#even though i feel there is still more i could talk about

[theonewiththefanfics]

Peace in the Darkness (one-shot)

Synopsis: Bob knows Y/N isn't one to go back on her words. So when she doesn't show up to go through with their plans, he starts to worry. Luckily for him, Yelena knows how to break-and-enter. And doesn't mind invading her personal space.

Pairing: Robert 'Bob' Reynolds x fem!Reader (ex-Black Widow)

Genre: fluff, lil bit of angst

Warnings: sickness because I've been sick this past weekend and life sucked, swearing, Bob being an anxious little bean, alluding to violence, but nothing else, really :)

Word count: 6623

All characters belong to Marvel. Also - Bob has my heart

If Bob paced any more behind Y/N’s door, he was sure to wear a track into the concrete floor.

            His hand had hovered over the panel separating him from whatever lay beyond, about twenty times in the past hour or so, yet just as his knuckles were about to meet it, he pulled back with a shake of his head and began his pacing once more.

            “I should just knock,” the man muttered to himself, blue eyes warily watching the door, hoping it would creak open without his interference, but alas, it remained as immovable as it had always been. “She’s not gonna mind. You’ve woken her up in the middle of the night before, and she wasn’t angry then. She won’t be angry with you.”

            And even still with those thoughts in his mind, Bob couldn’t get himself to do it, his anxiety overriding his motor skills.

            It wasn’t that he was incapable of action. He was. It was more so getting to the action where he faltered. His therapist, someone Bucky had helped him find, had told him even two steps forward and one step back was still a step forward.

            Like the first time he’d reached out for help after a nightmare, where he could feel the Void curling inside him, just waiting until his emotions reached a bubbling point so he could take over.

            “What did you do?” the therapist, a take-no-bullshit kind of woman, had asked. “To stop the Void from emerging?”

            Bob shrugged, knee bouncing up and down, not daring to make eye contact. “I uh – I went to Y/N. I just… I heard she was still awake and knew if the Void was gonna come out, someone had to… You know… be aware and take me – him – down.”

            “And who is Y/N?”

            Now that was a loaded question he wasn’t fully yet ready to answer, so he settled on the objective truth. “She’s my teammate. We live across the hall from one another.”

            “And how did she help?”

            “She…” Bob bit down on his lip. “She invited me inside her room and we just… talked. She had some music playing… I – I guess she helped me take my mind off it all and… stuff…”

            The woman hummed. “And why was she the first person you thought to go to when things got bad?”

            He wanted to say it was because she was the closest one to him, physically being right down the hall, that they were the only two people occupying the floor, but the truth spilt out before he could even contain it, “Because I knew she wouldn’t be mad at me. If – if I woke her up. She… she wouldn’t be upset I was there.” Because she was one of the few people who wasn’t afraid to touch him, despite his powers and the Void.

            But just because she hadn’t been upset with him those few times he’d sought her out, didn’t mean she wouldn’t be angry with him that specific day. Otherwise, why hadn’t she stuck to her promise?

            The previous week, right before Y/N had been shipped out to Malaga on a mission, she’d promised him that once she was back, the two would go to a bookstore together, Bob’s supply already dangerously low.

            Now, though, three hours had passed from the time they’d set last night, and Y/N was nowhere to be seen.

            He’d let the first hour pass by, thinking maybe she had to catch up on some paperwork the team had to file after a mission. When hour two had come and gone, Bob had started to become anxious, but still, he told himself she was probably just resting, no doubt exhausted by the mission, and he would never be one to take away time she could be using to heal. But as hour three had started to roll, Bob couldn’t help the nervousness entering his body, and that was how he ended up behind Y/N’s door.

            Gently, he placed an ear against it, hoping to hear the slightest sound, maybe a soft movement of her feet padding against the carpeted floor, but the only noise invading the silence was the echo of his heartbeat.

            Bob sighed, head hanging low and fingers plucking at the hem of one of his sleeves as he turned around, ready to go back and wallow in self-pity, when Yelena’s raspy voice made him look over his shoulder.

            “Bobik? Everything alright?” she asked, the nickname Alexei had bestowed upon him, making warmth bloom in his chest. Not ‘Bobby’, a name that made him flinch, but a soft ‘Bobik’, a name that made him feel cherished.

            The blonde was decked out in her combat gear, clearly just having arrived from a mission, so the fact that one of her first instincts was to check in on him made his body flush. He was still trying to get used to the fact that people actually cared about him, not as an experimental subject, not as a wannabe superhero, but just about him. About Bob.

            “Oh, yeah,” he stammered, giving Yelena a tight-lipped smile, but he couldn’t control the way his hands wrung together, betraying the anxiousness he was feeling. “Everything’s A-Okay.”

            For a second neither of them moved or said anything, and just as Bob was about to venture down to his room, Yelena crossed her arms, cocking her hip to the side and raising a single brow.

            All he could do was sigh. She was one of the few people it was hard to lie to, whom he didn’t even really want to lie to. “It’s just that… umm… Y/N and I were supposed to go to a bookstore a while ago, but she uh… well, I haven’t seen her all day… and when I asked around, nobody else has either. Ava even said she didn’t come up for breakfast, and she wasn’t in the kitchen for lunch, so…”

            “That does not sound like her.” Yelena’s nose scrunched as she went closer and knocked against Y/N’s door, a motion that came so easily to her, yet Bob had struggled for ages to even lift his hand. “Lubov moya,” she sing-songed in Russian. “Are you in there?”

             And once again, only silence responded. As the moment stretched, Bob slowly started to roll back and forth on his feet. God, why hadn’t he thought about how she could already have left the tower ages ago!

            But no, it wouldn’t be like Y/N to just leave him hanging or not let at least one person know where she was.

            Unless… unless she’d gone out to do something she didn’t want the others to know about… to tease her about… like maybe she’d gone on a date.

            “It’s – it’s alright,” Bob let out a strangled chuckle, as thoughts whirled inside his head. “She just probably forgot about it, or something more important came up.”

            But the ex-Widow just knocked again, ignoring Bob’s spiralling. “Legushka?” she called out, the nickname rolling off her tongue with a concerned yet teasing lilt.

            There’d been this one time John had called Y/N that, snorting as Alexei had translated the meaning of the word (froggy or little frog), and where usually she’d respond with an eye roll to Yelena or their sort-of-kind-of adoptive father figure, Walker received a bloody nose and grade-two concussion.

            Only Yelena had the privilege of calling her fellow ex-Red Room alumni such absurd names without any consequences. And, well, sometimes Bob could too, but he wrote it off on the fact that Y/N just tried to make him feel included, and no other reason…

            “Snookums? My little pookie-wookie?” Now, Yelena was just making things up as she went, no doubt hoping to get at least some sort of a response from Y/N, but when even that didn’t accomplish anything, with a grumbled, “alright, fine, be that way,” she crouched down, pulling out a picking set from her boot.

            Bob’s eyes widened in alarm, hissing at the woman, “What are you doing? Don’t do that!”

            “Well, we have to get in somehow,” Yelena just shrugged, the noise of metal softly scraping against metal invading his senses.

            “Not by breaking and entering Y/N’s room!”     

            The blonde let out a squeak of indignation. “I am not breaking and entering!” The lock clicked open. “For one – I didn’t break shit. And two – the door is open. Now it’s just entering.”

            “She is going to kill us, and I will not be coming to your rescue.”

            “Please,” Yelena replaced her picking tools back inside her boot. “We have too much history between us in the Red Room for her to decide this is the final drop. As for you…” Yelena smirked. “Let’s just say, I know things you don’t.”

            “Wait, what? What do you know? What things?”

            But she didn’t respond, only opened the door.

            Bob wanted to protest, wanted to say they shouldn’t be invading Y/N’s private space like that, wanted to shake Yelena down for whatever information she might possess. If it had anything to do with feelings he hoped Y/N might have for him. That most likely, there was a reason she wasn’t answering, even if she was there, and that most likely, she just felt bad about not wanting to hang out with him, but didn’t want to hurt his feelings by saying so, which he was totally fine and cool with and –

            Yelena poked her head inside, and where usually, Y/N’s place was brightly lit by the daylight, her curtains drawn back to allow it to be illuminated, pure darkness greeted them, as Bob, shame curling in his stomach at such invasion, peered over Yelena’s head to take a glance.

            He associated Y/N’s room with peace.

            Cream colored walls, dark brown curtains with a plush carpet, emerald settees resting atop it and a large bookshelf taking up a whole wall with softly glowing nightlights in the shape of sprouting mushrooms would be plugged in during the night, and plastic glow-in-the-dark stars creating real and made-up constellations on the ceiling – that was the space he considered his true home.

            Every free inch was covered in some knick-knack or a souvenir, as she had a tendency to collect small things, but she also had a tendency to gift them to others.

            She was kind. Caring. Thoughtful. She was Bob’s safe place.

            Yet now it was pitch black inside.

            Yelena was clearly just as worried as he was, because when she looked up from her still crouched position, confusion marred her face.

            “Malishka?” she called out as she stood, slowly entering the room, Bob following as their eyes adjusted to the lack of lighting.

            He shifted his gaze around only to settle on a large moving mound on the bed, so with Yelena as the lead, they moved towards it, when finally a voice rasped from somewhere beneath the ungodly amount of blankets. “Malishka is dead. Come back tomorrow with a warrant. Or a casket.”

            Every single doubt that’d permeated Bob’s mind vanished at the realisation of what was really going on.

            Y/N hadn’t forgotten about the plans they’d made. She hadn’t found something better to do with her time or decided he was simply not worth her while.

            Y/N was sick.

            And by the sound of it, badly.

            Bob’s heart clenched at the thought. They all seemed so indestructible, but it was moments like those, where he was reminded that some of them, especially Yelena and Y/N – the two people he’d grown to care most about in the weird little team he was a part of – were simply humans. And humans could get ill.

            Gently, Yelena sat down on the side of the bed, her fingers rooting around the coverings before an opening was made, a pair of Y/E/C eyes squinting at the intruders. “Can you please close the door? My eyeballs hurt.”

            “Oh, shit!” Bob cursed softly, padding to the door and closing it, once again plunging the room into complete darkness. “Sorry.”

            He wanted to rebel against the black that now surrounded them, he wanted to panic and spiral, to have at least one of those nightlights be turned on, but somehow, through a sheer sense of will, he steeled himself against the rising tide. Whether it was because he knew light would hurt Y/N, or whether it was because he felt safe with the two women, despite not really being able to see anything that wasn’t an inch away from his face, Bob couldn’t tell. Well… he could, but he wasn’t going to say it out loud, because that would make things real…

            “Can you please breathe quieter, Lena?” Y/N groaned from her cocoon. “My head’s pounding as is.”

            “Oh, sweetheart,” Yelena cooed, placing the back of her hand against the other woman’s forehead to feel for her temperature. “I think you might have the flu, huh?”

            Y/N sniffled. “I dunno what I have, but whatever it is, I blame Walker.”

            Bob looked at Yelena, the man still hovering by the bedside table, not wanting to invade the space between the two. “Has John been sick?”

            “Not that I’m aware.” Yelena ghosted her hand over Y/N’s cheek before standing up and going to what he knew to be the bathroom. After a quick second, she returned with a wet cloth, laying it over her friend’s forehead. “But we can always blame him.”

            A delirious smile appeared on Y/N’s face. “We can, can’t we?”

            “Of course.” Yelena nodded. “Would it make you feel better if I went and beat him up?”

            “I think it would, yeah… Can you stab him too?” Y/N asked as an afterthought.

            “Anything for you, legushka moya.” Yelena brushed a sweaty Y/H/C strand from where it’d plastered itself down against her cheek. Bob’s heart ached at the tender motion, fingers twitching at his side with the want to do the same, but he restrained himself. “But tell you what, before I go and seek revenge on Walker, how about I go and make you some soup, and Bob will keep you company. Sound okay?”

            Instantly, it was like someone had turned the light switch off, Y/N’s smile dropped, and she harrumphed. “Bob can stay, but no soup.”

            “Soup always makes everything better! Besides, Bob said you didn’t go to breakfast or lunch. You have to get something in you,” Yelena scolded the woman. Despite them being barely a month apart, she acted like an older sister to Y/N.

            The sick girl just whined. “I’m not hungry. I’m achy and icky and gross, and I just wanna rot away in my bed.”                             

            “Well, you need to get food in you,” the ex-Widow countered, hands on her hips. “Do not move. I will be right back. Bob, please keep an eye on her.”

            “As if I could go anywhere,” Y/N scoffed, but it fell only on Bob’s ears, as Yelena had already made her exit.

            On instinct, his fingers started fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, a nervousness taking over his body. After a moment of unsurety of what exactly he was supposed to do, a croaky voice whispered, “You should go, Bob. I know Lena said to stay, but I don’t want you to catch whatever wasting disease I have."

            An involuntary smile blossomed on his lips at her care about his well-being, despite being so sick herself. “I uh, I don’t think I can get sick anymore, so no worries there.”

            He noted the small frown on Y/N’s lips as she eyed him up and down. “Show off,” she muttered, but didn’t tell him to leave again, rather said, “ ‘M sorry about today, by the way. Should’ve at least gotten out of bed and told you I wasn’t fit to walk in civilised society. I’m sorry if I worried you.”     

            “No!” he said, trying to quell her guilt, sitting down onto the bed, and to his own surprise, brushing a finger down her cheek without even thinking. “No, no, no… you’re not feeling well, so don’t even worry about me. I’m just glad that, you know, you’re not bleeding out on the bathroom floor or something.”

            Bob’s whole being lit up when, despite Y/N being evidently unwell, she snorted, no doubt remembering how about a month prior when she’d returned to the Watchtower after a mission, she’d pretty much traumatized both Bob and John, as they’d found her half-dead on the kitchen floor, munching on a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, blood pooling around her at a rapid pace.

            “Seriously!?” John had scoffed as he helped Bob lift Y/N up from the floor, the two men supporting as much of her weight as possible as they dragged her to the elevator and then to the med-floor. “PB&J? That was gonna be your last meal?”

            “Hey!” Y/N protested. “It was the only thing I could manage to make before the wooziness set in. You know, from having been turned into a walking-talking shishkabob.” She chuckled deliriously, looking at the man who had the biggest crush on her in the world, yet she didn’t even know about it, and now she could potentially die. “Huh. Shish-ka-Bob.” Then she booped his nose and promptly passed out.

            Safe to say, he’d spent the next few days hovering in the med-bay, and when Y/N had been discharged, off-missions for a while, but allowed to rest in her room, he’d hovered in the hallway behind her door, just to make sure the things he saw during his nightmares, the images that the Void tried to tell him were real, actually weren’t.

            But Y/N didn’t know that.

            She didn’t know the true extent of what went on inside Bob’s mind or heart, didn’t know the real depth of the feelings he had for her.

            She didn’t know how much the nights she allowed him to spend in her room meant to him.

            She didn’t know how much the little trinkets she brought back for him as a souvenir from whichever corner of the world she’d been sent to, mattered.

            She didn’t know that if the tower suddenly caught on fire and he could only save three things, he’d rush inside the flames to take the three little cat figurines sitting on his shelf.

            It had been after she’d returned from a solo mission in Japan, Bob having pretty much worried himself sick, only to have her bound up to him, still dirt-covered and bloodied, but the smile on her face was as bright as the morning sun. “Look!” She presented the white, red and gold porcelain cats. “It’s the three of us! Me, you and Lena! They’re so cute!”

            That night, he’d fallen asleep with the three little waving felines looking over him, golden night-light illuminating the statuettes.

            So, in a moment like this, where Y/N was the one who needed support, he could only hope and pray, she felt it from him.

            Gently, Bob brushed a palm against her forehead, taking off the wet towel that’d now warmed up to her skin temperature. But he hadn’t anticipated that, despite being bogged down by most likely the flu, her reflexes were still Black-Widow-quick, as her hand shot out from underneath the blankets, grabbing onto his wrist and pressing his hand against the skin of her neck. “Oh, you are so warm,” she sighed, cuddling the appendage.

            “S-so are you!” Bob didn’t necessarily know what to do. “Alarmingly so, actually.”

            “Yeah,” Y/N puffed a breath, still not releasing the death-grip she had on his hand. “That’s probably the 103 fever I have going on.”

            Instantly, his anxiety skyrocketed.

            He knew he ran warm. He pretty much always had the AC on in his room, especially at night, as he was a complete contradiction of a human – he was abysmally hot all the time, mainly thanks to the Sentry serum, but he was most comfortable in a sweater and sweatpants while swaddled up like a burrito in a blanket.

            His heart thudded in his chest as Y/N snuggled closer to his touch, while he worried he was doing her harm. Yes, a fever was the body’s natural way of fighting off viruses or infections and whatnot, but a too high a fever was also dangerous, and he'd never forgive himself if he made it worse.

            “Y/N, you’re really burning up.” Bob chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Can you please let me go? Just for a second,” he added on, as she whined when he tried to slip his hand away. “I’m just gonna get you a new cold compress. Please…”

            “But I don’t want you to leave!”

            “I’m – I’m not gonna leave,” he whispered, terrified that if his voice was any louder, any clearer, she might pick up on the emotion he was trying to suppress. “I promise, it’ll be just a second. I won’t even go outside the room.”

            For a moment, Y/N’s grip tightened on Bob, holding him closer than ever, but then, with a sigh of defeat, she released him.

            He was quick, just like he said he would. Even in pure darkness, his eyes having adjusted to the lack of light now, probably thanks to the Sentry serum, he dampened the cloth with cold water and wrung out the excess, getting back to her, in the time it took for Y/N to shift from lying on her side to being on her back.

            She’d somewhat untangled herself from the cocoon of blankets, and Bob had to stop mid-step as he noted what she was wearing.

            It was his sweater. Well, one of the many he had, but it was something of his nonetheless.

            And he could physically feel how something broken and cracked inside him got stitched together. Some deep, still-hurting part of Bob, that always managed to whisper a negative thought, how he didn’t matter, how washing the dishes and doing the chores was nothing compared to what everyone else in the tower did, fused back together, the Void’s incessant noise quietening. With just a simple glance at Y/N, who had found comfort in something of his when she was feeling bad, Bob felt a part of him heal.

            He didn’t comment on it, though, half-terrified if he did, she might think he was mad about it, when in reality it was the complete opposite. And an insatiable need had now settled somewhere in his chest, a want to see her in all of his clothes. And maybe nothing as well…

            “H-here,” Bob stammered out, before taking a deep breath and sinking down next to Y/N on the bed. Gently, he placed the towel along her forehead, and he couldn’t help himself as his thumb brushed along her jawline, tracing a small scar, no doubt from some mission. She leaned into his touch like a sunflower leaned towards the sun. “Is there anything I can get you?”

            “No,” she shook her head, and this time, when her hand met his, she intertwined their fingers, as if afraid he might disappear. “Just stay, please.”

            “Always.”

            And there really wasn’t anywhere else Bob wanted to be.

            The thought of spending the day at a bookstore, some ungodly sweet concoction that resembled a coffee only in spirit, in his hand, was only appealing because he would be going with Y/N there.

            “We’ll go when I get better, I promise,” she muttered, as if having read his mind while snuggling closer to the palm he’d placed on her cheek.

            “Books can wait.” Bob hoped his voice was low and soothing as he spoke, blue eyes still trained on the sweater that covered her body, his own feeling all fuzzy at the image. “Just rest.”

            When he didn’t get a response or even a little hum of acknowledgement, he looked up only to find Y/N’s features slack with sleep, her chest rising in slow and steady breaths.

            Bob wanted to curl up next to her, to have his hands wrap around her waist, and have her head rest on his chest as he buried his nose into her hair, because this was the highest degree of trust anyone could have in him. For Y/N to find peace and safety with him while she was in such a vulnerable state, catapulted Bob onto Cloud Nine. He knew darkness would always try to press in, try to find the cracks and strike when he was unawares, but this time he wasn’t afraid of what might be lurking in the shadows. Not when he knew he would have to be the one to step up, if only to protect the one he loved most in the world.

             He sat there like that, entranced with the sleeping beauty on the bed, a thumb softly grazing her cheek, making sure Y/N was as comfortable as possible. He was so attuned to her and her sleeping form, that when the door cracked open, he was startled by Yelena coming in, a tray in her hands as she blew on a steaming bowl of soup.

            “Okay,” once more the blonde sing-songed as she walked inside the room. “I have chicken-noodle soup for our little sick-bug.”

            There was some grumbling from Y/N as she was brought out from her slumber, but despite all her protests, she rose into a sitting position, Bob’s hand on her back a steady help. She eyed the bowl with suspicion. “Who made it?”

            “Do not worry, Dad was nowhere near the pot. He might be lurking for the leftovers now, but this!” She lifted the bowl above her head like it was a diamond, “is all from yours truly.”

            Y/N sniffed the air. “Well, I guess it smells edible… not that I can smell much.”

            “Then this is exactly what you need.” Yelena slid the tray to rest on Y/N’s knees while Bob helped her adjust against the backboard of the bed and was rewarded with the most gorgeous smile ever. “Here you go, legushka. Now, I’ll go get some paracetamol and VapoRub, and by the time I get back, I expect that bowl to be empty. It will do wonders for your sinuses, trust me.”

            She didn’t argue, just let out a resigned sigh and nodded, taking the spoon in her hand. “You know, back in the Red Room, Mistress Vera said the best kind of medicine is a good beating. Will get you right back on your feet.”

            “Yes, well, that is why Mistress Vera is six feet under.” Yelena fluffed up a pillow behind Y/N before nudging her chin up with a finger. “As is the whole of Red Room.”

            “I mean right now, I think I’d rather get a good beat-“

            “Eat,” Yelena interrupted whatever she was about to say.

            “Fine, fine, Jesus…. You’re worse than Mistress Vera…”

            Slowly, without moving her gaze from Y/N, Yelena stood to hover over her. Even Bob could feel the menacing aura she exuded – an older sister ready to torment her younger one. “And if you don’t eat every single noodle, every single piece of carrot and celery and chicken, you will be wishing Mistress Vera were here. Understood? Legushka moya?”

            Though Y/N was bleary and tired, she was unwavering as the two Black Widows engaged in a stare-off. Unfortunately for her, though, she was the first one to break, as she rubbed at her teary eyes, probably because of the light that was filtering into the room from the open doorway.

            “Damn it, Lena, fine! I’ll eat the stupid soup!”

            “Good.” The blonde straightened out, a self-satisfied smile on her face. “Because Bob will tell me if you don’t. Won’t you, Bobik?”

            His eyes turned so wide he was afraid they might fall out of his head.

            God.

            Oh god no.

            He was stuck between a rock and a hard place as Y/N glowered from below her lashes, sniffling, while Yelena cocked her head to the side.

            Ultimately, though, his loyalty to the blonde and wanting nothing but the best for the well-being of the woman he was in love with, no matter what she might say to counter the effectiveness of the soup, won out. “Yeah. I – I will.”

            Y/N scoffed, turning her head away from him as Yelena pressed a triumphant kiss to the top of her hair before leaving.

            “Traitor,” she muttered.

            Bob looked down at his hands, which he had resting in his lap as he worried the inside of his cheek. “I just want you to get better, Y/N…”

            “And I just wanna lie down and die, but neither of you is letting me.”

            “But who’s gonna go to the bookstore with me if you die?” He gave her a small smile, hoping to elevate her sour mood.

            “I dunno, John?”

            Bob gave her a look, their gazes meeting. “You actually think John can read?”

            If Y/N had been eating the soup, no doubt she would’ve choked with how she threw her head back in a loud laugh, as Bob tried to steady the tray, the broth sloshing a bit out of the bowl.      

            “I’m sorry,” she chuckled, their fingers brushing as she held the platter and pulled it closer. “Didn’t mean to make a mess.”

            “Don’t be.” The smile on his face was probably ridiculous, wide enough to make his cheeks hurt. “Laughter’s the best medicine or uh… something along those lines.”

            “You should tell Mistress Vera that. Might have to use a OUIJA board though.” Y/N winced as the hot liquid slid down her sore throat, slowly chewing on a piece of noodle.

            Admittedly, Bob didn’t know much about her time in the Red Room. He’d seen her shame rooms, just like he’d been privy to Yelena’s and the rest of the Thunderbolts’, as she’d been there when the Void had attacked New York, but once he came out of it, once they told him what he’d done, the feeling of having violated their privacy… he never asked either of them to talk about their time there.

            All Bob knew was that Mistress Vera had been Y/N’s handler, as she’d been trained separately from Yelena and her sister Natasha. Only after the original Avenger had broken her out of the trance induced by the mind-control serum used to keep the Black Widows under the Red Room spell, did Y/N join the two in helping them take down the organisation.

            “Oh… oh shit, I’m sorry,” her words of apology brought him back to the present, away from the thoughts of what she’d had to go through as a child, where a sore throat wouldn’t have been healed by a gentle touch, but a brutal beating.

            His brows furrowed as he looked around, thinking she might’ve spilt the soup, but there wasn’t anything there. “Whatever for?”

            “The dark!” she said, like it was a crime she’d committed. “Bob, you can put in some of the nightlights. They’re by the plugs.”

            “Oh, that’s…” He shook his head, for once happy to be surrounded by mostly shadows because that meant Y/N couldn’t see the furious blush covering his face, while his longish hair obscured his smiling features as he glanced down at his hands. “It’s okay. I don’t mind actually.”

            “But you don’t like the dark…?” The sentence was more of a question than the solid statement it used to be.

            Bob shrugged, pulling down the sleeves of his sweater. “This isn’t that bad… and if it helps you feel better, your eyes to not hurt, I don’t mind.”

            “I don’t want you to ‘not mind’ things. Bob, if you’re uncomfortable, you should put in at least one nightlight. Seriously. They’re not gonna boil out of my skull or something.”

            “My comfort isn’t as important as your health right now.” He shifted on the bed.

            “Of course it is!” The offended squeak Y/N let out would have made him smile, had it not turned into a violent coughing fit.

            After she was done hacking her lungs up, Bob’s hand running up and down her spine, hoping to at least somewhat soothe the ache, he lifted the warm bowl of soup closer to her. “Eat. Or I will tell on you to Yelena.”

            “Stukach,” Y/N mumbled in Russian, glaring at him as best as she could. Alexei and Yelena had introduced him enough to the language (mostly swearwords, which they said were the most important words) for him to understand she’d called him a snitch, but if being a snitch would motivate her to eat and get better, so be it.

            With a fond gaze, he watched as she finally got some food into her, and once she was done, he took the tray away, placing it on the nightstand, a hand of his acting on its own accord as he brushed a finger along her cheek. “Better?”

            “Yes. But don’t tell Lena that. She’ll just be insufferably smug about it.”

            Shaking his head, Bob helped Y/N settle back into bed, tucking the blanket under her chin, but before he could even move a foot, her hand shot out, curling around his wrist once more.

            “Bob?”

            “Yeah?” He looked where the woman lay against the plush pillows, head slowly sinking deeper into the down.

            “Could you… umm… and that is only if you really can’t get sick… could you maybe stay with me? Just until I fall asleep…”

            He was sure his heart had skipped a beat. Or maybe it’d done a full-blown gymnastics routine, somersaults and all, because it definitely wasn’t beating in its normal rhythm in his chest.

            “Y-yeah, of course, if that’s what you want.” Bob swallowed hard, nodding. “Just, uh… let me bring the tray to the kitchen, and then I’ll be right back.”

            And with a small “okay” from Y/N as his dismissal, Bob scurried out of the room like lightning.

            The hallway light was blinding compared to the darkness of the room he’d just spent about an hour in, but for the first time in his life, he craved it. Because in that darkness was safety and peace. In that darkness lay a body, curled up on a bed, covered in his sweater, waiting for him, hoping he’d help her get better.

            He barely acknowledged Ava or Bucky, who called out to him, asking if he was alright, as he grabbed a couple of water bottles from the fridge and some of the pretzels Alexei had stashed behind pots and pans, hoping to hide his hoard. He wouldn’t mind, Bob reasoned. Y/N was like another daughter to him, and if she’d eaten the soup, despite all her protesting, maybe her appetite was gonna be coming back sooner rather than later, and he wanted to be stocked up on snacks. Besides, he could just blame Walker if needed.

            When he returned, he was instantly enveloped by Y/N’s scent as if it were its own form of blanket.

            “Hey,” Bob whispered, not wanting to break the settled peace. “I’m – I’m back.”

            He mostly heard rather than saw shuffling on the bed, but as his eyes adjusted, he noted Y/N had moved to the side furthest from the door, opening up some space on the bed.

            She’d done so before during the nights his mind had been restless, but somehow this felt much more intimate than when insomnia forbade him from sleeping.

            Slowly, as if afraid this moment would be ripped from him if he moved any quicker, Bob placed the waters and pretzels on the ground, sliding in next to her, turning to face Y/N with one hand under his cheek, the other on the mattress between them.

            “Thank you,” she muttered, the ghost of a smile on her face as her hand slid from below the blankets and rested atop his. “For taking care of me.”

            “I–I mean, I didn’t –“

            “You did,” she interrupted his stammering, tightening the grip she had on him. Gently, he flipped it palm up so that her fingers could slide between his. “And you still are. So thank you.”

            And once again, like he’d said before, he simply replied, “Always.”

            With that single word spoken, Bob watched as Y/N’s eyes drooped closed, her breathing evened out, and once again she was deeply asleep. Yet even when in dreamland, her hold on him never wavered. Not when she twisted out from the cocoon and scooted closer to him, not as chills overtook her body and Bob held her through them, not as the fever broke and a small sigh of relief escaped, her body slowly returning to a normal temperature.

            For the first time in his life, Bob had found peace in the darkness, all because of the woman lying in his arms. And when it came to claim him too, he gladly fell, knowing that when he awoke, she would be there, much like she’d be in his dreams.

***

BONUS

“Oh my god! Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, this is so cute!”

            It was a harsh whisper-yell that brought Bob out of his slumber.

            He peeked an eye open, noting the unmistakable shape of Y/N’s form in his arms. She was still sound asleep, her body curled around his like that of a koala’s, head tucked below his chin, while one of her arms had a death-grip on his waist, a leg thrown over his hip.

            One of his own arms was underneath her, completely numb. From the feeling of it, it’d probably been there for ages, but if this position meant she was comfortable and could have a good sleep, he’d deal with the pins-and-needles a hundred times over if necessary.

            Turning to look over his shoulder, Bob found the culprit or rather culprits of the noise as he was met with the faces of Yelena, Alexei, Bucky, Ava and John all looking at them through a gap in the door, the Red Guardian with a phone in his hand, no doubt taking pictures of the two cuddling.

            “You guys,” he mumbled, a blush of embarrassment crawling its way all over his body. “Can you pipe it down? Y/N’s asleep.”

            “How is Legushka?” Yelena whispered into the room. “Did the fever break?”

            “Yes!” Bob hissed, turning away from the team and curling tighter around the body he had in his hold. “Now, can you all please leave? You’ll wake her up.”

            “Sorry.” Bucky raised his hands in apology. “I told them not to disturb you. Come on! Out, everyone!”

            Obviously, he more than Y/N, would get mercilessly teased about it, but he could take it, if it meant a bit more time with her in his arms, but just when he thought he’d gotten away with it, Walker just had to shout a loud, “Yeah, fucking get it, Bobik!”, making Y/N spring up.

            She took a confused glance around at the room before her eyes settled onto Bob who was on her bed, red-faced and mortified.

            “The toad did it,” Y/N said, her tone serious as a heart attack.

            Bob blinked once. Twice. “What?”

            “I swear the toad did it,” she mumbled, evidently delirious from sleep and the flu, but slowly moving back to lay down next to him, curling into the man’s body like it was where she belonged. “The toad ate the last strawberry. Damn thieving amphibian…”

            Come morning, he would ask about the toad and the strawberry and if it had anything to do with Yelena’s nickname for her, but for now, Bob just pressed a light kiss against Y/N’s forehead, eyes slipping closed, listening to the melody of her breathing.

            One day, he would tell her how he really felt.

            One day, he would give his heart to her.

            One day, he hoped, she would trust him with her own.

             But for then and there, Bob was content with his present. With the peace he’d found in the darkness.

Tags: Marvel tags: @nerissa98 @asguardiansoftheavengers @crazybutconfidentaf @pizzarollpatrol @desir-ae A/N: we are so back baby, Tower fics incoming! Bob, my love, my life... you bet your ass I'm probably gonna write something where OG Avengers are still alive and living in the tower with Thunderbolts*!!! The chaos that would ensue is giving me life Tags are always open

[apple-crunch]

what if... caleb got into an "accident"

warnings: none, just fluff .𖥔 ݁ ˖ : inspired by this :)

An emergency landing. Or at least that was what Caleb said to you over the phone.

You were confident in him, that's for sure. But sometimes you just can't shake the worry of something going wrong during a mission. So when you got a call from Caleb himself informing you of his emergency landing, your heart rate immediately picked up— mind racing to the possibilities.

Was he hurt? Where is he? What happened? Will he get home? Is he okay? Is it bad?

Caleb tried to calm you down, you wanted him to turn his camera on to see him but he insisted no due to confidentiality of the mission— when in reality, he just wanted to hide his bloody state from you to keep you from being hysterical.

Coincidentally, you were in the middle of watching a TV show when he called, it was on commercial now but when screen flashed breaking news reporting a crash site of one of the Farspace Fleets crafts holding the current colonel you immediately started crying and sobbing over the phone.

"YOU SAID IT WAS AN EMERGENCY LANDING! CALEB THAT'S CALLED A CRASH!" You sobbed at him, raising your voice so loud that you could barely hear what the TV was saying.

"Hey- look, it's not that bad I promise, just a cras-"

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN JUST A CRASH!? CALEB GO HOME NOW. I DON'T WANT YOU THERE, PLEASE!" Your voice was cracking both from your crying and screaming but you didn't care, eyes drifting to the screen— you cried even harder seeing how bad the wreck was. "Pips-"

"NO. HOME. NOW."

» »

To say that the wait was torture would be an understatement. After your scream at him to go home, Caleb only sighed and whispered a small okay before ending the call— only for you to ring him again urging to stay on the phone in case anything happens.

Caleb smiled at himself seeing how worried you are. You really do care about him a lot, and today just magnified that. It was cute hearing your voice despite it cracking and raspy, however, it did break his heart just a little bit; hearing your sniffles while he drives and your ting voice asking him where he was.

The two of you barely talked during the drive, just quick questions and even quicker answers. You wanted to rest your voice and Caleb knew that, thus, he stayed relatively quiet. Just small hums to let you know he was still there.

He didn't had the time to make himself look presentable, just poorly wrapped a badge around his cut right arm to prevent infection and stop bleeding— other than that, he looked like a mess. Torn, bloody, dirty uniform and just an overall unkept apperance. Thank the heavens for his handsome face to save the look.

You were waiting at the very doorstep of his front door. Phone sat on the granite floor, red teary eyes, puffy face, and a very evident pout on your lips. So cute; Caleb thought. You weren't even sitting, you were standing while waiting for him. Under watchful eyes, Caleb got out of the car— a gasp left your mouth and you immediately ran to him.

You wanted to hug him but stopped just a foot away from him even though he already had his arms open. For the probably nth time today, you started crying again.

"Oh, pips.. It's okay, I'm okay." Caleb cooed, patting your head twice before pressing it to his chest to embrace you in a hug. Your hands immediately wrapped around his torso, nuzzling your face deeper into him as you cried. Looking up at him and cradling his face in your hands. "Don't you ever! Do that again!" You scold him, lines burrowing between your eyebrows.

Caleb chuckles, nodding his head and leaning in to kiss your forehead, then your nose, then your lips. He bends his body to math your height before saying "I promise, never again. Especially now that I know how sad my boss baby gets."

Your lips wobble as more tears build up in your eyes. Your hands explore his body, feeling every bit of dust, blood, and torn fabric on his uniform. His tough left hand, and then finally his right hand where a porrly wrapped gash wrapped around it. Eyes widening, you look at him and he cocks his head sideways at you.

"Y- you're hurt.. Caleb! Why didn't you tend to it! Do you want both your arms to be metal now or something!" You scold him once more, now glaring at him. "Awe, my pips is so worried about me!"

"Caleb!" You softly hit his chest.

"It's only a small cut squeak, I'll be fine."

"Don't care! Get inside, you're wounded and it needs to be healed." You tug on his metal arm as you drag him inside the house. Once in, you assist him in taking his coat and boots off before guiding him to the bathroom and getting the very used and handy first aid kit.

Caleb's already took of the second layer of his uniform leaving him only in a white long sleeve button up. Slowly, he unbottons it with his left hand as you carefully take of the gash on his right. You pout even more when you see how deep the cut was on his skin.

You begin to do your work in silence, focus completely on sanitizing and treating his wound. He watches in adoration as you move on him, long gone the brave tough colonel Caleb of the Farspace Fleet as a crippling fear builds within him. He can't lose you, he can't lose this.

"Be more careful nextime, please Caleb. I don't want to lose you anymore." You look at him directly in the eye after finishing your work. Caleb's eyes soften when you embrace him in a hug, resting your face on his exposed skin while he rests his head on top of yours.

You hear his heartbeat, pressing yourself even more. Never letting go of your touch on him.

While the two of you clean yourself in the bathtub, your touch on him lingers as you wash his hair, massaging his scalp in the process.

While he cooks for dinner in the kitchen, you cling on him like a koala, wrapping your legs around his waist while you piggy back him.

While you lay in bed telling each other recaps of what happened while each other was away as you always do, your hand lays on his chest feelings his heartbeat. Legs intertwined so as your arms, and ultimately— your soul.

An unspoken promise of forever.

[plotholesaregreatactually]

Honestly we don’t see much about Duke in these crossovers.

So here’s a really long post! Though it isn’t exactly Duke.

@im-totally-not-an-alien-2 I hope you approve!

(Oh it’s really late for me rn)

I mean, pretty sure duke could use his powers to turn invisible and he usually does the day shift by himself I think so it’s a bit easier to get some of his DNA without being noticed and as the meta of the group it makes sense he’d be targeted.

I can even imagine how they meet.

The sole somewhat stable surviving clone of the vigilante Signal manages to escape from the facility he’s held in.

Similarly to Superboy he gets some knowledge downloaded into him but not on the same level as I imagine this to be a smaller and more lowkey organization. That’s also why he isn’t so stable.

He gets some of Duke’s memories to as *waves hands* somehow his meta ability allowed him to just have some of his memories, for flavor ig.

So escaped clone learned pretty early on how to turn invisible and does a few light shows every now and then when fighting against his previous captors and to better understand his powers.

Someone noticed some weird light shows and a new ghost story is born!

In comes the Fentons with the ectoplasm powered steel chair!

And Phantom swoops in to the rescue! The gh- wait this isn’t a ghost!

And flys away after saving Mr. To-be-named who has stars in his eyes after being rescued for the first time ever. Though he still has a bit of bat paranoia ingrained in his being.

Next comes a hilarious series of cutscenes of them hanging out and getting closer to each other!

Danny introduces Cloney to Nasty Burger!

Beam Supreme (the clone) has a powers mishap! And gets an array of lightbulb and light related punny nicknames from Danny.

Danny shows Disco Strikes Back! His astronomy knowledge by bringing to a special event at a planetarium, for some reason though Sam and Tucker couldn’t make it?

Our Clone boy remembers that his template tried out for track and soccer before and decided to see if it’s something he would like. The track reminds him of the few endurance tests he was put through though with soccer he loved the camaraderie the sport had, and the fact he got to join a team while his template got kicked out.

Rainbow Jumpscare earns that nickname by scaring off a group of ghost that tried to jump Danny as a civilian! …He really liked the feeling of saving someone… though he didn’t like the way his chest felt when he saw Danny in danger.

And many more happen though you can think those up!

[Next part is in sections so you don’t have to read one huge chunk of text]

(Pt.1) Danny accidentally shows off his weapons prowess when a ghost uses Paulina as a hostage, he even gets invited a party she’s hosting tomorrow! He’s so excited! Or. He should be. He’s not sure why he feels so, uninterested, it’s Paulina! The school’s idol! And where’s Sparkles?

(Pt.2) It’s the day of the party and our dear clone boy really doesn’t want to be around, he’s realizing something about himself and if he sticks around longer it won’t be just the G.I.W after Danny. Showing off his powers like that must have alerted someone to where he is, and… if Danny, if someone who’s been so head over heels for some girl since they met finds out about his feelings then! No. He won’t ever find out. (Not even Clone Duke can do emotions, well he was made from a guy born in Gotham)

(Pt.3) Danny, after talking to, surprisingly enough, his parents, comes to a realization that Paulina doesn’t really matter to him anymore! I mean she’s popular and he’ll still save her and all but his relationship with Glowbug means a lot more to him!

(Pt.4) They play a game of cat and mouse, Clone Duke manages to find and start methodically disassembling the G.I.W by destroying credibility and funding. Danny on the other hand somehow manages to follow his trail due to a unique ectoplasmic signature on a gift he gave Gleam Beam early on during their friendship. Danny thinks the G.I.W did something to his… His friend of course! Ha ha yup just friends no weird feeling at thinking that at all ha ha.

(Pt.5) The G.I.W is a few steps away from being irrecoverably broken and Clone Duke feels… totally not alone he can compartmentalize like any other hero clone! Danny really misses his Glow Bro really really misses him. But in a totally bro way of course!

(Pt.6) Danny nearly dies, Clone Duke nearly dies, they both get captured. Sam, Tucker and Valerie though begrudgingly manage to break in and cause enough of a commotion our duo escape! They then face down an insane man decked out in stolen and remodeled tech, who was the one to capture the duo, and defeat him.

(Pt.7) Clone Duke decides to ‘finally tell them his name’ aka. He just decided on one and is definitely not telling anyone he’s a clone.

He tells them his name is Asier.

Danny suddenly remembers Asier is also a pickle.

Pickle puns.

Many pickle puns. And jokes. And plushies. And keychains. And- you get it now right?

Though of course they aren’t telling each other about the weird feelings they have! Nope not that!

Despite their weird pretty much flirting during the entire fight.

And oh. Oh dear the rescue trio is not amused. And through *insert method here* the rescue trio call out the glowstick duo on their feelings!

And now they have to deal with PDA™️. Just kill them now but don’t because if they become ghosts they’ll deal with this for an eternity.

Btw Asier managed to destroy the group that cloned him and has several plans for the Fentons to make his beloved !Boyfriend! Happy!

Later he comes out with the whole clone thing after meeting Ellie after nearly dying from being a little too unstable and they decide to prank the Waynes for their anniversary.

(Hi! If anyone wants to add or write out any of this please do!)

(Also I’m not adding Cores or Obsessions or Ghost Instincts because this is meant to be lighthearted and I don’t want to delve in deep)

(Also if you give me content it fuels me and lets me make more so please type anything and I will consume it with the grace of a untrained dog given bacon that somehow manages to idk write bootleg Shakespeare)

Danny held back his laughter as he sprinted away. The note he left in the batmobile is going to rile up Gothams furries if what his boyfriend said was right.

All he wrote was, "I'm dating your clone, and there's nothing you can do about it." No signature, no fingerprints, heck, he didn't even reveal who's clone it was. Now he and his boyfriend are going to follow along with invisibility and popcorn to watch their heads explode.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

If You Need To Hear It

Main Masterlist - Dean Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, pre-established relationship (sort), light fluff, light angst, lotta smut (fingering, p in v), humor.

Summary/Warnings: After a tense case, Dean decides to remind you of what you mean to him on the roof of the Impala.

Author's Note: Request from @grosskyjaja! Once again, I can't just be horny, I gotta have feelings too. Enjoy!

Word Count: 4.4k

You’re drenched in things that should never be outside of bodies. Your hair is stuck to your brow, and your fingers are caked in dry blood. Something thick is spattered over your jeans, and there might be hair that isn’t yours in your mouth.

And that was a good hunt.

No deaths. No major injuries, either. Just a few traumatized housewives, and fingernail marks on your palm from when they’d been flirting with Dean in front of you. So you have no real reason to feel horrible. You’ve been covered in worse. You’ve killed more things, and come a lot closer to losing Dean—and actually lost him—in a much realer way.

But you were tired. The week had been filled with women—who had teeth that were straighter than yours, and hair that was better kept—shooting you bitter glares as you stood a little closer to Dean than you needed to. Now, you just want to go home.

And Dean hasn’t fared much better, in the aftermath. At least he remembered extra clothing, though. Clothing that he ditched in favor of his stupid fake-fed suit, in favor of you—after a long, hot shower and a lot of scrubbing your skin until you skin is raw and untouched by blood—wearing his extra shirt and too big boxers.

“They look like shorts-“

“Not they don’t.” You’d grumbled, and Dean had sighed.

“We can stay the night,” he’d said your name, not fully looking you in the eyes. “Most places are closed, I’ll go out and get you a new shirt and pants in the morning.”

“From where?”

“Store.”

“Dean.” You’d given him a flat look, shoving your bra—the only thing you’d been wearing that wouldn’t have to be burned—into your bag. “We’re in Northern Idaho.”

He shrugs. “They got stores. Don’t be classist, sweetheart-“

“I’m not. They won’t have anything I’ll wear twice.”

“They might-“

“They won’t.” Maybe he doesn’t want you to keep wearing his shirt. The thought just makes you more exhausted. “I’m being pragmatic, not elitist.”

Dean frowns. “I didn’t say elitist.”

You shrug, wrapping your arms around your chest. “I know. Elitist is what you meant.”

He snorts. “I love it when you talk dirty-“

“Dean.” You’d snapped, and he’d stilled. Your distress must have been audible. “I just want to go home.”

That had been enough. You had fresh clothing at home, and a bed without lumps, and—if you were lucky—maybe Dean would let you crawl into his arms and not let go until morning. 

He’d packed everything up and into the trunk of the Impala without another joke, and when you crawl next to him on the bench, his arm goes over your shoulder and stays there. He doesn’t stop touching you for the entirety of the drive. Lots of fields and forests and sky, Dean’s hand either rubbing small circles on your upper arm or resting on your thigh.

You know he’s pushing Baby to her limits, just to get you home. Or get away from your sulking sooner. You can’t blame him. You’re glaring out the window as if the trees are responsible for your exhaustion.

And it’s so stupid. It was a good hunt. It was an objectively good hunt. And Dean didn’t even flirt back. 

But you’re not his. Not officially—though through your whole body you’re only ever sure of one thing, and it’s that you’re Dean’s—and not in a way that gives him any claim over you. 

Which means that Dean’s not yours. And you have no claim over him. So if he’d decided to indulge one of those housewives, you’d have no good reason to stop him.

You try not to think about it too often. How Dean could, on any day, just decide that he was done with you. You’d wake up, and suddenly last night would be the last night. The last time you’d touch him. The last time he’d touch you.

And you really, really try not to think about it. But the floodgates have been opened, and now you can’t stop.

Dean might be able to sense it. 

Maybe that’s why he’s touching you, even as the air becomes wired with silence. He’s trying to remind you that for now, he’s here with you.

For now.

“It’s gettin’ late.” He mutters, and you only hum. You’d left at dawn, but Montana was a big state. You’d only just crossed the border into Wyoming, and the sky is already dark and scattered with scars.

“You know where we are?” 

Dean shakes his head. “Think it’s nowhere. Haven’t see a sign for miles. And I can soldier through, sweetheart-“

“No.” You sigh. “It’s fine. I can-“

“You’re not driving.”

“Dean-“

“It’s not cause I don’t trust you,” he says your name, giving you a pointed look. “It’s cause you’re tired. We’ll just sleep out here.”

“Out-“ You blink at him. “In the car?”

“Yeah, Baby’s safer than a motel. I used to sleep in her all the time, when it was just me-“

“But it’s not just you-“

“We’ve been closer than squished in the car, sweetheart.” Dean’s voice is a drawl, and he squeezes your thigh like a reminder. As if you could ever forget. “It’ll be fine. I’ve got a gun, and you’ve got me.”

You don’t have him. 

You give in anyway.

And it’s only an hour before it’s too much. Dean pressed up right behind you—there wasn’t any cold to huddle against, but he hadn’t seemed interested in hearing that—with his knee almost between your thighs, his face near your neck, and his arms wrapped around your stomach. 

Everything smells like him. Even the blanket he’d pulled from the trunk. And you’d thought it would be good for him to hold you like this, but this isn’t in the sanctity of his bedroom. No one but you has ever been allowed in his bedroom. You know for a fact other girls have been in this position.

In the Impala, Dean wrapped around them like he’s never wanted to be anywhere else.

You used to be jealous of them, and how they got to be close to Dean, even for a night.

Now, you know it’s never enough. And you’ll never be able to admire those girls more, for having Dean once, then walking away.

There’s a chance they didn’t have him quite like you do. His laughter and company and stupid blanket, his shirt over their body and his total vulnerability as he sleeps.

You’re trying not to think about it.

But it’s hard with Dean pressed right behind you. 

It’s another hour before you squirm away and climb outside. You need the air, the isolation, the anything but Dean holding you like he’d like to keep you, when he doesn’t. 

You just need space.

And there’s a lot of it, above you. Glittering in the sky as you climb onto the roof, and seemingly infinite with the flat skyline. You lay flat on your back and watch it until you feel sleepy again. And Dean will be pissed if you fall asleep outside, but you’re so tired-

“Come back inside.” 

You feel a tap on your knee, and push up to see Dean frowning at you.

“You’ll get sick, sweetheart-“

“I’m fine.” You mutter, lying back down. “I’ll be in soon.”

Dean makes an odd sound. “Will you.”

“Yeah.”

“Why’d you come out in the first place.”

“I- Just wanted to watch the stars.”

“Could’ve woken me up.”

You rise back up, and Dean’s almost glaring at you. As if you’ve offended him. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”

His jaw twitches. “That’s what you’re going with?”

“What I-“ You frown at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He lets out a long sigh, rubbing his brow with a hand. “Alright. We’re doing this.”

“Doing- Dean!”

He’s yanked you forward until your knees are dangling off the side, and he’s standing between your legs. Pressed between your legs. Pressed into you, and barely a breath away as he scans over your face.

“Dean?” You whisper, unable to move away, and his face tightens. “What’s-“

“You’re avoiding me.”

“I- I’ve been in the car with you all day-“

“But you’re not talking!” He snaps, his tone heavy. Like this is painful. “Ever since we did the interviews, you haven’t talked to me or let me touch you, and I don’t know what I did wrong, baby, but I can’t fix it if you keep-“

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” You grab Dean’s face between your hands, shaking your head. He can’t be allowed to think that. “I- It was me. And it’s stupid.”

He frowns. “Not stupid if it makes you upset.”

“It is,” you mumble. “It’s- Don’t worry about it. You didn’t even do anything, or pretend you would, but I- Never mind.”

Dean’s not pulling away. He’s just examining you. Like the answer will be written all over your face. 

It might be.

Because you can see the exact moment he gets it. His eyes widen, he lets out a sharp breath, and then he presses in closer with a small smirk.

“Were you jealous?”

“I- no-“

“Yeah, you were.” He shakes his head, letting out a dry laugh. “You were upset I might- Son of a bitch-“ He says your name, and looks far too amused for how your face might be burning. “Why didn’t you say something-“

“Because it’s dumb!” You snap, and he doesn’t even pretend to flinch when you shove at his chest. “You weren’t doing anything, and it’s- it’s not like we’re together-“

Dean catches your hand and tugs you forwards, all but pinning you to his chest and scanning over your features with a small frown. “Say that again.”

“I- It-“ You voice is going a little hoarse, but Dean won’t stop staring at you. “It’s not like we’re together-“

“Wrong.” Dean certainly looks offended now, shaking his head with a tight frown. “I got two women in my life, and it’s her.” He pats Baby’s hood with a grin, and it’s hard not to roll your eyes at him. “And- Hey. Saw that.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You’re starting to smile.

You’re not sure how he always pulls that out of you.

But he’s Dean. So he does.

“Stop getting smart with me,” He mutters, leaning forward to bump his nose with yours. “I’m trying to be helpful-“

“You are being helpful.” You sigh, dropping your head into his shoulder. “I told you it was stupid.”

“Wasn’t stupid.” Dean’s hand finds its way into your hair, running it carefully through his fingers. “Nothing you do is stupid. Can be dramatic, but not stupid.”

“Thanks.” You mumble, and he shrugs, his fingers stilling suddenly in your hair. 

When he speaks again, his voice is impossible low, and rough, and right in your fucking ear. “You still doubting that I mean it, babygirl?”

“Mean what?”

He chuckles, and god, his voice is getting deeper. “You know what I’m talking about.”

“I-“

“Don’t play dumb, sweetheart,” Dean’s palm starts to rub right over the cloth of your shorts, and your breath hitches against his skin. “You’re not that good at it.”

“‘m good at it.” You’re already a little dizzy, but Dean’s all around you and pressing down. “You- I-“

“I know. You need some extra attention? Need me to fuck you until you get that I damn mean it?”

There it is. The deepest voice. The sex voice, that he’ll almost growl in your ear on a case before pulling you into a closet, or hum at you in the kitchen before herding you back to his bedroom.

Asshole. 

He knows you’d jump off a roof if he asked you with that voice.

“Answer me,” he mutters your name, teasing his thumb up and down your still-clothed slit. “Gotta hear it.”

“Ye-“ You let out a breathy moan into his shoulder. “Yes, please-“

“There she is.” He’s almost crooning at you, and it’s enough to make you start grinding onto his hand. “Never anything stupid with you, my smart girl.”

You squeak as Dean tugs you back by your hair, and even in the dark of the night, he’s the best thing you’ve ever seen. Pretty green eyes darkened and focused wholly on you, an expression of something dangerously close to reverence all over his face as he scans over you. 

His hand moves away from your core, bracing him on the hood of the Impala, but you don’t get a whine in protest before he’s pulling you into a long, deep kiss. Taking his time, pressing his tongue into your mouth and humming when you part without a thought, never coming up for air because you don’t need it. You have Dean, grunting when you almost fall over his body, moaning his name against his mouth because if he’s going to let you have this, you’re going to take all of it. 

“Son of a bitch.” Dean mutters your name, pulling you back with a lazy grin, and you can only pant and drop your brow against his. “Never think I want anyone but you. Ever.”

“Dean, you-“

“No.” He shakes his head, pressing a softer kiss and mumbling against your lips. “You’re my girl, baby. Don’t forget it.”

You sigh. “I can’t tell if you’re talking to me or the car.”

Dean barks a laugh, and it pulls a smaller smile onto your lips, that splits into an almost stupid grin when Dean grabs you back into another long, slightly rougher kiss. More teeth and spit, a little bruising and mind-numbing. He might be trying to sedate your brain into not overthinking.

If he is, it’s working.

“Right now I’m talking about you, pretty girl.” He hums, the outline of his cock pressing against your inner thigh, and you can’t even think of a quick comeback.

All you can really think is Dean, handsome and somehow yours. Against all odds and reason, Dean seems to think he’s yours.

And you could never hate yourself enough to deny him.

“That’s good.” You whisper, and Dean chuckles.

“Yeah, it is. C’mon,” his hand goes back to pressing between your thighs, and your hips buck. “Lemme show you, sweetheart. Gonna make you feel so good.”

You nod, already humping his hand as he rubs around your clothed clit, and Dean hums your name.

“Words-“

“Yes, please.” You whisper, wrapping your arms around his neck, and you can hear the grin in his voice.

“Hold on.”

 Dean hooks his fingers on your underwear, pushing it to the side before shoving one finger right into your pussy, and you let out a high squeak.

“Jesus.” He mutters, glancing down to where you’re squeezing around him. “You’re fuckin’ soaked, baby. This all for me?”

You nod, your brow pressed back to his. “Only for you, Dean, only ever for you-“

“Fucking-“ Dean groans, pulling your lower lip between his teeth. “You’re so perfect baby. Always so ready for me-“

You moan as two fingers slam into you, scissoring and pumping with a rough, precise speed, Dean grabbing your chin and angling your head to the side. His kisses fall to your neck as you start to hump against him, scratching at his neck and whining whenever he lets his thumb flick over your clit. You’re already going out of your mind, Dean’s somehow still tucked into his pants, and you want more. 

You must have said it aloud, because Dean chuckles against your neck. “This not enough for you, sweetheart?”

“I- It is- I- Feels so good-“ You moan, your hips jerking as Dean crooks his fingers against the deepest spot inside of you, and his grip tightens.

“Gotta stop squirming, baby.”

“But I want you-“

“You got me.” Dean starts to rub over your clit, and you shake your head, your voice almost a whine.

“But I want you,” You repeat, grinding over his bulge, and he lets out a long hiss, his fingers in your cunt picking up to a brutal pace. “Please.”

“Son of a bitch,” he mutters, pulling back to watch you with that reverence again. “This not enough for you, babygirl? You wanna take my cock too?”

You nod frantically, squeaking when his fingers start to rub on that deep spot, his thumb teasing feather-light touches over your clit, and you’re going to fly out of your skin-

“One time.” He holds your gaze, and you might fall apart just from the sight of him. Blown-out pupils on yours, his jaw set as he watches you, so handsome and somehow yours- 

“Dean-“

“Just one, babygirl.” His thumb presses down and starts to roll firm circles around you, and your mouth falls open in a silent moan. “There you go, wanna see you cum one time before you take my cock, you can do it-“

It’s like he flips a switch. Your orgasm crashes through you with a high, wanting sound of Dean mixed with pleas, and he swallows it with another rough kiss. You’re only seeing stars and feeling an impossibly good rush of pleasure through your whole body. There’s a brief moment where Dean fingers are gone and you whimper at the lost, but Dean’s knee presses right against your cunt, and you let out a soft, easy sigh.

“Feel good, sweetheart?”

If his question is teasing or mocking, you really don’t fucking care, and nod dumbly as he pulls away. 

Dean only laughs, his fingers—the ones that had just been fucking in you—coming up to his mouth. He licks them clean, his gaze never leaving yours, and your hips roll against his knee.

 “I- C’mon, Dean, please-“ 

“Christ,” Dean mutters your name, brushing some of the hair stuck to your brow away. “You’re like- My dream girl. You know that, right?”

“I- I think I do.” You lean forward, continuing to grind onto him as your hand wanders down to squeeze his cock, straining through his pants. “Can you show me?”

His eyes flash, and he swats your hand away, pinning it to the hood. “You still need my cock, sweet girl? Still need me to fuck you on the roof, make you scream so all of Montana can hear?”

“We’re in Wyoming,” you whisper, and Dean shrugs.

“They can hear too. You want it?”

You nod, not breaking Dean’s gaze. “Yes.”

He’s so fast you almost aren’t ready. Kissing you so harsh you think he’s trying to meld his lips to yours, before pulling you right into his chest and sucking a sloppy line along your jaw and neck. Your fingers dig into his shoulder in a desperate play to keep steady, but it’s not needed. 

Dean won’t let you fall.

There are a few things that break through the haze of Dean’s lip, nipping on your neck. The sound of the Impala door opening and the rustle of a belt, as well as the feeling of big, calloused hands kneading up your thigh before pulling down your shorts, and taking your panties with them.

It’s a quick second, where you’re completely bare and shivering from the cold air on your pussy. But then you hear the door close, Dean’s mouth slams back over yours in a demanding, harsh kiss, and you’re never going to be cold again.

His dick slams into you in one, movement, and your mouth falls open at the perfect stretch of him inside you. Dean takes advantage of it, pushing the kiss further until you’re melted over him, fluttering slightly around him as a second, tiny orgasm rips through you.

“God, fucking-“ Dean groans your name, pulling all the way out before slamming back in, and you whine. “Yeah, I know baby. You’re so fuckin’ tight, feel so good wrapped around my cock, wanna-“

“Do it.” You mumble, wrapping your legs around his waist. “Wanna feel it, please. Need to feel it.”

He groans, his hand moving back to brace himself against the Impala’s roof. “You sure-“

“Yes.” It’s the easier question to answer. 

And the certainty in your voice pays off. Dean’s will snaps with a half growl of your name, and you’re gone.

Usually, Dean lets you lead with sex. And you almost always make it slow. You’ve wanted to savor it as much as you could, to stretch out the stolen moments because you’d thought, one day, you’d never have them again. You’d give Dean everything you had—on your knees and riding him and splayed out below him, trying to put on a show when he’d bury his face in your cunt—because you’d thought it was what you needed to do for him to come back. 

He’s going to come back no matter what. 

And it seems to be your turn to take.

Dean’s almost feral against you. Hammering his hips into your sensitive cunt, splitting you open and pressing against that needy spot over and over until you’re a moaning, writhing mess in his arms. His lips never leave your skin for a second, kissing and biting over your shoulder, nipping at the base of your neck before rising back up to mutter filthy praise against your lips.

“Takin’ me so good, sweetheart, fuckin’ made for my cock,” his thrust are already starting to grow uneven, and when you bite on his lower lip, he slams into you so hard stars start to form behind your eyes.

“Dean.” You gasp, and he groans as you squeeze around him. “Feels so good, you’re- God-“

“You like takin’ my big dick, baby?” He drawls against you, adjusting your hips to hit you impossibly deeper. “Shit, you feel like heaven, wanna- Fuck-“

There’s a tension in his voice, even if he doesn’t stop moving, and you frown. “What’s-“

“Forgot a condom.” Dean grunts, rutting against you as he drops to bury his face in the crook of your neck. “I’m not gonna last, sweetheart- I gotta-“

“Inside.” You mumble, your breath hitching as he bottoms out again, the angle making your clit rub against his abdomen. “Dean, please- I said I wanna feel it-“

“Shit,” he moans your name against your skin, cock twitching in your cunt. “You’re so- Fuckin’ love you, baby, I’m gonna-“

He moves back up to kiss you as he chases his release, still fucking moaning down your throat as he fucks you desperately through it.

But then he doesn’t stop. Dean’s cum is dripping out of your pussy, down your thighs and onto the roof of the car, but he’s not slowing down. Still half-hard and grabbing your waist until you’re sure it’s going to leave a bruise—you hope it does—and fucking his cum back into you, until you’re so impossibly full you think you’re going to fucking die from it, and he- He’d said-

“Dean-“

“Last one,” he mutters against your lips, rolling his hips in a sharp circle that makes your squeak. “You can gimme one more, pretty girl, c’mon,” his thumb moves to your clit, and your hips jerk off the bed.

“God-“

“Not god. Just me” Dean laughs at his own joke, pinching you and rolling the nerves between his fingers, and there’s a tight coil deep in your gut that about to snap, and-

“Dean, please-“

“I know,” he hums, and this is too soft a kiss for how he’s still bruising your cervix, how you’re on fire and he’s still using his sex voice. “Squirt on my cock, baby, you can do it, so fuckin’ gorgeous all fucked out ’n full of me-“

He gives a small, harsh slap to your clit before pressing his palm and rubbing it back and forth, right as his cock presses on that hypersensitive place inside of you, and you cum with a scream that echoes through the night.

Something is flooding out from between your thighs, but in the white-hot daze of your orgasm, you really can’t tell if it’s pee or Dean’s cum-

Not Dean’s cum. He’s still buried inside you, mumbling low words as he kisses all over your face, holding you as you shake slightly against him. 

“You fucking soaked me, sweetheart.” He chuckles, kneading gently against your skin. “C’mon let’s get you inside before you catch a cold.”

There’s no way you’re in danger of catching a cold. You’re all warm as Dean slowly pulls away, making a movement like he’s considering diving between your legs and licking you clean, but deciding against it and hauling you fully into his arms instead.

You’re grateful. Right now it feels like one touch could set you over the edge again, and you’re not sure you’d be able to take it. Dean’s mouth on your still aching cunt might actually kill you. It can be an experiment for another time, when you’re not in the middle of nowhere.

Because there will be another time. Dean wouldn’t have done that if he didn’t want more times. Wouldn’t be cleaning you up with his own shirt, and grinning at you so affectionately when he tries to replace your shirt, and you shake your head in a cock-drunk daze. 

“Sweetheart, it’s covered in-“

“I know.” You mumble. “I like it.”

He laughs, kissing you once with a grin. “Alright then, dirty girl. Keep the freakin’ cum shirt, see if I care.”

You smile like an idiot as he pulls away—likely cleaning the roof—and then it hits you again. There will be more, because Dean- He- He said-

You sit up suddenly, pushing open the door, and Dean is running back in a second. He doesn’t get to bend down to your level, though. You wrap your arms around his waist and bury your face in his stomach before he gets the chance.

“I, uh-“ He clears his throat, tugging on your hair until you look up to meet his gaze. “What’s- Are you good?”

In the dark, with all the shadows and lights, and the vast night sky above him, he looks like an angel. Not the real kind, but the story kind. That only protect and care and guide you home, even if—as long as Dean is here, with you—you’ll never need to be guided.

Dean is home.

“I love you too.” You whisper, and his eyes widen. “And you don’t have to say anything. I know you feel it too, and I- you’re mine, and I’m yours, and that’s it.”

He nods slowly, his thumb dropping to trace over your lips. 

“Only competition I have is Baby, right?”

Normally, Dean would laugh at that. But tonight, his throat just bobs as he shakes his head.

And his voice is hoarse when he speaks.

“Never any competition for you. I feel it.” He mutters your name with that same reverence returned. “Always feel it. And I- Thank you.”

You can’t stop your smile. “Of course. I love you, Dean. I mean it.”

His lips twitch. “I know.”

End Note: God, help me. I'm giving myself impossible standards.

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[konigsluv]

DOMESTIC!Sukuna x Reader

MDNI ꒦꒷ Domestic!Sukuna forgets your birthday, but a surprise picture at work with a 🎀 and donuts makes you forgive him

contains: down-bad Sukuna, dick picture, fem!reader

"Fuck off, Ryomen,"

Sukuna remembers your exact words as you left the house this morning. He had fucked up. He knew all too well.

Sukuna had forgotten today was your birthday.

It was like any other day when the two of you woke up in bed together. He had pressed kisses to the back of your neck to rouse you from sleep, but not once did he whisper the words "happy birthday, baby,"

You had expected anything, just anything. Flowers, chocolates, maybe even a nice diamond necklace, or even better a ring...

But no.

You walked out into the living room to see it the same as it was the night before. Even with the dishes still in the sink that you asked Sukuna so nicely to take care of a day ago!

You didn't even bother giving him a kiss on the way out of the house, or listen to his excuses as you dressed as fast as you could. Sukuna was even baffled that you pushed his hands off of your waist when he tried talking sweet to you. You never resisted his sweet voice...

Now he knew he was screwed.

Especially when you didn't respond to his texts, and ignored his calls. In all, it made Sukuna a little pissed. Not at you though, just as himself for being such a fuck up. Seriously, how bad of a boyfriend was he to blank on your birthday?

"Fuck, please baby, i'm sorry," he growls into his phone as he collapses onto the couch, "just answer me- answer the god damn phone already," he then hangs up, hoping you'll at least listen to the voicemail.

You don't.

You're at work now, staring down at your phone with furrowed brows. The countless texts:

10:23AM || Ryo: baby i'm sorry

10:23AM || Ryo: i'll take you out to dinner, get you something nice

seen 10:23 AM

10:34AM || Ryo: fuck i'm already pissed off, don't ignore me

10:35AM || Ryo: i'm sorry, tell me what to do to make it up to you

seen 10:35 am

You couldn't believe the audacity of that man. For him to get mad?!

After ignoring him, Sukuna stopped spamming you, which made you feel even shittier.

You kind of wanted him to fight for your attention on your birthday, even if you were mad... and weren't responding...

bzz-bzz

You almost ignore the notification from your phone, thinking you should punish him more. Though you couldn't, you wanted to see what else he had to say for himself.

11:14AM || Ryo: i'm sorry baby. I got your present, just forgive me already

*photo attached*

You purse your lips in suspicion, you wonder what he got you that could make up for forgetting your fucking birthday.

Clicking on the photo you immediately turn your phone off at the speed of light and almost fling it across the room.

Was he crazy?!?! Sending that to you at work?!

Your cheeks flush as you whip your head around, wondering if anyone saw your phone screen. Of course Sukuna sent you a fucking picture of his dick.

11:15AM || You: why the fuck are you sending me dick pics at work?!

11:15AM || You: I'd be dead if someone saw that

11:15AM || Ryo: did you see it

11:16AM || You: your penis? yes Ryomen.

11:16AM || You: I know what it looks like.

11:16AM || Ryo: you didn't, open it again

Groaning internally you wondered what he was on about. You glance around once more before walking into the bathrooms and shutting yourself in a stall.

Clicking on the photo again your eyes widened.

It was Sukuna's cock alright but... he had tied a pink ribbon around it in the shape of a bow. And was that a box of donuts?...

11:19AM || Ryo: i'll let you stack donuts on it. I can get those fruit roll ups if you want me to

You huff a sigh from your nose, running a hand down your face as you try to calm your erratically beating heart. This man was going to be the death of you.

After a minute of conflicted emotions and staring at your phone screen, you respond.

11:20AM || You: you're forgiven.

m.list

please do not copy or repost on any platforms without my permission

LIKES AND REBLOGS APPRECIATED

[caleignii]

Caleb Fluff Headcanons

a/n: can't get enough of my sweet boy calebyy, so here are some headcanons that I think about him sometimes. My requests are open btww! Have fun reading dolls. (⁠人⁠*⁠´⁠∀⁠｀⁠)⁠｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+

Caleb who's love speaks softly—never with grand declarations, but in the quiet consistency of care. A warm drink materializes on your counter, perfectly timed to your worst days. The bulb that flickered last night? Fixed before morning. When the frost settles on the windows, your coat and gloves are already waiting by the door, touched by hands that never ask for thanks. He never says, “I did this for you.” But when you catch his eye after noticing, there’s a flicker of a smile there—like he’s trying not to glow too much. Like loving you is something sacred he’s choosing to keep humble.

Caleb after his missions, when the adrenaline fades and silence stretches thin, he drives—somewhere quiet, somewhere star-swept. He doesn’t speak much on the way, only reaches for your hand as though that’s all the grounding he needs. You lie beside him under the cosmos, shoulder to shoulder, listening to the universe breathe. Sometimes he whispers things—not to the stars, but to you. “When the stars get loud, I look at you, and they get quiet again.” You don’t always answer. You just squeeze his hand and let the silence cradle you both. Stars don’t speak, but Caleb does.

Caleb who secretly has an interest in riding a big bike. Okay here me out, with him as a pilot whenever he's flying in a small/open-cockpit plane—sends of freedom, thrill, and wind-in-your-face exhilaration that he may miss when flying sealed aircraft. Just like when riding a bike, the breeze during a fast ride contributes to that immersive, high-energy feeling, similar to low-altitude flying. The rush of wind on a fast-moving bike closely mimics the sensory experience of flying in an open cockpit or glider. Both activities provide an adrenaline rush and it attracted him who enjoy controlled risk and excitement.

Caleb's insomnia visits often, but so does he. He settles beside you, opens a worn book, and starts to read—not to pass the time, but to share space with you. His voice is low, smooth, like waves against the hull of a ship. You rest your head on his chest, feeling every word more than hearing them. When your breathing slows, he doesn’t stop. He keeps reading—quietly, carefully—as if the story might guard your dreams better than silence ever could.

Caleb has a photo of you he keeps hidden, tucked in the lining of his helmet like a secret prayer. Every mission, just before the launch seals him away, he looks at it. Only for a second. No one else sees. No one needs to. Once, you asked him why. He said, “Because there are places out there that want to strip the human out of you. But when I look at this... I remember who I am. And who I’m coming back to.”

Caleb doesn’t talk about his soft side. But you see it in the way a stray dog curls up at his feet, or how a kitten somehow finds its way into his arms, even on a space station. Once, you caught him crouched beside a baby bird, gently feeding it crumbs. He didn’t know you were watching. He just murmured, “You’re cold, aren’t you?” He looked up, startled, and gave the smallest shrug. “Someone had to help.” You didn’t tell him, but in that moment, your heart broke a little wider for him.

Caleb when someone flirts with you, doesn’t get angry, just quiet. A subtle shift. A glance. His fingers graze yours, almost like a question. Are you still with me? You smile at him—really smile—and that’s all it takes. The tension slides off his shoulders like water off armor. He presses a soft kiss to your temple, says nothing, but holds your hand just a bit tighter. The message is clear: I don’t need to fight for you. You’ve already chosen me.

Caleb even when the world freezes around you, hands stay warm. On distant moons, in frostbitten ships, when your bones ache from the cold, he reaches for you. Always. His palms are steady, wrapping yours like a promise. No words—just touch. Gentle, grounding, there. It’s not just about warmth. It’s about reminding you: You are not drifting. You are not alone. I’m here.

[fromwherespiralhill]

I feel like people don’t talk halfway enough about how well these scripts work, once you find the ones that work for you… even though it’s so obvious that the well-established scripts have their place

We adapted the traffic light safeword system for sex / sexual scening, bc we learned about it ages ago and felt it would really work for us, and ended up w/ someone who we thought it’d also work for. So like after a handful of scenes where shit went poorly bc there wasn’t a lot of in-the-moment communication mostly because we didn’t have the language for it, we did decide to try out some new language, we did formalize when and how we want to check in / be checked in on. And holy schnitzel guys right, it works?? Next scene is like four trillion times comfier (AND FWIW SEXIER) bc the only gravely missing thing was a script to help us follow and express our real feelings… smth that matters a lot… during a SCENE…!!!

Relationship stages… I mean they exist for a reason too. How it’s been this time around is (and tbh similarly in the past for us) — those stages rly do exist, in the background and as a script, because they offer like… a framework to understand commitment on top of. Or more precisely, to verbalize commitment, but thats the thing: being able to word your feelings is often a huge part of how you understand them. So it’s part of understanding too.

Only, there’s a big catch (for us) with taking smth that has like… tbh so much cultural baggage. (Maybe like all the scripts people get judgy over, if you don’t meet them perfectly.) Well the catch is in the baggage lol: we just try to be aware of that baggage, and the expectations that come with it, cuz it is so freakin easy to fall into it like, yeah, just go with the flow and Advance The Stages because That’s What Comes Next (therefore, That’s The Right Thing To Do). Too many parentheses, paragraph break lol

Thing is the baggage doesnt make it useless to us. We still find comfort in relationship stages as a concept bc like of course we’re gonna find comfort in it, that’s what we grew up surrounded by. Speakin’ out of my ass but call it a “social script” cuz it’s societally normalized lol. We just take care with it, and that means doing a load of communication and just TAAALKING about… get this… what relationship stages even mean to us. Like what the words we call each other (and ourselves) FEEL like. Ikr, talking about a script, oh nooo, cover your ears—that shit is sexy too man

…And friggin’ important too. Stuff’s moved quickly for us, but y’know why we feel comfortable with that? Cuz it’s all on a real sturdy ground of talking about our feelings and figuring out + making changes for each other to help those feelings feel safer and more awesome. And when the relationship is (yea) literally mostly over text but also involves a lot of words, full stop… lot of the changes we make… are in those words!! In our scripts, in our ways of being and expressing together! And it frickin works!

Anyway we take a lot from our tbh fairly minimal total experience with scening and if y’all like caring about the words you say and the words people say abt you, you could probably give scenes a try

the vigour and furor with which some people are repulsed at the mere existence of a "social script" is just pure ableism. you sound exhausting to have to communicate with

[mungojerree]

I joke about Hans Capon being a damsel in need of constant rescue but he's actually so incredibly brave, and so skilled. His only flaw is caring.

He's a very good archer and he's been training under Bernard, so obviously his combat skills are commendable but he's not expected to be putting those skills to use in the frontlines. He was raised to be a diplomat, to talk, to lead, and he's also very good at that (you'll know if you let him lead negotiations in the game) BUT shit changes when he starts caring about people. When he starts caring about Henry. Pairing him with Henry was supposed to be punishment but they end up becoming best friends. Hans learns to respect, care for, and love a commoner, someone he always saw as below him. He was never supposed to be going on crazy missions but Henry is going, so he wants to go, he'd never leave his side!

He simply forgets the fact that he's not expendable, he's a goddamn noble, so the stuff Henry, the gang, soldiers and knights are doing on a regular basis are more dangerous to him because he's valuable to enemies. He needs to be constantly reminded by the others of how important he is, and still he ignores it, because all he wants is to prove himself brave and worthy, he wants to protect Henry, he wants to go wherever Henry goes, even though Henry is technically only doing his job to protect his lord.

He feels shattered when Henry leaves Suchdol with Sam and that's why I'm obsessed with that last romance scene. Hans has never been so vulnerable like that, he's scared, his voice is shaky, he knows this mission is ten times more dangerous than the others, they are exhausted and starved and people won't let him go with Henry. It's clear to me neither of them ever saw it coming. This ain't love, right? Right? But it has been from the start. Every single romance line with Hans is about caring. I care more than you know. I won't let anything happen to you. I'll be back and everything will be fine. That first kiss is a burst of emotion. If this was a musical Hans Capon would be singing. And he relaxes and smiles when Henry leads him to bed because for a couple hours they're safe, they're equals and there's only love between them.

Anyway all this blabbering was just so I could reiterate that love made Hans Capon brave, and that bravery mixed in with his young age makes him reckless, sure, but if having a noble title isn't stopping him from rushing to the trenches with Henry, imagine what he would do if he didn't have those shackles! My Henry would save his ass a thousand times over and over again, because Hans would do the same if he could.

[girlgenius1111]

new memories

fresa putellas x solstråle engen sol normally never talks about her parents or her childhood, until a moment at the putellas household has her breaking down. little solfresa blurb :) w @wileys-russo

—

It was the excitement with which Fresa tugged Sol into the house and over to the sofa that had Sol entirely unprepared for the way her heart was about to fall out of her chest. Usually, anything Fresa got excited about made Sol excited too. Even if it was something Sol didn’t really care for, like the Spanish soap operas Fresa was obsessed with, or the new moisturizer she was trying, Sol found that she loved those things because of how much joy they brought her girlfriend. 

But as Fresa clicked on the TV and hit the play button on the old VCR, Sol wasn’t excited anymore. 

Because there was baby Fresa, chubby cheeked, shrieking with laughter as a teenage Alexia chased her around the kitchen, a wide grin on her face. 

“Mami just found it in the attic! I thought we’d watched all the tapes from when we were kids but I hadn’t seen this one!” Fresa explained, a mix of something nostalgic and heavy and fond clear on her face. 

A younger Alba walked into the frame, and Fresa paused the video, looking at Sol’s face for a reaction. 

“Look, amor! Look at that haircut. Isn’t that a crime?!” 

Sol ignored the familiar tight feeling out of her chest, giving her girlfriend what she hoped was a convincing smile. 

“Yeah, yeah a real crime.” She murmured, looking down at her hands in her lap before she did something embarrassing like cry. 

The smile on Fresa’s face faltered as she studied her girlfriend, seeing for the first time that something wasn’t right. 

“Sol, amor, what–”

“Solstråle,” Eli called warmly, hurrying into the room with Alba trailing behind her. “How are you, niña?” 

“Good!” Sol lied, forcing herself to look up and meet Eli’s eyes. Of course, nothing was getting past the older woman, either, her eyes flickering between her daughter’s and Sol’s. 

Before either Fresa or Eli could say a word, more voices and loud footsteps filtered into the room. Sol felt herself shrinking in on herself, as if the more people that entered, the more likely it was for someone to question why she looked like she was about to cry. 

“At least you didn’t look like a mushroom!” Alexia scoffed. 

“I looked worse. Like a possessed doll.” Alba complained, gesturing to the TV where the image of her younger self was still frozen. 

“Solstråle.” Alexia said curtly, noticing the brunette sat on the couch next to her youngest sister. 

“Hola, Sol.” Alba chimed in, using a  much more friendly tone. 

Sol replied with a soft hello, doing her best to ignore the stares of her girlfriend and Eli. 

Alba threw herself down on Fresa’s otherside with a loud huff, reaching for the remote as if she was expecting to have to wrestle it away. 

Fresa was completely still, though, her eyes fixed on her girlfriend. It may not have seemed like a big deal to anyone else, but Fresa knew her girlfriend pretty well. She knew when Sol wasn’t okay, even if the Norwegian refused to ever admit that fact. It had just been a momentary lapse in her usual sunny demeanor, but Fresa could see it for what it was. 

And what it was… was a big deal. 

“Okay, Fresita, you show your girlfriend ugly pictures of me, then Sol should see you in your little helmet hiding from Alexia’s football.” Alba taunted, hitting the fast forward button on the remote, expecting Fresa to launch herself across the couch any moment now. Alexia chuckled as she took a seat in an armchair, also not clocking the tension in the room. 

Alba searched the tape for the clip, while Fresa extended her hand, lacing her finger’s with Sol’s. 

Except Sol’s hand wasn’t steady, as it normally was. It was clammy and shaking. In fact, it looked as though the entire body of the Norwegian was trembling. 

So, instead of wrestling Alba for the remote, or scolding Alexia to say a proper hello to Sol, Fresa abruptly stood up, pulling her girlfriend with her. 

“I need alone time.” Fresa announced, turning and dragging Sol towards the hall that led to her bedroom. Sol went willingly, which in and of itself was odd. She never passed up an opportunity to spend time with Fresa’s sisters. Now, though, she didn’t even look up from the ground as she followed her girlfriend down the hallway. 

“Huh?” Alba replied, tearing her eyes off the screen for a second to watch her sister walk away. 

“Hey! Door open! Six feet apart! No touching!” Alexia called after them, wincing and glaring at her Mami when Eli lightly smacked the back of her head. “What?!”

“This is my house, Alexia, they can have the door shut.” Eli explained exasperatedly. “Besides, Sol is upset about something, give them some space.” 

“Really? How could you tell?” Alba asked, brow furrowed. 

Alexia rolled her eyes, as if she too hadn’t been oblivious to the Norwegian’s mood. “She probably listened, Alba, instead of running her big mouth every second of every–”

“Oh, I see. I talk too much. I’m the one who goes on and on about corners and passing spaces and free kicks and–”

The two sisters began speaking at the same time, arguing even though they both had half smiles on their faces, like they were enjoying themselves. Knowing them, they probably were. 

Eli ignored them, glancing down the hall, hoping everything was okay. 

—

Fresa’s hand gripped softly to Sol’s as she led the Norwegian into her bedroom. Neither of them spoke; Sol didn’t have the words to explain everything that was going through her head. 

Fresa was sure she had an inkling of what was going on; she wasn’t completely clueless. It was obvious that things weren’t great between Sol and her parents, if for no other reason than the fact that she’d moved across the continent away from her parents and in with her sister. There were bits and pieces Sol let slip, too, short memories that clearly upset her, spoken so softly Fresa had to strain to listen. 

And then there were the jokes. The jokes more than anything, like Sol was afraid to let anyone see how much she was hurting. If it had a punchline, Sol could pretend it didn’t make her feel anything. 

Fresa caught the pain in Sol’s eyes when she joked about Ingrid being the favorite child. The first time Sol had met Eli, and had seemed completely shocked when Eli had pulled her in for a hug. 

The look in Sol’s eyes when the home video had begun playing was something Fresa was sure she would remember forever. It was more than pain; it was agony and sadness and heartbreak. And now, as Fresa pulled her girlfriend over to her neatly made bed, soft sniffles broke the silence. 

It was entirely instinctual, Fresa sprawling out on her bed and holding her arms open for the taller girl. It had only been a few months of them being together, but they were both very tactile people. Despite the size difference between them, and the often rough and tough exterior Sol presented, there wasn’t anything in the world that could make her feel better more than laying in Fresa’s arms. 

It was a few minutes of silence, of Sol listening to Fresa’s heartbeat and feeling the younger girl’s perfectly manicured nails scratching lightly at her back and scalp before Sol could talk. 

“I don’t… I don’t have any home videos of myself that my parents took. Or photos. They’re all mostly of Ingrid, with me in the background of some of them. They never came to any of my school performances or parent teacher conferences. They didn’t care about any of my milestones. Everything I have to remember my childhood by is because Ingrid thought to keep it. Not my parents.” Sol’s voice broke off, and she took a shuddering breath. Fresa’s lips pressed softly into the top of her head. 

“It’s okay, amor. Take your time.” Fresa murmured, like she knew exactly how hard it was for Sol to vocalize all of this.

“They never loved me like they loved Ingrid. They tolerated me, until they didn’t anymore. They never wanted me, I wasn’t good enough for them. I’ve just… I’ve never been good enough.” 

At this, Fresa shook her head. 

“That’s not true.” She said gently. “You’re enough for me, Sol.” 

Eyes still welled with tears, lip still quivering, Sol looked up at her girlfriend like she didn’t quite believe her. 

“I love you.” Fresa whispered. It wasn’t the first time she’d said it, but it may as well have been given the expression on Sol’s face. “It’s easy to love you, Solstråle. It’s the easiest thing I’ve ever done, because you are good and kind and beautiful.” 

“Stop.” Sol choked out, wiping at her face and willing the tears to stop. She’d never been very good at taking compliments, especially from girls as pretty as Fresa. 

Fresa just shook her head, though, a sad smile on her face. “No. You need to hear it, and I’m going to tell you until you believe me.” 

The younger girl had barely finished speaking before Sol was surging up towards her, pressing her lips to Fresa’s almost desperately. Cradling Sol’s face in her hands, Fresa kissed her back before pressing their foreheads together. Her thumbs swiped away the tears that still slid down Sol’s cheeks, their eyes locked. 

“I love you.” Sol whispered shakily. Fresa whispered it back, again, before tucking her face into Sol’s neck and wrapping her arms around the Norwegian’s waist. 

Sol kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. For something to slip out, and Fresa to realize that she was making a mistake. Yet everything Fresa learned about Sol, the good and the bad, she hadn’t gone anywhere, wasn’t going anywhere. It was with a warm feeling blooming in her chest as she tightened her hold around her girlfriend, that Sol let herself believe that Fresa saw her, and loved her all the same. 

—

[asxgard]

Companionship | pt. 14

Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x f!reader

Previous | Next

Summary: You two have a little getaway.

[ Series Masterlist ]

Note: This took a hot minute lol I kept rewriting the first bit even after the rest was written, and then my dog got a bad infection (he’s okay now). It’s been a time lol I hope you enjoy!

Thank you for all the comments, likes and reblogs last chapter💜

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: age gap, SMUT (MINORS DNI), p in v, oral (f! receiving), fingering, light dirty talk, pet names (honey, sweetheart, my love), foul language

not beta read

On the night of Michael’s birthday, he grew more reserved. Dinner came and went with you trying to coax him back out of his shell — and you hoped it was only his nerves about you meeting his friends afterwards. You were nervous enough for the both of you, but you began to worry he was having second thoughts.

In the car, he said, “I’m nearly twice your age now.”

You leaned back into the passenger seat with a long sigh. You both sat quietly for several moments, Michael staring out the window while you rubbed your thumb along your other palm. The age gap seemed to hold steady over your heads — even as you were falling in love. He was now closer to nineteen years older rather than eighteen, and would be until your birthday later in the year. It was clear the near two decades were weighing on him.

You reached over to grab his hand, “And so what? We’ve discussed this.”

Michael ran his other hand over his face, letting out a huff of air. “I don’t want to steal your youth.”

“Michael, you’re not stealing anything.” You told him, “This is a two way street. One I’m actively choosing.”

He didn’t say anything, just kept looking out at the parking lot. He squeezed your hand with a heavy sigh.

“Do you feel like I’m stealing something from you? I don’t know…I haven’t fully gotten my life together yet, I’m still waiting to get my certifications…I can’t always be there in a way someone older might be able to—”

His eyes were on you while he shook his head, “Not at all. That’s not…I want you as you are.”

You held his gaze and smiled, trying to convey the same sentiment, “That’s what I want, too.”

“I’m sorry. I knew this wasn’t going to be easy or normal. I don’t want to keep chasing you away, I just wasn’t expecting to feel this way today.”

“Well, I’d rather you tell me what's going on in your head rather than bury it.”

He nodded, “And what happens when I turn 50?”

“That’s five years away. It’s not like I’m immune to aging…I’ll age five years, too.” You said. “And I’d hope we’d have made a life together by that point. We can deal with how you feel about it together.”

“I like the sound of that.”

You smiled, and he leaned over to kiss you.

The drive to the bar was quiet, but nerves had invaded your belly at meeting people from Michael’s life. You had been able to learn how to handle the judgment from strangers, but it felt like a whole new ballgame with people in his life.

Jack was tough to read, and it felt like Dana had been an easier sell. Her husband, Benji, had been easy enough to talk to, and took some of the conversational weight off your shoulders. Perhaps since he also did not work in the hospital, or perhaps he took pity on you, either way, it was relieving.

When asked about it, you told them about school and graduating — but it made you feel too young. One could attend university at any time in their life, but all of them had finished closer to when you were born. You tried not to be uncomfortable about it.

“How did you guys meet?” Benji asked, sipping his beer.

Your eyes flickered up to Michael, trying to conceal your alarm. Why hadn’t you discussed it? Did he want to tell them the truth or—

“Coffee shop. Our orders got mixed up.” Michael supplied, the lie passing easily from his lips.

Though, you had met at a coffee shop, so it wasn’t a straight up lie.

You forced a smile looking back to Benji, “We ended up talking for a while and I gave him my number.” Again, not a total lie, but your cheeks burned.

Dana’s eyes moved back and forth between you, “You could’ve told me she was your girlfriend when she came in, Robinavitch. No need for all that secretive VIP crap.”

You watched Michael cringe slightly at the use of his full name.

“I wasn’t yet.” You interjected, smiling shyly. “It took awhile for us to figure that part out.”

The night continued after with less pressing questions and easier small talk. They each traded stupid stories about patients, or the weirdest thing they found swallowed or inserted on x-ray. With Benji there, it made you feel less out of the loop, and he waved them off.

“Don’t you guys work there enough to not talk about it after hours?” Benji asked.

“Never after hours.” said Jack with a shrug.

Michael rolled his eyes playfully, “Fine, fine — how’re the kids?”

Another hour and they were all departing. Dana pulled you into a quick hug, whispering, “You’re good for him.” in your ear. You had grinned wide, relief flooding your system as you thanked the woman. Everyone parted ways after, and Michael took your hand as you walked to his car.

“They all seem like good people. I hope they liked me.”

Michael kissed the side of your head, “Of course they did. You make it easy.”

Your eyes met his brown, “You think so?”

“I know so.”

Before opening the passenger side door, he turned you around. He was fidgety, his hand growing clammy while the other rubbed the back of his neck.

“You okay?” You asked tentatively, squeezing his hand.

He cleared his throat, “I can’t really even begin to tell you how much I enjoy our time together, how much I enjoy you. I’ve—this hasn’t been easy and we had a rough start, but I’m glad you’re in my life. I love you.”

Your breath caught and you stared at him wide-eyed. Your heart thudded hard against your ribs and you reminded yourself to breathe.

When your thoughts returned, you smiled at him, “I love you, too, Michael”

—

“You sure know how to play the long con.” You said, eyes still bleary from the early morning as trees raced by.

Michael looked over at you with an eyebrow raised, before looking back at the road.

“Murder me in a cabin in the woods?” You elaborated, “Peaceful, quiet. It’d be great if it wasn’t so cliche.”

Michael laughed loudly, shaking his head. “Does that have anything to do with the documentary you insisted on watching last night?”

You had barely been able to fall asleep until Michael had pulled you into his arms, making you feel safe and protected. You loved those documentaries, despite how dark they were, or how many lights you had to turn on to get through them.

You sipped your coffee, “Of course not.”

“I see far too much blood and guts on a daily basis; I’d never spoil the cabin like that.” He said, tone momentarily slipping into something serious. “Besides, I like you too much. Thought I’d keep you around.”

You laughed, “How romantic.”

“I’m plenty romantic!” He said with a smile, “Cabin in the woods, a fire, good wine, the works. I even remembered to snag your favorite rom-coms from your apartment last week.”

You hid your grin by glancing out the window at the world speeding by. “And to think, you did all that to take me fishing…”

“You said you wanted to learn!”

Laughing, you said, “No harm in trying something once.”

He reached over the center console to grab hold of your hand, “I’m glad we’re getting some time away. It’ll be nice to not worry about work for a bit…”

“Or studying.” You added, intertwining your fingers. “Thank you for bringing me, I’ve been looking forward to it.”

He smiled softly, and you thought about all the feelings swirling in your chest. All of them easily spelling out love. Even after confessing it to each other weeks ago, it still felt new and exciting. Like everything had finally clicked into place after dancing around it forever.

His cabin was miles off the highway, found after traveling several winding roads, a long driveway nestled between towering trees. The trees eventually gave way to the cabin, quaint but with plenty of character. A picnic bench sat to the right of the structure, where a set of stairs led into a screened in porch. A large built in firepit sat several feet away from it.

The back door opened onto the porch, which held an outdoor dining table and a few outdoor loungers. The land began to slope downward right where the porch started, free of trees that made the view of the mountains all the easier to take in. The forest picked back up again about a quarter of a mile down, where it seemed the land leveled out again. Jutting out just slightly from the cabin was a storage closet, holding some cushions for said loungers, an umbrella for the table, and some odds and ends.

You took a deep breath in, and leaned into Michael when you breathed out. It was quiet and serene, the silence only filled by birds and buzzing insects. You could only slightly see one of his neighbor’s houses through the trees, but otherwise, it was completely private.

“You sure do know how to pick ‘em.”

Michael looked at you and smiled, “Yeah, I do.”

—

After an unsuccessful fishing trip, a hike and a long soak in the clawfoot tub, you emerged in the kitchen to see what Michael was doing. Uncooked burgers sat on parchment paper on a sheet tray, while Michael was putting a bowl of pasta salad in the fridge.

You followed after him and sat on one of the loungers while Michael cooked the burgers. He was humming an old blues song while you took in the view of the retreating sun over the mountains.

Dinner was spent under the sky, with quiet banter and easy conversation — and you savored more than just the meal. Pittsburgh could be busy, messy and complicated, but stepping back in a secluded cabin, you knew you wouldn’t change a thing about your life.

Cleaning up dinner, you both settled on the couch, turning on one of the rom-coms he had brought — How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days — and you curled into his side.

By the time the credits were rolling, you found yourself in his lap, kissing up his neck while his hands explored your figure. Your heart sped up in your chest, moving your hands to his hair. You tried not to grind your hips into his, trying to be slow — but your mind grew hazy with lust.

“Mike.” You breathed against his lips, half a whine, half a plea.

Like he could read your mind, his hands were on your hips, pushing just enough to where you got the hint and stood up. Your lips never left his, even as he led you to the bedroom, hand in your hair.

Once on the bed, Michael removed your pants and trailed kisses up your inner thigh. Your face heated and you suppressed the urge to beg him to move faster. You never wanted to rush him, to be painfully young in wanting it all without the chance to savor it, but his hot breath on your skin and his teeth nipping at your flesh made you feral. You were already squirming before he even situated himself to your wet heat.

Discarding your panties, Michael left a wet kiss to your clit, and you jolted at the sensation. One of his hands traveled up your torso to grab hold of your breast, fingers twirling around the nipple, while his other was locked around your knee. His eyes flickered up to meet yours, and you took in a deep breath to steady yourself.

Your clit was throbbing, spurred on by the sensation on your nipple. He held your gaze as he licked a stripe from your entrance to your clit. You moaned, gripping the wrist that was at your breast and held onto him like it would keep you tethered.

His tongue was an expert, and always left you seeing stars — your orgasm never taking very long, especially not when his fingers rubbed at that spongy spot inside you. He sucked, licked and devoured everything you gave him like a man starved, and it thrilled you more to know he was enjoying it. Even when he was being slow or teasing, he never seemed to mind how long it took.

Michael’s fingers curled upwards, tongue tracing circles on your clit until the wave took you in. You cried out his name, fingers in the bed sheets while the heat barreled through your system. He had a habit of not stopping, even when you grew overstimulated, sometimes eagerly even trying to coax a second out of you.

This time, though, you pulled him up to kiss him hungrily. The taste of yourself on his tongue made your thoughts stutter, before bringing him closer.

Without warning, you flipped you both so Michael was on his back and he stared up wide-eyed at you. Your shirt was easily discarded.

He smirked, hands going to your hips while you undid his pants. Pulling off his shirt, he pulled you in for a quick kiss. He was straining against his boxers, hard and immediately at attention when you pulled back his boxers. You were quick with the condom before steadying yourself over him. You leaned down to place a delicate kiss to his lips.

You sunk down on him slowly, hissing as you adjusted to his size, hands on his chest. He groaned low in his throat and you pulsed at the sound, your hips meeting his.

“Yeah? Like hearing what you do to me, sweetheart?”

You grinned, nodding dumbly, pulling his hands from your hips up to your breasts. To be so full of him made your eyes water and you threw your head back to try to find your breath again.

“Feels so good.” You moaned, looking back into his eyes.

You moved up slowly, before grinding back down and trying to find a pace you liked. Michael stared up at you, eyes dark, meeting you halfway with thrusts of his own. Heat coiled low again, pooling throughout your abdomen.

Michael moved a hand to your clit to rub lazy circles, and it burned deliciously — overstimulation yielding to pleasure. You moaned, moving up just enough for him to brush against that spot inside you.

“You look so good like that, honey. Fuck, you ride my cock so well.”

Your pussy fluttered at the words, eyes screwing shut. You felt lost in the winding euphoria coiling tighter. Michael gripped your hip while keeping his thumb rubbing your clit, thrusting up into you as you grew tighter and tighter.

Michael choked out a moan, and you hummed a mewl as you approached your climax.

“Mike—Mike—“ you whined, “So close—don’t stop, please.”

“Gonna fill you up, my love, come on. Come on my cock, know you want to.” He ground out. “You look so pretty when you do.”

You moaned low when the coil snapped and the white-hot heat invaded your vision and took over your senses. It rushed throughout your body and a single tear escaped the corner of your eye.

Michael was relentless after that, even as you were whining from the overstimulation, he kept going. Chasing his own high, but he never let up on your clit.

You felt completely blindsided by your third orgasm, rolling off the waves of your second until you were fluttering around him again. Crying out and squirming, you met a few of his thrusts in a cock-drunk daze.

Pleasure contorted Michael's face until he was coming with you, a groan low in his throat. His thrusts grew sloppy until they slowed. He twitched and you felt the warmth of it inside you, blooming upwards.

Your hairline was wet with sweat, and you breathed heavily. You leaned down to lay on his chest, his cock still stuffed inside you, but it had pleasure still echoing in your system.

Moving your head to his shoulder, Michael kissed your forehead. One hand trailed light lines up and down your spine, while you kept your hands on his biceps trying to catch your breath.

“I don’t think I ever wanna leave.”

Michael chuckled lightly, and brought you in for a kiss.

[ Next ]

want to join any of my taglists? shoot me a message!

Companionship taglist: @queenslandlover-93 @clementine111002 @virgomillie @emily-b @kaygilles @lt-jakeseresin @imonmykneessir @kniselle @gabsgabsvaz @rosiepoise88 @calivia @holdonimwalkingmysnail @valhallavalkyrie9 @blahkateisdone @shadowhuntyi @fuckalrighty @elli3williams @yournerdmodziata @i-know-i-can @dickheadturner @dcgoddess @pittobsessed @glamorizethechaos @blueb33ry-cat @whatdoesntkillyoumakesyoustrange @burningpenguinwitch @evienorville @equallyshaw @heyysolsister @justrandomthougt @babygirlagenda @lauracantsleep @rogersbarnesxx @longlivecandice @misshoneypaper @moonshooter @catmomstyles3

Dr. Robby taglist: @cherriready @seeyalaterinnovator @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @bxxbxy @18lkpeters @flyinglama @hagarsays @mayabbot @anakingreys @happyfox43 @dark-twisted-and-mechanical-mind @sarah-the-bird-nerd @girl-obsessed-with-things

(50 tags have been reached with the combo of all three taglists, so unfortunately some of Dr. Robby & all of The Pitt taglist for this series will be added in a reblog right after this is posted - I’m sorry if this is an inconvenience!)

I’ve gotten a lot more comfortable with bigger age gaps since this started. Sometimes I forget I aged Michael down slightly lol

Robby’s Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day up next!

[thbbie]

༄ shanks x reader (based on this ask)

shanks knows you're needy, you love touching him, having him touch you, hearing sweet words and all that. he really doesn't mind, he's the same way after all.

you guys are always huddled close, touching some how. and oh he could be shameless with it sometimes. it's just his nature, why would he be bothered with others when you are all that could ever matter?

so when you get upset with him, and decide to head off to bed early, without him, he knows you just need some space. some time to think, you can't sleep well without him, and he's the same exact way. shanks needs to hold you to feel you always, but especially when he sleeps.

it was something stupid, one of the crew members telling the story of the time shanks complained about clinginess in a partner after an unpleasant encounter with pushy people that wouldn't accept his polite but clear no as an answer. he isn't the type to needlessly start a fight so continued just brushing them off.

that wasn't about you, it wasn't even a thought that crossed his mind when he's with you.

shanks wants more of you, as much as your willing to give him. touch him more, talk to him more, laugh with him more. anything, anything with you.

he follows you back to his cabin a little later, fining you curled on the far side of your bed. you're on his side, holding his pillow close to you, arms and legs wrapped around it tight and your nose buried in its softness.

the red haired man cannot help but smile at that, such a sweet thing you are, cling to his pillow to fall asleep. there's a pang of guilt though that persists, he really doesn't feel that way.

shanks climbs into bed behind you, laying on his side and pulling you in by the waist; you don't need his pillow when you have all of him to yourself.

instictivly you find yourself wanting to turn to face him, to bury your face in his chest and wrap your arms around his waist but you don't. not yet. pushing the need below the surface, you're mad at him right now.

the smell of him envelops you, salty from sweat and sea, and somehow, so incredibly reminiscent of home. your home. shanks.

he presses kisses to your body, whatever he could reach from the awkward angle; your hair, the tip of your ear, the back of your neck, that sensitive spot near the base of your jaw — he was successful in getting your attention at least. scratchy stubble tickling you with every brush against your skin

you turn in his arm, maneuvering your position from face if away to facing him directly. your brows knit and voice firm, "i'm still upset with you,"

"mmmhm i figured." voice low, heavy and heavy, his hand roaming your body, applying gentle pressure " but you can't sleep like that. your tense, if you sleep now you'll hardly feel rested when you wake" his voice is smooth, brown eyes soft and dilated.

"turn around for me. yea- theree you go" "shut up" but you do it anyway, embarrassed by the way he's speaking but still you listen, turning in his hold so your back is facing his chest once again.

"let me help you relax. do you get the most of your sleep" he hooks your leg over his hip when you're situated comfortably against him.

shanks pulls your shorts aside, fingering the little twitchy nub between your legs, stroking you where he knows youre sensitive slowly turning you breathless. he just watches you, with so much fondness he watches you melt away under his tender touch.

he slips a finger into you, dragging slowly along your walls, his touch is so spft it feels teasing, he keeps it up until you begin bucking into his hand. grinding your hips into his hand and pushing yourself closer to him, chasing your pleasure.

you need more. "s-shanks. stop teasing i- ahhh~"

pulling his finger out of you, sliding his tip against your entrance, still gentle still teasing. he doesn't push in until your hands grasp at his forearms nails digging into his tanned skin with a shaky pleading cry of his name. that's what he wanted so he'll give you what you want.

he slips into you, inching in slowly till his hips are flush against yours. he lets out a deep groan when he does, feeling you gripping him so tight, shushing your quiet slurred " 'ts too much" pressing sweet kisses to your hair, his hand comes up to play with your puffy nipple.

twisting and turning the little hardened peaks between his rough fingers while you adjust to accommodating his full length.

he starts to thrust slow, sensual. the sweet words from his lips don't cease, your head feels fuzzy ands you're so warm. so comfortable and blissful in his hold.

the pace he sets is still slow, rocking you to sleep with his body, lulling you with his low groans and endless praise. shanks still plays with your puffy nipples, but he stops when he feels the stimulation gets distracting.

you're tired, he knows. he wants nothing more than your rest, so instead is warm hand moves to your belly; pressing into your softness with a comfortable weight while rubbing soothing circles into the skin.

"i love you you know"

he stops the moment of his hand and pauses mid-grind when you don't reply, "[name]?"

"mmm~"

shanks peaks over your shoulder at your face; asleep. your brows are no longer tugged close together and your lips aren't curled in a frown, a soft serene expression on your resting face instead.

"heh, sleep well, sweet thing."

he watches you for a little longer, still buried to the hilt inside you and looking all to pleased with himself, though the feeling of pride is dwarfed by the fondness he feels looking at you in such peacefulness.

he kisses your temple softly and watches the methodical rise and fall of your back until his own eyes turn heavy with sleep, weighing down until he can longer stop it from taking him away.

his last thought is a quiet prayer to who knows who that he'll get to see you in his dreams too.

zoro ver. law ver

[yestrday]

( passive su*cidal tendencies, slow-burn yandere, mydei insulting u??!?, cooould be a bit ooc on mydei's part, dead-inside reader )

thinking about... yandere! phainon and yandere! mydei having lost your affection and trust.

ever since the three of your crossed paths under the great tree of cerces, you had always shared a strong bond despite your many differences. people could understand mydei and phainon, who despite being on the opposite ends of the temper scale, were both great warriors that bore the prophecy of the chrysos heir. but they could not comprehend their attachment to you, a mere scholar under nousporism.

you don't understand it yourself, but you were happy for their affection nonetheless. you didn't mind being tended to by two handsome scholars, even if the questioning stares made you uncomfortable. but the chrysos heir journey is arduous, and you had always insisted that they focus on that rather than you, which had always received complaints from them. that is, until they finally heeded your words.

you're not that familiar with chrysos heir business, but you had assumed they had stopped talking to you because they were busy with their work. it's okay— so were you. but that didn't stop you sending letters to okhema in hopes of knowing about their conditions. none were replied to, and even one was sent back to you after being... rejected.

you bit the inside of your lip, looking down at the wax-sealed letter in your hands. that's... okay. maybe they didn't want anything to bother them at this moment in time.

so you eased up on the letters. but hyacine oftens go to and fro okhema and the grove for business, so you'd pass off trinkets to her to gift your friends. they may not hold the grandeur that the prince of castrum kremnos was used to, but they held your love and affection for them. alchemical products that, though not life-altering, could slightly increase their combat speed and power. you thought they enjoyed it, seeing as hyacine had always told you they received it, till one day the cleric came back to the grove with a scowl unfitting her gentle face.

"don't give them anymore gifts!" she huffed. "they don't deserve it. they don't deserve you!"

the meaning of her words were lost on you. but that's alright. professor anaxa— er, anaxagoras has tasked you on retrieving important research references from a middleman in okhema, so you were bound to see them anyway. research is nice, but it was lonely not having the two rowdy boys around to brighten up your life. surely they must have missed you as well—!

"o- oh, you're here?" phainon looks surprised, but not pleasantly. he awkwardly shifts his weight from his right leg to the left, scratching his back. "i thought you had some research at the grove to do...?"

you do, but this is not how friends who haven't met in a long time greet each other. still, you carry the conversation with forced lightheartedness, if for the sake of maintaining civility. you watch as phainon soon cuts off the conversation short and scurries off, dejection laying heavily on your heart.

you go out of your way to see mydei. he's not the type to be mingling with the crowd like phainon does, so you try and catch him training with the other kremnoan soldiers. you're happy to see him, but you soon grow timid when he approaches you with a scowl. mydei has always been unapproachable but not with you... before.

"you shouldn't be here," is the first thing he says when he's finally standing in front of you. now you understand why people keep their distance, because never have you felt more scared for your safety than you are now standing in front of him.

"professor anaxas sent me on an errand and i– i..." your words falter, now feeling stupid when you're clearly unwanted here. "i... wanted to see you." you watch as his face shifts slightly, before going back to its usual state.

"well, finish it and go back."

your face burns as you watch the nearby kremoans stare at you and whisper to each other. some of them assume that you're some whelp wanting to seek a bed with their prince and shame settles so deep in your stomach that you feel like throwing up. maybe... maybe mydei is just having a bad day. surly and grouchy as he is, mydei would never brush off you like that. and phainon probably had a prior arrangement to attend to, being a chrysos heir and all that. surely after things have settled you three can chat and laugh over cups of coffee.

"nikador's blood, you really don't get it do you!" phainon is trying to stop mydei, but he's towering over you with the angriest look you've ever seen on him. "when i say you go back, you go back!"

"mydei, that's enough," phainon pleads. "they're hurt and bleeding badly. now isn't the time—"

the prince ignores him, doubling down on his words as he continues, "instead you go running off trying to save some kids when you can't even save yourself!" you can barely hear anything, the lack of blood is making your head faint, but the only pain you can feel is the squeezing in your chest. "for titan's sake, [y. name], must you always be this stubborn!"

"mydei—"

"go back to the grove, [y. name], and never come back here." mydei glowers at you from above, the blood on his body and the glowing ire in his eyes making him look madder than the titans. "i already have to shoulder the weight of an entire city. i don't need another burden."

you haven't registered that you've started crying until you realize that mydei's retreating form is blurred by your tears. phainon only sighs and shakes his head. mydei perhaps might have turned his back on you, but phainon, the flawless chrysos heir, surely he wouldn't—!

"i'm sorry [y. name]," he whispers, regret in his voice. his smile is soft as he wipes away your tears. "he was rude about it, but mydei's right. you should go back. it's safer in the grove."

"safer in the grove, or because i'm just a burden?" you bite, spite yet heartbreak in your voice. phainon looks taken aback, never having heard you talk with such bitterness before. he looks torn up about it, but he doesn't answer. he smiles that awkward smile again and calls over a medic to help you with your wounds. soon, he joins mydei's body in the distance.

you can't even see them anymore, sight too blurred by the torrent of tears.

the grove has been attacked by the black tide. professor anaxas has been missing in action ever since and so have you, his dear student who’s been with him ever since. that was the first news they’ve had of you in a long while.

phainon is worried. he’s been asking the survivors about your whereabouts ever since they sought refuge in okhema. they've always been fond of you, saying that anaxas didn't deserve having a student so soft-hearted and understanding, but today their faces twist uncomfortably at the mention of you. they recount how you've evacuated them out of the grove and they're grateful for that but...

"you've been best friends ever since, right, my boy?" a senior researcher tugs on the hero's sleeve. "if they ever come back, please help that poor child... they begin to resemble their mentor more and more everyday and, well." phainon is eager to rush to the grove, to find you and puzzled about the senior's warning. aglaea sends the trailblazer, castorice, and trianne instead, and so he's forced to play the waiting game and wonder what might be going on with you.

the trio come back from the grove with anaxas but no one else. hours later, hyacine rushes past him with a team of medics, pushing someone on a gurney. it doesn't take him a second before he recognizes the face beneath all that blood. how could he, when that was the same face crying for him and mydei all those years ago?

phainon and mydei (after being near-tackled by the panicked deliverer) rush to the place where you're being held. hyacine and a doctor is performing vital surgery on you, so they wait the long arduous hours outside your room pacing back and forth and barely saying anything. phainon watches mydei's face go from barely restrained anger to regret to quiet self-loathing as he finally stops pacing around and defeatedly slump on the seat.

hyacine finally comes out from the room, looking exhausted. hyacine's anger at them has simmered quickly— she's not the type hold grudges, after all— but she still looks hesitant to let them in. working with you closely, she knows better than anyone about the rift between the three of you. but looking at their desperate faces, she sighs and holds the door open. she only a mutters a plea to be kind to the patient, before leaving and taking a well-deserved nap.

mydei enters the room with the intent to keep you a piece of his mind until he sets his eyes on you. you look near-dead, like a walking corpse, and possibly... insane? rather than eating the porridge set for you, you're busy scribbling in your notebook. you're deeply invested in whatever you're writing, muttering incomprehensible and inane things to yourself. phainon tamps down the rising alarm within him. professor anaxas always holds himself to a high degree of self-confidence and collection, so your haggard looks can hardly be compared to him... but he can see it. that dangerous obsession with research, tiptoeing the line of self-harm...

he clears his throat. "[y. name]," he softly calls out. you flick your eyes to them and he flinches at how you don't even bother to hide your annoyance at being disturbed. he's never seen you look so... bleak. you were always shining in his eyes, full of curiousity and eager to purse the new and wonderful. "are... are you okay?"

you let out a noncommital grunt and go back to writing. it's a heavily bookmarked journal with loose paper peeking out. the two warriors watch in silence as you continue on, obviously ignoring them. mydei clicks his tongue.

"say something," he demands of you, coming out gruffer than he intended. it's hard, but he has to remind himself that you just survived a near-death experience. you sigh and put down the journal for good.

"i'm okay, my lords." dry and sarcastic, you look like you'd rather do anything than be talking to them. "thank you for paying attention to a mere researcher like me." you jut a thumb to the door. "now, exit's that way."

phainon looks like he's been stabbed in the gut. "[y. name], i know we've hurt you, but still—"

you crack a dry smile. "hurt? why would the chrysos heirs ever hurt me?" you look like you're thoroughly amused by your own act, while phainon and mydei look like they can barely control themselves. "so long as the flame-chase journey continues, you are heros who protect our homeland. how could you possibly hurt me in anyway?"

you've certainly inherited your professor's backhanded compliments, phainon thinks, but mydei grits his teeth and steps toward you. "cut this act," mydei snaps. "what the hell has gotten into you? we're here because we're worried and you just...!"

"snub you? disregard you?" you offer, smiling ruefully. "oh gee, wonder how that feels."

"we were doing it to protect you—"

"let's not mince words here, son of gorgo. we all know i'm just a burden for you heroes, i've long come to terms with it. now—" you pick the journal back up and give them a pointed stare. "— i have observations to write."

mydei clenches his fist and grits his teeth. there is a moment of hesitation, certainly not satisfied with this conversation, but he throws you a glare and stomps out of the room. phainon, meanwhile, stands still. he looks at you with the face you used to cherish, soft and boyish yet matured at the same time. "... [y. name]," he calls your name again, sweetly like the ones in your memories. "what... what happened to you?"

you don't even bother smiling anymore, staring back at him with those discompassionate eyes. the answer is reflected in them.

"do they not understand anything at all?!" mydei's voice booms throughout their private bath. the golden-haired prince always seems angry, but today he is furious. "they've always been the weakest one out of us three. they're not even a chrysos heir! it makes sense that we protect them!"

"we... we were too harsh on them," phainon says, thinking back on the day they turned their back on you. "we said all those awful stuff. even declined their gifts. it... it makes sense that they were hurt."

mydei scowls. despite it not being in his nature, he always made a point to exercise patience with civillians, but you just seem to drive him insane. "scholar," he scoffs. "they should be smart enough to figure it out on their own. the council of elders are on our every move and things could get worse if we continue fraternizing with them. can't they see that?!"

it's times like these that phainon is reminded how different the two of them are. mydei expects due diligence and perfection from you, while phainon is eager to claw his way back to your side. he furrows his brow and stands. "i'm going to apologize," he announces resolutely. "even if i have to beg on my knees. i didn't want any of this to happen in the first place."

"i knew you were pathetic, deliverer, but not like this." mydei stares disapprovingly at him from across the room. "don't you have any shame?"

"can't you see!" phainon's voice grows louder. "look at them! don't you know what the other scholars are saying? they grow more and more like the profesor each day, their experiments are near-fatal, heck, they don't even look alive!" his blue eyes waver as the picture of your gauntness passes him. "how can you just stand there and let it be!"

"because every day for the past years i've been training and honing myself so that no harm could come their way," mydei snarls, approaching phainon. his friend glares back at him as the two men meet face to face, not willing to back down from anther. "while you've been sighing and daydreaming about them this entire time. all this was for them."

"and yet they nearly died," phainon spits right back. "some protector you are, prince."

stubborn and prideful like the young men that they are, it takes more than a few moments before mydei's face softens and he backs down, turning away from phainon. "i'm not apologizing. grovel all you want, but i don't care. i did nothing wrong." phainon's face contorts back to anger and he opens his mouth before the prince cuts him off. "i've done everything i can these past few years to protect the grove and in turn them. this black tide was an oversight on my part, but i've protected them to the fullest extent that i can."

"and i know you have too." mydei turns to phainon. "i know the secret talks you've been having with those council of elders' lackeys. you persuade them to avoid the grove. you deter them from ever looking into [y. name]. you protect them in ways i can't."

"... they'll never understand. not now. not after what we've done."

"no," mydei admits. "and yet for all the protection we've done, they've still gone and gotten themselves in trouble. if not the black tide then this near-suicidal tendencies they exhibit."

they call mydei a prince bathed in blood. history books talk of the cruel and oppressive traitor who heartlessly murdered his father. phainon has never once seen this side of him before... except now.

mydei looks downright tyrannical.

"you agree, phainon, don't you?" mused the prince, golden eyes awaiting his agreement. "they can't be trusted with themselves."

phainon swallows the dryness in his throat. "they hate us now."

"like they said, we're chrysos heirs. it's in our nature to get what we want." red crystals form on the palm of the kremnoan, sculpting themselves into a carving of his desire. "i know you're not daft. we've known this for a long time, you and i."

he stretches out his palm. a cage of blood red. phainon averts his eye.

"come, deliverer. i've always liked that greedy part of you."

[littlemillersbaby]

"well hello"

request: hiiii!! saw ur baker fic & loved it was wondering if you could write teacher!fem!reader? like she’s one of the teachers in Jackson and ofc ellie’s in her class and ellie LOVES HER talks about her nonstop and bothers joel. one day at pick up he finally sees her and he definitely understands what all the hype’s about now. It can lead to smut or not whatever you want I love ur writing <333 word count: 1,3k warnings: +18 minors dni, too lazy to write more but there's smut and language!

it’s just past three, and your classroom smelled faintly of chalk dust and damp wood. ellie was long gone, already bolted with a bounce in her step and a grin that cracked sideways when you reminded her that her essay on pre-fall governance systems still needed citations. you really liked her. she was smart-mouthed, whip-quick, a little feral in that lovable way if there was one.

you were gathering up worksheets into one neat stack when there’s a knock—barely even that, more like a hesitant tap. you look up, and there he is.

joel miller.

you’ve heard of him in bits and pieces, mostly ellie’s flippant mentions. "my old man," she says, or "joel says if you give me homework on a friday he’ll riot." the usual teenager noise. but you’d pictured someone rough, maybe grizzled, but the real thing? no one warned you about those bedroom eyes.

he’s leaning halfway into your doorframe, one hand braced against it like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to come in. you couldn't help but take him in; worn flannel, heavy shoulders. his gaze cuts across the room until it lands on you, then lingers like he’s trying to figure out what to say.

“hey,” he says. voice like gravel, but still warm and apologetic. “uh..i’m here to pick up ellie.”

you blink, “oh, she left ten minutes ago. said she was heading home.”

joel blinks right back, slowly this time. you watch his mouth twitch, not quite a smile, more a grimace of regret. “of course she did.”

“she told me you’d come late,” you add, something about the way he stands there makes you want to offer him anything. a chair, coffee maybe.

he huffs out a breath, rubs a hand over the back of his neck, fingers catching in graying curls. “figures...guess she figured i’d just find my way here anyway.”

“and she was right,” you smile, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear, tilting your head. “she’s clever like that.”

his eyes—brown, kind—settle on you again. longer this time. like maybe he’s taking his time to memorize you. your cardigan’s too big, sleeves pushed to your elbows and there’s a bit of pink and orange chalk on your fingers. he sees it all, catalogues it.

“you’re her teacher,” he says, not a question.

you nod, with a small smile. “mhm.. history.”

he nods too, but it’s faint, the air feels weirdly full all of a sudden. he shifts, and you catch the faint creak of leather from his belt. the man is solid. not just physically, though, lord, yeah, that too—but there’s something rooted in him.

“she talks about you,” he says, breaking the silence.“a lot.”

you swallow, “i hope it’s all good things.”

his mouth twitches again, and this time it’s definitely a smile, a crooked one but a smile nonetheless. “she says you’re smart. don’t take her shit. and that you swear sometimes when you’re grading papers.”

you laugh, nodding at the ellie's silliness. “that’s true.”

“she likes you.”

something about the way he says it makes your stomach do a little flip. the way his eyes don’t leave yours. how his voice drops on that last word—like he’s testing the water.

you could say something flirty here..something coy. but instead—

“do you want to get a drink sometime?” you blurt, then immediately feel heat crawl up your neck. “i mean, just, if you’re free..and want to.”

joel doesn’t blink, he just stares for a second at you; you could tell he was wondering if he heard you right.

“yes,” he says, so fast. “yes, i would love to.”

it was now saturday night at 7:00pm, and you were second-guessing all off it, thinking that you should've canceled.

you tell yourself it’s because of the cold—there’s a chill in the air but not threatening enough to cancel. it’s because you haven’t dated since coming to jackson.

but you show up to the bar anyway. it’s small, just off the main road. the smokey firewood smell clings to the ceiling beams, and old pre-fall songs hum low through restaurant speakers. joel was already there when you walked in, sitting at a corner table, hands curled around a glass of brown.

he stands when he sees you. such a gentleman.

“you came,” he says, and he looks so sincere about it your chest hurts.

“of course i did,” you say, sliding into the seat across from him.

he orders you a drink, and for the first few minutes it’s causal talk: ellie, school, the town, then it starts to slip into something else.

“you always this quiet?” you ask, teasing.

he raises a brow. “you always this bold?”

“bold? please...you should see me on parent-teacher night. i’m a badass.”

he chuckles and it’s soft and full of sweetness. it makes his whole face change. you sip your drink and watch the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles.

“what about you?” you ask. “always this broody?”

joel leans back, one arm slung over the back of the booth. “only when i’m tryin’ to impress someone.”

“you think it's working?”

his eyes flick down to your mouth, then back up.

“yeah,” he says. “think it is.”

later, when the drinks are gone and the once big fire is now burning low, he walks you home. the streets are too quiet while snow comes down in soft flakes. his hand brushes yours once. then again, finally on the third, you just take it.

your fingers tangle easily, like they’ve been doing it forever. at your door, there’s a pause. his breath plumes in the cold. his eyes search yours, asking without words.

you don’t make him ask.

“you want to come in?”

“yeah,” he says again, that same voice, full and sure. “i’d love to.”

the door closes behind him, and it’s like the air shifts with warmth.

neither of you says anything for a second. his eyes are still on you, dark and lustful. you can feel the beat of your heart, too loud in your chest. his fingers twitch like he wants to touch you, but he's too hesitant.

so you take his hand again, lead him inside, past the coat hooks, into the living room. you turn to face him, suddenly unsure. “joel, i—”

he cuts you off by kissing you deeply. you open your mouth under his, and the kiss deepens even more. one of his hands cradles your face, the other grips your waist. he pulls you in as you moan into his mouth.

he groans low. “fuck,” he mutters against your lips. “you feel good.”

you thread your hands into his salt and pepper hair, dragging his mouth back to yours. you break for some air and he chases your mouth, kisses down your jaw, and your throat. his beard scrapes against your skin, making you wetter than before.

“bedroom,” you say.

he lifts his head, eyes blown wide. “you sure?”

“yes,” you breathe. “joel, yes, please.”

you don’t remember the walk to the room. it’s a complete blur, hands under shirts, skin on skin, maybe a bit of grinding.

he undresses you slow, like he’s afraid to rush it. and when he’s finally bare before you—he’s so large, scarred, and beautiful—you pull him down onto the bed.

“look at me,” you say.

he does as he slides into you, slowly and unhurried, one hand pressed to your cheek. the rhythm starts off slow. his breath catching on every thrust as your nails claw at his back. he kisses you and talks you through it. over and over.

“been thinkin’ about you,” he says, voice ragged. “since the first moment..couldn’t stop.”

“me too,” you whisper. “joel—don’t stop..please don’t stop.”

he fucks you so well and lovingly. God, you can't remember the last time you felt so good. and when you both cum, shaking and holding on to each other. you think to yourself, maybe jackson was a good move.

special tags: @inbred-eater , @wintfleur , @lowrisemiller

[mrsbarnesblog]

the zipper

masterlist

summary: when you ask Bucky to help with your dress while you two at the gala, it doesn't go the way you planned

words count: 2.1k

warnings: semi-public sex, fingering, unprotected sex, dirty talk, mild dominance, light overstimulation,

a/n: I guess there are already tons of fics with congressman Bucky at the Gala (even though I still haven't read any of them), but this has been on my mind for a few days, so I have to give it to y'all.

also, do any of you want to be on my tag list? I thought about it randomly because many writers do it and I have so many followers... so if you would like to be tagged on my bucky fics, you can leave a comment or send me a message in my inbox🪼

The gala was in full swing, with way too many important people wandering around, talking, and pretending that they like each other. Bucky didn’t like it. He didn’t like the crowdedness, the tight and fancy suit, and the fact that he still couldn’t fully figure out what Valentina was doing irritated him even more. 

At least he had you by his side, and most of the time you were on his arm, soothingly rubbing his back or placing a kiss on his cheek when you noticed him getting overwhelmed. You were a good distraction—his favorite and only one. 

Though while he was talking to Congressman Gary, Bucky couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that you went to the bathroom about fifteen minutes ago and still didn’t come back. His mind started wandering off, barely listening to the man in front of him, even if it was extremely important. He just couldn’t focus when he didn’t know where you were and what was happening. 

In that exact same moment, his phone rang with a notification from you. 

Buck, I have a problem with a zipper. Could you come and help me, please?

He physically felt himself relaxing, knowing that you were just struggling with your dress, and he excused himself from the conversation as he went down the fancy hall. Bucky knocked a few times at the door until your head poked out of it with a shy smile, and you gestured to him to walk in. He locked the door before fully taking you in when you stepped further into the room. 

Hair pinned up, with a lip gloss in your hand, you applied it standing in front of the mirror. Bucky’s breath hitched when his eyes fell lower, at your chest, to be exact. Probably that was the reason you called him, because the zipper on your back was only halfway done, making the front part of your dress hang dangerously loose. The fabric barely covered your boobs, as it slid so low that Bucky could see that there was no bra underneath. 

You stood there unbothered, looking at yourself in a mirror, and completely unaware that within a second you caused him to have a hard-on. 

“...and I took it off to remove the label from the inside, but I can’t zip it back.” His ears caught only the last part of your sentence, while you were still innocently focused on your reflection. “I’ve tried so hard to reach it, but I’m afraid that I might break my nail… Buck, you okay?” Your soft voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and he stepped behind you, metal hand on your waist. 

“Yeah, just fine, doll.” He mumbled in a gruff voice. Bucky was higher than you, so standing behind your back, he could perfectly see that your loosely hanging dress left basically nothing for the imagination. He looked down at the smooth skin of your back, framed by the soft color of the silk fabric, letting out a deep sigh as his other hand hesitated in the air. 

His cock was pulsating in his suit pants, desperately craving your attention, the feeling of you. So before he could think of anything better, his hand tugged the zipper down to your ass, and he groaned, looking back in the mirror to see the full front part of your dress falling down and bunching at your hips. 

“Bucky!” You gasped at the feeling of cold air against your bare skin. Your hands instantly shot up to cover yourself, your lip gloss fell on the floor and was probably ruined, but Bucky moved quicker, wrapping one hand around your body. “We’re… at the gala…” 

“Like I care, baby. You don’t know what you’re doing to me.” His head fell forward into your neck, stubble scratching your delicate skin, lips ghosting just enough to send shivers down your spine. He pushed his hips forward, grinding his bulge against your ass and groaning at the feeling. You gasped again, instinctively melting in his arms, when his metal thumb brushed around your nipple. “No fucking bra, God damn, do you want to kill me here?”

“You don’t wear a bra in such dresses.” You mumbled weakly, throwing your head backwards and barely able to hold back your moans when Bucky teased each of your breasts. 

“Mhm, you should wear them more often then.” 

His other hand trailed down your stomach, using a high slit on your dress to sneak in between your thighs and press his palm against your core. He palmed you shamelessly, feeling the warmth of your pussy through the lacy material, which already started to get soaked. Bicky knew your body better than he knew himself, so the subtle movements like the tilt of your head to the side, parted lips, and barely noticeable rocking of your hips gave him everything he needed to take you right in this bathroom. 

You knew that you shouldn’t do anything in the middle of the gala, when you still had to go to the main room afterwards and face people, pretending that nothing had happened. But it was Bucky, the one who could make you feel lightheaded with only one touch, who always found an excuse to fuck you anywhere and everywhere, who was currently intoxicating you with his cologne and fingers that he already pushed inside of you.

“Oh, please—” You whimpered as he pumped his fingers into your dripping hole, pressing a thumb against your puffy clit. His other hand was still busy with your boobs, twisting and pinching your nipples, almost sending you to tears. 

“‘M gonna fuck you, baby. Fuck, you’re so hot like this.” He groaned against your ear, withdrawing his fingers with a loud, wet sound and immediately reaching for his pants. You felt him fidgeting with the buckle, then pushing your dress up for easy access. His hand softly pushed in between your shoulder blades until you bent over with your hands on the sink and your ass on display for him. 

Bucky’s metal hand pushed your legs further from each other, then slid your panties down until they were bunched around your ankles. At that point you wanted to cry from desperation, looking at him through the mirror and basically dripping from how horny you were. But then you felt the blunt tip of his cock sliding through your puffy folds, teasingly nudging your clit, as Bucky let out a loud moan. “Just soaking my cock, doll. You need it bad, huh?” He teased, slapping your ass once, just nudging your entrance but not pushing inside. “We got five minutes before someone notices. Think you can be quiet for me?”

“Yes. James, just please…” Your eyes rolled back the moment he slammed into you in one smooth motion, stretching you wide around him just the way you both liked, not even giving you time to think when he started slamming into you with full force. Bucky’s eyes stayed locked on the mirror, obsessed, addicted. Your reflection was pure sin—mouth parted, brows knitted in pleasure, tits bouncing with every savage snap of his hips. You tried to muffle your sounds, biting your lip until it hurt, but your breath kept catching on broken little gasps that made Bucky thrust even harder.

He groaned behind you, gripping the flesh of your ass, probably leaving marks on the skin, and keeping you still so he could use you the way he wanted. The wet sounds of your bodies slapping together filled the room, mixing with the faint music echoing from the gala. 

“Fuck, you feel so good.” He rasped, voice rough like gravel, forehead slick with sweat as he leaned over you. “You were made for me, doll. Fuckin’ made for me.” Your walls fluttered around his cock, making him twitch deep inside you, and Bucky let out another guttural groan. 

His relentless assault on your G-spot easily pushed you closer to the edge, making you gasp for air in poor attempts to not moan out loud. When an orgasm washed over you, Bucky didn’t stop or follow you the way you expected him to. Oh no, after mumbling a bunch of curses mixed with praise, the palm of his hand pressed on your lower stomach, and his fingers reached your clit, moving in circles. 

“Gonna cum again, doll? Soak my cock, huh?” He growled, breath hot against the shell of your ear, his fingers working your clit with maddening precision while his cock kept pushing into your sopping cunt.

Your answer was a strangled moan, your body trembling as overstimulation surged through you like fire. The first orgasm hadn’t even faded, and he was already pushing you into another, forcing your body to submit, to unravel under his touch again and again.

“Jesus, Bucky—” You whispered, your voice wrecked, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes as your thighs started to shake. “Too much, I—” He hushed you softly, his metal arm wrapping around your waist to keep you steady as he pounded into you mercilessly, lips brushing your ear.

“You can take it. You will take it. Give me another one, sweetheart. Be my good girl.”

That tipped you over the edge. Again.

Your mouth fell open in a silent scream, your nails scraping at the counter as another orgasm ripped through you, harsher this time, your vision nearly whiting out from how intense it was. Your whole body went limp, but Bucky held you upright, grunting as your walls clamped down on him like a vise.

“Fuck, baby—fuck.” He hissed, his thrusts losing rhythm as you dragged him over the edge with you. One final snap of his hips and he buried himself to the hilt, spilling into you with a moan and then pushing his cum into you like he didn’t want to waste a single drop. 

“You’re insane…” You managed to mumble, barely able to straighten up. Bucky shifted behind you, slowly pulling out with a groan and tucking himself back in his pants. He bent down to help you pull your panties back in place, and then, as if nothing had happened, he fixed the back of your dress, lifted up the front, and this time properly zipped it. 

“That’s your fault.” Bucky shrugged casually, giving you a shit-eating grin after spinning you to face him. You slightly wobbled in your heels, and you gripped his shoulders for some stability. He placed his hands on your waist, leaning in for a slow and soft kiss. Being a gentleman, as if he hadn’t just railed against the sink like there was no tomorrow. “Still shaky?” He whispered against your lips, the hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You gave him a playful glare, but it was half-lidded and dazed. “Gee, I wonder why.” You took one look in the mirror—your hair still mostly intact, makeup a little disheveled but passable, and your eyes? Yeah, they were screaming just fucked, and you wondered how many people could pick up on that instantly. “I guess we have to go back now. Even though I look totally fucked. Both literary and figuratively.” 

“You look perfect, I promise.” Bucky chuckled lowly, his hand slipping into yours as he led you toward the door, his fingers lingering just a second longer than necessary. “I’m more interested in seeing how you’re gonna keep that poker face of yours. You’re gonna have to hold it together, doll. Until we get back home.”

You shot him a sidelong glance, fighting the flush that threatened to creep up your neck, knowing exactly what he meant. “Oh, I can do poker faces.”

“Mm-hmm.” He didn’t sound convinced, but the playful gleam in his eyes told you he was looking forward to watching you try.

[pagesfromthevoid]

Walk Through Darkness | r. r.

Robert "Bob" Reynolds x superpowered!reader

She will walk through the darkness to find him.

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: Mentions of depression and hypomania, panic attacks, depressive episodes, self-loathing behaviors, established relationships

Author's Note: Companion to Honey & Glass but you don't need to read it to understand!

Talk to Me! | AO3

Some days are better than others.

Bob said it himself, when they first met: sometimes he has high highs and then he crashes, and those days are the lowest of lows. 

She knows this, and she understands. Bob doesn’t think she does, and he tries to shield her from it whenever he has bad days. But it’s not the bad days that she worries about; the bad days, she can get through to him a little more. It’s those high days –the days when he suddenly thinks he’s invincible (it does not help that he technically is). When he thinks that he’s cured of his self-loathing, and he’s better than he’s ever been. 

It’s harder to get through to him on those days.

Bob gets happy –touchy, feely, confident –during these days. The first time he has a manic episode, she doesn’t realize it immediately. She thinks –maybe stupidly, maybe selfishly –this is a good sign. He wants to go out on a date; he wants to see a movie and “make out in the back row like a couple of dumb teenagers.” He’s even combed his hair, thrown on something that’s not his favorite sweater and sweats, and tells her to get ready. She’s all for it too –gets dressed up some, puts on makeup and a cute dress –and they go to the movie theatre.

Well, they try. 

On the walk there, he gets distracted by an art exhibit taking over Times Square, tugging her hand to pull her along to look at the screens as they shift images of colors and shapes. He completely forgets they’re supposed to make a seven o’clock movie, caught up in the colors and the people and everything going on around them. He wants to tip every street performer and is wrapping his arm around her shoulders like he’s going to lose her if he lets go. 

Then he refuses to go home. 

He says they should stay out all night; that there’s no reason to go back to the WatchTower because he can protect them from whatever’s out on these streets.

“I’m the Sentry,” he reminds her, and he’s purposely walking towards a not-so-good neighborhood. 

This is when she realizes something is wrong. Maybe she should have noticed it before, but the distractedness isn’t uncommon for Bob, and she was just…really happy he wanted to go out, honestly. 

“Bob,” she warns, pulling him to a stop. He’s beaming down at her, but his eyes are also shifting towards a dive bar that does not look like the kind of place she wants to go to. “I want to go home, Bob,” she insists, tugging on his hand.

“Why?” He asks, and he is –in fact –stronger than she is and doesn’t budge. “It’s fine –I won’t let anything happen. Seriously, it could be fun –,”

“Please take me home,” she says, more firm now, and he makes a face as he feels the pin prick of her powers in his head.

“We can go home if you get out of my head,” he counters, frowning deeply. His eyes are flickering that golden hue and she knows that she’s pushing him too far. 

She nods, slipping away from his thoughts and he sighs. Then he groans, and runs his hands over his face. “You’re mad at me. I fucked up, didn’t I?”

“I’m just tired,” she tries again, motioning to her feet. “I wasn’t prepared to walk all over –I would have worn anything but heels, you know?”

This seems to make more sense to him and he nods some. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry, I could have carried you –,”

“Please do not carry me,” but she’s laughing a little, trying to ease the tension. Then she reaches out to take his hand again. “Let’s just go back to the Tower –we can watch a movie there.”

“I was really looking forward to that back row kiss,” he sighs, wrapping his arm around her shoulder again, holding her hand still.

“Next time.”

She knows what to look for now though –it’s still hard to bring him down. But it’s not impossible.

The low days are bad too –don’t get her wrong. They’re just harder in a different way. 

The low days, she’s not worried he’s going to try to be all powerful. She’s more worried he’s going to sink into those shadows again. Those are the days that it takes more energy to mask his nightmares; where his thoughts are so loud and so frantic that they scare her. 

But she promises him that she’s not scared of him. She’s scared for him.

The low days always follow the high days, but they last twice as long. He recedes into himself; refuses to talk to her (or anyone for that matter). They give him a day –they watch from afar, they make sure he eats and drinks water –but they give him that day. But after a day, the team picks him up. She picks him up.

Sometimes it’s just all of them sitting together and watching movies. He doesn’t exactly join –he sits in his corner, with his books and his chaise, but he’s in the same room. She sits on the floor next to him, because she knows he doesn’t want to be touched just yet. 

These are the days she lets him decide what he wants from her.

But this episode –it’s worse than the first one. Not as bad as what happened the first time they had met, but still bad enough that the shadows are staining the edges of the Tower before anyone really notices. He’s been coming out and talking to people –short, barely audible interactions, but they’re there. He’s touching her hand, just enough to remind her he’s there. But he’s tired, and they can tell, and Alexei suggests he go lay down. They’d come to check on him in a bit. He just takes a bottle of water and walks away.

She’s one that checks on him. And that’s how she sees the shadows, inching their way into her room.

He’s locked himself in her bedroom, because her bedroom has a lock and his does not, for his own safety.

The code pad has been overridden and she can’t get the door to open.

“Bob,” she pleads through the door but the shadows are moving faster, slithering over her feet as they flood under the crack of the door. “Bob, please open the door.”

When he doesn’t answer, she yells out for someone –anyone, really at this point –to help her get this damn door open. Bucky is who responds the fastest, prying her door open just enough for her to squeeze inside. The shadows scatter, only for a moment, before they swarm again. Then they’re wrapping around her. Bucky is trying to get the door open entirely, but there’s an unseen barrier that’s blocking the rest of them from entering the room. 

“Hey,” she whispers, kneeling into the shadows that are surrounding him. 

He’s shaking, cross legged on her floor, holding a vinyl in his hands that’s melted against his palms. Gently, afraid that she’ll scare him if she moves too fast, she pries the remainder of the vinyl from him. Then she throws it away. The shadows practically hiss at her as she shifts to sit cross legged in front of him, mirroring his position. 

“It’s…he’s so loud,” he murmurs, his voice shaking as he holds back tears. “It won’t stop. I…I can’t get him to stop –,”

She hushes him gently, holding her hands out, palms up. He doesn’t move, and she doesn’t force him. The shadows are pooling in her lap, and she can hear their whispers –whispers of her misdeeds, of his, of darkness. Trying to coax them both into the Void and the shadows. They’re trying to consume her but her mind is easier to shield than his, and she refuses to let the Void win.

The shadows are creeping up his hands now, and she finally moves cautiously to take his hands in hers. The shadows recede, as if fearful of her touch. The reality is that, in his mind, when she touches him like this –letting the shadows slink around her like snakes and brush against her skin –he is reminded of how much he is cared about. And that care, no matter how much he fears it will go away one day –staves off the darkness just enough. Because she’s telling him that she is not afraid of him. 

She will walk through the darkness to find him.

The shadows have stopped spreading but they have not gone away. Bob finally looks up at her –eyes red rimmed, puffy from crying. His entire body is shaking –but he cringes when she presses into his mind. She’s gotten better at smoothing out the thoughts; of softening them. She only does it when he asks, or in moments like this, where there is a danger of him falling again. They both know he needs to learn to handle them himself, but she refuses to let him suffer in these darkest moments.

Her hands slide up his wrists, over his arms, up his biceps. They rest just below his jaw, thumbs running over his cheeks gently as she pushes something softer into his mind. The shadows hiss further, retreating from the light, and she can hear the Void in his mind –cursing, threatening. Reminding Bob that he’s nothing to everyone, including her. How can he be a hero when he can’t even help himself? Why do you waste your breath on a man that’s not whole? He’s nothing, and deserves nothing. You’re going to leave anyway.

“No one is whole,” she reminds him gently, pressing her forehead against his gently. “We’re all made up of broken pieces, and every person who loves you is a stitch that puts you back together.”

Bob closes his eyes, nodding slowly as his breathing evens out. The shadows recede –slowly, reluctantly pulling away and returning to the darkest corner –and the barrier keeping the team out drops. Bucky pries the door open but Yelena stops them from entering. The team doesn’t leave, but they don’t interrupt.

“I’m sorry,” he says, though his voice is sluggish and it's clear that he’s exhausted. “I didn’t…I wasn’t trying to –,”

“You don’t need to apologize,” she promises, pressing soft kisses to his cheeks. His hands reach out to grip her wrists, anchoring himself in the softness that’s spreading across his mind. Letting it wash over him as the Void slowly but surely is washed away for the time being. “Can I tell you a secret?”

He nods, though his eyes are shut still. She taps her thumb against his cheek, telling him to look at her. Bob’s eyes open, and the gold glow that takes over is gone, freeing the blue that always reminds her of the sky on a cloudless day. His gaze is unfocused for a moment, glossy, as he blinks away the tears and the darkness before he finally settles on her face.

“What’s the secret?” He asks, voice small as the thoughts she plants slip away and leave him to fend for himself. There’s a flinch, but she doesn’t feel the shadows returning so she lets him handle it himself from here on.

“I love you,” she confesses, though it feels silly to confess something that has been obvious for several weeks now. “Let me safety pin the pieces of you together until we have the right thread.”

From the corner of her eye, she sees Yelena shoving everyone away from the door. She’s shushing them, especially Alexei, who is trying to celebrate for the two. But the team disappears and leaves the two be, knowing they would be okay without support now.

“You…you don’t mean that,” Bob tries to argue; tries to pull away from her touch. But she holds him there. “You don’t want to love me –,”

“Robert Reynolds, I walked into the shadows without knowing if I was going to die,” she reminds him, forcing him to look at her. “And I didn’t even know you when I did that. I wasn’t a superhero, I wasn’t an assassin, or a supersoldier. I was an assistant. I did not walk into those shadows because I wanted to save the world, I walked into those shadows to save you. And I will walk into the shadows every single day if it means I get to love you another day.

“I do mean it when I say I love you, because you are easy to love, and you are worthy of it,” she continues, and there’s tears starting to form at the edges of her eyes as she takes a deep breath. “I love you more than…than I think I’ve ever loved anyone, which I know probably sounds insane because we’ve only been dating for like two months, but I can’t help it.

“So do not tell me I don’t mean it, and that I don’t want to love you. Because I do mean it and I do want to love you. And there’s nothing you could do to make me stop loving you.”

He wants to argue, she can see it in his eyes and the way his brows knit together in frustration. But there’s something behind his eyes –something that says he desperately wants to believe her. So he doesn’t argue, and slowly nods.

“I…I love you too,” he finally breathes, blinking away his tears. She smiles at him with watery eyes and shaking hands against his skin still. “I’ve never…I never thought I’d find someone like you. After everything –all the things I’ve done before the superpowers and even after –I just…I know I’m hard to love –,”

“Hey, no,” she interrupts. “It’s not hard to love you. It’s like breathing –,”

“You can’t mean that –,”

“I do –,”

“It doesn’t matter,” he finally settles on, and she bites her tongue. She’ll bring it up later, when he’s less stuck in his head and remind him. “I just…thank you. For loving me.”

She wants to tell him that he doesn’t need to thank her but she pauses, deciding to just…accept it for now. “You’re welcome, Bob. Thank you for loving me too.”

His hands drop from her wrists, rubbing his eyes. “Can we…can we take a nap?”

“A nap does sound really nice right now,” she admits with a soft laugh. 

She stands up, holding out her hands to pull him up. When he’s up, he doesn’t release her, though, and instead pulls her into a tight hug. His arms wrap around her shoulders, clinging to her tight, one hand cradling the back of her head. She curls her arms around his middle, pressing her forehead into the crook of his neck, sighing into his skin. 

“I love you,” he repeats into her hair, squeezing her tight.

“I love you too,” she promises.

They stand there like that for a while.

[itsnesss]

hii, can you possibly write Kimi x reader, where reader goes to support him for his race and he ends up winning so they go out to celebrate? tyy

𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞 | kimi antonelli × fem!reader

summary | you cheer kimi on from the stands—he wins, and the night ends with just the two of you, celebrating love after the finish line

warnings | fluff, public cheering/crowds, emotional tension, kissing, post-race adrenaline

word count | 1.4 k

🖇 more ka12 🖇 f1 masterlist

The roar of the engines could be heard long before you even saw the circuit. In the distance, the stands were packed with fans waving flags and wearing shirts with their favorite driver’s number. But you were only looking for one: Kimi.

You clutched the pass hanging from your neck as you walked toward the restricted zone. The sun blazed down on the asphalt, but you didn’t care. Not when he had called you the night before, his voice a little nervous which was rare for him saying, “It’d mean a lot to know you’re there tomorrow."

And of course, there was no way you’d miss it.

When you reached the paddock, Kimi was already in his racing suit, talking to his engineer. His hair was a bit messy under his cap, his expression focused and serious as always but when he saw you… his whole face changed.

He smiled at you.

Not a wide grin, but you knew that smile. It was the one he saved for moments like this. He walked over to you, not caring much about protocol or the fact that a few cameras had already turned in his direction.

“You came,” he said softly, as if he still couldn’t quite believe it.

“Of course I did. Like I’d leave you alone today?”

Kimi raised an eyebrow, amused.

“I don’t know. Lately you’ve been too busy being amazing,” he teased.

You let out a quiet laugh. He stepped closer, and though he wasn’t usually affectionate in public, he slid a hand around your waist, like he needed to remind you, or himself, that you were his anchor in this chaotic, high-speed world.

“Nervous?” you asked, even though you already knew the answer.

“No. But… yeah. It’s an important race.”

“Then race the way only you know how. You’ve got this. I’ll be screaming louder than anyone from the stands.”

He dipped his head slightly, resting his forehead gently against yours.

“Just don’t get distracted looking at the other drivers,” he murmured with that little jealous spark that always made you smile.

“Never,” you whispered back.

You stayed by his side as the team made their final preparations. The pit lane lights blazed, the buzz of the track intensifying. People hurried in every direction, but you only had eyes for him.

Just before he put on his helmet, he threw one last look at you — the kind that said more than any words could. Then, with a steady, almost reverent motion, he climbed into the car. The roar of the engine starting up shook your chest. It was time.

You made your way up to the grandstand with your special pass, choosing a seat right where he’d be able to see you if he looked your way. As the cars lined up on the grid, your heart beat so fast it felt like *you* were about to race.

One by one, the red lights lit up. The engines screamed.

And then… they went out.

The race had begun.

The thunderous surge of the cars as they launched forward hit you like a wave. You sat on the edge of your seat, eyes locked on Kimi’s car — that number you knew by heart.

Lap after lap, you followed him with your heart in your throat.

He started in second, playing it safe. His driving had always been calculated, patient. He knew when to attack. But every time he passed by your section of the grandstand, you stood and raised your arms, even if he couldn’t clearly see you through the crowd. Somehow, you just wanted him to feel it.

“Come on, Kimi…” you whispered, clenching your fists like your words could give him an extra boost.

By lap twelve, he was right on the leader’s tail. By fifteen, he almost overtook in a tight corner. On lap seventeen, a driver behind him tried a dirty move, nearly causing a crash. You shouted without realizing, heart frozen in panic. But Kimi reacted with calm precision, dodging and keeping his position. The stands exploded in cheers. And you… you nearly collapsed from relief.

Time dragged on and the tension thickened. Then, on lap twenty-three, it happened.

The leader made a tiny mistake in a corner. Just a small slip, but enough. Kimi saw it, knew it and didn’t hesitate.

He accelerated. Slipped inside. Braked like a surgeon.

And overtook like a bolt of lightning.

“YES!” you screamed, jumping to your feet.

You were so excited you didn’t even notice people around you smiling at your enthusiasm. There he was — your Kimi — leading the race with that icy control that always left you breathless.

The last few laps were hell.

Each second felt like an eternity. Rivals breathing down his neck, but he didn’t waver. He was flawless. And you didn’t know whether to cry, scream, or pray.

Finally, the last lap.

You held your breath, watching him glide through every turn of the circuit. Everything around you fell silent.

And then… the checkered flag waved in the air.

He won.

Kimi had won.

You didn’t know if you screamed or just collapsed laughing and crying all at once. The screens showed his car crossing the finish line, his arms raised in triumph, the team going wild. But all you wanted was him.

You pushed through the crowd, flashing your pass with shaking hands. You *had* to get to the paddock. To hug him. To hold him.

And when you finally saw him climbing out of the car, helmet in hand, hair damp with sweat, eyes sparkling with adrenaline…

He ran straight to you.

His arms wrapped around you tight, pressing you to him like he couldn’t breathe without you.

“You did it,” you murmured against his neck. “You really did it, Kimi.

“You were here,” he replied, his lips brushing your cheek. “I couldn’t lose.”

The official celebration was a whirlwind, interviews, flashes, mechanics lifting Kimi on their shoulders, champagne flying everywhere. You were thrilled for him, but deep down, you couldn’t wait for it all to end. To have him to yourself.

Apparently, he felt the same.

As soon as he could sneak away, he grabbed your hand and whispered, “Let’s get out of here.”

You didn’t hesitate. You didn’t need a massive party or a packed club. You just needed him.

Minutes later, you were in his car, leaving the track behind under the night sky, cool air drifting in through the cracked window. He drove calmly, one hand on the wheel, the other reaching for yours until your fingers were laced together.

“I still can’t believe I won,” he said, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

“I can. I always knew you would.”

Kimi glanced at you, eyes filled with a mix of wonder and affection.

“You’re the only one who makes me feel this sure of myself.”

He took you to a quiet spot away from the noise, a lakeside restaurant with a private terrace. No one else was there. He had reserved it just for the two of you. Warm lights shimmered on the water, and the peaceful setting felt unreal, like the world had paused just for this night.

You ordered something light, though neither of you ate much, your knees touching under the table. The conversation was soft and intimate, filled with quiet laughs, old memories, and lingering glances that said everything.

At some point, he stood and offered you his hand.

“Come with me.”

You followed without question.

He led you down a stone path to the water’s edge. The lake was a black mirror under the stars, the night breeze playing with your hair.

Kimi wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you close to his chest.

“Thank you for coming today. I don’t know what I would’ve done if I hadn’t seen you in the stands.”

“You probably would’ve won anyway,” you teased.

He shook his head slightly, that gentle smile curving his lips.

“No. Because winning… wouldn’t have meant the same.”

His lips met yours with a softness that made your knees weak. The kiss was slow, deep, overflowing with everything you’d both felt all day. His fingers gripped you like he couldn’t get close enough, and you held onto him like you never wanted to let go.

“I want more nights like this,” he whispered against your lips. “After every race. After every win. And even after every loss. I just want you there.”

“I will be,” you answered without hesitation. “Always.”