman back to purchase the crib and have it send back to your home pronto.

[azzibuckets]

reputation, or, all the ways i’ve loved you

or, love is immature and heady and new and blissful and hard and exhausting and it might kill you but in the end—love endures.

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

summary: paige and azzi in various stages of love, as told through reputation by taylor swift

a/n: as a celebration for 3k followers, here’s my longest fic yet! don’t know if this style is for me so we’ll see if i ever write a long one again lol. nevertheless, i hope you guys enjoy :)

word count: 9k

masterlist | oneshots masterlist

⋆⑅˚₊ i. dancing with our hands tied - i loved you in secret / first sight, yeah, we love without reason

July 2018

Out of all the things Azzi Fudd expected her father to do after telling him the big news, laughing was probably last on the list. Actually, scratch that — it wasn’t even on the list to begin with, because what kind of father takes their child’s health as a joke? Certainly not Tim, who’s forced Azzi to take her daily vitamin gummies for as long as she can remember, the nasty ones that taste too sour to resemble the Trolli eggs they’re supposed to be a dupe of.

But here is Tim Fudd, the man who raised her, lines crinkling around his eyes as he guffaws so loud he starts pounding his own chest. Azzi would be worried for his lack of oxygen if she wasn’t so incredulously offended. “Dad? Did you hear what I said?”

“Oh, I heard you.” Tim pauses to take a breath before starting to laugh again, tears slowly beginning to form at the corner of his eyes.

“What’s so funny, then?” Azzi questions snarkily, hands on her hips in the perfect pose of sassy teenage indignance.

“Azzi, honey.” Tim straightens up as his breathing ebbs back to normal. He moves to place a comforting hand on Azzi’s shoulder, but she jerks away, not at all in the mood for his antics. “You’re not sick,” he says gently. “I think you might have something else.”

Azzi wrinkles her nose, running through all the meticulous shelves of research stored in her mind. She’d gone through every possibility on the Internet, taking methodical notes on every potential disorder, anamoly, or illness that could be afflicting her body. She'd been pretty sure she’d scoured them all, but maybe she had missed something in her overzealousness. “You’re saying I didn’t get a hypoglycemic episode?”

“Sweetie, do you even know what hypoglycemic means?”

Azzi opens her mouth to answer, wanting to say that she does, in fact, know that hypoglycemia is an indicator of low glucose levels in the blood, and that if left untreated, her bodily functions will not have enough energy to continue, and her organs will fail, and she will die a long and painful death, and her understanding of the word hypoglycemic makes it all the more astounding as to why her dad won't take her illness seriously, but before she can can even begin her tirade, her dad winces and puts up a palm. “Actually, never mind. I don’t want to hear all about your self diagnosis, as funny as it is.”

“It’s not a self diagnosis if everyone on the Internet says I have all the symptoms of hypoglycemia!” Azzi argues, but even she knows the argument is weak.

Tim massages his forehead, lips twitching with the exertion of holding back a second round of laughter. “And what did you say your symptoms were again, hon?”

“Excessive sweating, even when I’m like, standing still and it’s 60 degrees out. And dizziness. And my fingers start to shake sometimes! Difficulty concentrating, and tingling lips.” Azzi lists them out on her fingers, smiling triumphantly when she’s finished. Take that, Dad.

“Mm.” Tim rubs his chin in thought. “And when exactly do you experience these symptoms?”

“Well, the last time I can remember is when I was hanging out with Paige at Grandma’s on Wednesday.”

Tim coughs into his arm, loud, and it sounds suspiciously like a wheeze. Azzi squints at him, suspicion written across her face. After recovering, he prods, “Do you remember any of the other times this has happened?”

“I don’t know, I can’t think specifically. It happens a lot. Umm…” Azzi thinks back. “Maybe last week, at the fair? I’m trying to remember.” She closes her eyes, trying to prompt memories of that airy feeling in her head, the rollercoaster in her tummy, the buzz in her chest that had started the car ride over to the fair, right around when they’d picked Paige and her brother up.

It had gotten increasingly worse as the day went on, peaking during the afternoon when they’d been on the bumper cars. She’d been squished into the same car as Paige, the car offering only a very small seat to service two basketball players suffering from summer growth spurts, all long limbs and awkward lank. As a result, the sides of their feet and thighs and arms had been touching and overlapping—Paige almost fell into Azzi’s lap when Jose crashed into them especially hard, golden hair spilling across Azzi’s face and pale hands landing on her thighs. She remembers the smell of fruity shampoo and the feeling of feathery strands tickling her cheeks making her even dizzier than bumper car itself, her nerve endings lighting up, every point on her skin ultra sensitive as sweat had started to pool in her armpits and in the palms of her head. And when Paige's palms had rubbed up and down on her thighs — God. She'd almost died.

Azzi shudders at the memory and opens her eyes. “Yeah, definitely at the fair.”

“The fair?” Tim cocks an eyebrow. “You mean, the fair we went to last week?”

“Yes, Dad, that’s what I said,” Azzi responds, growing increasingly frustrated.

“The fair we went to with Paige and Drew?”

“Yeah.” Azzi crosses her arms in defiance. “Is that supposed to be relevant?”

Tim makes an unncommital sound in his throat. “So you’re saying you don’t get any of these symptoms, say, at home?“

“Well…” Azzi purses her lips. “I guess recently I've been having difficulty concentrating all the time. Wherever I’m like, at home or school or whatever.”

“What makes it hard to concentrate?” Tim cocks his head in genuine curiosity. “What’re you thinking about?”

Azzi doesn’t have a ready answer. What does she think about? She tries to draw from her memory again, but gets distracted by the sort of hilarious, muddled irony of trying to think about what’re you usually thinking about. Then she realizes she’s making an expression again, the expression Paige has coined as her “thinky face” whenever she’s trying really hard to work out a homework problem or come up with an outfit to wear. The first time Paige had mentioned it, Azzi had frowned at her. “I don’t have a thinky face,” she’d replied.

“Oh, you totally do,” Paige said, glee written across her face — her typical attitude whenever she gets to argue with Azzi about something and be right.

“No, I don’t,” Azzi argued, but she’s already accepted that it’s a useless fight. It always is with Paige, who's stubborn and hard-headed and so much like Azzi that she looks at her best friend sometimes and think she's found her soulmate. Platonic soulmate, of course.

Paige smirked at her. “Azzi Fudd so has a thinky face.” She leaned in closer, so close that Azzi could see the glimmer in the deep blue of her eyes and the way her long lashes fluttered. “It’s okay, though, I think it’s pretty cute.” Then she’d pulled back and started talking about some stupid NBA game she’d watched recently, a topic Azzi usually tuned out anyways but this time especially didn’t pay any attention to because she was too disarmed by the fact that Paige had just called her cute. It shouldn’t have felt weird; her friends at school and her teammates called her beautiful and cute and adjectives much more crazy all the time, but still. There again went that same dry feeling in her throat.

“Azzi?”

Azzi blinks as she’s pulled back to the present. “Huh?”

“Maybe you are really sick.” Tim sends her a weary look. “But I just asked you what you usually think about, remember? Do you have an answer?”

“No." Azzi shakes her head grimly. "I couldn’t remember.”

Tim is the one to squint in disbelief this time. “Honey, what were you just thinking about? That’s probably it.”

“Oh, Paige? I was thinking about something she told me the other day. But it’s nothing. Before I was trying to remember, but I couldn’t think—" She’s cut off with an uncomfortable realization that’s starting to dawn in her as a very, very large pit balloons in the bottom of her tummy and begins to ache.

And at the same time this horrible understanding is beginning to come to light in the back of Azzi’s brain, Jose stands up from where he’d been sitting on the couch, watching TV. “You’re stupid, Azzi,” he snickers as he walks by them to grab a snack. “I’m only twelve and even I know you’re not sick.”

“Shut up, Jose,” Azzi replies back angrily, still staring at her hands — the very same hands that had held Paige's, and trembled and moistened in sweaty nervousness. No.

Jose, her little twerp of a brother, sticks his tongue out. “Your lips aren’t tingling from hypoguyseema, dummy.”

“Hypoglycemia,” Tim supplies unhelpfully.

“Your lips are tingling because you wanna make out with Paigey.” And the words don’t really register in Azzi’s heads, not right away at least, she honestly only reaches out to slap Jose from her instinctive, older sisterly awareness that he's being an annoying smart ass like usual, but still he runs away, out of her grasp, singing obnoxiously at the top of his lungs, “Paige and Azzi sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-"

“Shut up, Jose!” She picks up a pillow from the couch and chucks it at him, narrowly missing his retreating figure and instead hitting a vase that slowly toddles in places before falling to the ground with a dramatic crash.

“Azzi, you know we don’t throw things in the house for a reason,” Tim reprimands, exasperated at the childish scene in front of him, but when he turns to look at his daughter, her head is in her hands and her shoulders are shaking.

Tim has loved Azzi since he’s met her as a bumbling little toddler who instantly attached to his hip. He knows Azzi is sweet and sensitive and soft, a girl who has the gift of easily picking up on others' emotions but also is vulnerable to having her own shaken up. So he bites his tongue and makes a mental note to resolve the sibling conflict later. Right now, his daughter needs him; without a word, he collects Azzi into his arms and lets her tears fall on his shirt sleeve.

“It’s okay,” he whispers. “It’s okay, sweetheart.” and he doesn’t have to say anything else for Azzi to understand he’s not just talking about now — that this shocking and indescribable feeling that Azzi has only been able to name now, is okay, that Azzi, for who she is, is okay.

And yes, Azzi is able to name the feeling, but yet she buries it under her skin. Just because she realizes she has a crush on Paige doesn’t mean she has to act like it — and it especially doesn’t mean Paige, who definitely doesn't like her like that, has to know, she reminds herself.

And although the "illness" never goes away, although she never stops being nervous, and her fingers never stop trembling at least a little when Paige kisses her goodbye on the cheek, Azzi becomes really good at acting. Really good. At first, she couldn't sleep at night, overwrought with anxiety because no matter how good she became at pretending, Jose and her family have never been the best at keeping secrets. But she finds a way to control it definitely not by threatening to take away and sell her brother’s gaming console if she ever hears a peep about how much she damningly wants to kiss Paige, and time passes, and Azzi turns 17, and it’s been two years of knowing Paige, and she thinks that she might be a little bit in love at this point.

She knows how her crush started: an infatuation at camp, impressed by the white girl's agility and speed on the court, the ease and practiced experience with which she directed the team on the court, turning them from a group of girls who'd never played together before into one that worked the ball seamlessly to a gold medal. Of course, in the very beginning, she'd always been hyper-aware of the fact that Paige was just so pretty, a mischievous smirk ever present on pretty pink lips that looked too soft, eyes always bright and hair, even when messy, like a halo around her face.

Then Paige had decided to come into Azzi’s life and do things like go with her family to the fair, and the infatuation had turned into something closely resembling love. And it's not like there weren't many other things that made Azzi fall so fast and so dangerously, like how kind Paige was to the JV girls on her high school team even when they could barely shoot free throws, to the way she was so freely open about her adoration for Azzi, always having to saying something about good she thought Azzi looked.

It was safe to say that Paige had wormed her way into her team then her life then her family then her heart, settling in there like it was home and she’d always belonged there. Paige was someone who could make her laugh, but was always up to talk about serious things, and also was just so sweet to Azzi. Azzi had never met someone who had been all of those things, and now she was positively enthralled. So, even at age 15, even at age 16, and 17, Azzi is completely and utterly fucked.

⋆⑅˚₊ ii. dress - all of this silence and patience / pining in anticipation

April 2019

Azzi hadn’t planned on going to prom.

It was only her junior prom, anyways, and it happened to be the same time Paige was coming to visit, which meant she was going to be booked and busy. Her friends had pushed her to go, but how could she tell them she’d rather be with Paige, playing 1v1 in an empty gym where they always guarded a little too close, hands fisting shirts, always with. heavy breaths into the back’s of each other’s necks and fingers skimming palms?

But then James had made her a poster, standing at her front door with a big smile on his face and flowers in one hand. And she hadn't wanted to hurt his feelings, and what did she have to lose? James was nice, and cute enough. His hands were soft and Azzi didn’t mind holding them.

Which is how Azzi finds herself at the Lincoln Memorial, walking painstakingly up the steps in her tight heels. Her mom had gotten a makeup artist to come doll her up, and it’s her first time wearing eyeliner, or any eye makeup at all. She thinks she could get used to this smoky look, the way her lashes look full and dark. It’s not often she gets to express her feminine side, with basketball taking almost all of her waking minutes - she hasn’t ever gone to homecoming or any other dance, and sweats and her shirts are typically her go to outfit. So she admits that this wasn’t a terrible idea, to get dressed up and pretty for once. It certainly helped being able to watch Paige’s reaction (all blushes and wide eyes, thank you very much) when she’d stepped out of the bathroom, glimmering and gilded in a shiny dress that slotted open to show the rich brown of her thigh.

Azzi knew that Paige found her attractive. And although she’s spent years wishing such an attraction went beyond a nere appreciation of her body and her face, she’s long accepted the fact that the love Paige has for her is purely platonic. Strong and steady, sure, but heartbreakingly platonic. Still, Azzi, gets a kick out of making Paige nervous.

Azzi winces as she stumbles for the fifth time, the sole of her foot throbbing and screaming to be let out of the confines of her heels.

“I told you you should’ve brought sneakers and carried your heels,” Pige says from behind her, and Azzi fights the urge to turn around and throttle her. Usually, her best friend would usually offer to do that for her, but Azzi can tell she’s using this opportunity to try and test James — and by the shit-eating smirk on Paige's face, Azzi knows that failing would be generous to describe how he's doing.

Azzi glances beside her and places her hand on her mouth to stifle a giggle. Paige sticks out like a sore thumb as she walks casually behind them, hands stuffed into her Nike sweats. She’s wearing her bright pink EYBL sweater, her hair slightly messy from lying around all day, but she still looks confident as ever, totally unperturbed by the long gowns and tuxedos surrounding her.

“Alright, smile!” Tim and Katie hold up five different cameras, capturing about a million different angles of the group of teens. Paige stands next to them, watching as they pose, but it doesn't take long before she begins to grow bored. “Why am I even here?” Azzi hears her complain quietly to her parents.

“Because when you stay with us, you’re part of our family, and being part of the family means coming to support each other in big moments," Katie reminds her, ruffling Paige's hair.

“Big moments, my ass,” Paige says under her breath as to goes to carefully fix her hair. “I’ve never even been to prom. It can’t be that good.”

“Paige.” Katie sends her a warning glare, effectively shutting her up. Paige has a very comfortable relationship with Tim and Katie, they're basically a second set of parents for her, but she knows her limits.

“Be a good sport, kid.” Tim adds, and claps her on the back. With a long and drawn-out sigh, Paige follows begrudgingly as they move from place to place to take more pictures, hands staying in her pockets and face remaining indifferent.

“Alright Paige, get in there!” Katie puts her camera down to encourage Paige with a nod.

“I’m not even dressed nice,” Paige grumbles, but she sidles in anyways, hand hovering hesitantly over Azzi's side before brushing down her back and finally settling firmly on her hip. The dark haired girl finds herself leaning away from James and into Paige’s touch, her hand burning into Azzi's skin even through the layers of her dress.

“One of you two alone?” Tim asks, a teasing smile on his face. Azzi narrows her eyes at him.

“Aw, you don’t want one with me?” Paige grins, her tone light as she starts to leave.

“No, I do, wait,” Azzi stumbles over her words, flustered, as Tim starts to laugh into his hands. She reaches for the blonde’s hand and tugs her back to her side where she belongs. “My dad’s just being annoying.”

James steps out, and Paige immediately relaxes, head naturally tilting towards Azzi's as they both smile for the cameras. “Aight, I think that’s good,” Paige says after another round of photos and cooing by Azzi’s parents. She takes a step back, shoving her hands back into her pocket as her eyes skim Azzi’s body. Azzi meets her eyes once they come back up, and she wills Paige to say something, anything, but the blonde only swallows hard before looking away.

“Az, I’m gonna go with your dad to get the car,” James tells her. “You good going with your mom back home? I’ll be there to pick you up in like, half an hour.”

The car ride back to her house is silent. Paige picks at her cuticles, while Azzi sits ramrod straight in her seat, not wanting to mess up her hair or wrinkle her dress. When her mom pulls into the driveway, she reaches over and pinches Paige’s side. “Can you stay for a sec? I wanna talk.”

Paige, who had been already attempting to get out of the car, sits back down into her seat, eyebrows raised in a question. Azzi doesn’t speak yet, and their breathing is the only sound in the car. Paige crosses then uncrosses her legs, peeking at Azzi before returning her gaze outside the window, clearly impatient for the younger girl to begin talking.

Azzi fingers a strand of her hair. “Do you think I look pretty?”

Paige’s lips quirk at the question. “That was not what I was expecting you to say.”

“What were you expecting me to say?” Azzi asks, slightly defensive.

“Nothing,” Paige replies too quickly, but Azzi senses a tinge of relief in her tone. She shifts in her seat, edging slightly closer as she examines Azzi’s face. Her knee accidentally bumps into Azzi's ribs. Azzi hates when her best friend starts looking at her with her full attention. The heavy weight of blue eyes always causes her heart to flutter, and she begins to squirm self-consciously under her gaze. “Stop that.”

“You asked me if I thought you were pretty,” Paige retorts. “Can’t blame me for looking.”

God, she’s so annoying. Azzi pushes her, but Paige catches her hand, sandwiching it between her own and bringing it captive to her lips. “Of course I think you look pretty, Az,” Paige laughs. She presses a single small kiss to her knuckles. “You know I do.”

“Well, you didn’t compliment me tonight, and you always do.” Azzi ducks her head as she feels the warmth in her cheeks give her away. Damn it.

“Always want my validation, huh,” Paige teases, trying to meet her eyes, but Azzi looks away still, stubborn as always, and her expression sombers. “You look gorgeous, Azzi, seriously. I mean, you’re always gorgeous,” Paige tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, but Azzi’s not sure there was even a flyaway to begin with, so Paige ends up just ghosting her fingers down from her temple to her chin. “But…” her gaze falls down, and her eyes alone say enough words to finish her sentence and a thousand more. Paige leans in, eyes half lidded, and Azzi shuts her eyes, preparing for the usual affectionate kiss on the cheek. She shudders when she feels lips on her neck instead, at the soft spot below her ear, lingering for a few seconds before it’s gone all too soon. Deep, unguarded heat blooms from that spot, spreading from her neck to her chest.

Azzi realizes they’re still holding hands, and she gives Paige's fingers a squeeze for the hell of it. Encouraged, Paige moves in even closer, hands moving to the headrest for support. Azzi is caged in by Paige’s arms, and Azzi sort of likes it, and she sort of wants Paige to start kissing down her neck like in the movies, maybe leaving a mark or two, but she’s met only with a kiss on her cheek, right near the corner of her mouth, so close that if she’d moved to the right just a couple millimeters their lips would’ve touched.

Paige’s lips part just a bit, her tongue poking out to lick her bottom lip. Her breathing whistles out unevenly. “Have fun tonight, Azzi,” she says, eyes flicking down, and Azzi swears they pause at her lips. She pops the door open and slides out, walking slowly back inside all cool and collected, like she didn’t just leave Azzi absolutely ruined from just two kisses.

Azzi bangs her head against the headrest, perfect hair be gone, and groans.

༉‧₊˚✧

When she finally gets back home, hair messy from dancing, calves sore from jumping around, Azzi is just a little tipsy, softened at the edges. Most of the effects from pre-gaming with her friends have worn off by now, and all she feels is the loose warmth in her chest, a warmth that floods down to her toes when she opens her bedroom door and sees a lump on her bed. Blonde hair peeks out from beneath her purple blanket. Azzi giggles when she lifts it and sees Paige with her mouth ajar, snoring away. Her glasses are perched messily on her nose, laptop on her thighs still open. She takes a quick picture for blackmail purposes before grabbing her pajamas to go change.

Azzi blames the alcohol for the way she can’t stop smiling to herself the whole way to the bathroom. It’s been a hectic day, and the thought of being able to curl up in bed with her best friend, being able to soak in the warmth of her body heat and bury her face into her neck and finally relax, gives her more satisfaction than she’d like to admit.

By the time Azzi has finished getting ready for bed, Paige, constantly moving while awake and in her sleep, has sprawled out in the center of the mattress. Azzi climbs in gingerly, but despite her best efforts not to disturb the older girl, she stirs.

“Azzi?” The blonde rolls over and snuggles into a pillow before she seemingly remembers where she is and shoots up in bed, looking as startled as a deer caught in headlights.

Azzi can’t help but snicker. “Yeah?”

Paige blinks groggily at her, clearly needing a moment to get her bearings. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to fall asleep in here.” She fidgets with the end of her shirt, almost as if she’s embarrassed to have been caught in Azzi’s bed like this, and Azzi gets a sudden surge of cuteness aggression.

Deciding not to turn it into a big deal (she'd never want to scare Paige away from sleeping in her bed, God knows how much she loves it） out of the goodness of her heart, and the sore muscles in her body telling her to just sleep, Azzi says quietly, “You don’t have to go.” She pulls the comforter over her chest as she watches Paige breathe heavily, her shoulders and back flexing in her hunched over position.

A moment of silence passes before Paige responds. “Okay.” Lying back down is an awkward process, actions hesitant as the older girl overthinks where to go. She finds the very edge of the bed, arms pinned to her sides as she stares directly up at the ceiling. And it’s not like Paige and Azzi have never slept in the same bed, but they’ve never intentionally slept together, limbs intertwining only in the dark of night when they pretend to be asleep and ending when one of them wakes up first in the morning and is able to separate themselves before they have to deal with the awkward ordeal of waking up snuggling. Neither of them have ever really considered the fact that it shouldn’t be awkward for people who are really just friends to cuddle—but for them, it always has been, even the slightest of touches meaning too much and too little.

So Azzi waits for Paige to settle into bed and close her eyes before she takes the initiative to scoot closer in. She pauses a little when her best friend stiffens, and starts to regret maybe overstepping. But then Paige reaches out for her. She stares at the ceiling, not looking at Azzi, but her hand tugs Azzi’s wrist, bringing her closer until she’s fully curling into Paige’s chest. Paige's arm falls around her shoulders a little awkwardly. But she's warm, her chest solid, and Azzi thinks it's perfect.

Azzi has almost drifted fully into unconciousness when Paige whispers, “How was prom?” Her lips graze Azzi’s temple as she speaks into her hair, and Azzi shudders at the feeling.

“It was fine.” She presses her forehead sleepily to Paige’s neck, skin against skin, feeling her pulse thrum steadily. The fresh scent of Paige's deodorant and body wash is simple, a thousand times familiar, but still her favorite in the world. “Missed you,” Azzi admits, the tenderness in her own voice making her cringe a little.

Paige squeezes her closer in. “Missed you more." Her thumb caresses the younger girl's jawline, soothing her to sleep. "Maybe next year will be more fun.”

Azzi doesn’t say that prom was only fine because she could only think about Paige the entire time, and that things probably wouldn't change in a year if they hadn't for the past three. She only hums softly in response.

“Good night.” Paige drops a kiss on her hairline, so briefly and so casually that Azzi almost misses it.

“Night.” Azzi snuggles closer in, heart racing, and she sleeps.

⋆⑅˚₊ iii. so it goes - i'm yours to keep and i'm yours to lose

May 2020

Paige knows before it happens.

It was hard not to. Azzi had been acting distant all week, smiles tight and eyes a little less shiny whenever she’d spoken to Paige. The blonde had just assumed it was because she was having a hard time saying goodbye—what she didn't know was that Azzi was saying goodbye in more ways than one.

The morning of, Paige is the last in the house to wake up. She pads downstairs, still in her pajamas, to find her family and Azzi at the table, eating waffles. Drew is babbling about dinosaurs or something, whipped cream all over his nose and chin, while her dad mans the waffle maker and her step-mom packs a bag of snacks. Azzi is sitting next to Drew, cross-legged and domestic while feeding him between bites of her own food, and it strikes a feeling within Paige she can’t quite place yet.

“Good morning to my two favorite people,” she crows, her volume much too loud for 9 in the morning as seen by the winces on everyone’s faces. She throws one arm each around her little brother and best friend, pulling them in for a group hug, and she finds a hint of the old, familiar softness in Azzi’s eyes before it’s quickly replaced by the distant, guarded expression she’s been wearing for too long. Paige’s stomach heaves a little, but then Drew smears some whipped cream on her nose, eliciting a tickle war, and like usual, the feeling gets pushed to the side.

“Paige, there’s a stack of waffles for you on the table. Try to eat pretty quick because we have to leave soon,” her dad motions for her to sit down, and Paige dutifully obeys. Her eyes light up when she sees the bottle of syrup, and she proceeds to grab it eagerly before drizzling a concerning amount onto her breakfast.

“Paige, you’re gonna make yourself sick,” Azzi reprimands, but Paige only kicks her hard under the table before digging in.

“I’m packing some food for your plane ride,” her step-mom says. “Do you want Slim Jims or apple slices as snack?”

“Can I have both?”

“You only have room for one.”

Decisions, decisions. “Slim Jims.”

Azzi wipes her mouth with her napkin. “Hey,” she says quietly when the adults fall back into their own conversation. “I need to talk to you before you leave.”

“Oh yeah, I was gonna talk to you anyways. I needed to tell you something.” Paige was going to give Azzi the letter she wrote a couple weeks ago. She’d written and rewritten it only about a hundred times, then copied the final letter to fancy card stock paper in her best hand-writing, even adding a couple quick sketches of flowers and rainbows and hearts. It looked pretty awesome, if she did say so herself. Anddddd it also said a bunch of things she wasn’t ready to say out loud, so Paige’s current plan was to say her good-bye before shoving the card in Azzi’s hands as the last thing she’d do before jumping in the car and leaving. And then she’d spend the entire plane ride with her dad going batshit crazy thinking about Azzi reading it.

But still, it would be worth it. Paige was so sure Azzi felt the same — how could she not? She felt the way Azzi’s heart rate picked up whenever they touched, knew the way Azzi looked at her when she thought she wasn’t looking wasn’t normal for just best friends, especially since summer, when everything had between them had changed. It had started off with a kiss, and quickly evolved to something messy and tangled between the two of them that they’d labeled as “friends with benefits”, a label that Paige thought did their dynamic injustice. But still, it had been four years of knowing each other and almost a year of being more, and Paige was finally ready to let Azzi know. No more friends with benefits — girlfriends.

But Paige, so caught up in her thoughts, doesn’t see Azzi’s face drop, the younger girl’s tendency to overthink clearly leading her own train of thought. So she continues to eat her waffles in blissful ignorance as Azzi sits back quietly.

༉‧₊˚✧

“I’m just so ready, ya know?” Paige tosses her charger in the backpack. “I think that’s everything on my packing list,” she muses to herself quietly, gaze sweeping around the room with an air of finality. Then she looks up at Azzi and smiles. “The college experience, the whole nine yards.” She takes a seat on her bed and pats the spot next to her, indicating for the dark haired girl to sit with her. “Even though there’s still COVID and I won’t be able to do the really fun stuff—" she imagines playing in front of a sold out crowd at Gampel, and the smile on her face dims just a little at the feeling of missing out, “—still, I’m just so excited. I can’t stop like, bouncing around. You get it, right?” She flops down on the bed, hands folding behind her head as she closes her eyes and imagines it all.

Azzi is silent beside her, still sitting upright. Paige can’t see her face, so she nudges her knee. “What’s up?”

“Nothing.” Azzi’s voice is unsteady. “I get it.”

Paige opens her eyes and sits back up. “Bro, are you good? I didn't wanna say anything, but you’ve been kinda acting weird lately.”

“Listen,” Azzi says. She’s fiddling with a loose thread on her sweats, and Paige swears her fingers are shaking. “I know we haven’t really talked about it directly, but–" she takes a deep breath to steady her voice, “I want it to be clear between the two of us. Clean cut, you know?”

“Clean cut?” Paige echoes, lost.

“Yeah. No messy stuff and wondering what we are. So that you can go do your own thing at college, without feeling bad or- or like you owe me anything,” her words trail off into a gasp, “and I can do mine.”

Paige is even more lost. “Azzi, what are you talking about?”

Azzi bites her bottom lip, her nervous tic. “I’m saying that we should end this — whatever this is. Friends with benefits, casually sleeping together, whatever you wanna call it." She inhales sharply. "It’s probably the best for both of us.”

Immediately, she hones in on the word casual. Casual? Paige had never thought that whatever they had going on was a casual thing. Maybe unknown, unfamiliar, new—but never casual. She thought it was the most sacred thing in the world. A bitter taste forms at the base of her throat when she realizes that maybe she’s read it wrong all along. But Paige would never want to pressure Azzi into something she doesn't want. “So you’re saying - you’re saying you wanna end this?”

“Yeah." Azzi finally turns her head to her, and her face is marked by tear tracks. "You know, for your college experience. And for me.”

Devastation.

That's the only word Paige can think of that comes even close to what she's feeling right now.

She feels numb, and stupid, and god. How could she ever been so foolish to think that Azzi could like her back? Could want Paige in the same, aching, all-consuming, nonsensical way that she wanted Azzi? She opens her mouth, but nothing comes out but a broken "Okay."

“Okay?” Azzi sounds incredulous before she shakes her head and catches herself. Clearing her throat, she mumbles, “So, um, we good?”

Paige is thrown. Completely, utterly thrown. “Yeah, we’re good. I guess.”

Her dad calls for her downstairs, and when she stands it seems like she’s watching herself move in third person. “Well, thanks for visiting this past week and saying goodbye. I had fun.” Her tone is strangely flat, void of any emotion, unrecognizable even to herself. But when your heart has just gotten broken before it had to chance to even beat, how can self-preservation allow you to be on anything but auto-pilot?

“Yeah, me too.” Azzi sounds defeated, and Paige wonders if it’s because she’d felt trapped this entire week, had hated whenever Paige had pulled her aside for a quick kiss. The mere thought of Azzi feeling uncomfortable around her makes her nauseous with guilt.

So, Paige does the only thing she knows how to do. She shoulders on her backpack, but her suitcase and duffel bags are already in the trunk, so she doesn’t have anywhere to put her hands, and they hang limply by her side. She doesn’t even know if she should give Azzi a hug. “We’re still…we’re still best friends right?”

“Of course.” The smile Azzi flashes is meant to be reassuring, but the way it doesn’t reach her eyes makes it anything but. “I’ll come visit you soon,” she adds as an after-thought, seemingly wanting to remedy the situation, but Paige doesn’t even hear her, already leaving before she can finish her sentence. Having to stay any longer, having to look and let go of the sight of Azzi in her bed, in her room, in her home, would make her break down on the spot.

So Paige leaves without really saying good-bye, and she cries the entire plane ride to Connecticut.

⋆⑅˚₊

Azzi: just said goodbye to paige

Azzi: my flight's in a couple hours

Azzi: see you soon

Azzi finishes texting her parents before shutting her phone off and snuggling deeper into Paige's blankets. Everything had turned out so different than she'd expected a week ago. She'd came to Minnesota eager to spend a few days with her best friend before sending her off to college, with this persistent, nagging hope in the back of her brain that maybe this would be the moment where she could finally tell Paige about her feelings.

Then the moment she'd arrived at the Bueckers' home, Paige had started going on about how excited she was for the college experience. She hadn't said it explicitly — no, Paige was too kind to tell Azzi directly, but Azzi knew everything her best friend couldn't say. That she wanted to end these things, because she wanted other, better things: other girls, other people, other relationships.

And besides, letting go of Paige now is the only way to save herself in the future, Azzi reasons to herself. Being stuck in this weird limbo of being her best friend who also kisses her would only make it so much harder to see and hear about Paige with other girls in Connecticut. It was better to snap it in half now, while she still could, to leave her pride somewhat intact so that she wasn't hanging onto Paige while Paige was trying to shake her off.

Azzi had ended it before Paige could, and that was that.

⋆⑅˚₊ iv. dress - say my name and everything just stops / i don’t want you like a best friend

February 2022

“I’m gonna go hang out with Kiki after this.” The corner of Paige’s mouth twitches when Azzi stiffens in her arms.

“Oh, okay.”

Paige drums her fingers against Azzi's waist. “Just wanted to let you know.”

“Well, now I know.“ Azzi sidles out of her arms harshly. “Gonna go pee.”

The deeply entrenched lingers of doubt becomes to crawl in her mind again when Azzi leaves, but unlike a year ago, when Paige had left her house for the airport in tears, she has experience. Experience in reading people and picking up when they show all the tell-tale signs of a crush: the flush of cheeks, the stuttering whenever Paige flirts a little too hard, the way she subconsciously leans into her touch whenever they’re sitting next to each other. And the signs of jealousy — all the signs she sees in herself whenever Azzi talks to anyone but her. And honestly, even if Paige didn’t know for sure, it’s getting to a point where she can no longer ignore the tension between them. Ever since Azzi has joined her at UConn, even though they haven’t slept together, per se, their relationship has been more than when they were; the press of mouths to cheeks that linger longer than necessary, the grinding at Ted’s that start before either of them are really drunk but pretend to be for the sake of forgetting. And, in all honesty, Paige really can’t see Azzi talking to another asshat. Hence, their current situation.

When Azzi comes back, oversized shirt wet with the stains of washed hands, Paige has finished gathering up her courage again. Azzi makes a point of sitting down far out of reach at the other end of the couch instead of returning to Paige’s arms. Definitely jealous, she thinks to herself.

“Might take her out to a nice dinner or something,” Paige says, picking up right where she left off. Then she decides why not be more of an annoying shit, and asks, “Actually, can I borrow your car?”

Azzi’s eye twitches. “What do you need my car for?” She does a damn good job of forcing her tone into one of disinterest and indifference, but from the way her jaw ticks, Paige knows she’s anything but.

“Mine’s low on gas and the restaurant I wanna go to is far. Wanna give her princess treatment, you know?”

The younger girl is positively scowling now, eyes in slits as she channels all her anger into glaring at the TV. “And why are you telling me all of this?”

Paige scoots next to Azzi and throws an arm around her shoulder. Time to make her move. Tracing circles on her shoulder with a finger, she says slowly, “Because I wanted to see your reaction.”

“My reaction?”

Her laugh comes out breathy. “Azzi, I can tell that you’re jealous.”

Her best friend’s eyes close briefly, and Paige’s heart drops a beat. Reading Azzi has always came naturally to her, pure intuition for someone she’s always in sync with. Not to brag, but she’s perfected knowing exactly how to push Azzi and where her boundaries are, but this time maybe she’d gone too far. Paige is two seconds away from apologizing until the dark haired girl opens her eyes again and says firmly, “I’m not jealous.”

No turning back now. “No?”

“I’m really not.”

“So if I took your car, and went to pick her up, with a bouquet of flowers, maybe even some chocolate, and took her to a fancy restaurant…you wouldn’t mind at all?”

A strangled sound leaves Azzi’s mouth, so quiet Paige almost misses it. “Not at all.”

“And if I took her back to her house-“ Paige’s voice drops a note, all husky and raspy, “and I took her to her bedroom, and I kissed her-“

“Paige-”

“And I touched her-,”

“Paige, stop.” Azzi’s chest heaves. Paige looks away, trying not to get sidetracked by the way her tiny tank top dips on her cleavage and leaves a little too much to the imagination. The younger girl shrugs Paige’s arm off her shoulders and stands up, backing away as if being any closer to her will make her explode. “Fine, you win. You know I’m jealous.”

Paige’s smile is triumphant. “That’s all you all had to say, baby.”

Scoffing, Azzi turns around and marches into her room, but Paige is quick to follow. “I’m not hanging out with Kiki after this,”she says, breathing down Azzi’s neck as she almost steps on her heels, but her best friend speeds up. “I haven’t hung out with Kiki since before you got here.”

“So?”

“So,” Paige emphasizes, and realizing she has only about five seconds before Azzi reaches her room and slams the door in her face for being, she admits, sort of an asshole, she says all in one breath, “I-wanted-to-make-sure-you-felt-the-same-because-I-have-feelings-for-you-and-I’ve-had-them-for-a-while-and-I-really-want-to-take-you-on-a-proper-date-and-hopefully-become-your-girlfriend-because-I-don’t-wan’t-you-like-a-best-friend-and-I-honestly-go-crazy-thinking-about-you-with-anyone-but-me-but-if-you-don’t-feel-ready-for-more-yet-then-it’s-okay.” She’s panting by the time she finishes and doesn’t realize that Azzi has fully stopped in her tracks before she’s stumbling over her feet and crashing into her, sending the both of them falling to the ground.

Somehow they both end up with their backs against the carpet, looking up at the ceiling. Azzi is still breathing hard next to her, from speed walking or falling or from Paige getting on her nerves, Paige isn’t sure which, but she waits patiently for her response, trying to ignore the stupid noise in her head saying maybe your dumbass got it all wrong again.

Finally, finally, after what seems like ten minutes, Azzi opens her mouth. “You’re stupid,” is all she says, then she rolls over and kisses Paige on the mouth.

Not what Paige was expecting after her grand love confession, but the plumpness of Azzi’s bottom lip captured in between hers makes it hard to complain about anything at all.

They kiss for twenty minutes, or maybe forty. Paige loses track of time, and honestly, she could do this forever without getting tired, but she came to Azzi's apartment tonight with a game plan, and she has to stick with it, so she pushes her best friend away a little to end their 10/10 makeout session.

Smoothing the frizz of Azzi’s hair back with her palm, she whispers, “I’m gonna take you on a date, okay?”

Azzi grins and kisses her forehead. “Okay.”

“Tomorrow. Are you free?”

Azzi moves to her cheek, tongue leaving wet trails on her face. “Don’t act like you don’t know my schedule.”

“Okay then. Tomorrow at six.” Paige traces the dimple of Azzi’s smile with the pad of her thumb, memorizing the indentation she loves so much. “That was lowkey easier than I thought it’d be.”

“Making my life hell for the past twenty minutes was easier than you thought?” Azzi bites down hard on Paige bottom lip, teeth scraping into her soft skin, and the blonde winces.

“Sorry,” she replies unapologetically. “Just had to make sure. Plus, you’re cute when you’re jealous.”

Azzi smirks against her mouth. “’I go crazy thinking about you with anyone but me,’” she mimics in a high pitched tone.

“Who you tryna be?” Paige grumbles, but there’s no heat in her voice.

⋆⑅˚₊ v. don’t blame me - i get so high, oh, every time you’re loving me

“It’s too early in the goddamn morning for you to be cheesin like this,” Nika complains as they stretch out on the cold floor of the gym.

Paige grabs her foot and leans toward it, shaking out the stiffness in her hamstrings and calves. “You’re just jealous I got a hot date and you don’t,” she responds, unable to take the grin off her face.

Nika grimaces. “Please never say that ever again.”

“Who’s this hot date?” Azzi plops down next to them, her thigh brushing Paige’s as she extends her knee, and Paige shivers.

Nika mimes putting a finger down her throat, and Paige waves her off. “Only the prettiest girl in the world," she says, not giving a shit about how cheesy the words coming out of her mouth sound.

Azzi wrinkles her nose, but her eyes shine with affection. “Have I told you you’re stupid?” She slides her hand over Paige’s, giving it a quick squeeze before moving it as quickly as it came.

“Only a couple of times.” Paige takes a swift search around for prying eyes before leaning in close to Azzi. “Just to be clear,” she whispers, “you like me? Like, like like me?”

“I feel like we're in middle school again, but to answer your question, last I heard of, yeah,” Azzi says, a smile threatening her lips. “Unless anything has changed since ten hours ago?”

“Nahh, nothin.” Paige gives Azzi’s earlobe a quick nip. “'Cept for the fact that I’m nervous as hell thinking about tonight.”

Azzi giggles at the ticklish feeling before CD steps into the gym, clapping her hands and directing the girls to start warming up. Paige sends her a wink before jogging to the front to take charge.

⋆⑅˚₊

They’re the last ones in the locker room, and Paige waits only a few seconds after the last of their teammates leave before she’s pushing Azzi against the wall and and kissing her. Paige’s cheeks are flushed and rosy from practice, hair coming loose from her bun and wild strands framing her face, and Azzi drinks it all in.

“Look so fuckin good just practicing, it’s unfair,” Paige mumbles in breaths, unable to keep her mouth away from Azzi’s for too long. Her hand wanders down Azzi’s back, fisting up her jersey to stroke the bare softness of her waist before trailing down to cup the swell of her ass. She squeezes hard, and Azzi moans into her mouth, a little breathy sound that drives Paige absolutely feral. It’s only when a door bangs outside that they realize how incriminating they’d look if someone walked in, and they separate, gasping.

“We should probably go,” Azzi breathes out, unable to take her eyes off the swollen wetness of her best friend’s lips.

“Probably,” Paige agrees. Then she takes off her jersey, movements slow and sensual. Her shirt rides up in the process, giving Azzi a glimpse of milky white skin and muscled abs, and Azzi really can’t blame herself for what she does next, not when Paige looks like that.

⋆⑅˚₊ vi. new year’s day - but i stay when you’re lost and i’m scared and you’re turning away

August 2025

Paige wakes up to three missed phone calls. She’s only able to swipe up and see that they’re all from Azzi before her phone immediately dies. She curses. Worst fucking timing in the world. She rushes to plug her charger in, tapping the black screen aggressively as if it’ll make it turn on any after. Her head still pounds from the chaos of the night before, her mouth dry and gross. She’s not sure if she even brushed her teeth after coming home from the club, the way her breath still stinks of alcohol.

She thinks about finally getting up to take or shower or do anything that’ll make her feel less disgusting but then finally, finally, her phone comes back to life. Her hearts starts pounding harder when she’d realized she’d missed not just three calls, but a series of texts.

11:45 PM

Missed call from Azzi

Missed call from Azzi

Azzi: hey u good?

Azzi: lmk if u need a minute

11:58 PM

Azzi: lmao did u forget

12:10 AM

Missed call from Azzi

Azzi: seriously paige

Azzi: at the fucking club again

12:22 AM

Azzi: call me when ur up

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Paige squeezes her eyes shut. She can’t even really remember last night—it’s a blur of hazy smoke, one too many shots, and bassy music thumping so loud she swore her eardrums almost burst. But after the win at home, that much needed win, when the team had started making plans to celebrate, Arike promising that drinks were on her, she’d told Azzi that she needed to cancel their previously scheduled Facetime for that night. Didn’t she?

She scrolls down, heart ricocheting in her chest when she sees the unsent text in her message bar. She must have exited it out or closed her phone before she could’ve pressed send. Cursing under her breath, Paige slides on her glasses and calls Azzi.

The phone rings three times before it’s answered. “Hello?” Azzi’s voice comes out dry and scratchy. She sounds like she’s just woken up, or is sick, or maybe a mixture of both.

“Baby, hey.” Paige runs a hand through her hair but gives up when it gets tangled in a knot. “I’m so sorry about last night. I meant to text you and I forgot to press send and there was a ton of shit happening at once. I should’ve double checked that it sent, and I’m- I’m sorry.” Paige isn’t sure what to do but keep apologizing, but she's only greeted with silence on the other end. After a couple of beats, she says hesitantly, “Azzi?”

Her girlfriend exhales slowly on the other end, the tell-tale sign that she’s trying really hard not to lose her patience. Not a good sign. “Okay.”

“Just...okay?” Paige repeats, slightly confused at the lack of anger or really any emotion at all in her tone.

There’s rustling on the other end of the line before Azzi’s voice comes out clearer and louder. “What do you want me to say?”

“I - I don’t know. Are you mad?” Because Azzi isn’t yelling at her, or saying anything in particular, just sounds resigned, and Paige doesn’t know what to do with that. She’d rather Azzi show any kind of emotion than this. She can't read this. She can't navigate this.

“Christ, Paige, you’re so dense sometimes.”

“You have every right to be mad with me, but I don’t know, you sound—”

“You think I want to be mad at you? You think I wanna spend one of our, what, four phone calls a week arguing with you? Fuck.” There it is.

Paige rubs her temples. “I know.”

“I’m not tryna be your clingy girlfriend from home,” Azzi continues. “Trust me, I’m really fucking not. Ever since you left I’ve been trying to respect your new life, your new schedule, letting you have space to enjoy your rookie year without having to feel suffocated. But please, please tell me I’m not insane for thinking that it’s unreasonable for you to cancel a call not even for basketball, but for shit like partying at a club?” Azzi pauses. “Honestly, I feel like I’m the one initiating our conversations most of the times. It’s like you’re putting in zero effort.”

“I understand that you’re mad but it’s a little ridiculous of you to just say I never put in any effort, Azzi.” Paige has never lashed out like this, never spoken to Azzi in this tone that sounds like anger and bitterness and exasperation fighting over each other to be heard, but Azzi's words strike something deep inside of her that hurts. “You think I like being this busy, this exhausted, having this little free time to talk more than a couple of hours? Throughout everything I’ve been trying to make you feel like a priority because god, Azzi, you are, I love you so much, and it hurts that you think I’m not even trying.” Her voice chokes an embarrasing amount on the last word, and she tosses her phone on her pillow to run her hands over her face in an effort to collect herself.

“Oh, my bad, Paige. Sorry for being such a burden and an inconvenience in your busy life,” Azzi spits out bitterly.

Paige can't help but jump to her own defense. “You didn’t even wanna come down to Dallas last month when you were free. And it's not like I can go up to you. If one of is putting in less effort, Azzi, it's sure as hell not me.”

“We had pre-season workouts, Paige, you know that.”

“I also know that they’re not mandatory and it wouldn’t have killed you to missed one. You could’ve worked out with me down here.” Somewhere deep inside, Paige knows she's being unreasonable, that Azzi has never asked her to skip practice for her and so neither should she, but she remembers the hurt that had coiled in her stomach, dark and tangled, when Azzi had refused to come down for even just a couple of days after not having seen each other in almost three weeks. If it had been her, she would’ve taken the first flight, Paige thinks, and it hadn’t taken much to spiral down the rabbit-hole of doubts—that Azzi didn’t miss her the same way she did, that Azzi was perfectly fine living her life in Storrs while Paige lived hers in Dallas, that Azzi didn’t care enough about Paige to want to visit her again. And when she’d been scrolling on Tiktok, seen videos of her girlfriend with her teammates that weekend, laughing and smiling with them when it could’ve been her—the spiral had turned into something much worse in her mind.

“So you expect me to drop everything for you but when it’s your turn to actually do something, to, I don't know, call me first for once, all of a sudden you’re too busy and tired?” Azzi accuses.

“That’s not even what I said!" Paige argues. "And I don't call first because I know you always call at a set time. Why are we even keeping track of who calls who first? If we're resorting to this, what's even the point?"

“What’s the point?” Azzi’s voice trembles. “What’s the point of this relationship, you mean?”

No, no, no. “Come on, Az, you know I didn’t mean it like that,” Paige pleads.

“You asked me what the point of our relationship was, Paige, don’t scramble now.”

“Because apparently you think it’s all one sided! And you’ve clearly been feeling like this for a while!” Paige swears under her breath. “How long have you been resenting me for this? Thinking that I don’t care about you, that I don’t care about us?”

“Don’t yell at me!”

“I’m not yelling!” Paige pinches the bridge of her nose, trying to get herself to take a couple of deep breaths and calm down. “Az, I’m sorry about last night, okay? I really am. It won’t happen again, I swear.”

“It’s not even about last night!” Azzi explodes. “How are you still not getting that?”

Seeing the time on her watch, Paige grits her teeth. “This conversation isn’t getting anywhere and I have practice. Can we talk later?”

“It’s always later with you.” Azzi’s voice is oddly high pitched, strained as if she’s trying to hide something, and Paige realizes that she’s probably crying. Fuck. She hates this, the distance, the ease of throwing angry accusations over the phone when you can’t see their face crumble from the impact of what you've done. Azzi sniffs. “Whatever. We’ll talk after. Call me when you’re done.”

“Okay.” Paige opens her mouth to say one more thing, but the line ends before she can. Fuck. She throws her phone on the bed, but it slides off the mattress and tumbles to the ground with a smack. Picking it up, she sees two cracks running through the screen. It looks almost as ugly as she feels inside.

Perfect. It’s 7 AM and her day already sucks.

As soon as practice is over, she shoots Azzi a text.

Paige: done for the day, lmk when ur free

Read

She checks her phone for the next couple of hours, waiting for a response, but to no avail.

Paige: are u really ignoring my texts

Paige: lmfao thought we left this petty shit back in high school

Paige: u said u wanted to talk and now u don’t want to?? i really don’t know what u even want from me

Azzi calls her a couple minutes later.

“That’s how I feel,” Azzi says tightly. “That’s how I felt last night, when I stayed up until 12:30 waiting for you to call.”

“Aight, next time tell me if you’re gonna call just to pick a fight, ‘cause then I won’t fuckin pick up,” Paige fires back, and she knows before she says it that it'll just make everything worse, but shit, she's so tired of arguing, for having to walk on eggshells whenever they talk, and she knows Azzi is too. And she's been in a terrifically awful mood all day, going stir crazy at her girlfriend's lack of response to her texts; she wants to resolve it more than anything, to make everything okay again, yet it seems like Azzi is holding onto that anger for her and she doesn’t know why.

“You’re such a fucking asshole, I don’t even know why I miss you," Azzi says scathingly. "Honestly, maybe we should take a break. This clearly isn’t working.” And those words are so sudden, so heavy and unexpected, that Paige can only fall silent in response.

Breathing hard, Paige touches her cheeks. She’s never been a crier, but all of a sudden the sleeve of her sweater is damp and her vision is blurring and her head is spinning.

“Paige?” Azzi says her name softly and regretfully.

“Yeah,” she says numbly into the phone, pretending as if Azzi suggesting a break—Azzi, in effect, wanting to end things—didn't just crush everything inside of her.

A sob comes out over the line. “I - I just miss you and I just said a bunch of shit that I didn’t mean and I feel so horrible. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Paige swipes angrily at her eyes, willing the tears to stop flowing. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.” Then Azzi whimpers, a small and deadly sound that pierces right through Paige’s heart, and despite everything, she just wants to reach through the phone and hold her. “I don’t wanna take a break. I love you, and I’m not used to fighting with you, and I just want you to be here.”

Paige is quiet for a moment, head swimming. “I’m sorry too. Listen, it’s late. Let’s just sleep on it and talk tomorrow, okay? When we both have clearer heads.” Paige would never call their relationship fragile, she feels like that would be a disservice to their years of fighting for each other, but it’s definitely not in a good place right now. And she's so consumed by her anger she’s not sure what might come out of her mouth if they keep going at it, and she doesn’t want to risk it.

"I love you," Azzi speaks quietly. Paige closes her eyes, turning the words over in her mind as a reminder. She loves you. You love her. That’s all that matters. "More than anything or anyone in this world, I love you."

"I know." Paige’s voice trembles. "I love you too."

The call ends, and Paige has never in her life felt this helpless; the only thing she can do from a million miles away is stare listlessly at the black screen on her phone. The two of them have always had their arguments, but it would always be resolved within a couple of days. Now, the distance makes it so much more complicated, because it had been easy—too easy to say all those things to Azzi that she really didn't mean. She supposes they both took part in it, intentionally calling instead of Facetiming so they could avoid dealing with the fallout or taking accountability by blaming it on the emotional and physical barriers separating them.

Christ. Paige reaches for the jar of melatonin on her bedside table. She's gonna need double the dose tonight.

⋆⑅˚₊

Azzi doesn't know what came over her.

Maybe it had been from the pure exhaustion of the past few months. Living in Storrs is like being surrounded by constant reminders of Paige—in Werth, in Gampel, even in her own fucking dorm. And she's always been stable and secure in their relationship, but it still hurts only being able to hear about Paige's new life without really being a part of it.

Then she'd gone and suggested a break, quite possibly the dumbest thing she's ever said, and for an agonizing second of silence over the phone, she'd been scared that Paige would agree, that Paige would say, maybe this is best for us, and end it all right then and there.

But she hadn't, and Azzi had apologized, but she knew it had done nothing to fix the impact of her words.

Which is why it's 2 AM, but she's still up, looking at flights to Los Angeles on her laptop. Paige has a game against the Sparks, and she can only stay for one day, so she's searching for tickets that will allow her to arrive right before the game and leave the early morning after.

Bingo. A last minute flight that leaves in six hours. Azzi calculates the timing in her head; the plane ride is 8 hours but LA is 3 hours behind, meaning she'll arrive at around 1 pm PST. It'll be too late by then to catch Paige before the game, and she wouldn't want to distract her anyways, so she'll have a few hours to make it to the game, watch, before hopefully having the chance to talk to Paige that night before both of them have to leave for their own cities. Azzi completes the purchase, then starts to pack her backpack.

LA is sunny and warm, and uplifts Azzi's spirits just a little. She takes an Uber to a restaurant to get some food in her stomach before taking another Uber to Crypto Arena. She wasn't able to secure a very good seat, so she pulls her hoodie tight over her head and hopes that the cameras don't see her. With red-rimmed eyes and deep bags under them, she looks worse for wear, and the last thing she wants to do is to be displayed on the big screen for everyone to see.

The first three quarters fly in a flash; Paige has a rocky start before she picks Rickea's pocket late in the second and scores, setting off her momentum for a solid 14 points by the end of the third. Azzi has always loved watching Paige play, but this is only the fourth or fifth time she's gotten to watch her girlfriend play professionally, but she's still in awe of how Paige moves so naturally on the court, already a leader on both ends despite being a rookie.

Azzi is on her phone during the break when the crowd starts to cheer. Looking up at the commotion, she fights the urge to groan when she sees herself on the screen, looking confused as hell. Contorting her face into a smile, she awkwardly waves and flashes a thumbs up before the cameras thankfully pan towards a celebrity across the arena.

Then she sees Paige, who had by some chance saw Azzi on the screen. The blonde is searching the arena, hands on her waist as her eyes sweep the crowds. Her mouth is tight, set into a firm line, body posture rigid, before one of the assistant coaches taps her on the shoulder and redirects her attention to Chris.

As soon as the game is over, Paige is walking around the court, evidently still scanning the arena for her. Knowing that the older girl doesn't have her phone, Azzi makes her way down the stairs, a task made much slower by her compression boot. Finally, she makes it down, but then she's stopped by a security guard who raises a brow at her.

"Hey, Azzi!" A familiar voice rings out, and there's Cameron, eyes bright as she makes her way through the throng of people on the court. She motions for the security guard to let her through the rope, and Azzi slips in. Wrong blonde, but still, Azzi is glad to see her.

"Cam! It's nice to see you," Azzi greets, pulling in the taller girl for a hug. "Looking good back on the court."

"Thank you, thank you." Cameron brushes off her jersey in faux humility. "Still getting used to it but it feels really good."

Azzi knows all too well what returning to the game feels like after an ACL, so she smiles sympathetically at her old friend.

"What brings you to LA?" The older girl leans in conspiratorially. "Here to see your girl?" Cameron is one of few people who'd witnessed the birth of their friendship into something more, and usually Azzi would be laughing with her, but the bleakness of it all makes her only have the strength to offer a weak smile and a "Yeah."

"Azzi." The two of them turn around and see Paige, who still looks slightly confused as she moves quickly towards the two of them. Azzi takes in her girlfriend, her hair falling apart from her bun, sweat beading on her chest and neck. Unsure of what to say or do, they look at each other for a second before Paige reaches out for a hug, both of them stiff before they fall into the familiarity of each other's arms. Azzi nuzzles her head into her girlfriend's neck, not caring that her cheeks come away damp from Paige's sweat. She'd missed Paige, terribly so.

Paige is caught up in staring at Azzi when they separate before she seemingly registers that there's a third person. "Hey, Cam," she says, dapping her up.

"Paige," Cameron pats her on the back. "Gave us hell tonight." Paige chuckles, and the two players pull apart, but Paige's gaze quickly returns to examining Azzi. Cameron looks between the two of them, observant as ever, and raises an eyebrow at the tension she senses hanging in the air. "Oookay. Well, I gotta go now, but it was nice seeing the both of you. Enjoy LA, Azzi. Good game, P."

"Yeah, you too," Paige says distractedly. "It's nice having you back on the court."

Then Paige and Azzi are alone, but not really alone because they're surrounded by athletes and media and fans and more than a couple of cameras pointed at them. Paige seems to pick up on the cameras too, when she reaches for Azzi's hand, then draws back, overthinking her actions. "Let's, uh, go to my car?" she suggests. "We can talk?"

Azzi nods, and they fall into step back to the locker room. They're silent as they walk, neither really knowing what to say, until a familiar curly-headed face intercepts them in the hall. "Paige," Rae Burrell intones, a smirk on her face, "Nice to see you." Azzi immediately tenses up, slowing down in her steps, but Paige's hand moves to the small of her back, a quiet reassurance, as she guides them along, trying to move past the Spark. "Rae," she acknowledges with a mere nod.

"Azzi, fancy seeing you here. How you doing?" Rae asks, all sugar and sweetness as she starts walking beside them.

"Just peachy," Azzi drawls. Her hand lands meaningfully on Paige's bicep, firm and smooth under her hand, and she draws her girlfriend closer. Paige wraps an arm around her waist and kisses her temple without even sparing a glance at Rae, and even though there's a million things they need to work through, though apologies are needed and solutions must be made, Azzi knows that through it all, they are the surest thing in the world.

Finally getting the hint, Rae nods. "Alright, see y'all around," she mutters, an ugly frown on her face as she ducks into a side room.

"She doesn't give up, does she?" Azzi grumbles, hand falling from Paige's arm when she realizes that the older girl is likely still angry from last night. But Paige grabs her hand and brings it back, an apology that's silent and the first of many, and squeezes her closer.

"No, she doesn't," Paige affirms. They've reached the locker room, and Paige lingers for a moment before going inside. She pulls Azzi in by the waist and presses their foreheads together. "I'm really glad you're here."

"Only for today," Azzi says, and disappointment fills Paige's eyes before the events of the night before flash in her mind. "It's good," the older girl responds gently. "You're traveling sixteen hours just to be here for a few, and I appreciate it."

"I'm sorry," Azzi says, the apology tumbling out of her mouth. The need for Paige to know how much she regrets everything is too much to bear, and she starts to continue apologizing, but she's shut up by Paige's mouth suddenly on hers, moving softly, intentionally, urgently, perfectly. Her lips are so, so soft, and Azzi has missed this so bad.

Paige gives her one last kiss, forceful and emphatic, before looking at her, soft and sweet. Azzi exhales. They're gonna be okay.

[dollishmehrayan]

𐔌 . ⋮ DAMIAN WAYNE AS A S/O .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱ ── .✦ ( solo damian wayne x reader run )

𝜗𝜚 a/n: I’ve been reading damian’s run these days and aww stop he’s so adorable anyways I thought why not to write something for him to get out my writers block sooo enjoy?? anyways I was pressured by my bbg @kyriakis to post this so after this I’ll probably write genuine hcs of him only of things he probably does / used to based off canon, tags: ( damian wayne x reader ) ! Disclaimer the following tags include jason, dick, bruce, Tim even when not mentioned this allows for the fandom to equally react since most don’t follow damian tag

© dollishmehrayan — ( all rights reserved to me. These works cannot be reposted, translated, or modified. Thank you for understanding dollies! )

A BIT OF A GREAT GIFTER ── .✦

Damian’s idea of romance is... a little dramatic. You once casually mentioned how you like the color purple or any other color and the next day you received an extravagant bouquet of rare lavender flowers, LIKE THIS MAN REMEMBERS WELL.

“Purple is a necessary part of your aesthetic,” he states nonchalantly as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

But then, if you ever mention how much you love a particular type of chocolate or a specific scent, he’ll track it down and somehow acquire it without you knowing and just say it’s a ‘gift’ as if he didn’t spend hours finding it.

And if you dare to ask him about it? PFFFF

“Tt, don’t know what you’re talking about. I simply noticed the details, as any competent person would.”

DRAMATIC BUT ON LEVEL 10 ── .✦

Damian acts like you’re going on an actual mission when you leave the house. “What do you mean you’re going for a walk? You can’t just walk around Gotham. There’s danger everywhere.”, “It’s just a bodega damian.”

And even if it’s just a trip to the store, he’ll insist on accompanying you with that “I’m doing this for your own safety” tone, but the moment you come back home, he acts like he’s been out on patrol the entire time.

“I’ve successfully completed the task of ensuring no harm came to you.” HIS LOVE IS IN ACTIONS NOT WORDS OKAY?!

He says this while wearing a full suit and tie, because of course, that makes sense for a walk to the bodega ( corner shop )

Not the Best at Compliments, but...

Damian’s way of showing affection can be a little... rough. But somehow, it always gets the point across, think of like people being sarcastic as a love language but his seems to be like kinda blunt? Where at first he won’t say out loud ‘oh I love you’ no but he isn’t ignorant either, he knows he loves you and that’s validated to him.

“You’re fine. I mean, I guess I could see how someone would find you attractive. It’s not the worst thing in the world.”

And then he’ll look at you, almost daring you to call him out. But in truth, his eyes are saying, “I think you’re the most beautiful person in the world, but I’ll never admit it because I am Damian Wayne, and I am far too cool for this.”

The thing is, though, he’ll do anything to make sure you’re happy, even if it means begrudgingly going out of his way to make sure you get exactly what you want.

WILL DEFEND YOU 100% ── .✦

one of his brothers say something mildly annoying to you?

“Don’t talk to them like that.”

Damian’s got your back no matter how small the offense.

Someone’s being rude to you in public? He’s ready to pull a full I’m Damian Wayne, son of Batman, sole heir to ra’s al ghul and start a verbal altercation, followed by a very intense, “No, they didn’t just say that about you” look.

You? Trying to defuse the situation like a normal person?

Damian? “Nope, too late. I already decided it’s a fight now, this is mockery.

If you’re lucky, he’ll look at you and say, “It’s okay. I’m protecting you,” with a glint in his eye that says, “And you better be grateful.”

GENUINELY DOESNT GET PDA BUT FOR A GOOD REASON ── .✦

Damian’s not one to show affection publicly. In fact, he’ll try to avoid touching you at all if he’s around anyone. But the second he’s sure no one is looking, you’ll catch him glaring at you from across the room like, “We’re together, and everyone should know it, but I won’t say it.” BUT he isn’t embarrassed by you or isn’t hiding you relationship

It’s just private not secret.

He’ll give you the occasional side-hug or brush your hand ever so slightly, then immediately retreat like nothing happened if you don’t grab it fast enough.

But if you’re standing near him, don’t be surprised when he casually places a hand on your shoulder or rests his head on yours... only for it to turn into the most awkward five seconds ever, followed by an immediate, “What? It’s not like I wanted to do that. You were in my personal space.” HE DOESNR WANT TO ADMIT HE’S DEPENDENT 😭

So, yeah. PDA with Damian is... complicated, BUT ITS DIFFERENT

“It’s a Normal Relationship. I Don’t Know What You’re Talking About”

Damian, when you ask if he wants to do something like go for a walk, or watch a movie together:

“I don’t know what you mean. We’re not doing anything special. This is just a normal... well, normal for us. What is ‘normal,’ anyway?”

And yet, there he is, sitting with you, absolutely enjoying the time together trying to act like it's nothing special, but he’s leaning in just a little too close to you to be that casual.

Sometimes, he’ll act like he’s too cool for the typical date stuff, but in reality, he’s all in. He’s just trying to pretend he’s not, to maintain his Bat-cred.

COMPETITIVE TO A TEA ── .✦

This seems like a regular occurrence for him where, it’s not only you but anyone, he likes competition and challenges in general by classmates, friends, you, teammates, anyone. ( This also why he doesn’t do well on teams in canon but we ain’t ready for this convo )

Whenever there’s something to compete over whether it’s a simple game or a sparring match damian’s all in. He takes everything way too seriously.

“I’ll beat you at Mario Kart.”

Damian: “Tt, you think I’m going to let you win? You underestimate me immensely this is social injustice to my name.”

And the next thing you know, he’s strategizing his every move, plotting out every turn like he’s planning an actual mission. MEANWHILE ITS JUST JENGA DAMN

When he inevitably wins (because he’s Damian Wayne, and you knew he was going to), he’ll throw you the most smug smile.

“I told you. You should’ve known better.”

BUT HE LOVES YOU ── .✦

Underneath the tough exterior, Damian’s a softie who occasionally lets his guard down when you're alone together. He might not say it, but you know when he's trying to be vulnerable.

For example, one evening, after a particularly intense patrol or he says something too smart during a simple game of uno , he’ll just stare at you, quietly, in the way that only Damian can.

“You’re... okay, right? I didn’t, uh, hurt you…. I apologize for my lack of understanding if that hurt you.”

You’ll blink and be like, “You literally saved me like 10 minutes ago?”

And he’ll just look away, muttering something like, “Well, I don’t want you to get hurt. I just... don’t want to lose anyone again.” ( damian ‘I will not have anyone dying for my mistakes the way he did’ Wayne ☹️

And then he’ll change the subject super quickly, because he doesn’t want to burden you with his fears

[bywons]

PRETTY ON YOU ꣑୧ hot things they do

𝗔𝗖𝗧𝖵────𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗎𝗆𝗉 𝖿𝖺𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋

❪ 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐂𝒾𝐒 ❫ ｡ 𝖾𝗇𝗁𝗒𝗉𝖾𝗇 𝗑 𝖿!𝗋 1O11 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿 ✿ 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉 贅沢 ／ 𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐙𝐈𝐍𝐄

★REBLOG4KISS

LEE HEESEUNG is cheerful most of the time. you can’t get to sway his mood even when you steal his favourite ramen packets and poke his cheeks a little too harsh. he finds it all cute and lets you experiment all that's going on in your mischievous mind on him. he just loves you so much. however, he doesn’t like it when you get too close to one of his friends, laughing a bit too loud. heeseung’s voice drops low when he is serious with you, his usual innocence gone as he easily cages you between his tall figure when he snakes his arm around your waist and back. his grip is gentle, but firm enough to remind you—he’s not playing. his lips brush your ear as he whispers, “don’t test me, baby.” his gaze holds a promise you can’t ignore.

PARK JONGSEONG loves to compliment you at every chance he gets. he loves when you try to hide your giggle when he calls you a princess, how you shove your face in his chest when he showers sweet words on your hard work. jay loves the feeling of this quiet dominance, tha only he can make you flushed. but jay has a bad habit of calling you a ‘good girl’ to see you malfunction. “how was work today?” jay smiles, pulling you onto his lap. “just know that i’m getting that promotion,” you giggle. “that’s my good girl,” jay murmurs, voice like silk as he presses a kiss just below your jaw. you pause—heartbeat skipping—and he feels your reaction, grinning smugly against your skin. his hands rest firmly on your hips, grounding you while his praise leaves you dizzy. “knew you could do it.”

SIM JAEYUN always wants you close to him, whenever you are not, jake whines and pouts until you notice it and come closer. he loves sharing body heat with you— hugging you close from behind, placing his hand on your thighs or simply guiding you by the small of your back. but when you are within arms reach, jake hooks his fingers through the loops of your jeans and pulls you closer with a lazy grin. his eyes drag over you like he’s starving, gaze flicking from your lips to your waist as he tugs you flush against him. “there you are,” he murmurs, voice low, fingers tightening slightly on the loops. your breath hitches when his other hand trails slowly up your spine, settling at the nape of your neck. “why were you so far, huh?” he leans in, lips ghosting over your jaw. “you know i hate that.”

PARK SUNGHOON doesn’t mean to do it so often, he doesn’t mean to look so in charge when he knows he melts beneath your touch. but as soon as he sinks on the couch after a tiring day of work, sunghoon manspreads like it’s his birthright. long legs spread wide, head tilted back, one arm slung over the backrest. it's not intentional, but that's what he'd say. his sharp eyes flick up when he notices you staring. “something on your mind?” he smirks with amusement, head tilting sideways. but when he doesn’t get an answer from you, he curls his hand inwards and pats on his thigh, “come sit,” he sighs. and when you do, sunghoon just smiles lazily and guides your head closer to his chest like you belong there, and starts to caress your hair like a much needed ritual. “i love you” he murmurs against your hair, “stay.”

KIM SUNOO is determined to be your favourite listener. he drops anything either important or trivial, just to listen to your honey voice. sunoo doesn’t like any distractions in between— it falters your pace which makes you wonder if he even is listening to you, and he likes to leave no space for doubt. sunoo gently pushes the stray strands of hair away from your face whenever they fall over when you are talking, his fingers brushing over your bottom lip. he hums softly when he sees your face flushing, stuttering in your words. “keep going,” he whispers, his voice soft as his hand settles on your jaw. sunoo presses a kiss against your forehead, “why’d you stop? i love hearing you talk.”

YANG JUNGWON always has to make sure you never have any difficulties, at least around him. he makes sure to remember all your favourites when out at a cafe, and urges you to wear comfortable clothes around, whatever is best for you. but the moment he sees you wincing, looking down at your heels, he knows you need his care again. after all, he doesn't like to see you in trouble, jungwon kneels in front of you without hesitation, undoing the straps of your heels. “why didn’t you tell me they hurt?” he asks softly, when they’re off, he rubs your feet gently, his thumbs pressing where it aches. “next time,” he murmurs, glancing up at you with a look that leaves no room for argument, “you tell me. i’ll carry you if i have to.” and with that, he slips off his own shoes and offers them to you, because your comfort will always come before his.

NISHIMURA RIKI never fails to tease you about your height. the difference between you two is endlessly amusing to him—he’s always resting his chin on your head, using you as his personal armrest, or ruffling your hair just to hear you whine. “so tiny,” he grins, every time. but when you lean in to whisper something, needing privacy, riki bends down to your level with slow intention. his lips brush your ear as he murmurs, “what is it, shortie?” his voice is low, teasing—but his eyes, locked on yours, are darker, more intense. you hesitate, suddenly aware of how close he is, and that faint smirk on his lips only grows. “you wanna say something?” he asks, pulling you against his chest with ease, voice barely above a whisper. “or want me to get closer?” and god, he means it—every word dripping with love.

스루 ܃ not a favorite one, but i still hope you pretties love it 💗

© bywons, 2025 div ctto —taglist open ! nets. @/k-labels @kflixnet @k-films

[jobean12-blog]

Midnight Confessions

Light SPOILERS ahead!!!

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word Count: 2.5K

Summary: A late night gives you the opportunity to flirt with Bucky and the next night he comes right back for more.

Author's Note: There are some Thunderbolts spoilers here- none really story related so much but more character driven. So reader BEWARE :D I had fun writing all the ridiculous dialogue in the beginning and it's a bit chaotic but I hope it makes you smile! Thank you so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: fun and fluff, flirtiness, tension, sweetness

You set the timer and place it on the counter, leaning back with a sigh. While it seems everyone else in the tower is asleep, you’re as wide awake as the bustling city below. This is the second batch of cookies you’ve made this week, but no one seems to be complaining.

After contemplating something on the TV you decide instead to read, hoping it will make you sleepy.

No such luck and just as you’re starting the next chapter you see a dark shadow at the entrance of the kitchen, you’re body stiffening.

“It’s just me doll.”

At the sound of Bucky’s voice, you instantly relax.

“Jeez you’re quiet,” you whisper.

He chuckles lightly and steps into the kitchen. His hair is slightly mussed as if he’s been running a hand through it and his tee shirt clings to the broad lines of his chest and toned biceps. With a hard swallow you let your eyes drop lower, to the way his pants sit low on his waist but still hug his thighs.

“Can’t sleep?” you squeak out, dragging your gaze back to his face.

He shakes his head no and moves closer, revealing a surprise. The guinea pig Yelena rescued from the lab sits atop his left shoulder, tucked close to his neck and partially hidden by his hair.

You sit up with a gasp and rush over to him, cooing quietly and without a word plucking the piglet from his shoulder.

“What are you doing up?” you ask the guinea pig in a sweet voice.

“I probably should have let him sleep but as soon as I made noise he started squeakin’.”

You look up at Bucky and notice his soft expression as he watches you with the guinea pig.

“It’s a boy?” you ask.

“Actually, I don’t know,” he replies.

“Hmm,” you say as you pet it’s soft fur. “I bet it’s a girl.”

“That works too,” he smiles. “Are you making cookies?”

“I am…they should be out…,” and you walk over to the timer, “in three minutes.”

“Great doll. I could use a snack!” He slowly rubs his stomach as he stretches, revealing the dark trail of hair that disappears enticingly into his sweats.

The guinea pig squeaks and draws your attention away before he catches you staring.

“She needs a name,” you state as you cradle her in your arm.

Bucky is silent for a moment before he blurts out, “Cookie.”

“That’s cute,” you giggle, “but I think you’re just hungry.”

He doesn’t disagree and keeps thinking.

“She’s brown and white so…BACON!”

You stop petting the piglet and narrow your eyes at Bucky.

He holds his hands up in surrender, but you can see the way his eyes crinkle at the corners as he tries to hold back a smile.

“Are you going to wash the dishes?”

Bob’s voice is so low you almost don’t hear it but Bucky spins around at the sound.

“Bob!” both you and Bucky exclaim.

“What’s going on in here?” Bob asks as he looks between you and Bucky.

“We can’t sleep, and I made cookies,” you explain.

“And we’re trying to give the guinea pig a name,” Bucky adds.

“Ok,” Bob says. “I’m going to wash the dishes.”

“Do you want help?” you ask him. “I can dry the bowls.”

“Sure,” Bob says.

You hand the guinea pig back to Bucky. “Don’t get comfy. I want her back when I’m done.”

“Anything you want doll,” he says with a wink.

“How about Piglet?” Bob chimes from the sink.

“Like in Winnie the Pooh?” you ask as you slide up next to him and take the first bowl to dry it.

“Yeah…she’s kinda tiny…,” Bob says.

“So, you think she’s a girl too!” you say happily. “Bucky was calling it a he.”

“Not because I don’t think it could be a girl…I just…said he first.”

“It’s a girl,” Yelena says as she walks in.

“See! I knew it!” you sing song.

“What is going on here?” Yelena asks.

“None of us could sleep,” Bob answers. “So, we’re making cookies, washing dishes and naming the guinea pig.”

“Are the cookies ready yet?” Yelena asks, eyeing the oven.

“Just about,” you answer.

“Bob suggested Piglet…but I like Bacon,” Bucky says to fill Yelena in.

“Of course you would say Bacon,” she tsks. “I like Piglet.”

“Do I smell cookies?”

Walker strides in and heads straight for the oven.

“HEY Walker,” you whisper shout. “They’ll be out in a minute.”

He stops and plops himself down on a stool at the island with a huff.

“Why didn’t anyone invite me to the party?” he says.

“Because you’re an asshole,” but you and Yelena chime simultaneously but not without a smile pulling at each of your mouths.

“Can I least have some cookies,” Walker asks.

“Of course,” you tell him.

“Why don’t you name the pig, Hamlet,” Walker adds.

Everyone is quiet for a minute and tries to hide their smiles. “Actually, that’s cute,” you say, “but we’ve decided it’s a girl so maybe something…more…girly.”

Walker rests his chin in his hands but remains silent.

“What the hell is going on in here?” Ava says, appearing from the other side of the wall.

Bob startles at the sink and Walker rolls his eyes.

“No one can sleep, we are about to eat cookies, and we need a name for our girl guinea pig,” Yelena sums up quickly before opening the oven just as the timer dings.

“Pipsqueak,” Ava says flatly.

Yelena smiles. “I like that. She does squeak…a lot.”

“But she’s brave,” Bob says. “She survived the lab. I wouldn’t call her a pipsqueak.”

“But Piglet is scared of everything isn’t he?” Bucky muses. “So that wouldn’t work either.”

“Oh,” Bob sighs. “Yeah, he is.”

“Still like Bacon,” Bucky mumbles to himself.

“WHO SAID BACON?” Alexei booms when he walks in. “We eat?”

Yelena hangs her head with a sigh and Ava rolls her eyes.

“No bacon,” Bucky says sadly. “But we have cookies.”

“Hm, that will do,” Alexei says as he walks over to Yelena and pulls out the hot tray with his hand.

“You should let them cool,” you say to Alexei as he goes to grab for one.

“No, no…I like them all gooey and melted and messy…” He pops half the cookie in his mouth and hums happily.

Bucky slides over; the guinea pig nestled in the crook of his metal arm as he grabs for a cookie.

Walker reaches over the island to grab his own.

“They’re still hot guys!” you scold but give up with a sigh when half the tray is gone in under a minute. “You better grab one,” you whisper to Bob.

He turns from the sink and wipes his hand, reaching for a cookie and placing it on a napkin near him. “I’ll let mine cool,” he says with a small smile.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence and lots of mumbled praises over the cookies, you ask, “so what are we naming the guinea pig?”

Alexei yells out, “ALEXEI!”

Everyone answers with a determined, “NO!”

Alexei deflates and takes another cookie.

“So far we ruled out all the suggestions,” you say, leaning back on the counter next to Bucky.

Without prompting he hands you the guinea pig. You gently hold her up and look her over.

“I have so many ideas but none of them seem to fit,” you huff.

“All mine are related to food,” Bucky shrugs.

“I still like Alexei,” Alexei grumbles.

“Hamlet isn’t girly enough,” Walker says.

“Piglet and Pipsqueak make her sound too timid,” Ava adds.

Finally, Yelena says, “what about Nat?”

All eyes turn to her, soft with unspoken words.

“That’s perfect,” you say quietly and everyone agrees.

Once the few remaining cookies are packed away and the kitchen is clean you walk over to Bucky who’s leaning against the wall, Nat once again cradled against his chest in the crook of his metal arm.

“She likes that spot,” you say quietly as you gently stroke her back.

“Yeah, maybe because it’s cool,” he says and then softly touches her nose as it twitches.

You watch him for a moment, so sweet and gentle with the little furball.

“You’re so cute,” you say softly.

“She is right,” Bucky agrees.

“She meant you super soldier,” Alexei chuckles from behind you. “Not pig.”

“She’s a guinea pig Dad,” Yelena dead pans.

Alexei waves his had dismissively. “All same.”

Your eyes meet Bucky’s, and you see the tops of his cheeks, just above all the dark stubble lining them, turn light pink.

“You meant little Nat right?” he asks.

“She definitely meant the guinea pig,” Walker says with a yawn as he walks by. “I’m goin’ to bed.”

Ava follows close behind him. “Me too. And she meant you Barnes.”

Alexei slaps Bucky hard on the back, jostling Nat in his arms and Bucky glares.

“Oh. Right, sorry,” Alexei mumbles then smiles wide. “She thinks you are cute.”

He walks away rubbing his stomach.

Only Yelena and Bob remain, Yelena with a smirk lifting her lips and Bob with wide eyes.

Your eyes stay on Bucky, and you lean in closer, still petting Nat. “No. I meant you. You’re really cute. Especially with her. It’s sweet.”

“She said he’s cute,” Bob whispers to Yelena who’s full on smiling now.

“Da,” Yelena nods, grabbing Bob’s arm to pull him down the hall.

“Does she like him?” Bob asks as he passes by you and Bucky.

Yelena laughs but doesn’t answer and keeps tugging him away.

The two of you are now alone and you watch Bucky’s gaze quickly drop to your lips before he says a quiet, “thanks.”

“Hope you can get some sleep,” you tell him then kiss his cheek. “Night.”

“Night, doll,” he whispers as he watches you walk to your room.

The next night when you’re still awake after midnight you head to the common room but when you don’t see a sign of anyone else you decide to go watch a movie until you fall asleep. The light knock on your door an hour later surprises you and when you open it to find Bucky on the other side you’re even more surprised.

“I didn’t wake you did I doll?” he asks in a rush.

“No, don’t worry. I was watching a movie.”

“I thought I saw light under the door so I figured you might still be up.”

“Did you want more cookies? The leftovers are in the cabinet.”

“Actually…Alexei ate them all. I checked…”

You snort laugh and grab Bucky’s hand, pulling him through the doorway.

“Of course he did,” you say as you plop down on the small couch.

Bucky follows and then stands there as if he’s unsure what to do next.

“You can sit,” you tell him.

He does.

“Are you watching The Goonies?”

“I am!” you say excitedly. “I’m so glad you’ve seen it.”

“Classic 80s.”

“Exactly,” you agree.

You settle back into the cushions and let your shoulder brush his. As the movie continues your body relaxes against him and he lifts his arm to rest it along the back of the couch. His fingers brush your shoulder and when he feels your skin pebble beneath his touch he does it again. Your breath catches in your throat and you audibly swallow.

The movie ends and you’re still pressed against him, his arm now circling your shoulders as his fingertips ghost over your skin.

“That’s one of my favorites,” you say and turn to meet his eyes.

“Mine too,” he whispers, curling his fingers around your arm so you turn your body into his.

His eyes wander over your face, their soft reverence only sharpened when they stop on your lips.

“Doll…I…”

Whatever he wants to say is lost in the moment and he presses his mouth to yours, softly at first, but when you slide your fingers into his hair and tug him closer, he hums low in his chest and deepens it, parting your lips.

His knuckles skim down your arm before splaying at your back and pulling you into his lap. His hand slips under your shirt, every caress of his fingertips slow and teasing as if he’s savoring every moment and committing it to memory. His kisses are sweet and languid and the hair lining his face scratches the soft column of your neck as his lips trail downward to your hammering pulse.

A deep and satisfied hum rumbles through his chest and you press yourself closer, feeling the hard lines of his muscle beneath his shirt.

“Bucky,” you whimper.

He lifts his head to stare at you, his breathing fast. His metal thumb lifts to trace your swollen bottom lip before he slides it behind your neck and brings your lips back to his, nibbling the same spot then soothing it with his tongue.

You moan into his mouth and the sound snaps what little control he’s holding on to and suddenly you’re flipped to your back, your wrists in his metal hand and pinned above your head. His eyes teasingly trail over your body, and you go pliant in his hold, your legs falling open as he settles between them.

He leans down, dipping his head to run his nose along your neck, breathing you in before his lips are on yours again.

“You’re so soft,” he murmurs, his hand releasing your wrists and sliding lower to stroke your curves. “I knew you would be.”

“You’ve thought about it?” you ask as you tuck a strand of hair behind his ear.

“Yeah,” he breathes out, licking his lips. “I came over here with the intention to ask you out on a date…”

“Is this not…?”

He cuts you off. “This is exactly what I want…you’re what I want. I’m just…trying to be a gentleman.”

Your lips form an O shape, and he kisses you again.

“I’ll go on a date with you Bucky,” you murmur between kisses.

“Good, that’s good,” he says, his warm hands continuing their exploration of your body while his lips trail down your neck.

You arch into him and slide your hands from his hair down his back, scraping lightly with your nails.

“Fuck,” he hisses.

When his eyes lift to yours he wears a pained expression.

“A gentleman,” he repeats.

“Right. A date,” you say.

“Fuck,” he mutters again but doesn’t move an inch.

You stare at each other, the tension building in the small space between you before he dips his head and kisses you again. His lips find the spot just below your ear and he whispers, “if you don’t tell me to go now…”

“I don’t want you to go Bucky. I want you to stay. I want you.”

[sacr1ficialang3l]

Feeling me up as a porn star dies⋆˚࿔

WARNINGS: teenage angst. underage drinking. underage smoking. underage sexual activity. smut (mdni). dry humping. coming in pants. clit stimulation. cannibalism references (barely). angst. teenagers being horny. 5.0k

The drive-in becomes something of a tradition, just like the walks.

Every Friday—with an exception here and there—you and Dean go watch a movie together.

Sam stops coming along after the night you take him to see It.

You hadn’t known about Sam’s phobia of clowns, but Dean had. He laughed his ass off when Sam’s face fell as the movie title rolled in.

“I expected this from my asshole brother, but you?”

Trust a fourteen-year-old boy to be dramatic. It takes a whole new order of marshmallow nachos and lending him your precious copy of Carrie for him to forgive you. But he still refuses to come along.

The new tradition isn’t the only change that comes from that night.

Any residual ice between you and Dean has melted away.

You hang out all the time now—after school on the empty sidewalks, at the local arcade, at Bobby’s house. Why Dean Winchester chooses to spend time with you instead of one of the pretty, normal girls from school still escapes you.

But you actually start to talk, even if sometimes it’s still too quiet for Dean to catch. You make murmured jokes, tease him under your breath, and even nudge his shoulder when you're feeling brave. You chat in philosophy class, whisper the right answers to him, and he says them out loud just to piss Richie Rich off. They even get into a fight once, after the asshole mocks Dean’s worn-out clothes.

“Does daddy not love you enough to buy you a jacket that isn’t half-ruined?”

The next day, the tires of Richie Rich’s beloved BMW convertible are found slashed in the school parking lot. There’s no proof of who did it, even if Richie keeps pointing fingers at Dean.

No one notices the knife tucked inside your boot.

You also start taking Dean along on your searches for animal bones in the forest. The two of you wander through the foggy woods of Sioux Falls—your steps quiet and doe-like, Dean’s heavy and predatory. Once, you find a small, dainty bat skull hidden beneath a bed of pine needles. You let yourself fall to the ground, knees scraping, and rinse away the remaining decay with your water bottle.

Once it’s clean, you hold it up to Dean with a grin, like a trophy. The bone gleams under the sun, and your legs and dress are now smudged with dirt. He looks at the skull with mild disgust, but then his expression shifts into something soft and fond when he sees the genuine joy on your face.

“You little freak,” he huffs, ruffling your hair. But his voice is soft, coated in affection.

You sing along to his cassettes when you hang out in his room, even buying him new ones from the town’s local thrift store. He even teaches you how to shoot, wrapping his big hands around yours to help you aim. You manage to hit five out of seven cans, and the proud smile Dean gives you keeps you walking on clouds for the rest of the week.

You get drunk for the first time with him on your seventeenth birthday. Only, Dean doesn’t know it’s your birthday. You’re not one for celebrations. At least, not when they’re about you.

You sneak one of your mother’s bottles into Bobby’s house—whiskey, because Dean once said he liked it. The first shot makes your eyes water, and Dean laughs, teasing you for endless minutes. You punch his arm, pour yourself another, and swallow it like water.

It burns with something inherited. A heirloom. A curse.

Dean seems to feel the same—judging by the way he stares at the bottle like a betrayed soldier.

Can’t escape those addiction genes, you guess.

But the burning fades about halfway through the bottle.

Then, you lose all trace of shame. The barbed wire that’s always wrapped around your throat unravels, and the ever-present tension deep in your bones evaporates, leaving only malleable, tender flesh.

Dean lies on his bed, smoking a cigarette, as you change his cassette to something you got for him. Something darker, layered, ghostly.

“That obscure indie shit you dig so much,” Dean calls it.

“Did Sam teach you that word?”

“Shut up, smartass.”

Head floaty, empty of the voices that have haunted you since birth, you twirl around the room to the soft piano of the song.

Dean watches as the golden light of the setting sun shines around you like a divine glow. The flowy skirt of your dress rises up and exposes the smooth, delicate skin of your thighs. The smoke from his cigarette curls around you like you’re calling to it—like it recognizes your mystical nature and craves wrapping around you.

Dean knows the feeling.

You twirl again, trip on one of his boots, stumble into the bed next to him, and break into a mess of giggles and rosy cheeks, nearly burning yourself with his cigarette.

Oh, you wish Dean would put it out on you.

Both of you stare at the ceiling fan for a long moment of silence after that. Your hand trails down the edge of Dean’s wooden bed frame, your fingers finding one of the many markings carved into it. A pentagram inside a sun. You wonder what it means, if it’s a band’s logo or some kind of ritualistic symbol.

Instead of asking, driven by the drunken, unstoppable need to tell the truth, you whisper:

“Today’s my birthday.”

Another moment stretches between you, smoke slowly filling your lungs as Dean blows it toward you—you asked him to, because you can’t get enough of the smell—and then he whispers back:

“Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

The next day, Dean picks you up in the pickup truck and takes you to the drive-in, even though it isn’t Friday.

“Didn’t think you’d get away with turning seventeen and not celebrating, right?”

There’s a silly grin on his face, but something filters underneath. Something somber, blue and gray.

You don’t ask. Instead, you quickly get ready for the hangout. You decide to wear your mother’s black cowboy boots. It earns you an up-and-down look and a murmured compliment—and it makes you glow.

You settle into your usual spot at the drive-in. You buy some popcorn and finish it before the movie even starts. Dean still claims he doesn’t want any but ends up stealing a handful from you anyway. This time, you both sit closer to the middle of the bench seat, just inches apart.

The movie starts.

Slasher flick again.

Your eyes stay on the screen as a girl—topless, because they always are—gives her boyfriend a little show. They’ll both be murdered in minutes.

But Dean’s eyes aren’t on her. He doesn’t even glance her way as she removes her bra, slow and sensual in a way you’ll never be.

No, he’s looking at you.

Quiet but mesmerizing. Tragic and magical.

You’re scared, but you’re also starving.

It’s been months of staring at Dean—his pretty face, his soft freckles, his darkening hair, his darker soul—and being hungry.

You turn to meet his eyes, and something grotesque crawls inside of you.

“You’re so pretty,” he murmurs, his hand coming up to brush your bangs behind your ear.

Your mouth parts, but no sound comes out. You’re not used to compliments, and you’re not used to the burning sensation in your chest—the one you know the name of, but are too scared to label.

When Dean’s eyes dart down, you know it’s coming. You have half a mind to panic because this is your first kiss. But also, there’s something animalistic clawing at your chest, something that tells you you’ll know exactly what to do.

So your lips meet—unexpectedly warm and dreamy, Dean’s calloused hand cupping your cheek—and you have to dig your nails into your own thigh to stop yourself from devouring him.

Because you want to. You want to sink your teeth into his flesh, savor it. You want to hook your fingers around his ribcage, crack it open, crawl inside, and sleep snuggly wrapped around his heart. You want to eat him down to the marrow, suck every drop of pain out of his bloodstream, press against him so close that you rot together until you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.

But for now, you settle with engulfing his lips with yours.

Dean kisses the way he shoots. Confident, expert, hitting every target. He knows exactly where to bite, how much tongue to use, and when to bury his fingers in your hair.

You, on the other hand, are all instinct. You follow what the beast on your chest demands, for the first time in your life letting yourself take what you want. You bite his lower lip, savoring the way the soft flesh gives under the pressure of your incisors. You suck on his teeth until a small noise escapes from the back of his throat. You pull on his hair, tilt your head when he does, and lick over his lips when he breaks the kiss.

You guess you did well enough, because Dean’s eyes are dark, pupils blown wide until only a thin ring of green remains. His hand tightens in your hair, enough to send a shiver down your spine but not enough to hurt.

You wish he would make it hurt.

“You fuckin’ drive me insane, sweetheart.”

“I think you were already insane,” you deflect with humor, because it’s easier than accepting that Dean Winchester might actually want you back. “But that’s okay. I am too.”

Dean laughs, shaking his head before kissing you again. This time, his hands travel to your waist, slowly pushing you backward.

Someone in the background screams just as your back hits the leather seat. Suspense music plays—slow and haunting—right when Dean hovers over you, arms on each side of your head, his breath fanning your face.

Tobacco, cherry pie, and a hint of mint.

“We don’t have to, if you—”

You tangle your fingers in the hairs at the nape of his neck and yank him down.

“I want to,” you murmur against his lips, barely keeping your voice from trembling.

Please.

Your teeth clash, and your tongues collide. This time, the kiss is violent. Lips bruising, hands groping, nails scratching. Dean shrugs off his jacket before he starts to kiss your neck. The heat that floods through your body is something you’ve never felt before. His teeth graze your pulse, and then he sucks, trapping the flesh between his teeth and licking.

The sound that escapes your throat is obscene, your back arching off the car seat, moving closer to him. Your eyes slam shut, and your hands clutch his shoulders, nails biting into his skin through his shirt

“Dean—”

“You taste even better than I imagined,” he murmurs against your neck, his warm breath over the new bruise making your breath falter.

He continues to kiss down your throat, around your collarbones, and lower. His mouth is desperate, possessive, leaving marks wherever it latches onto. You pull on his hair, nails running down his back over the thin fabric of his shirt. It makes him moan.

You shift under him, your legs spreading, making room for him. He fits perfectly in between them, the rough fabric of his jeans scratching the tender skin of your bare thighs, his lips finding yours again.

He presses you down against the car seat, hand on your hip, his whole body weight on top of you, grounding and maddening. His large, calloused hand glides over your thigh and makes its way under your skirt, where there’s already a wet patch on the front of your cotton panties.

His thumb brushes over the damp fabric, and you gasp. Your back arches, the touch so different from your own. Your hips buck, simultaneously trying to pull closer and away from his hand.

His grasp on your hip tightens, holding you in place as his thumb rubs slow circles over your clothed core, drawing a sweet little whimper from you.

“You’re so damn wet.” His voice is low, almost a growl, as his finger presses harder against you, sliding between your lips and finding that little bundle of nerves.

“Fuck,” you whisper, still conscious of the fact that the pickup truck has no side windows, and anyone walking by could hear you.

You’re dripping by this point, pupils blown and thighs twitching. You feel Dean’s fingers making their way to the side of your underwear, and panic rises in you for a second. 

Someone in the movie dies screaming, probably the love interest.

You grab Dean’s wrist, stopping him from moving further. But before he can question you and the moment gets ruined, you wrap your legs around his middle and pull him closer, until his clothed cock is pressed against your core.

That’s safer. That you are ready for.

Dean doesn’t seem deterred by the change of plans. He simply groans when he feels the heat of you through the layers of clothing. He leans down for another hungry kiss, grunting against your lips as he rocks his hips, grinding his hard-on against you.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he murmurs, husky and rough.

“It—it’s good,” you whimper, your hips jerking up when the outline of his dick hits your swollen clit dead-on, sending electricity down your spine.

Dean moans into your mouth, biting down on your lower lip as your movement gives him a new angle of friction between the two of you.

You feel so sensitive, raw, and exposed. You’ve never felt this good, this heavenly, this sinful—like divinity is just on the tip of your fingers, but you’re falling straight down into the burning pits of hell.

The rough texture of denim should hurt against you, but it burns just right. The wetness dripping from you soaks through your panties, staining Dean’s jeans. Marking him, claiming him.

Dean’s hands move, cupping your breasts and squeezing, his thumbs rubbing over your nipples through the fabric of your top. It draws a needy, strangled sound from you.

“You’re so fuckin’ hot.” His hips start to move more frantically, rubbing over your clit again and again. “Wanna ruin you.”

Yes, please. Ruin me for anyone else, turn me into something only you can touch.

You throw your head back in pleasure, your hands finally landing on his chest.

You let them roam, exploring the sun-kissed skin you’ve been craving for so long. Your fingers slip under his shirt, pressing against lean muscle and scratching down his abdomen when his cock brushes over a particularly sensitive spot. The red lines you know will mark his skin make the beast inside you howl, satisfied and territorial.

Mine. All mine.

Even though he isn’t.

Dean groans, guttural and wild, his thrusts growing desperate, feral—almost like he’s actually fucking you. It feels too good, almost too much. A bitter reminder that this probably isn’t the first time Dean’s done this, that he’s been in this exact position with other girls, maybe even some from school.

But any sour thoughts leave your mind when he moans your name, low, urgent, strained. You’ve read enough books to know he’s close, that you’re about to make Dean Winchester come. Just from some over-the-clothes friction.

Your hand tentatively travels down his body, cupping his cock over his jeans.

Fuck, he’s big.

You squeeze, hard but not enough to hurt. Or so you hope.

Apparently, that’s the right thing to do, because Dean’s eyes snap shut, his hips buck uncontrollably, and he comes in his jeans. His breath is ragged, his hands gripping you, and his hips press further into your hand.

He pants your name over and over again, like a prayer. There’s a sheen of sweat on his forehead, his jeans ruined, and he looks fucking beautiful.

He rests his head against your chest, right between the valley of your breasts, as he comes down from his orgasm, struggling to catch his breath.

You run a hand through his hair gently, admiring the portrait-worthy sight of Dean Winchester after he’s just come—skin glistening with the afterglow and warm breath all over your skin. You still haven’t climaxed, but it is okay, you’re satisfied with making Dean feel good. 

But then he lifts his head, lower lip trapped between his teeth, and his fingers find your drenched cunt over your panties. Your hips jerk, and a startled, breathy sound comes out of you. 

“Fuck, Dean—” you whine, your hands clutching his shoulders.

“Feels good, huh?” he teases, a smirk in his face. But there’s something else behind it, an edge that you had never seen before. It is primal, possessive, and it makes you feel like you’ll combust.

His fingers quickly find your sensitive little nub and rub over it. Your legs part wider, eager and pliant. Your cheeks burn with pleasure and shame and ecstasy, all at once.

Somewhere in the background, the final girl is fighting the masked killer. She runs for her life, bleeding, hurting, escaping. You ignore it all.

“Dean, please,” your voice comes out all shaky and filthy. Your thighs tremble as his thumb travels down your slit, pressing onto your entrance over the fabric before returning to your clit, your slick sticking to his skin, soaking him in your juices. 

You feel animalistic, wild, ravenous. You crave all of Dean—his flesh, his blood, his insides. You feel floaty, on fire, soft and raw at the same time. Your thighs tense, and your back arches. Your mouth is wide open, eyes half-lidded and glossy, lips bitten-red, and tongue half out.

“Come for me, sweetheart,” he whispers against your ear, low and deep, his thumb working at your overstimulated, sensitive cunt. His eyes are all over you, like he is admiring his work—the way you are completely at his mercy, coming apart under his touch.

Far away, blood splashes all over the screen. You are bathed in bright, crimson light as a scream escapes your throat. Your teeth find the skin of Dean’s neck and sink in, deep enough to leave marks that make the beast in your chest wail.

All you can see is red.

Your orgasm burns over you like wildfire, every nerve in your body igniting as his finger doesn’t stop its ministrations. Wetness gushes out of you, completely ruining your panties and leaving his fingers sopping. You pant, your body still twitching, eyes wide as you ride your climax. That’s the hardest you’ve ever come. You had no idea it could feel this good.

Dean pulls his drenched hand away from your drenched pussy, and then he brings his fingers to his mouth, tasting you. 

You freeze, hazy mind trying to wrap around the fact that Dean just licked your slick off his fucking fingers. He hums, satisfied and a little strained, like he is holding back. 

Something deep inside of you growls, and you feel sick with desire.

“What the—” Your hips twitch against nothing, your breath rapid and your eyes still glossy. And Dean looks so fucking smug about it.

“God, you taste so good, sweetheart,” he murmurs with a proud little grin. Another scream, sharp and biting.

The words make you blush, and you immediately pull Dean in for a kiss, trying to hide the way your cheeks burn.

You lick inside his mouth, tasting yourself on his tongue, and you moan. Fuck, you want Dean like this, coated in you, branded, yours. You want everyone who kisses him in the future to taste you, to know he belongs to you, even if he doesn’t.

Dean keeps you pressed against him, his hand reaching for your face, fingers gripping your chin and holding you in place so he can kiss you as much as he wants, however he wants. You let him, allowing his tongue to brush over every corner, every surface. You let him take whatever he wants from you, just hoping that he will take good care of it.

His mouth leaves yours for a second before biting down on your lower lip, almost hard enough to make it bleed. You hiss, your legs tightening around him, and your cunt somehow getting even wetter.

You bite back, teeth digging into his lower lip, leaving you with matching bruises.

Slowly, the kisses turn softer, sweeter. Both of you catch your breath, the rabid desperation quietly leaving your bodies, leaving only the tingling sensation of the afterglow as your limbs tangle together in the car seat.

Dean pulls away from your mouth, nuzzling into your hair, breathing you in. One of his hands is wrapped around your thigh, keeping you close, as if he can’t stand the thought of letting you go. He holds onto you like you’re something precious—something he doesn’t want to destroy but will inevitably crack under his touch.

And you will let him. You will let him break you, let him make you bleed until he feels better, until everything is better.

You’re glad he hasn’t pulled away, because you feel like you might die if he does.

Eventually, the credits roll, and you break apart. Dean pulls back slightly so he can look at you, his eyes holding the same intensity as before, but the sadness from earlier is creeping around them. Gloomy, almost mournful.

He kisses your cheek, then leaves a light peck on your lips.

“You okay, sweetheart?”

You nod, tiny and still a little hazy. He chuckles, presses another kiss to your lips, and sits up.

Every part of your body screams at the distance, but you swallow it all down before following him, straightening up on the car seat and running your fingers through your hair, trying to tame it. Thankfully, most people have left already, only a few suspiciously dark and shaky cars around you.

“Better get home quickly.” Dean turns on the engine, shifting in his seat and grimacing. “This will get really uncomfortable soon.”

Right, because he knows what to do in these situations. Because he’s done it before.

You try to get as comfortable as you can, though your underwear is clinging to your skin and your inner thighs are somehow still glistening and sticky. Dean turns on the radio, and Bon Jovi starts playing. You raise an eyebrow at him, but he just shrugs, and your laugh is swept away by the wind as he starts to drive home.

Dean’s hand finds your thigh, and it stays there for the whole journey. You stare out of the window into the starry sky, your mind swirling with the night’s events.

Your insides feel melted, turned into ashes by Dean’s burning touch. You feel like you’re glowing, the memory of his rough hands on you still fresh in your mind, your body remembering him like a tattoo you know you will never get rid of.

Dean has etched himself onto your skin tonight, carved his name into your heart, and you should be ecstatic. But his shoulders are tense, his eyes unreadable as he stares at the dirt road in front of him like it might hold some kind of ancient knowledge. His fingers don’t drum along with the music, his mouth set in a thin line instead of that relaxed little smirk that is ever-present on his face. And while his hand is on you, it feels less like comfort and more like tragedy.

You make your way to your house in silence, utterly and nerve-wracking. 

“Right, I almost forgot.” Dean kills the engine and grabs a small wooden box from the glovebox. “I got you something.”

Your jaw drops a little, your eyes widen, and you hold the box like it’s the most precious thing you’ve ever set your eyes on. You haven’t received a birthday gift since you were five, before your mother had found her true love in the bottles.

“You didn’t have to, Dean,” you whisper, but your fingers are already opening the box, delicately and reverently, as if it’s something holy.

“Of course I had to,” he huffs, his eyes studying your every expression.

You don’t argue. Instead, you carefully unwrap whatever’s hidden in the box. A gasp leaves your mouth, and Dean snorts when you look up at him with eyes full of wonder, starstruck and beautiful.

Inside the box, wrapped in velvety fabric, is a silver dagger. The blade is shiny and wavy, gorgeous and sharp. The handle is engraved—smooth, swooping little waves on the crossguard, words in a language you don’t recognize elegantly carved into the handle, and at the end, a metal goat skull.

You devotedly take the dagger into your hands, holding it with the love and gentleness you once only had for your oldest paperbacks, those with broken spines and yellowing pages. Your fingers run over one of the goat’s horns, admiring the cold perfection of pure silver.

“It matches with all those bones you dissect.”

You huff, rolling your eyes. “Articulate, not dissect.”

But the smile on your face is sweet and endeared, and your eyes swell up with tears you force yourself to hold back.

“This is too much, Dean.” But your hand is already wrapping around the handle, the weight of the blade in your palm feeling natural, like it was always supposed to be there. “Where did you even get this?”

A pure-silver dagger couldn’t be cheap anywhere.

Dean shrugs, trying to act nonchalant, but his chest puffs out at the sight of you being so moved by his gift. “Bobby had it hidden around in his basement, and I thought it’d fit you better.”

That makes you giggle, eyes darting up toward him. You fight the urge to jump into his lap, to wrap yourself around him and never let him go.

“Is it real silver?” you have to ask. Dean nods once and doesn’t offer more explanation.

“You’re a decent shot, but I’ve seen you with that knife of yours,” he chuckles, his hand wrapping over yours on the handle of the dagger and squeezing. “It’s just in case you need to defend yourself.”

He whispers it like it’s a secret, like he’s afraid someone—or something—will listen.

You look back down at the dagger, at Dean’s grip around your hand, at the way it seems almost desperate, scared.

You wonder why you can’t just defend yourself with your old knife, why Dean wants you to have this one. You wonder about him learning to shoot, bow-hunt, and knife-throw. You wonder about the markings on his bed frame and the way he always stares at the shadows for just a little too long. You wonder about what the hell his dad does for work, and what has Dean so terrified.

“Why does it have to be silver?” you murmur instead, because you’re really good at looking red flags right in the eye and then completely ignoring them.

Your thumb runs back and forth over the skull, and your heart flutters at the knowledge that Dean thought about you after seeing something so beautiful. Because that is the most important thing at the moment.

Dean shrugs, not quite meeting your eyes. “I don’t know, it might be… useful.”

It doesn’t explain much, but then Dean leans forward and presses a kiss to your lips. He tastes like popcorn butter and still a little like you, and it sends every rational thought flying out of your head.

He murmurs a goodbye against your lips, and you whisper it back. You hold the wooden box against your chest with veneration as you jump off the truck, closing the door and staring at Dean through the glassless window.

You offer him a sweet, enamoured smile, but his face is twisted. His smile doesn’t quite meet his eyes, and his hands are slightly shaky where he grips the steering wheel.

You're about to ask what’s wrong when he opens his mouth, not really looking at you.

“Just—please promise me that you’ll stay safe.”

It takes you out, because it’s a weird thing to say, even for you. You know better than anyone that there are a lot of things you need to stay safe from, that they come in all shapes, from shadows following you at night to your own family, but Dean says it like it’s imminent. Like danger is coming for you, soon and fast, like he knows it, like he’s seen it.

“I—” But he looks worried, pained, sad. And you can’t handle it. So you don’t ask any questions again. “I will stay safe, I promise.”

It seems like enough for Dean, since he nods and turns on the engine again. You stare at him a little longer. At the boy you’ve been watching forever, the boy who saw you when nobody did, the boy who was the first to touch you and who you think might just be the last.

I don’t need to worry about staying safe with you by my side, boy with the gun.

You stare at him as he gets ready to drive away, and something rises from your chest. Something bitter but addictive, something disgusting and cloying and infective but oh so fucking good. You know the name, but you don’t say it. Not now, maybe someday.

“See ya,” you mutter, and Dean clenches his jaw before nodding, finally looking at you like a cult leader looks at a lamb before slashing its throat open.

“See ya, sweetheart.”

But it seems like you did need to worry, because that’s the last you see of Dean.

He doesn’t show up at school the next day, nor the next one, nor the whole week. A month goes by, and there’s no sign of the Winchester brothers. Bobby offers no explanation more than a “I’m sorry, kid.” and a head pat.

You have no number to call, no address to mail a letter to, no reason why.

All you’re left with is a silver dagger, a newfound taste for whiskey, bruises between your thighs, and a broken heart.

The Dean Winchester special.

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NOTES: Part three! I'm so sorry for the wait, but it's finals week. I will try to be as consistent as I can with the update but it might take a little while. still, I am so in love with this story and love every second of writing it. thank you so much for all the love, I don't deserve you guys. please let me know what you think, it makes my sick little brain so happy! I love you all, hope you liked it!!!

TAGS: @littlesoulshine @mostlymarvelgirl @pink-ghost666 @h8aaz @otteropera @xoswiftieprincess @tinas111 @blossomingorchids @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery @losers-clvb @pieandflannel @anxiety-prime-max @southernimpala @ohmykwonsoonyoung @mimiimmii @thanosisadilf @iamaslytherin0 @youroldfashioned <3

If you wanna be tagged in future works, let me know!!

[worstghost]

teaching bob how to kiss and accidentally slipping into a 20 minute makeout session

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

it was a weird situation that you were in, an impossible one really.

bob had confessed to you that he hadn't really kissed anyone, at least not sober. and he had this insane crush on some mystery girl and couldn't stand the thought of embarrassing himself with his lack of experience, so he never went for it.

and you, being a good friend, who happened to dream about kissing him, offered your services. you weren't a professional by any means, but he didnt need to know that.

once you pushed past his nerves and settled down on his bed, fingers twisting the tassles of his threaded blanket, you looked at him and waited for him to give you the go ahead.

let him take his time, spending it admiring his freshly washed hair and the bright flush across his cheeks. the way his eyes looked anywhere but you and then- he leaned in, squeezing his eyes shut and gripping the blanket tight.

you couldn't help your smile, sliding your fingers closer and intertwining them with his as you met him in the middle.

you were careful, slow, just pressing a gentle kiss against the corner of his mouth.

he let out a shaky slow breath of relief, tilting to the side and making sure the next time you came in it was a real kiss.

his boldness surprised you, but it wasn't unwelcome. you took it as a sign to keep moving, scooting ever so slightly closer and bumping his thigh with your knee.

bob jumped just slightly, pulling away until your noses touched. kissing was more fun than he remembered, not that he remembered much.

you smiled up at him, waiting for him to continue.

"Wow..." he spoke so soft, breath fanning across your cheeks, mint like his toothpaste.

that made you giggle a little, biting your lip to stop it from coming out completely.

"Oh Bob. I haven't shown you anything yet."

he swallowed hard, watching you like he couldn't imagine there was anything better than what just happened.

"Here... do this." reaching for his hand, you brought it up to the side of your face, mimicking the motion yourself and brushing your thumb across his cheek.

he smiled so sweetly at you, your heart leapt. what a beautiful man.

"What?" his blush rose ever higher, hand shaking against your jaw.

did you say that out loud?

you decided to run with it, "You are, Bob. So beautiful. I thought you knew."

it felt like his room was getting infinitely warmer, your clothes too tight. keep going.

before he could respond you brought him down to your lips, it was easy, wherever your hand brought him, he followed.

this kiss was easier, more comfortable, he sighed against you and you could feel the flex of his fingers against your throat.

you held him tight, wanting to see if he'd let you show him more. your lips parted, swiping your tongue against his and he groaned.

bob immediately reciprocated, opening up for you and bringing you closer, letting your tongues meet in the middle. his free hand started wandering, sliding across your knee and settling on your thigh.

the heat radiating off of him was enough to have you panting when you pulled away.

his eyes were so dark, pupils blown, mouth dropped open in shock.

"Can you... show me more?" he was so uncertain, completely unaware of the fact that you were so fucking in love with him, the fact that you could spend the rest of your life like this and never be unsatisfied.

you didnt even respond, threading both of your hands in to his hair and sitting up taller to meet him in the middle this time.

he understood immediately and wrapped his arms around you, practically pulling you in to his lap as you connected again.

this one was messy, constant adjusting and tongues sliding against teeth and you truly wouldn't have it any other way.

bob started leaning back, it just felt natural to pull you with him, until you were straddling his thigh and moaning against his mouth.

god, his heart couldn't take this. he didn't know you'd offer to help like this. he was being hopeful when he talked about his mystery girl, hoping he could sense if you somehow reciprocated.

this was probably the best case scenario right?

even if you rejected him, he at least got this experience.

you pulled away, leaving soft kisses against his swollen lips, shushing him when he started to complain. you were confident he'd love this part, mouthing across his jaw and down his throat, scraping your teeth against his rapid pulse.

you didn't even react when his hands slid down to your ass, grabbing hard like you were the only thing keeping him grounded.

the moan he let out was so soft, surprised and breathless and you wanted to hear it again and again and again so you sucked until he had hickeys down to his collar bone.

"Fuck- you're amazing..." he couldn't help the whine to his voice, embarrassed at how easily you've unraveled him.

finally, you sat up to meet his eyes again, panting and trying to get your mind back on track. this definitely went off the rails but god you couldn't have asked for a better way to spend your night. at the very least if you never speak again, you got a chance to make him feel good.

"Mm. Think I've taught you enough to ask her out?" no, you were hoping he'd ask you to stay and keep going.

bob looked shocked, biting his lip as he looked away. "There was no her... it was just you."

your smile was so big it made your cheeks hurt, "God, I was hoping you'd say that."

you didn't give him a chance to respond, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and pulling him right back in.

[kitkatscabinet]

VIRAL VIBES

requested by anon:

summary: you're constantly in the spotlight, is it really a surprise you're a viral sensation?

pairings: platonic batfamily x batsis! reader. mentions of roy, wally, conner, kyle x batsis

a/n: crackish

[You and Duke are seated at a table, a bottle of water in front of you, Bruce stands behind, holding a piece of paper]

"Slay?… Slay what?" He stares deadpan, already concerned for the mental state of his giggling kids.

"That’s it. That’s the word." Duke explains.

"Slay is not a complete thought."

"No," you agree, nodding sagely, "it’s a lifestyle."

You're mid-sip when Bruce decides to drop the following words, "Mama... a girl is behind you." Duke spits his water all over your face, rendering you temporarily blind while you accidentally inhale water up your nose.

"Is this some kind of warning? Is it a threat?" It hurts to breathe, it hurts to exist. You make an odd gargling noise that sends Duke into another spiral.

Bruce never gets an answer to his question, painstakingly watching his hysterically giggling children.

"Skib-" you see Bruce mouth the word incredulously as if questioning what his eyes are seeing, "skibidi... toilet rizz? I feel like I'm being punked, I only recognise one of those words." Neither you nor Duke can answer him, too busy choking on laughter and water.

Tears stream down your cheeks, your palm thumping against the table, and Bruce becomes legitimately concerned you're about to choke to death.

"Be fr."

"What does the fr stand for. Is it supposed to be ‘be… free?’"

"No." You gasp, trying to maintain your composure. "No, it means ‘Be for real.’ Like when someone says something unhinged and you’re begging them to actually tell the truth."

"You know. Like when Jason said he’d start a podcast." Duke snickers as you hold up a hand for a high five.

"Be fr." Bruce nods, his monotone delivery sending you over the edge as you laugh so hard you slip off the chair, accidentally knocking the phone over.

[Steph's voice comes from behind the camera focused on you and Dick slumped on the couch, it's clear she's holding back a giggle]

"He’s a 10, but he once fell off the treadmill in public because he was distracted by his own reflection."

The words register in Dick's head, his mouth falling open in offence. He throws his phone down on the couch, suddenly paying attention to Steph's shenanigans.

"Oh yeah, solid 4, sounds like an idiot." You chime in, not looking up from your phone.

"The mirror snuck up on me!" He huffs, pouting at Steph as he prepares his comeback.

"She’s a 10, but she once pretended not to know me at a farmer’s market because I said ‘slay’ unironically."

"You said it to a zucchini, Dick!"

"Weak." You snort. "Minus 3 points for flirting with the shittest vegetable."

Steph spins the camera enough to show her thumbs up.

"Fine. She’s a 10, but she has a ‘funeral playlist’ and refers to it as her final slay."

"I don't think you understand this trend Dickhead. Besides, it’s an awesome fucking playlist. ACDC into Billie Eilish? The drama, the emotional whiplash. That’s the arc."

"10/10. No notes." Steph chirps.

Dick scowls. "She’s a 10, but trauma dumps during the brunch and ruins the vibe."

"Who hasn't?" Steph scoffed, determined to back you up.

"Excuse you, the trauma dump is the vibe. That mimosa knew what it signed up for." You barely skip a beat before firing back at your brother.

"He's a 10, but he's fumbled every baddie he somehow managed to bag in the first place." Steph shrieks with laughter as Dick looks close to tears.

"I mean, how you gonna fumble four separate redheads, couldn't be me." You deadpan.

The camera shakes with the force of Steph's laughter, the video cutting off right after you hear Dick's whine in the background. "Why are you being so mean to me? Wait 4?"

[You're behind the camera, which is focused on a tired-looking Tim walking on the pavement.]

"Hey, have you ever met my friend George?"

"George?" Tim mumbles, turning to look at you, "Wait, why are you filming-" His suspicion is warranted, but comes far too late for him to react as your hand enters the frame, shoving him into the hedge.

"George Bush!"

[She's such a good big sister🥹 ]

Video 1: Damian's dressed in a suit, standing beside a piece of artwork and looking small against all the other patrons. You suddenly sneak up behind him, catching him in a hug as you proudly brag to the nearby art show guests about your little brother's art.

Video 2: You and Duke are seated in a Batburger in your pyjamas at 2am. You look exhausted, blinking repeatedly and threatening to fall asleep in your fries, but you still let Duke ramble at you as you pay for his food and give him your milkshake.

Video 3: You're holding Tim's hand as you cross the road, tugging him along gently and him trusting you enough to barely watch where he's walking.

Video 4: You giving Cass a bouquet of flowers after her dance performance. You're eyes are a little red and puffy as you animatedly tell her how beautiful she is.

Video 5: Jason looking uncomfortable at a gala event as an older woman talks at him, only for you to suddenly sweep in dramatically, tugging him away without so much as a by your leave.

[A video posted on Bart's TikTok of you and Wally captioned: bro stand up!!]

The video:

You're scowling at an enamoured-looking Wally, gesticulating wildly as you clearly scold him about something. From the look on his face, it's clear Wally's not absorbing a single thing, staring at you like he's mentally planning your wedding.

The comments:

@dickgraysonsgrayson: Wally West falling for her is SO funny because he talks a mile a minute and she just stares at him like he’s background noise. AND HE LOVES IT.

@tiddiesinsincity: She calls him ‘annoying’ with the most affectionate tone ever. They're in love ur honour!!!

@westnwayne4eva: That man is down so horrendously bad I'm nearly embarrassed for him.

@lexluthorscheapasswig: They give off golden retriever x black cat ENERGY in all caps.

@nightwingschikenwing: He’d absolutely be the type to send ‘thinking about u’ memes every hour, and she responds once a day with ‘ok.’ AND HE SAVES IT.

@:iranoutofusernameideas: She says ‘Wally, no’ at least five times a day. He hears it like it’s ‘I love you.’

[You're doing an interview at a gala, Roy appears from behind, resting a hand on your waist as you jump]

The video:

"Hey trouble." Roy grins wickedly, ignoring the sudden flashes of cameras.

"Roy! I almost punched you." You whine, but still relax in his hold, smiling back. "What are you even doing here? You hate these things."

"What can I say? Maybe I wanted to see you."

The comments:

@whydidothistomyself: “That one clip where Roy pulls her away from the paparazzi with that stupid smug grin?? Yeah, I rewatch it daily and this is going in the folder right next to it.

@ireallyneedanewhobby: rolling her eyes while Roy winks at her like the menace he is…that’s love.

@booktokmorelikewaynetok: He calls her trouble?? JUST KISS ALREADY.

@royharpersgianttiddies: Their dynamic is: she threatens to throw him off a rooftop and he calls it flirting.

@olimcqueen: Them side-eyeing each other at events? Her smirking after he leaves a snarky comment? chef's kiss

@just-iceleagueee: The way Roy softens around her though. Like he’s all charm and sass but when she’s upset? He listens. I’m ruined.

[another video posted on Bart's account captioned: getting sick of this shit fr]

The video:

You're running away from a soaking wet Tim, ducking behind Conner, who grins, letting you use him as a human shield. Freezing when you wrap your arms around him from behind and poke your head out to mock Tim. Only to squeal in laughter when Conner hauls you into his arms, taking off in a run away from a still yelling Tim.

The comments:

@lexluthersucks: no because he LOOKS at her like she’s the only person who matters

@actualwayneteagirl: petition for her to date literally any of her brother’s friends

@batgirlburnbook: he goes feral if she’s mildly inconvenienced. like sir?? get a grip (never change).

@superboyslutclub: she could be wearing literally anything and conner looks like he’s ready to propose on the spot.

@no.1ship: ok but him manhandling her like she weighs nothing?? how do i get me one of those??

@idontevenlikeDCfr: her being completely unfazed by him while he’s just… standing there, breathing heavy. i get it.

[The comments from a video of you laughing at something said off-screen, presumably from the man who's arm was in frame]

@batkinnie: she smiled and i KNOW it was at wally. #WayneWest supremacy!!

@connrified: nah bc conner was RIGHT THERE. you can see his reflection. they are ENDGAME.

@royharperzgun: that laugh was for ROY and ROY ONLY.

@kryptonianluvr02: imagine thinking she’d choose roy when conner breathes like that near her.

@bruciewayne420: if you think anyone makes her laugh like wally does, you’re delulu. LMAO.

@lovewinsssss: she likes redheads with issues so YES roy is winning.

@aquamanswife: y’all are colorblind bc that’s clearly wally in her peripheral vision.

[A slightly shaky video of you sitting across from an unknown man in a cozy little cafe]

The comments:

@connerscurlz: WHO. IS. THAT. MAN. AND WHY IS HE BREATHING HER AIR.

@arsenalxwife: blink twice if you’re being held against your will queen

@jsontoddslefttit: not to be dramatic but this just ruined my entire week.

@glowylanternz: he looks like he reads poetry and draws her while she sleeps. i’m scared.

@wayneupdates: sources say his name is Kyle something?? art guy? lover boy coded?? HELP.

@arsenalsarmtattoo: we lost her to a man with ring jewelry. how do we recover from this.

@batdaddddy: conner nation is in mourning.

@wallywestsupremacy: she giggled. SHE GIGGLED. we’ve lost her for real this time.

@batgirlfandom: let her have her sexy sad artist boyfriend in peace.

@timstarlightsss: this is worse than the time Dick started dating that yoga instructor

[inwithrin]

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ you think he's watching?

imagine sevika meeting you—her new, sweet next door neighbor... and she sees you wearing a little rosary—now, she can't get you out her mind.

cw: this is more teasing than anything! sevika touching you, dom!sevika, restrained hands, religious guilt but reader deffff wants sevika, humilliation, mocking, and praise. i used to be religious, so this is based on my experience with dealing with liking girls and being christian hehehe

you’re all sunshine, lugging boxes in a white and blue gingham check dress that flows in the breeze, your glossy lips tucked between your teeth as you balance a plant pot too big for your arms. the moving company does most of the heavy lifting, but you’re still fluttering around, directing where things go, and laughing with workers.

sevika watches from her window, a cigarette long forgotten between her fingers.

your house’s right across from hers—she notices the all white and light wooden furniture, the fluffy pillows, the glittering wind chimes you hung on the porch, and how you placed tiny plants on the front door.

she hasn’t seen your face clearly, nevertheless, she already knows you’re sweet. she can tell by how you set every box down like everything you own deserves to be handled with love.

────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────

on the second day, there’s a knock on her door. two quick taps. she opens it, a towel slung around her neck from the gym, and there you are—holding out a little plastic bag full of cookies tied with a blue ribbon.

“hi!” you smile. “i’m new here. i baked some cookies for the neighbors—i wanted to make a good impression.”

you hand her the bag, and sevika blinks for a second. 

your voice is soft, sweet—like a bell.

your nails are glossy pink. your lips too.

your eyes are glimmery and your long lashes curled.

then, she saw the little cross around your neck catching the light.

“you certainly made a good impression here, pretty,” she says, lips curling into a smirk. “my name’s sevika.”

you smile. “okay, sevika,” you say, nodding. “i live right there—across from you!”

you keep talking—something about how you’re still settling in, how you hope the noise isn’t bothering anyone, how you would love to invite her over for dinner once your place looks decent. but sevika isn’t listening.

she is shamelessly watching your mouth move. the way you look up at her with those sweet, glassy eyes. the way your rosary dips with every breath you take. the way your fingers twist the hem of your blouse absentmindedly. 

she thinks you look like trouble.

and she really likes trouble.

────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────

it starts with the cookies.

but it doesn’t end there.

a few days later, there’s a knock at your door.

you answer it in your pajamas—an oversized band tee from a group sevika doesn’t recognize, shorts, and fuzzy socks. your hair was loosely pulled back, and cheeks warm from cleaning.

it’s sevika, leaning against the doorframe like she owns it, wearing a dark hoodie and sweatpants, a plastic container in hand.

“i figured it was my turn,” she says, holding it out. “i don’t bake—but i brough leftover pasta.”

“thank you,” your eyes light up. “that’s so sweet of you! wanna come in?”

she steps inside, eyes scanning the space—your house smells floral, and it’s warm and cozy. her eyes flick to your coffee table, catching onto your bible—worn, well-read, sticky-noted, the spine is creased, a white ribbon peeking out like a bookmark.

then, her eyes drift to you. before her eyes go to the necklace resting against your chest again.

you notice, trailing her gaze. “oh,” you mutter, brushing your thumb over the spine of the bible. “yeah—i’m religious. uh, i just try to be good, you know?” you glance up at her, with a nervous smile. “sorry. you probably don’t care.”

and you’re right, she doesn’t. not about verses or the scripture. she doesn’t know the names you whisper to when you kneel and pray at night. but she does care about the way you look when you talk about it—your voice all shy, your lashes casting shadows, your fingers delicate over the bible.

“nah,” she says. “i care.”

you tilt your head, smiling slow. “really?”

she shrugs, stepping closer. “i don’t know if i believe in heaven,” she murmurs, looking down at you with unreadable eyes. “but you might make me.”

your face burns as you look down at your rosary—you shouldn't even think about her like this.

sevika just watches you, quietly, the way someone watches stained glass glow in sunlight—curious.

────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────

it’s a few days later. you weren’t expecting to see her so soon. especially with those thoughts you’ve tried to push away. but, there’s a knock at your door around sunset, and there she is—sevika, looking at you like you’re a cookie she wants to take a bite off.

“hey,” she says, simply. 

you let her in. “hello.”

she walks slowly, as you offer her tea, but she shakes her head. you try to act normal—sitting on the couch while she is still standing up, pretending not to stare at her broad shoulders, her hands, and how her eyes flick back to your rosary.

she’s obsessed, and you can tell.

“you wear it all the time?” she asks.

“yeah,” you nod, fingers brushing the chain. “since i was little—i feel weird without it.”

sevika hums, moving closer, until she’s standing right in front of you. “can i touch it?”

you nod again, and she sits beside you—too close—and reaches, thick fingers grazing the edge off the cross, her knuckles brush your collarbone. 

you suck in a breath, and she notices.

“pretty thing like you,” she murmurs, watching the cross sway on its chain. “wearing something so holy.”

your thighs press together. her fingers never leaving the rosary, instead—she drags her thumb along it, like she’s praying.

“do you think about god all the time?” she asks, voice low.

you blink up at sevika, lips parted. “i… i try to.”

sevika tilts her head, hand sliding beneath the chain, her knuckles brushing the base of your throat. “what about now?”

your eyes flutter as your fingers dig into the hem of your long, white skirt. you try so hard to keep your mind holy, but it’s hard when she’s looking at you like that, with her fingers lingering at your throat. 

“still trying, angel?” she asks, smiling. “or are you thinking about me now?”

────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────

her hands are big.

you knew that already, but it’s different when they’re actually on you—when your wrists are pinned together in your back and she’s wrapping one of your hair ribbons around them like she’s done it a hundred times before. 

you hadn’t meant for it to go this far. but now you’re kneeling on your bedroom’s soft rug, hands bound, your rosary still around your neck, resting against the slope of your chest.

and sevika is behind you on her knees too—hands trailing your waist, mouth warm at your ear. “say stop if you need to,” she mutters. “i’ll listen, okay sweetheart?”

you nod, you do want this. but your heart stutters with guilt. “i really—i really shouldn’t be doing this with a woman…”

“why not?” her lips brush the shell of your ear.

“i’m supposed to be good,” you whisper, swallowing.

her hand drifts up—palming the side of your neck, thumb pressing under your jaw. “you’re good,” she says. “c’mon, look at you—you’re the sweetest thing i’ve ever seen,” she nudged your head to the side, kissing your throat. “you read your bible. you bake for your neighbors. you open your door for me. you are good, so—you need someone to help you feel good too.”

her hand slips, bunching your skirt in her hand, pulling it up. you squeeze your eyes shut—trying to hold onto something—the scripture, the guilt, your pastor’s voice. but then, sevika’s palm is sliding between your thighs, and all you can do is whine.

she presses a kiss to the back of your shoulder. “let me do it for you,” she mutters. “you don’t have to do anything, baby. just kneel there, pretty, and take it.”

you’re trembling—wrists still tied, the satin pressing against your skin, and your rosary cold against your chest. however, sevika is warm behind you, her hand is tracing closer to your clothed pussy—fingers slow, and her lips never leave you for long, kissing up your shoulder, nape, neck, and your cheek.

“still trying to be good, angel?” she murmurs, carefully biting your shoulder, licking the skin after—causing you to gasp.

“trying,” you whine, breathless and desperate. “i’m trying, sev.”

she hums low against your skin, her free hand wrapping around your bound wrists and tugging them back gently, arching your spine, tilting your head to expose more of your neck to her mouth.

“you’re so good,” she coos, finally cupping your pussy. “look at you—kneeling for me, saying you shouldn’t… but letting me touch you anyway.”

her fingers press deeper, slow circles against your panties, which are embarrassingly wet, and your thighs shake.

“you think god’s watching?” sevika asks. “you think he sees how wet you’re for me?”

you whimper, and she chuckles—more amused than cruel, but still pleased with herself.

her teeth scrape against your earlobe. “tell me to stop,” she says. “tell me to stop, and i’ll leave you alone—and you can go back to being holy.”

you hesitate because you should. but instead, you whisper. “please, sevi—don’t stop.”

“atta girl,” she smiles.

[angel-writes-skz-here]

Mother's Day

Dad! Bang Chan x AFAB! Reader Synopsis: Chan makes sure Mother's Day is great! Warnings: SMUT, unprotected p in v, creampie, fingering, oral (both receiving), pet names, bit of a breeding kink, tooth rotting fluff. A/N: Mother's Day is not my favorite holiday, however I did enjoy writing this. Thinking of all those who struggle on days like today. You aren't alone! Comment if you'd like to be apart of my taglist. Sweet nonnie, i hope this is what you wanted! Requests are OPEN- just bare with me.

Chan woke up early in the morning, making sure Hwan didn’t wake you, he got him to help him in the kitchen for a sweet breakfast in bed, pancakes, orange juice, and bacon. Chan smiles as your son places the fruit on the pancakes making a smiley face of chocolate chips and strawberries Hwan cut himself with his little kid friendly strawberry cutter.

“Do you think she wants whip cream?” Chan asks and your sons eyes light up.

“Yeah!” He shouts and your son smiles reaching for the can. Chan helps him make a nose for your pancakes. Then tips up the can filling his mouth with some. Hwan opens his automatically and Chan smirks with a playful eyeroll as he puts some of the whip cream into his son’s mouth.

“Mmmm, yummy!” He says with a mouthful making Chan laugh.

“Let’s go see if she’s up!” Hwan hops down running down to your room.

Chan grabs the tray, and the homemade card Hwan had made the night before, and follows after him.

You’re sound asleep when you feel a tiny weight bounce onto the bed.

“Eomma!” He shouts, “Happy Mother’s Day!” he squeals and jumps on top of you. You groan lightly as you get acclimated to the room. You smile at your sweet boy just before seeing Chan walk in, a sheepish smile on his face and a tray full of food.

“What’s this?” you ask eyeing your son.

“Breakfast!” Hwan cheers.

“Look, I even cut the strawberries all by myself!” Hwan’s smile is proud and you hug him to your side.

“You did excellent! I’m so proud of you!”

Chan sets the food down in front of you, and you look up at him longingly.

“To the best Eomma in the world. I love you- Hwan” You note the drawing of your little family on the front of the card and you can’t control the wide smile on your face.

“Thank you,” you pull your son to your side and kiss the top of his head. He smiles, a light blush painting his cheeks. Chan smiles as the two of you.

“Happy Mother’s Day, baby,” he kisses your lips quickly before he’s tries to shoo himself and Hwan out.

“I wanna stay,” he pouts.

“That’s fine, baby. You and Daddy can both stay.” Chan bites a back smile. Calling him daddy was definitely something you knew you could do to tease him. He comes over sitting beside you, your son nestled between the two you.

“Can we watch Bluey?” Your son asks and you hand him the remote.

“Buddy, we watch Bluey all the time, what about one of Eomma’s shows?” You smirk waving your hand.

“I don’t mind Bluey.” You say. The smile on your son’s face is brighter than the sun.

-

The rest of the day Chan makes sure you’re pampered. Promptly after breakfast he takes the dishes and washes them, before coming back to inform you he booked you a nail appointment at your favorite salon- manicure and pedicure.

“You know how to spoil a girl,” you tease as you kiss him goodbye.

“I wanna go too,” Hwan starts to pout and you kiss his forehead.

“Baby I’ll be back soon, besides, there’s nothing for you to do there but sit and be bored.” You smile down at him despite the sadden look on his face.

“What if I let you help me with a special surprise for Eomma?” Chan asks and this gets his attention quickly.

“OK!” he runs back to his dad, letting you leave peacefully.

“Christopher Bahng what do you have planned?” You smirk before he just smiles at you.

“You’ll see.”

-

Coming home from the nail place, and the delicious lunch Chan practically paid for, you come to a clean house.

You gasp, the sight completely unexpected. Laundry done and folded, dishes clean and put away, the floor clean, clutter and trash free.

Spotless.

“Chan, this place looks amazing,” you put your hand to your chest as he walks out of the bedroom.

“Thank you,” he smiles at you.

“I have another surprise for you.” He smiles.

“Where’s Hwan?”

“Napping,” he chuckles, “Running the vacuum tuckered him out.” He informs you. You can feel the nervous excited anticipation fill your veins.

“Come on, he pulls you to the bedroom, opening the door for you to see a familiar dress. You gasp, it’s the one you mentioned two months ago in passing while out shopping together.

“Chris, you- you remembered?” You turn to him, a knowing smile on his face.

“Of course I did. I couldn’t stop thinking about how beautiful it would look on you.” He says before kissing your shoulder.

“And you’re wearing it tonight.” He smiles.

“Tonight?” He nods, wordless.

-

You and Chan are in the bedroom getting dressed, your little boy Hwan sitting on the bed watching Bluey. You cast a glance to Chan in the mirror of your vanity only to find him already staring-smirking- at you. You blush under his gaze, heartrate slowly accelerating. The dress fit like a glove, and Chan couldn’t take his eyes off you. You’re even more beautiful in it than he could have imagined.

“What time are you going to be home?” He asks.

“Late, so make sure you listen to grandma and grandpa, ok?”

“Meaning he’ll be up when we get home and hyped up on sugar,” Chan smirks and you give him a half smile.

“It’ll be fine.” You whisper to him.

There’s a knock at your door, and Chan answers it as you finish your make up.

“Halmeoni!” He squeals when he hear’s Chan’s mother in the kitchen. His little legs carry him out of the room as fast as they can. You chuckle as you finish the blush on your cheeks before closing the compact and standing up. You look over your outfit one last time before sighing and nodding once to yourself.

“You ready to,” Chan stops as he see’s the reflection of you in the mirror.

“On second thought,” he charms as he puts his arms around your waist and rests his chin on your shoulder, “Let’s cancel dinner,” he says lowly with a kiss to the side of your neck, “And go straight to desert. All tastey,” he hums, “and sweet,” another kiss just below your ear, “and wet.” His lips brush your ear and you shiver a slight blush appearing under your make up clad face.

“No, we are not skipping dinner,” you chuckle as you rest in his arms. His arms are what eternity must feel like, strong, safe, and exactly where you’re meant to be.

-

The two of you say goodbye to Hwan and arrive at the restaurant, the place feeling warm and intimate.

Chan had requested a private booth for the two of you in the corner of the building.

“This is so beautiful,” you smile as you notice the bouquet of red roses on the table. You smile at him and kiss his cheek before smelling the beautiful flowers.

“Baby, thank you,” you smile as your heart swells in your chest.

“Only the best for my girl,” he smiles as he watches you dote over the flowers, the petals smooth as silk against your fingertips.

Both of you order, Chan sparing no expense. Your favorite meal, fancy champagne, even a live violinist playing soft music for you in the corner.

“Happy Mother’s Day,” He smiles as he takes your hand. You couldn’t be happier. The dinner is perfect, something out of a fairytale.

-

“So, change of plans,” Chan says as he opens the car door for you.

“Hmm?” You answer, a quirked brow prominently displayed on your face.

“Hwan’s staying the night at my parent’s place.” You smirk at him and nod your head.

“So, you know what that means?” You smile at him and he turns his face slightly with his brow raised.

“We get to be in bed by 10!” You sigh in relief as Chan smiles, a small laugh escaping him.

-

Pulling up to the house, your breath hitches, the sidewalk is lined with candles and flowers, all the way up the steps to the front door.

You look over to your man who’s doing everything he can to act casual.

“Christopher,” you say barely above a whisper but he doesn’t pay you any attention- not yet.

He opens your car door taking your hand, kissing the back of it making eye contact as he does, and leads you inside. He puts your roses on the counter while you take in the sight before you; candles light the living room just enough to see, the faint golden glow romantic and sweet, and he leads you to the bedroom. Entering the room, candles are littered throughout it, rose petals on the floor, the bed made, but ready to be destroyed. You gasp as the intimate atmosphere causes goosebumps to be pulled onto your skin.

“Better than an early bedtime, right?” Chan whispers in your ear and you instinctively lean into his touch, his arms coming around your waist, lips attaching to your neck in soft, sensual kisses.

“Come on, there’s more,” he smirks as he places one final kiss below your ear. He unzips your dress slowly and you let it fall to the floor. He grabs you a blanket and has you lay on the bed on your stomach.

He grabs the oils, ridding himself of his shirt, and changing his pants so he doesn’t ruin his nice ones. You feel the mattress dip beneath you.

“Happy Mother’s Day to me,” you mumble, staring at his defined chest and abs. He chuckles squirting some of the oil into his hands.

“Lay back and relax, baby girl. I’ve got you.” He smiles as you lay your head down on your arms. His hands start to massage your back, slowly applying pressure first to your neck, then down your shoulders. Soft moans and gasps escaping you. His thumbs applying the right pressure to your shoulders.

“Mmm, feels good,” you encourage as he moves down your thighs. The amount of non-sexual pleasure causes heat to pool between your legs; a slight tinge of embarrassment hits you as you realize you’re getting off to this. You hide your face to hide the blush as you feel Chan start to massage your feet, your moans unable to be stopped.

Chan bites his lip, the noises are turning him on more than he expected, but tonight was about you, what you wanted to happen and if sex wasn’t apart of the deal, he would be ok with that. But if it was, he’d be elated all the same.

He notices your body arch into his touch as he comes back up, massaging in the back of your thighs again and he smirks, testing the waters, he dips his hand dangerously close to bare core. The tiniest whimper escapes you as his fingers brush your folds and your ass lifts slightly up into the air, causing the blanket to slide down onto your back some, exposing you to him. Chan takes a deep breath, his pants becoming tighter by the minute.

His hands move away from your core, massaging your back once more, his hands dipping down to your sides, briefly ghosting over the side of your breast.

“Chan,” you whine quietly.

“Yes, my love?” His voice drips with a cockiness you’re all too familiar with. All you do is whimper in response.

“Use your words, dear, I don’t know what a whimper means,” he mocks.

He knows.

All too well.

Your hips lift off the bed again. He looks down at you.

“Touch,” you breathe out, your mind already trying to go.

“All ready losing it and I haven’t even touched you properly.” He chuckles to himself. All you can do is slide your ass up into the air more, creating a beautiful arch, one that Chan quietly releases a groan at. He wipes his hands of the oil, coming up behind you, your folds already wet.

“Please,” you whine as you feel his hands go to either of your thighs. His fingers spread you open, his tongue teases you at first, tasting your arousal and he moans at the salty sweet taste.

“So good,” he whispers to himself before diving in, tongue circling your sensitive bundle of nerves. Your eyes flutter closed as your mouth drops open, a moan leaving your throat.

“Fuck,” you whisper as your rest your forehead against the mattress. His tongue circles and flicks, pleasure building in your body with every little bit of stimulation. He sticks his tongue into your entrance, and you push back onto his face as you pant.

“Chris, I’m- oh fuck,” you gasp as he goes back to your growing clit, replacing his tongue with his finger. Your walls clench around his finger, squelching already audible from how wet you are. Normally you would hate hearing it, but tonight, you’re so relaxed and pleased you don’t have it in you to care.

“Fuck, keep doing that,” you squeeze your eyes tighter as he curls his finger down, directly stimulating your sweet spot as his tongue continues mercilessly circling your clit.

He can feel how close you are, how your cunt keeps sucking his fingers in and how you’re trying desperately to rock your hips against him. His tongue moves hard and fast, adding a second finger to your tight pussy as he hits it harder, sending shockwaves through your body as your orgasm builds more and more.

“Fuck, Chris I’m gonna cum,” you whimper as your muscles are locking up, heart rate speeds up and your breathing becomes desperate pants.

“Come on, cum for me baby. Let me taste you,” he tells you. That’s all it takes, your walls clamp down around his fingers, your face twists in pleasure as your body shakes and toes curl; your orgasm wrecking you.

Chris moans against you as he cleans you up, tasting your juices on his tongue.

“So fucking good for me,” he praises as he places kisses on your lower back, kneading your ass just a little. He allows you a second to come back to earth before helping you roll over.

“More,” you grab at him, pulling him down so your lips finally meet in a hot, messy- slightly salty- kiss. Teeth knocking ever so slightly, tongues gliding against one another, both of you tasting the other and exploring your mouths. For a brief moment you go back to when you were younger, a memory of a similar make out session happening on his couch, one that was interrupted by his parents coming home. You smile against his mouth at the flashback. Two young innocent kids, little did you know the future that laid before you.

“That good huh?” he pants against your lips. You moan in response, hands going from his neck to his broad shoulders, down his chest.

“Lay back,” you whisper to him and he obliges. You watch him lay down, his eyes are on your chest, your breasts bouncing ever so slightly as you position yourself, chest to chest. You kiss him once, before moving down to his jawline, a hand running up and down his taut stomach, soft moans escaping you as the passion in you continues to burn bright.

“Fuck I want you so bad,” you whisper into his ear.

“Wanna taste you, feel you, own you.”

This earns a straight up whimper from him as his hips lift into the air at your words.

“I’m yours, baby.” He breathes out, eyes closed and head slightly turned giving you better access to neck. His hand finds its way into your hair, cradling it your head.

You kiss down his chest, your freshly manicured hands touching his sensitive nipples, making him shudder before you gently lap at each one, his head tipping in back in pleasure. You glance down at his crotch, noticing a damp spot where the head of his cock should be. You softly groan at the sight, but decide to take your time, worshiping his body. You leave open mouthed kisses down his stomach, taking your time, tracing a few of his muscles with your tongue on your way down.

The feeling of your wet tongue on his skin makes him gasp, goosebumps popping up on his skin. He grinds his hips against the air, desperate for friction.

“M on fire,” he whimpers out as you place kisses along his happy trail, just above his waist band. Your index finger playfully runs up the bulge in his pants, and he hisses at the contact, a slight twitch being seen underneath the clothing. You grin as you place one last kiss to his pelvis before sliding his pants off, his cock springing free.

“Oh god,” you whisper as you see how hard he is. You squeeze your thighs together, the feeling of his cock like a ghost in your hole. You tease his slit, earning a groan from him, smearing the precum over his shaft as his head tips back, a growl coming from his throat.

“Fuck, please, I want your mouth,” he pants. You take a moment to really drink in the image, his body is putty in your hands, yours to use and play with, his eyes are screwed shut, mouth hanging open, muscles tense under your touch.

You wrap your lips around him, Chan having to do everything he can to not buck his hips up into you. He watches you slowly sink down, then back up, sucking his cock like it’s going out of style.

“Ah,” he gasps, panting, hand finding its way to the back of your head, not to push or even guide, but to ground himself. To keep him from losing all control right now. The way your cheeks hollow out feel like heaven, the way his cock almost touches the back of your throat is euphoric, and you can feel how the twitches inside your mouth.

“Baby- ah fuck - baby, s-stop.” He pleads breathlessly. You oblige immediately, looking up at him to see if he’s ok.

“Did I do something wrong?”

He laughs breathlessly and pulls you up to him, flipping you on your back.

“No, you’re perfect, jus wanna be inside you when I cum. Fill you up all nice and pretty.” He murmurs, practically babbling at his point with how bad he wants to please and fill you. He lines himself up at your entrance.

“Could make you a mommy again, yeah? See you filled up with me, all swollen and beautiful,” he moans at the thought.

“Shh, Chris, Chris,” he’s so far gone when he looks at you, you can see the way he snaps back.

“’m sorry,” he mumbles before kissing your lips as he slides in. You gasp, the motion unexpected, and he takes his time to explore your mouth once more.

“Fuck,” you choke out. He stays still for a moment, bracing himself on one hand besides your head, the other stroking your cheek.

“What do you think though, about having another someday?” You look up at him, his eyes communicating he isn’t kidding.

“Someday, yeah.” Your hand cups his cheek, his brown eyes sparkle ever so slightly against the candle light. He dips his head down, capturing your lips as he slowly rocks his hips into yours; both of you moaning at how good it feels to be connected as one.

“Fuck, go faster,” you plead as your lips separate, but your foreheads stay together, both covered in a thin layer of sweat.

“Ah, fuck,” he moans, dropping his head to your shoulder, placing kisses and a few love bites every now and again. Your chests are pressed together, bodies rocking together at the movement of his hips. Your legs wrap around his torso, heels slightly digging into his back.

“I love you,” he whispers in your ear. You’re holding onto his shoulder’s, nails beginning to bite into the flesh underneath.

“Ah,” he hisses at the sting.

“Sorry,” you whimper and he shakes his head bringing his face back to yours.

“No, no feels good,” he screws his eyes shut as he feels it again, a low growl leaving him.

“I love you too,” you whisper and he brings his forehead back down to yours again.

His thrusts are sloppier now; he brings a hand down between you and furiously rubs circles on your clit.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum, keep going, keep going, keep -oh shit,” your body starts to tense, nails scratching at his back, leaving behind thin red lines.

“Come on baby, cum for me. Make a mess on my cock,” he pants. That sends you over the edge, a loud cry echoes in the room as your body locks up, Chan fucking you through it, helping you ride the wave of your toe-curling orgasm. Chan’s hits as the after shocks hit you, his face buried in your neck as he cries out, sloppily pumping into you as you feel it warmth between your legs.

“Oh fuck,” he whimpers as he stills, his orgasm just as intense and heavy. His heart thuds against his chest as he takes a moment to come back to reality, the aftershocks wearing off. He places a single longing kiss to your lips before slowly pulling out and laying down beside you. You look at each other, you share pink dusted cheeks, sweaty bodies and you’re totally fucked out.

“You are the most amazing woman,” he breathes as he looks at you like you’re the only woman in the world. You smile and lean over kissing his forehead. He grabs a wash cloth, dampens it with warm water and starts to clean you up, murmuring apologies as the cloth swipes across your sensitive center as gasps along with hip jerks flow from you.

The two of you crawl under the covers, snuggling each other, limbs tangled.

“Thank you,” you say quietly, the sound of the now apparent rain beating against the window for background noise.

“For what?” He mumbles.

“For an amazing day, for being an amazing dad and just everything you do for us,” You look up at him nostalgically, thankfully, and smile. He cups your cheek with his left hand.

“I’d do anything for you, y/n.” he whispers before placing a kiss on your forehead. Chan watches as you slowly fall asleep, quietly getting up blowing out each candle, saving the clean up for the morning before you have to go pick up your son.

Tags: @breakmeoff @thelovelybireader

Please do not repost my work

Love notes, comments and requests are appreciated!

[nanamisgirly]

your dilf doesn't need 'perfect'　ྀི　

“w-wait—” you were panting, legs wrapped around his hips where dilf!nanami straddled you on the countertop. you pull back just as his mouth dragged open-mouthed kisses down your neck.

you don't remember how exactly you ended up there, how things turned from soft touches over dinner to a heavy make out session—tongue sliding between your lips, big hands pressing you against his chest. 

it's been months of holding back for both of you—resuming your relation to slow touches, soft kisses, and ‘no pressure sweetheart’ every time things started getting heavy. since you weren't experienced and kind of…scared, dilf!nanami suggested waiting til you're ready. and you've been grateful for it, even when you returned home some night aching and soaked from just making out with him.

and maybe all the courage you gathered to tug him in by his tie tonight and kiss him like you were desperate for it, had drained from your veins the moment you felt one of his hand sliding up your thigh and the other slipping under your shirt—hot, rough, calloused.

“did i go too far?” he asked, one hand still under your shirt, fingers hovering just under the band of your bra, not moving an inch. “it's okay. you don't need to explain. we can stop, sweetheart.” his lips were swollen—covered with spit. his eyes glassy and you could feel the weight of his cock pressing against your shorts.

“no—! no… i want to,” you blurted out too quickly, voice overlapping his, desperate not to be misunderstood. but even as you said it, you couldn't bring yourself to look at him in the eyes, so you turn your head, letting your hands rest on his broad shoulders as you continue, 

“it's just…” you exhaled, shame blooming fast in your chest. “i'm not confident about. . y'know.” you gesture vaguely toward your boobs. “they look nice in a bra and—uh…you've probably seen better. i know they look big in a bra, but they don't, well…stay up. they're soft, and…” your voice tightens. “i just…i've read things. about guys saying they were disappointed. or didn't want to even see them during the act, unless they were covered—” you laugh nervously, voice cracking. “it's so embarrassing. i-i didn't want you to see them and think—think they're…ugly.”

the silence that followed felt unbearable.

it only makes your anxiety grow and you feel so dumb for talking about it, maybe you should just have stopped and that's it…because nanami didn't move an inch since your little monologue, his honey eyes still trying to catch your gaze. 

your stomach drops. you start to shift trying to get off the counter, anything to escape mortification. “look, i'm sorry,” you say, heart pounding, eyes glassy. “i-i shouldn't have brought it up, i—umh—it's ok. i just thought that'd be nice to tell you before hand and huh…fuck i ruined everything didn't i?”

that's when you feel his hands coming to your hips, pinning you in place on the countertop. you gasp as he presses his cock against your core harder than ever—twitching with need.

when you looked up, his eyes had darkened. his brows were furrowed, jaw tight, emotion bleeding into every sharp line of his face. “that,” he said flatly, “is the stupidest fucking thing i've ever heard.”

your breath hitched.

“i'm not a boy with a warped idea of what women are supposed to look like.” he leaned in, cupping your jaw to be sure your eyes stay locked onto his. “i'm a grown man. you think i'm painfully hard, grinding against you, shaking, because i'm waiting for something ‘perfect’? sweetheart, i'm here, aching because it's you. all of you that i want.”

his voice was low, frayed. barely holding together. “let me very clear, sweetheart, i'm going to lose my mind when i see them, i will drop to my knees and thank the gods for putting someone as sweet as you.”

your lips part, trying to breathe through the whirl of embarrassment and affection and…arousal.

“ken—”

“does this—” he rasped, grabbing your wrist and guiding your trembling fingers down to the thick, pulsing shape of his cock straining in his slacks, “feel like someone who's going to be disappointed?”

you whimpered, your smaller fingers squeezing his boner. 

“f-fuck…” he shuddered. “if you want to stop,” he breathed, forehead falling to your shoulder. “i'll stop. if you want to wait, we'll wait. another month. another year. i don't care. anything you want, for you to be comfortable.”

but his voice cracked at the end—like he was hanging by a thread. you felt it too, his body coiled tight, like a beast barely leashed.

“you're too nice, ken.” you say teary-eyed, half laughing, half melting.

“well, k-keep squeezing me like that and i'm afraid i won't be nice any longer.” he groaned, lip brushing your neck.

your thighs wrapped tighter around him. “you can take it off,”

his head snapped up. “you sure?” his gaze held yours as his fingers brushed the hem of your shirt again, and when you nodded, “arms up, sweets,” he said softly, and you obeyed.

when he tosses delicately your shirt to the side, skilled fingers quickly find your bra and unclip it, oh very so slowly.

when your bra hit the floor, everything held still. like the world paused long enough for nanami to lose his mind quietly. his eyes dragged up, heavy-lidded and wrecked. one big hand came up—trembling—cupping your breast with a war raging in his mind : should i worship or ruin them?

“sweets,” he breathed, thumbing over one of your nipple, “they're perfect. so fucking perfect i feel like i'm hallucinating.”

[thedevilsoftruth]

Ok ok ok hear me out - feral Bucky who is exhausted and grumpy and mad at everyone and can only be soothed by his mouth on your tits and his dick in your pussy…and it starts with just cockwarming but he cums and then he cums again and AGAIN cause super soldier and ohhhhh extra fat bonus points if he REALLY wants to put a baby inside you with all that super soldier cum

(I’m so sorry, I’m ovulating😭)

Ough anon I am OBSESSED with this request. I'm pretty sure I'm like... The guy you go to when you want breeding Bucky fics. Idk I just write them a lot and idk why lmao. Funny you mention this because I am ALSO ovulating. I'm an absolute freak, I hear the words 'bucky' and 'breeding' and 'breast play' in the same sentence and I cum running faster than the fastest man on earth. But here you go, baby. I got a little carried away when writing it (sorry I made it congressman bucky btw I'm not sure how on board you are with that being apart of it)🤭 enjoy!!!

Stress relief

Congressman! J. B. Barnes x Afab! reader.

Sum: Bucky had a tough day at work. So what does he do to help with the stress? Give his pretty girl a baby. 💜

Smut tags: light impact play kink, cock warming, heavy breast play, breeding kink, degrading, name calling (slut) overstimulation, mentions of reader ovulating, squirting, the theme is cum. (Restrain me please) Not beta read!!

W/c - 1.6k

Song recommended: Cherry Pie (I need a freak) by Insane Clown Posse.

I do not consent to my work being reposted or translated on ANY website. Reblog and comments are always appreciated and encouraged, however.

MDNI!!! I am NOT responsible for what you find on the internet!!

[ my request box is open. PLEASE see my pinned post for more information regarding my request rules. ]

He'd been so angry all day. He'd been stomping around and huffing like he was an angry toddler who has just been denied their favorite treat. Everyone and everything was pissing him off. You could it was bad when he had yelled at an aide that morning. But now, he had his only down time until he had to work again stupid ass early in the morning. His way of relieving his stress? Calling you to his study to keep him warm while he signs paperwork he's supposed to get turned in the next morning. It started out simple; just you sitting on his cock and keeping your mouth shut so he could focus like he asked. Until he started rutting into you like a caveman with his hands on your hips and his mouth on your tits.

You were wearing one of the tank tops you normally wore to bed, expect this one was baby pink and was worn thin, so brushing his hand over your breasts felt like he was touching your actual skin. He wasn't one for pink, but fuck, it looked so good on you. How he could complain when it felt so good to suck your pretty pink, swollen nipple into his mouth while he came into you for the second time in the past thirty minutes.

You were squirming on his lap, his hands gripping bruises into your skin as his lips pulled on your nipple. Little tiny whimpers left your mouth as his tongue flicked up your bud, the thick, milky hot cum from his last load dripping from your over-stuff cunt. His mouth left your breast with a wet pop, and he brought his flesh hand up to take your flesh into his hand, his pussy-drunken eyes admiring the way you spill out in his hand. You moaned loud as he dipped his head back down and licked a thick strip up your other breast with his fat tongue. His beard was brushing your skin in the most perfect way possible, and the sensations just got even better when two thick vibranium fingers began circling your throbbing clit. A loud gasp left your mouth, and your back arched into his mouth as if begging for more.

"Sensitive?" He asks as if the answer isn't directly in front of him. You nod weakly, and press your hand into his chest, your fingers brushing his red wine tie.

"Baby," you whine, your voice pitched and making his cock twitch inside you. "Can't take anymore. Too much."

He looks at you like you just said the stupidest fucking thing he'd ever heard.

"Don't care." He grunts, big hands moving to cup your ass as he stands up and pulls you with him. Your mind short circuits and you panic as he begins heading towards the door.

"You told me you were ovulating just two seconds ago. You don't get to back out of things like that. Not after I've had the day I'm having." He tells you, throwing you down onto the bed, his hands already scrambling to tear your tank top off your body. He's crowding you into the headboard, barley giving you any space to breathe as he's instructing you to put your arms up. The tiny thing slips off your body easily, and Bucky's face twists into a sick, twitched sadistic smile as your tits bounce free.

"Spread your fuckin' legs." He says, leaning down to suck on your neck eagerly. You gasp and your hands fly to his chest.

"Bucky..." You breath. He slaps your breast with a metal hand, the impact of it leaving you gasping and shocked. Your skin quickly reddens where he struck you, and a beautiful light sting prickles up your flesh.

"Open." He says darkly and low, tapping your thigh. You gulp hard and obey, shaky legs hesitantly spreading open in front of your perfect lover. He growls when you do so, looking down between your bodies. He sits up and gives his angry red cock a few pumps with his fist. Your thighs nearly clench together at the sight, but you know better than to disobey him.

"Such a good fucking girl." He growls slapping his cock against your messy cunt, making you whimper. He runs his already leaky cockhead up and down your aching clit a few times before he finally sinks himself into you, all with a loud, gutteral groan that makes your pussy flutter.

"Always take me so good like the perfect little slut you are for me." He mutters through gritted teeth, pulling his hips back a bit before he slowly sunk into you. When he bottomed out, it was with a very loud moan that could be heard from the outside of the house.

"You gonna take it? Hmm?" He grunts, pushing so deep into you that you swear it makes you black out for a moment. "Gonna let me fill you up and breed this sloppy, pathetic little cunt?" His pace quickens, his hips snapping into yours at a perfect rate and precision that has your eyes fluttering shut and your hands gripping his forearms like you need it to survive.

"With the amounts of times you've cum in me, I'm sure you already have me bred." You spit under your breath, almost angrily and out of spite. He smack your breasts again and you yelp.

"What was that?" He inquired, his voice low in that tone that told you he was mad and feeling mean. You gulp and scramble, shaking your head.

"N-nothing." Is all you say, your eyes widening at him in fear. He laughs at you, cold and dark.

"That's what I thought."

He grips the headboard then slams into you, his cock brushing and kissing against every single part of your pretty pussy that makes you squirm. You put your hand on his chest, your back arching and your mouth falling open in a silent 'o' shape. Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him into you impossibly deeper and making the both of you moan.

He leans down and takes a pebbled nipple into his mouth once more, and your body cannot stop the way your legs shake around his hips or the loud cries and whines that leave your mouth.

"Bucky," you whine, wrapping your arms around his back and clawing at his skin with long fingernails. He groans into your skin as he kisses the peak of your breast, his eyes rolling back in pleasure at the sensation. "Dont stop, baby. Please--oh fuck, feels so good."

He looks up at you and pulls his cock out of you a few Inches before he slams back into you.

"Yeah?" He pulls back from your breasts and taps your clit with a metal finger before he rubs harsh circles into it. Your legs fly into the air Instinctively before they fall back down onto his waist. Your fingernails dig deeper into his back. He rubs harder, and the walls of your pussy squeeze him hard.

"Ohohoho." He laughs cruelly. "That's the spot, inn'it, sweet girl?" He continues circling it, going faster by the second--all along with his cock fucking into so deep, and you swear you see god for a minute.

"Yeah, yeah. Gonna fuck--cum--ah!! Shit!" You nod along, but right as you're telling him about your impending orgasm, you cut yourself off as you come crashing onto him hard and fast. The walls of your cunt clamp down on him like they're scared he's going to run away, and hot cum comes spurring out of you wildly. The milky liquid squirts onto your lovers pelvis, and he moans like he was the one cumming.

"Holy fucking shit, babydoll." He groans, his head lulling back as he slowly, deliberately starts thrusting into you again. He slaps your pretty pussy a few times with his flesh hand before he really starts picking up speed again.

"Gotta fucking fill you up again after that one." He says, giving you one harsh thrusts that hits your cervix. You scream and your eyes roll into the back of your head your hips shaking uncontrollably at the overstimulation. He holds you down with a metal arm.

"Nuh-uh. You stay right fucking there, slut." He slurps messy kiss from the back of your ear to the crook of your neck. "Pretty pussy needs to be rewarded with a warm, thick load after cumming all over me like that, don't you agree?"

You whine, your pussy making pathetic little squelching sounds as he pumps sloppy, fast thrusts into you. The wet, lewd noises have your head spinning and your pussy fluttering at how fucking obscure it is. All you can do is nod along to whatever he says, though you're too fucked out to even know what you're agreeing too.

"Good fucking girl." He praises, his cock slamming into you hard. "Gonna get you so nice and round and--fuck!" He cuts himself off when his cock twitched sweetly before thick, hot ropes of his seed start flooding into you. His hands shoot down to the backs of your thighs, and he lifts your your legs a little so he could watch himself drip into you.

"Good god," he swears under his breath, his mind going blank at the milky ring forming at the base of his cock. "If only you could see this." He chuckles, nudging his hips forward and making you whine loud.

"Bucky---"

"Shh, baby, let me fuck it into you. Gotta make sure it sticks." He hushes you, leaning down to kiss you hard as he slowly rolls his hips forward, fucking his cum up and into you deeply.