#i need to get on this train now immediately

[valentina-writes]

back massage

Azriel x reader

summary: your back hurts from training. Luckily, Azriel knows exactly how to make you feel better.

warnings: smut, p in v, creampie, (unconventional use of a knife?)

words: 1.6k | masterlist

A/N: Yeah, so I think this is... definitely something. Not my proudest moment. I could use a back massage is all I'm saying *cough*

___________________________________________

Cassian was in dire need of an ass-kicking. You could barely move as you got ready for bed, each muscle in your body protesting. The illyrian hadn't held back during training with you today. When he had dismissed you, you had barely been able to stand straight anymore. Maybe your mate, Azriel, would avenge you tomorrow.

Groaning, you flopped face first down onto the bed. If it felt this bad already, tomorrow you wouldn't be able to get up.

The door to your room creaked open. "My love, is everything alright?", the voice of your mate sounded. Slowly, you moved to turn your head, but were met with a sharp pain that shot through your neck and shoulders. So, you let your head fall into the pillows again.

"It hurts", you mumbled.

The change in Azriel's tone was instantaneous. "Where are you hurt? What happened?". Shadows lapped at your ankles and wrists, moving across your limbs in search of a wound.

"My back, mostly. Cassian. Training. OW", you hissed, as strong hands met your knotted muscles.

"Sorry"

"He's such a pain in the ass"

His rubbed slow circles over your back. "Hmm...seems like someone is in need of a back massage". Azriel underlined his offer with a deep rub over your shoulders.

"How could I say no to your hands on me?"

He pressed a soft kiss to your head, smiling. "I'll be right there".

From your awkward position, you could see out of the corner of your eye how he started unbuckling his leathers. Azriel's movements were skilled and fast and then he stood there, shirtless. He stretched his back and flared his wings. The muscles in his back rippled at the movement. A shudder went through you when he turned around, his eyes glinting mischievously.

Your eyes were glued to his toned abs, wandering slowly downwards, to the prominent V pointing further down and you couldn't help but think about what was hidden by his pants.

"Like what you see, huh?", he teased and pulled a t-shirt over his head, keeping the flaps for his wings open.

"Hm... guilty as charged".

Azriel went out of your field of vision. You could hear him rummaging through your drawer.

In an instant, he was back, warm hands finding their way back onto you.They stroked up your back, burying into your hair. Then, soft lips found the back of your neck.

"Take the shirt off", he murmured against your skin.

"Can't, hurts too much"

"My poor darling". You could almost hear the smirk in his voice. "Then I hope you're not too fond of it". He grabbed something off the nightstand, just out of your view and suddenly cold air hit your exposed back.

"Did you just cut off my shirt?"

Azriel just chuckled lightly. "Well, how else would I get it off?". Your toes curled at the thought of him using truth-teller to unclothe you. He would have to repeat that so you could see him doing it.

Azriel knelt over you, his thighs brushing yours. His lips kissed a trail down your naked back, fingers caressing your sides. Your breath hitched in your chest when he got to the waistband of your pants.

Azriel stopped immediately, making you whine at the loss of contact.

"Sorry, I got a little carried away".

Oil pooled onto your back, smelling of herbs and the sun. His hand met your back again. At the beginning of your relationship he had been very self-conscious about his scars, but now he couldn't keep his hands off you.

Azriel started working the oil into your skin expertly, rubbing and kneading the strained muscles gently. You leaned into his touch. His hands felt so good on you. You couldn't help but think about how good they felt on other body parts.

They traveled to your shoulders, meeting a particularly hard knot. At the first painful contact, you gasped. He let go in an instant and replaced his hands with his lips. "Sorry, darling", he whispered and pressed a kiss to the point.

"It's okay. Go on, please. It already feels better".

He resumed his movements, this time even gentler. Slowly, he relaxed the knot, working in small circles. Until all tension left the muscle and you moaned out from the relief, leaning up into his hands.

"Feels good?". He was a little breathless.

"Yes", you breathed, "thank you". You wanted to lie back down, but then you felt him. Hard, against your thigh. A little whimper escaped you.

"Az -". You tried to push up further, but were met with another sharp pain from the side of your back he hadn't worked on yet.

"Lie down", he whispered, "I'm not done yet".

"But I'm done". Your words were muffled through the pillows.

"I'm not fucking you while you're in pain". Arousal pooled between your legs, as his hands resumed their work.

"Who said I have to move?". He could very well fuck you in the position you were in right now.

He groaned and dropped his head onto your back. Hot, open-mouthed kisses trailed from your shoulder to your neck. When he met a particularly sensitive point on your neck, you couldn't help but moan his name and arch up against him. He groaned into your ear at the movement. Azriel was hard as steel against you. "You asked for a back massage. That's what you're getting", he whispered in your ear. Before you could grind against him once more, he was gone again, only his hands back in their former position.

"You're such a tease", you gasped.

"The less you complain, the sooner we get to the fun part". The promise in his voice only heightened your arousal.

He continued rubbing your back. Every time he relieved the tension from one of your muscles, he presses a hot kiss to it. Azriel was thorough in his work, leaving no part of your back untouched. You only made it through because you knew he'd only hold his promise if you'd let him finish the massage. By the time he was done, you were a whimpering mess, unable to think further than the hard length of his hidden underneath his pants. You felt painfully empty.

"Az... please", you gasped, as his mouth kissed the place where your last tense muscle had been, right at the base of your back.

"Hmm... you were so good for me", he murmured. Azriel's fingers hooked underneath your waistband. You needed him, now.

"Please", you begged, "I need you inside me". A low growl left his lips. He ripped your pants down and cold air hit your pussy, clenching around nothing. Shadows raced to your wrists, pinning you down. A finger trailed through your wetness to your swollen clit. "Gods, you're so wet for me", he groaned into your hair. You arched up again, chasing his touch, but his hand was gone again. Before you could protest, his hard, throbbing length took its place, nudging against your waiting hole. You writhed in anticipation, breath hitching.

"You'll be the death of me", he sighed and pushed inside you in one single thrust. When he was fully seated, you llet loose a loud moan, eyes fluttering close, your whole body trembling with need. It felt delicious, being filled to the brim with him, the sheer size of him burning slightly and filling the painful emptiness.

His hips rolled once teasingly, making you gasp sharply. "Fuck. You take me so well".

"You better... make up... for teasing me... for half an hour", you gasped. He pulled back and pushed inside again slowly, hitting a spot deep inside that made you see stars and arch off the bed. You loudly whined.

He gasped, restraint breaking. "Oh, bet you, I will". At his words, he picked up a rough pace. His cock stroked your walls hard and fast, hitting all the right spots. His hands stayed on your oil-slick back, rubbing and caressing the tender flesh, before finding your hips to hold you in place.

"Fuck, Az", you moaned and clawed your tied hands into the mattress. It was wild, hard and fast. Low moans and groans and the lewd sound of him slamming into you echoed through the room.

His thrusts became sloppier by the second, cock twitching inside you. "You're. so. pecfect. for. me", he gasped between thrusts. Your walls fluttered around him at his words. Azriel dropped onto your back, burying his face in your hair, without slowing his movements. He kissed your neck slowly, breathing hard. It was too much for you. The relentless slam of his hips against yours, paired with him all over you, tasting and sucking at you, threw you over the edge. With a loud outcry, you came hard around him, convulsing with pleasure. You clenched around him and then he came too, spilling his release deep inside you. The deep, growling sound he made had you almost cum again. His hips rolled a couple more times, before he stilled inside you.

Azriel stroked your hair and pressed a kiss to your cheek before pulling out.

You rolled over onto your back, the pain entirely forgotten, and pulled him down into a kiss. It was soft and fill of love and you swore, you could feel his cock stir against you again already.

"Thanks for helping me with my pain"

He smirked. "Anytime"

You looked down. A stream of his seed ran down your thighs, pooling on the bed.

"I think I need a bath".

"How fortunate, I think I need one as well"

[societyfolklore]

Oka soo I dare to send in a Bucky imagine <3 Maybe one where you're dating but you're not an avenger, so you sometimes feel not good enough for him even though he always makes you feel special and he loves you more than anything. One time while he's at a mission, you're back at the compound waiting for him, but then also Sharon comes up to you being a bitch again and makes you feel even more unwanted and leave before Bucky returns. Later then he's happily waiting to see you, but frowns when he finds out you're not there. So he calls you, asking you to come over and you reluctantly agree. As you finally confront him with your doubts he immediately tries getting this thought out of you and gives you also his dog tags to prove he's yours forever and it's all cute then and also some soft smut where he tells you how much he loves you ? ♥️

Here we go! Here's our boy making everything better when the doubts creep in and we can shut it down on your own. Title: Yours to Keep

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky Barnes x SHIELD Analyst!Female Reader

Summary: You feel like your not enough, and when Sharon gets in your head it makes it so much worse. But to Bucky you’re the reason to make it home.

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings:  / Explicit Content /18+, Minors DNI, Insecurity, emotional manipulation (from Sharon because she's a mean girl), soft possessiveness, smut, unprotected sex, established relationship, oral (f- receviving), praise, dog tag kink, Angst with Fluff, Romance.

A/N: Something softer for everyone this weekend. Thank you for the ask @wintersoldierchronicles

The compound was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that seeped into your skin and clung to you like static. You sat curled into one of the deep leather chairs in the lounge, knees tucked beneath you, a tablet in your lap. The screen glowed softly, lines of mission data scrolling as you half-heartedly skimmed them, reading intel you’d collected yourself over the past few days. Every enemy movement tracked. Every building layout mapped. Every communication protocol updated and tested.

All to help keep the Avengers safe. To keep him safe.

You should’ve felt accomplished. Proud. Instead, you felt like a ghost in your own home.

No one had said anything, not directly. But they didn’t have to. The looks, the nods you didn’t get in the hallway, the way everyone seemed to talk around you instead of to you. It all added up. They were Avengers. Legends. Gods. And you were… what? Just the analyst who happened to be dating one of them. An ordinary woman in love with an extraordinary man.

And somehow, no matter how often Bucky looked at you like you hung the stars in the sky, the thought kept crawling back up your throat like bile: You’re not good enough for him.

You bit the inside of your cheek and tried to focus, tried to chase away the fog settling over your mind. But it was no use. The feeling had been a quiet whisper in the dark for months now, and lately… it was starting to scream.

You had seen the way people looked at Bucky- like he was a living monument to strength and survival. A relic of history wrapped in modern muscle and trauma, wearing his past like armour. People admired him. Revered him. And yet, he came home to you. You, who shuffled files and ran analyses. Who flinched when the training team sparred too close to your desk. Who once got winded jogging down the corridor when your badge lanyard snagged on a doorknob.

What could he possibly see in you that someone like Sharon, like Natasha, couldn’t offer in a more fitting package?

Footsteps echoed lightly down the corridor, the sharp click of designer boots hitting the polished floor like a countdown. You didn’t even need to lift your eyes. That cadence was familiar, the kind that always made your stomach twist with a mixture of dread and forced politeness.

Then came the voice. Smooth. Sweet. Laced with superiority.

“Still here?” Sharon Carter stepped into view, her tone dipped in passive-aggressive honey. She was perfectly made-up, of course, with not a single hair out of place, her sleek suit hugging her figure in all the ways that made people notice when she walked into a room.

She looked you up and down like you were something out of place, something small, insignificant. “Thought they kept the admin staff in the basement.”

It was a joke, probably. One of those faux-friendly jabs that everyone was supposed to laugh at. Except she wasn’t smiling. Not really.

You fought to keep your expression neutral, fingers tightening slightly around the tablet in your lap. You weren’t going to let her see how deep that cut went, not when she was already poised to twist the knife.

You gave her a polite nod, trying not to let your discomfort show. “Just going over the post-mission data. They’re due back in an hour.”

"Must be hard. Being with someone like Bucky." Sharon's smile was the kind that never quite reached her eyes.

“What do you mean?” You stiffened, your fingers tightening slightly around the edge of the tablet.

She stepped closer, arms folded casually like this was just idle chatter.

"I mean- he’s one of us. Field-ready. Weapon-trained. A living legend. And you… well, you make great coffee."

You swallowed hard. "I do more than-"

"I know," she said quickly, with that same dismissive tilt of her head. "You’re smart. Very behind-the-scenes. Essential in your own way, I suppose. But let’s be honest…Bucky’s built for war. He needs someone who understands that. Who can keep up. Who can be more than just a comfort waiting at home."

Your heart pounded painfully in your chest, each word driving in like a nail. It was everything you'd feared, laid out in someone else’s voice. Someone who was supposed to be on your side.

"He probably misses someone who can actually stand beside him out there," Sharon added with a shrug. "You know… someone who belongs."

The tablet in your hands blurred as tears threatened. You blinked hard and forced yourself to breathe through your nose.

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Because if you opened your mouth, you weren’t sure whether you’d scream or sob.

So you just stood, quickly and quietly, and walked away- shoulders stiff, throat tight, eyes stinging. You had to get out of there before someone saw you fall apart.

You left the compound entirely, slipping out the back entrance and taking the long way home. Your mind ran in circles the whole walk. What if Sharon was right? What if everyone had just been too polite to say it out loud? What if the only reason Bucky was with you was because you were safe? Easy? A soft landing after years of running and pain?

~#~#~#~#~#~

Bucky came back two hours later, bruised and sweaty but grinning. The mission had been long, much longer than expected. But successful at least. He was covered in dirt and grime, dried blood flecked across one temple, the strap of his weapons bag cutting into his shoulder. His muscles ached, and the adrenaline had long since worn off, but one thing kept him upright, kept him moving: you. The thought of you waiting at the compound, probably curled up with your tablet and a warm drink, maybe looking up every time the door slid open- yeah, that thought had gotten him through worse days than this.

He slung his weapons bag over one shoulder, still covered in dirt and dust from the mission, and scanned the lounge immediately.

“Hey, Sam,” he called. “She around?”

Sam looked up from his protein bar, brow furrowing slightly. “She left a while ago. Didn’t say much. Looked kinda off, though.”

Bucky’s shoulders stiffened. “Off how?”

Sam stood, tossing the wrapper aside. “I dunno, man. Quiet. Real quiet. Didn’t even look me in the eye. Thought maybe she was just tired, but now…” He trailed off, reading the worry blooming on Bucky’s face.

“You think something happened?” Bucky asked.

Sam gave a slow nod. “Could be nothing. But you know her better than anyone. If it’s not nothing- you’ll fix it.”

Bucky’s heart dropped. Something was wrong. You always met him after missions. Always.

Without another word, he turned and pulled his phone out of his pocket, hand still a little bloodied. ~#~#~#~#~#~

You pulled your car over to the side of the road, the quiet hum of the engine the only sound breaking through your spiralling thoughts. You hadn’t made it home. It felt too far. Too final. The space inside your car was tight, suffocating, but it was still safer than walking through the front door like nothing was wrong.

The phone vibrated in your hand again, lighting up with his name.

You stared down at the caller ID like it was a bomb about to go off. You didn’t answer right away. How could you? How could you speak to him when all you wanted to do was disappear?

You were a coward. That much was clear. Running off like that, not even saying goodbye. You should’ve stayed. Faced it. Faced her. But the words Sharon had said... they hadn’t been new. They were just the same cruel thoughts you’d had about yourself, dressed up in someone else’s voice.

You weren’t right for someone like Bucky.

You were just an analyst. A desk jockey. A tagalong to the world of gods and heroes.

And he was... everything.

He was strength and legend and pain and hope, all wrapped up in that scarred, steady way he looked at you like you were worth the whole damn universe. And you? You couldn’t even look yourself in the mirror right now.

The phone buzzed again.

Guilt stabbed through your chest.

He’d just come off a mission. He was probably still aching, tired, maybe even hurt—and here you were, making it all about you. Selfish. So unlike him. He always made you feel like the only girl in the room. One look from him and the world melted away.

You swallowed hard, blinking back the sting in your eyes, and finally picked up.

“Hey,” you said, voice too quiet.

“Doll, where are you?” he asked, voice already softening. “You okay?”

“I’m fine. Just… needed some air.”

There was a pause.

“You lying to me, sweetheart?” he said gently.

You closed your eyes. He knew you.

“No.”

Another pause. “Come back to the compound. Please. I need to see you. You're scaring me.”

Your chest cracked open. He sounded so… real. So Bucky. You found yourself nodding, even though he couldn’t see it.

“Okay,” you whispered.

~#~#~#~#~#~

He was already waiting by the elevator when you arrived, walking slow, tense loops with his hands clenched into fists at his sides. His jaw was tight, lips pressed into a thin line, the lines around his eyes carved deeper than usual. Every few seconds, his gaze darted toward the entrance, like he couldn’t help but check again, hoping- needing- you to appear.

The moment his eyes landed on you, he stopped dead. Everything in him just stilled. Relief hit him like a wave, shoulders dropping, hands unclenching—but his expression didn’t ease completely. No, his eyes stayed cautious, flickering across your face like he was afraid one wrong move might send you running. Like you were something breakable he didn’t dare press too hard.

He didn’t speak. Just opened his arms.

You tried to fake a smile, to smooth the cracks in your mask. But it was shaky, barely there, and he saw right through it. You saw the flicker of sadness in his eyes at the attempt.

You stepped into his embrace slowly, almost shyly, as if uncertain you still deserved it. The moment your body met his, the dam inside you cracked.

You buried your face in his chest, exhaling like you’d been holding your breath since you left the compound.

“Hey,” he murmured into your hair, voice rough with emotion. “There’s my girl.”

You clung to him, fingers twisting in his shirt like you were afraid he’d vanish, afraid this was all a dream that would dissolve when you let go.

“Do you wanna tell me what’s going on?” he asked eventually, drawing back just enough to look into your face. His thumb brushed the corner of your mouth, like he wanted to catch the remnants of that broken smile.

You looked up at him, eyes glassy and aching. “You’re Bucky Barnes. You’re an Avenger. A war hero. And I… I sit at a desk.”

“Stop,” he said instantly, thumb now tracing your cheekbone like he could wipe the pain away.

“I don’t fight aliens. I don’t have powers. I’m just… support staff.” Your voice wavered, trembling like your heart might break in two right there in front of him. “Sharon said you’d get bored of me. That you’ll want someone who can stand beside you in the field.”

His jaw tensed like he’d been struck. A flicker of something dark and cold passed through his expression, steel sharp and silent. His entire body went still.

“She said what?” he asked, voice low and dangerous, but even as the fury gathered behind his eyes, he didn’t let it take hold. He inhaled slowly, grounding himself. Because right now, you were what mattered.

You looked down, ashamed. “Doesn’t matter. She’s not wrong.”

There was a pause. Not long. Just the space of a heartbeat and then the weight of metal settled into your palm with a soft metallic clink.

“Look at me,” he said, voice low but unwavering.

You looked up, surprised by the intensity in his gaze.

“You see these?”

You nodded.

“These?” he said again, his voice thick with meaning as the tags clinked quietly between you. “These don’t just mean soldier. They mean survivor. They mean second chances. They mean you, okay? I don’t give these to anyone. I want you to have them.”

You stared at them, too stunned to speak, too overwhelmed to breathe. They were warm from his skin. Heavy with meaning.

He cupped your face gently, both hands trembling slightly now.

“You’re not support staff. You’re the person I come home to. My person. You keep me grounded. You’re the one thing that’s real.”

Your lips trembled, voice caught in your throat. “Bucky…”

He leaned down, voice husky and sure. “Put them on. Right now.”

You slipped the dog tags around your neck, hands shaking, heart pounding so loud you could hear it in your ears.

“There,” he said, eyes gleaming- not with pride, but with something softer. Fierce, unyielding love. “Now everyone knows. You’re mine. Forever.”

~#~#~#~#~#~

In the hallway, without a word, he scooped you up into his arms. Not rushed. Just worshipful, like you were something sacred he’d been aching to hold all day. You wrapped your arms around his neck, face tucked into the crook of his shoulder as he carried you, his footsteps steady and full of purpose, all the way to his room. Every step was careful, intentional, his hold firm but gentle, like he wanted to shield you from everything that had hurt you today.

He kissed your forehead as he laid you back on the bed, then your cheeks, your jaw, each press of his lips like a vow.

“So beautiful… so smart…” he murmured with each kiss. “Couldn’t do any of this without you.”

His soft kisses pressing into your cheeks, the corners of your mouth. 

“You’re everything to me,” he said, pulling your shirt over your head. “Every breath, every second.”

His mouth moved to your collarbone, your chest, trailing down your stomach , while his hand eased you out of your pants. 

“You think I don’t need you?” he said between kisses, each one a soft promise against your skin. “Baby, I fall apart without you.”

His mouth moved lower, worshipful and unhurried, kissing every inch of you like he was reacquainting himself with something sacred. By the time his tongue slid between your thighs, you were already trembling.

He groaned when you gasped, the sound low and reverent. Not just desire but devotion. His tongue moved with slow, deliberate precision, savouring every soft, slick response he pulled from you. He licked a long, teasing stripe up your centre, then circled your clit with a maddening tenderness, his hands gripping your thighs just firm enough to keep you open and trembling beneath him.

He moaned into you, like the taste of you was salvation, like he’d starved for this and finally had permission to feast. One hand slid up your stomach, grounding you as your hips bucked gently, chasing every press of his mouth.

“So sweet,” he murmured against you, voice thick with love, his lips brushing your most sensitive skin. “Taste like heaven. My heaven.”

He didn’t stop. Not yet. Not when you were trembling so perfectly for him. His tongue moved in slow circles, each pass deliberate and precise, coaxing you higher with gentle persistence. His grip on your thighs tightened slightly as your breath caught, his mouth parting you with reverence.

He flicked his tongue softly, then flattened it, letting the heat of him soak into every nerve ending, every gasp. He alternated pressure and pace, reading every twitch of your body like scripture. When he sucked your clit into his mouth and moaned, the vibration made your entire body arch into him.

“You’re not allowed to think you’re not wanted,” he rasped between strokes, his voice wrecked with affection and need. “Not when I love you.”

You cupped his face as he kissed up your body again, pausing to nuzzle the dog tags now lying warm between your breasts. “You feel like home,” you whispered, eyes glassy, voice raw with truth.

When he finally pressed inside you, it wasn’t fast or greedy. It was achingly slow, like he was trying to carve a place for himself inside you, not just in body but deeper. He let out a low, unsteady breath as he sank in, his forehead dropping to yours, his hand tightening around yours like he couldn’t bear to let go.

He didn’t thrust. Not right away. He stayed there for a beat, deep and still, forehead resting against yours as his breath caught in his throat. His hand stayed tangled in yours, his vibranium one anchored at your hip, grounding you both. “I need this,” he whispered. “Need you. Like this. Just us. You make everything quiet.” Bucky needed you to feel every inch, every part of him that belonged to you.

And then he moved like a tide rolling in to soothe what had been broken, to wash away everything that hurt. His hips rolled back with unhurried grace, then pressed forward again in a smooth, reverent stroke, making sure to drag himself along your velvet walls with each motion, slow and devastatingly deep. The way he filled you, the way he moved inside you. Like he was writing his name into your soul with every breathless thrust, imprinting himself where no one else had ever reached. Every motion was a promise: that he was here, that he was yours, that you were loved in the most complete, carnal, and emotional sense of the word.

Every slow push and pull was deliberate, reverent, the kind of lovemaking that felt like a conversation without words. He kissed your cheek, your jaw, your temple, murmuring softly between each breath.

“I love you,” he whispered, voice cracking as you trembled beneath him. “So damn much it hurts. You make me feel like a man. You see me.”

You cupped his cheek, tears sliding down your temples. “You see me.”

He let out a soft, shaky breath and kissed you again, Bucky pouring everything he had into it.

His rhythm stayed slow but insistent, hips pressing into yours with aching tenderness, like he wanted to be memorized, like he never wanted to be forgotten. The friction, the closeness, the way he looked at you like you were the only thing that had ever made him feel whole—it all built into something consuming, something soft and sacred.

When you came, your soft cries muffled into the curve of his neck, he held you tighter, like anchoring himself to you, like if he let go, the whole world would tilt. He whispered your name over and over again like a prayer, like a lifeline, like a vow, following close behind you with a quiet, broken groan into your skin.

And you knew, in that moment, that this wasn’t just sex.

It was coming home.

~#~#~#~#~#~

Afterward, he wrapped the blanket around you both, tucking you into his chest like he was trying to shield you from the rest of the world. His metal fingers traced soft, soothing circles against your spine, grounding you in the silence that settled warmly between you.

“You ever doubt your place again,” he murmured, lips pressed to your hair, voice rough with sleep and sincerity, “I want you to remember tonight. Remember how I touched you. How I looked at you. Remember this.”

You nodded against his chest, overwhelmed, your cheek pressed to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Your fingers curled around the dog tags still resting over your heart, the weight of them a quiet promise.

“I’m yours,” you whispered, the words small but certain.

He smiled, eyes closed as his arm tightened around you, pulling you impossibly closer.

“You always were,” he said, so softly it was nearly a breath, but you felt it more than heard it, like a vow etched beneath your skin.

[no-144444]

right here- k. antonelli

summary: you realised how much he misses you.

pairing: andrea kimi antonelli x fem! reader

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

He stared at his phone screen, basically begging it to light up.

It didn’t. 

Which was fine. You usually called him at the same time everyday, but not today. That was fine. He would be fine. 

A knock at his hotel room door pulled him out of bed, it was his dinner. He sat down to eat it, feeling every ache and pain the past few weeks had caused. He hadn’t expected the jump to be so… much. He thought it would be simple, easy, just like F2. He was wrong. He was driving well, but not well enough, and he was worried. He pushed it all to the back of his mind, but the only other thing in his mind was you. 

What would you be doing now? On your way to uni, probably. Probably finishing off your makeup on the train because you’re allergic to waking up early enough to get it all done. Or maybe you’d actually woken up early, and you could get some reading done before your lectures took your attention. Friday. Free practice and sprint quali. He had time, but not enough. He needed rest. He needed you. But you were halfway across the world and he wouldn’t see you for another few months. 

Another knock at the door. He dragged his exhausted body to the door and opened it without question. 

And there you were. 

Waiting for him. Suitcase in hand. Bright smile despite your long day of travel. 

“Hey baby,” you smiled, your voice soft. It immediately put to bed the thoughts he’d been thinking about you pulling away from him. 

He took a step closer and wrapped his arms around you in a comforting embrace. The world seemed to slow around you two, allowing space for the subtle calmness you brought him. He pressed his head into the crook of your neck, taking a deep breath in. Your shampoo, the perfume he got you last Christmas, his your cosy hoodie, you. He’d needed this, needed you. 

“I missed you.”

His gentle admission in the low light of the hotel hallway made your heart ache. Sometimes you forgot Kimi wasn’t always your happy, go-lucky, bright Kimi. Sometimes he was beaten down by his sport. Sometimes he was exhausted. Sometimes he was just… meh. And that was fine with you. 

“I missed you too,” you whispered, hands pulling through his curls as he leant against you. “How are you doing?” 

He pulled back and ushered you in, taking your bag from you (ever the gentleman). “I’m… alright. Tired,” he admitted. “Just… needed you, I guess,” he chuckled as he scratched the back of his head, not realising what was coming out of his mouth. 

You stared at him, smiling. “Yeah?” You mused, wrapping your arms around his neck. 

He blushed but nodded, wrapping his hands around your waist. “Yeah.”

“Well, I’m here, and I’m all yours for the whole weekend,” you smiled. “No uni work, nothing like that.” 

He smiled. “You’ll come to the race?”

“Only if you want me there,” you chuckled. 

“I want you everywhere. Wherever I am,” he admitted, his fingers drawing small shapes on your skin. “Always.”

You pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Well, I’m right here.”

And how true it was. You were right there in front of him. And he wasn’t going to let the weekend pass without allowing himself to spend some time with you. You sat on the couch together, watching whatever show you’d convinced him was hilarious. He didn’t spare the TV one glance. You were right there. You were a thousand times more interesting than some fucking TV show. 

And he thanked his lucky stars that he knew you.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

williams and merc masterlist

[norrisradio]

BETTER TOGETHER ‪‪

❤︎‬ PAIRING: alex albon x reader | ‪‪❤︎‬ WC: 4.0K ‪‪ ❤︎‬ GENRE: fluff with a little bit of angst (nothing sad I SWEAR)‪‪ ❤︎‬ INCOMING RADIO: buzzer beater for alex's birthday! | a part of my new ONLY EXCEPTION series‪‪ ❤︎‬ RECOMMENDED LISTENING: only exception, paramore ● better together, jack johnson ● home, edward sharpe & the magnetic zeroes ● gravity, john mayer ● peach, kevin abstract

‪‪❤︎‬ SUMMARY: If this is madness—if you are the exception to every rule—then maybe, just maybe, he doesn’t mind it at all.

Alex doesn’t stay up late.

His body is a finely tuned machine, and sleep is the fuel it runs on—eight, nine hours if he’s lucky. Rest, recovery—they’re sacred to him, like the quiet before dawn. But then there’s you, nestled into the corner of the couch, the soft glow from the city lights casting shadows on your face. Your eyes are alight with a thought you can’t quite shake, a question that nags at you with quiet insistence.

“And then I started thinking,” you begin, your voice threaded with that animated energy that always seems to bubble up when you're on the cusp of an epiphany. “What if Federer never picked up a racket? Would he have been great at something else, or was he only ever meant for tennis?”

Alex’s head tilts slightly, a brow quirked, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He can see the wheels turning in your head, the way your fingers absentmindedly twirl a strand of your hair as you wait for him to respond. He loves this—your strange, whimsical questions that don’t need answers, but instead are invitations to explore the edges of whatever thought just ran through your mind.

He knows what he should do. He should remind you that it’s well past midnight, that he has to be up in a few short hours to train. He should tell you that sleep is more important than philosophical musings. But instead, he feels himself leaning into the cushions, his arm stretching lazily along the backrest, already too comfortable to move. He has to admit, he’s captivated by you, by the way you think, how you see the world in a way he’s never quite been able to.

“You think people only have one thing they’re meant for?” he asks, his voice a mix of curiosity and something else—something lazy, something that wants to stay in the moment with you. His fingers absentmindedly tap against the edge of the couch, but he’s not really paying attention to them.

You don’t answer immediately, your lips pressing together in thought. He watches as the shadow of the streetlight outside dances across your face, highlighting the sharpness in your eyes, the way your eyebrows furrow as you deliberate. “I don’t know,” you reply after a moment, eyes finally meeting his, your expression steady and searching. “Do you?”

Alex chuckles, more to himself than anything. He can’t help it. Do you think Federer could’ve been a baker instead of a tennis champion? 

“Maybe,” he murmurs, pretending to consider it with the kind of drama that would make any serious philosopher cringe. “But, like... what if he was meant to bake croissants? Imagine that. Best in the world at croissants.”

You laugh, that sharp, sudden burst of sound that’s contagious enough to make him smile, too. “Now that I’d pay to see.”

The hours slip by unnoticed as the clock ticks past one, past two. He’s sure he’s feeling the pull of exhaustion, but somehow it seems to fade into the background as your voice continues to fill the space between you. He fights back a yawn, but you catch it anyway, your lips curling into a soft, teasing smile.

“Tired?” you ask, your voice a little gentler now, almost like a whisper, as though you're suddenly aware of how late it’s getting.

He shakes his head, but his eyes betray him—his lids heavy, the weight of the day finally sinking in. He leans in, slow and deliberate, pressing a kiss against your forehead, a soft promise that he’ll stay in this moment for as long as you need him to. His lips linger there for a moment, warm against your skin.

"Keep talking," he murmurs against your hair, his voice low and content, like he's found a corner of peace in the middle of a busy world.

And you do.

Alex doesn’t get jealous.

Jealousy has never been a part of Alex’s vocabulary. It’s a concept that feels foreign to him—something reserved for those who are unsure of their place, unsure of what they have. Love, to him, has always been something expansive, something that grows when shared freely, not hoarded. There’s no need to stake a claim, to guard it like a precious thing. It’s always been enough to know that it exists, that it flows easily between people who trust each other.

But then he sees you, across the room, your laughter ringing out in the crowded space. It’s warm and light, the kind of laughter that makes the world feel a little less heavy. Lando has said something funny, and you tilt your head back, eyes gleaming with that effortless joy that’s always drawn people to you.

There’s something about the way you glow in that moment, the way the room shifts around you as though it’s orbiting your presence, that unsettles something inside him. He doesn’t recognize the feeling right away. It’s a tightness in his chest, a fluttering he can't quite name. It’s subtle at first, but the longer he watches, the more the feeling takes root—something akin to possessiveness. The kind of thing he’s never felt before. A sudden, uninvited sting that makes his stomach drop.

He knows he has no reason to feel this way. There’s nothing to be threatened by. But as he stands there, a foot away from the crowd, the absurdity of it settles in his chest like a weight. He’s never been this kind of person. Why now? Why this?

The thought flits through his mind, but he pushes it aside quickly. It’s nothing. Just a fleeting moment, a trivial pang. He’s being irrational, and he knows it.

But still, the feeling persists, gnawing at him. Without realizing it, his feet are moving toward you, slow but steady, like he’s being pulled by some invisible force. His gaze doesn’t leave you as he approaches, watching you laugh again, this time at something else—another harmless joke from Carlos this time, someone he has no reason to be jealous of. Still, it doesn’t feel harmless.

As he nears, he slides his arm around your waist, pulling you gently into his side. The move is casual, almost instinctive, but to him, it feels like a reminder—his presence, a quiet claim. The subtle warmth of your body against his calms him, but it doesn’t quiet the strange knot in his chest. His heartbeat quickens as he leans in, pressing his lips to your temple in a soft, almost hesitant kiss, as if to erase the thought that’s been lingering too long.

You turn to him, the corner of your lips lifting in a playful smirk as your brow arches.

“Something wrong?” you ask, eyes dancing with the amusement you always carry when you know he’s thinking too much.

Alex doesn’t answer right away, instead looking at you, feeling the softness of your body against his, the way the tension in his chest slowly begins to ease. He wants to tell you that nothing is wrong, that it’s nothing, but the words get caught in his throat. He can’t quite explain the tightness he felt watching you, the way it wrapped itself around his ribs like a dark cloud. It feels silly now, standing here with you, the feeling dissipating in the light of your gaze.

“Just missed you,” he says, his voice low, a little more vulnerable than he intended. The words are simple, but they carry a weight he hadn't anticipated. He hadn’t meant for it to sound so much like an apology.

It’s not a lie. Not entirely. 

His heart slows as he feels your hand brush against his arm. He doesn’t need to justify the strange surge of possessiveness, but the words come out anyway, a quiet confession in a sea of unspoken things. It wasn’t about him not trusting you—it was about something inside him, a crack in his carefully constructed composure that opened for just a moment. Something he didn’t even know he needed to confront until now.

Your gaze softens, and you smile at him, a knowing expression that makes his chest tighten in a way he can’t quite explain. It’s like you understand the quiet fight he’s had with himself, the things he’s been trying to untangle.

You don’t say anything more, and for a moment, that’s enough. His arm around your waist feels natural again, and the tension slips away, leaving only the sound of your voices and the low hum of the crowd around you. 

Alex realizes, then, that some things don't need to be justified. 

And maybe, just maybe, that’s okay.

Alex doesn’t break his pre-race routine.

Superstition is just logic in disguise. Rituals. Routines. They’re the backbone of everything Alex does. His pre-race routine is meticulous, each step honed to perfection over years of trial and error. It’s superstition, yes, but more than that—it’s a foundation. It’s not just superstition. It’s a foundation, one built from trial and error, trust in repetition, the reassurance that in a world of chaos, some things remain unchanged. 

But in the dying light of the late afternoon, in the quiet of the hotel room, alone with his thoughts, something new is creeping in. It isn’t unwelcome, but it feels foreign, like a shadow that stretches a little longer than it should.

You’re there, barefoot on the cool floor, moving like you don’t quite belong in the stillness of his space. The rustle of your movements barely breaks the silence, but to him, it’s louder than the hum of the city outside. Your presence is soft, gentle, but somehow, it pulls at the edges of his focus. It shifts something inside him—this rhythm he’s relied on for so long, suddenly disrupted.

He can feel your gaze before you even touch him, a heat that builds between you in the quiet, unspoken. You reach for him, just the simple press of your hand against his chest, a reminder of something warm and steady. His body tenses at first, a reflex, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he lets himself sink into the touch, feels the way your palm molds against him. 

“Good luck,” you murmur, voice thick with sleep, and there’s a teasing note to it, like you’re not sure if you’re serious or just making light of the situation. “Don’t crash.”

It’s just a joke. A lighthearted jab at the nerves he can’t escape. But it lands differently now. 

Alex rolls his eyes, half-amused, half-ashamed of the way his chest tightens at your proximity. The tension in his shoulders loosens just a fraction, but he doesn’t step back. Instead, he leans in, his lips brushing your cheek in the most casual of gestures.

He doesn’t pull away right away. His arms slide around your middle, drawing you closer, your body fitting against his with an ease that makes him feel like he’s always known this rhythm. He holds you, just for a second longer than usual, something in the way his breath catches betraying the stillness of his exterior. 

And for the first time, the ritual feels just a little bit different. Not worse. Just... more. More than he expected. More than he knew he could need.

Now, this is part of the foundation. He won’t leave—he can’t leave—until you say something. Until you touch him again. Until you make some offhand comment that calms the nervous hum beneath his skin. 

Alex doesn’t let people see him lose.

Disappointment is a quiet thing. It never yells or demands attention; it sits in the corners, folding itself into the spaces between breaths, hiding beneath the weight of expectation. He’s trained himself to swallow it down, to press it into the depths of his chest where it won’t make a sound. A bad day is just that—a day. It does not own him. He doesn’t let it.

But the weight of it lingers a little longer today. He feels it in the tightness of his jaw, the way his chest constricts with every shallow breath, each one just a little more labored than the last. When he steps into the driver's room, it’s like the air shifts around him—colder, heavier. Normally, the buzz of the team, the hum of equipment being packed up, fills the silence. 

But not today. 

Today, it’s just you—waiting in the stillness, sitting cross-legged on the couch, your presence the only thing that pulls him in. There’s no expectation, no questions waiting to be asked, nothing but the quiet comfort of you being there.

And in that silence, he doesn’t have to wear a mask. He doesn’t have to pretend that the sting of defeat doesn’t hurt, that the weight of letting down so many people doesn’t sit heavy in his bones. He doesn’t have to smooth over the frustration that flares up inside him, wanting to lash out but knowing it would only hurt more. You’re there, and for once, he allows himself to feel it—the quiet ache that’s been building since the race ended.

He exhales deeply, the sound escaping like a slow leak, and finally sinks into the seat beside you. His body feels like it’s made of lead, the weariness pulling him down into the cushions. His head tilts back against the upholstery, and he stares at the ceiling, his gaze unfocused. The lines and cracks of the tiles above blur, just a soft landscape of thoughts he doesn’t want to organize yet.

“You okay?” Your voice is gentle, a thread of concern woven through it, but there’s no pressure. No demand for answers. You let the silence stretch, giving him space to find his words.

He smiles faintly, though it’s a thin thing, barely a curve of his lips. “I’ve been better.” It’s a truth, but it’s not the whole truth. The whole truth would be too much. The whole truth would crack something open he’s not ready to share.

Silence again. 

You don’t rush in to fill it. Instead, your hand slides over his, soft and steady, pulling him from the noise that’s circling in his mind. Your fingers lace with his, a simple connection that speaks volumes. It’s grounding in a way nothing else can be—just the quiet pressure of your touch, the warmth of it curling into the edges of him, easing the sharpness of his frustration.

He turns his palm up, feeling the rough calluses of his skin brush against the softness of yours. It’s a small thing, but the way his fingers curl against yours is almost an instinct—something necessary, something he can’t avoid, even if he wanted to.

“You’re allowed to be upset, you know.” Your words are soft, like they’re meant to ease the weight rather than fix it, and for a moment, the heaviness in his chest lightens just enough to let him breathe a little easier.

“I know,” he says, his voice quieter now, the rasp of it a reflection of the quiet he’s been holding inside. He doesn’t pull away, doesn’t break the connection between you. Instead, he stays there, allowing himself the simple comfort of this moment—the warmth of your hand in his, the silence that wraps around you both, and the fact that, for now, there’s no need to be anything other than exactly what he is in this moment.

He doesn’t have to be strong, doesn’t have to hide the disappointment from you. 

Not here.

Not now. 

In the space between your fingers, he finds something soft enough to hold on to, something he hasn’t allowed himself in a long time.

Alex doesn’t lose his cool.

He’s easygoing, the kind of man who wears patience like a second skin. He’s made a career out of controlling the narrative—on the track, in interviews, even in the most frustrating of moments. He smooths over the rough edges with a joke, a lopsided smile, a charm that’s second nature. But then there’s you—your name trending on Twitter, and the words flashing across the screen: Alex and His Beau: Is it over?

The post is incendiary, speculative, designed to tear apart something people don’t understand. And the worst part? It’s gaining traction. He’s used to the noise, the mindless chatter of fans and critics alike, but this? This is different. His thumb slides over his phone screen as the same words echo in his mind, What’s going on with Alex and his lover? Something’s not right. The words are poisonous, aimed right at you. 

You’re sitting on the couch, eyes glued to your screen, your face an unreadable mask as you scroll through the flood of comments and replies. The room feels too small suddenly, the air too heavy. 

Alex sees it before you even speak, the tightness in your jaw, the flicker of disbelief in your eyes as you scroll, then stop, then scroll again. He doesn’t need to ask. He can feel it. The waves of frustration and hurt you’re trying to hold back.

"Who the hell are these people?" you mutter, a half-laugh, but there's no amusement in it. "And how do they know so much about me when they've never even met me?"

Alex knows this about you—how you handle the chaos, how you confront the worst of it with a joke and a broken smile. He watches your fingers brush over your phone, reading the comments, the well-wishes, the questions, all of it. You look up at him for a brief second, your gaze soft but knowing.

“You don’t have to say anything,” you murmur, and for a second, the tension in his chest unfurls. “We don’t owe anyone an explanation.”

But Alex is not as forgiving as you. 

The venom in those tweets makes his blood run hot. He can feel it in the pit of his stomach, the desire to fire back with every insult, every single thing he’s dying to say. To rip into the faceless cowards who dare to speak about you like they know anything at all. But Alex doesn’t lose his cool. He never does.

Not on the outside, at least.

Instead, he snatches his phone from his pocket, fingers hovering over the keyboard, muscles tense. He’s seen this kind of thing before, heard rumors that have no truth, no foundation. But he can’t help it—his mind races, his heart quickens, and the urge to respond surges like an electric current. He wants to tell the world exactly who you are to him, how these rumors are nothing more than noise. He wants to protect you, to shield you from this distortion of reality. His thumb hovers over his phone screen, ready to type something sharp, something cutting, something to silence the accusations. A few taps, a snarky message sent into the void of Twitter: 

Some people really should stick to things they understand. idk, silence is a great option. 

He hits send before thinking twice.

Then, he stands there, watching you, heart a little tighter than usual. Your lips twitch at the corners, and you roll your eyes, even as you try to stifle a smile. He knows he shouldn't have responded, but damn it, you didn’t deserve any of that, not even for a second.

“Alex…” you start, but you don’t finish. You don’t have to. You already know that whatever else might happen, he’s got your back.

He lets out a breath, shaking his head. “What? You think I’d let them talk shit about you and just sit back? They’ve got the wrong idea, babe. I’ll fight them if it comes to that.”

It’s not a boast. It’s a fact.

You look at him then, and in your gaze, there’s this soft, unexpected vulnerability—a gratitude that you don’t have to say a word to communicate. 

Alex doesn’t lose his cool. 

But for you? He would tear down the whole damn world.

Alex doesn’t make big gestures.

For Alex, love has always been quiet. It’s never been about grand declarations or showy displays. There’s no need for flash mobs or extravagant gestures when something is already understood, already deeply rooted in the everyday. Love, to him, is in the quiet moments—the way you both sip coffee together without needing to speak, the way his hand naturally finds yours when the world feels too loud. He believes in something steadier, more enduring than that. But then there’s you, and suddenly, the rules don’t apply.

He’s standing in line at the airport, the hum of voices around him, the distant chatter of announcements, and he’s holding his boarding pass in his hand, wondering if this makes sense. Less than 24 hours. An absurd turnaround. He only has 48 hours before he needs to be in Shanghai. 

He could have waited. He could have let this trip pass by, just like all the others. But then, there’s you, and the thought of not seeing you for even a moment longer than necessary gnaws at him. So, he’s here, in the airport, wondering if this makes any sense at all.

The line moves forward, but he stays where he is, watching people bustle around him, their minds already halfway across the world. He can feel the exhaustion creeping in—the hours of travel, the missed sleep—but the thought of your face and the way you laugh pushes him forward. It doesn’t matter that he’ll barely have time to sleep before his next flight. It doesn’t matter that it’s ridiculous to rush across the globe for a few hours with you. It doesn’t matter that the world might think he’s out of his mind.

He could have waited. He could have let the distance stretch just a little longer. But the idea of being apart from you for even a few hours is suddenly unbearable.

It’s quiet, too quiet, in the hallway of your shared apartment building. He knocks, his hand lingering on the wood as if it’s too soon, too sudden. But then the door opens, and there you are, blinking at him in confusion, your hair tousled, your eyes still heavy with sleep.

He watches your expression shift—bewilderment to surprise to something else, something soft that tugs at the corners of his heart. The grin that spreads across his face is almost involuntary, and he can’t help the breath of laughter that slips past his lips. “I missed you, baby,” he says, his voice a little hoarse from the early hours, but there’s no mistaking the amusement that laces it.

“You’re insane,” you laugh, your voice light and incredulous, your disbelief apparent, but there's something about the way you say it that tells him you're not mad. Just...surprised. Maybe a little impressed.

Alex just shrugs, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, trying to keep up the cool façade. “Maybe.”

You stand there for a moment longer, eyes still narrowing at him, like you’re waiting for him to crack. And then—just like that—you’re on him, your arms flying around his neck, your lips finding his cheek in a flurry of kisses. They’re warm and a little messy, the kind that can only come from someone who’s missed him as much as he’s missed you. His breath catches, and for a moment, the world feels like it’s been dialed down to a whisper. 

“If this is insanity,” Alex murmurs between your kisses, “I think I’m okay with it.”

You pull away just enough to smile at him, the kind of smile that tugs at something deep in his chest. He watches your lips, the way they curl up, the way your eyes light up with amusement. “Well, you’re certainly out of your mind,” you tease, tapping a finger against his nose, and it’s so ridiculously normal, so familiar, that the knot in his chest unravels completely.

“I can live with that,” Alex says, his grin turning softer, more real. He’s about to say something else when you press another quick kiss to his lips, catching him off guard in the best possible way.

He pulls you closer, arms wrapping around you as he spins you, a laugh bubbling up between you both, the sound a little too loud for the quiet hallway. It feels ridiculous, like something out of a rom-com he’d never admit to watching, but in this moment, he doesn’t care. The world feels right. The ridiculousness of his actions are washed away in the joy of having you close.

If this is madness—if you are the exception to every rule—then maybe, just maybe, he doesn’t mind it at all.

[inseobts]

eeek i'm glad you're open to writing for koby ^^ ! if you aren't too busy, could i request just a few small awkward interactions between him and a marine/civillian reader pre-relationship? like yk when it's so obvious two people like each other but neither admit it... teehee 😼 thank you!

Tides of Hesitation

kobi × reader

a/n: first time writing about him so I hope it's good aw

words count: 3.8k

tags: fluffy, soft, you're a marine too

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

The Marine base is always alive with movement, recruits training, officers barking orders, and the steady rhythm of boots against the dock. But for Koby, it all fades into the background the moment he sees you.

You’re sorting through crates near the supply docks, uniform slightly wrinkled from a long morning of inventory. Your brows furrow in concentration as you check a list, completely unaware of the pink-haired Marine who just stopped mid-step upon spotting you.

Koby quickly looks away, pretending to focus on a group of recruits jogging past. He tells himself he’s just being polite, he’s a Captain after all, and he should be keeping an eye on the base. But he knows that’s not the real reason he keeps sneaking glances in your direction.

“Captain Koby!” a voice calls, snapping him out of his thoughts. Helmeppo strides toward him, smirking “You look a little lost there. Something distracting you?”

Koby flinches, straightening “N-No! I was just—” He stops himself before he makes it worse “Never mind.”

Helmeppo follows his gaze and immediately raises an eyebrow “Ohhh. I see.”

Koby nearly chokes “You don’t see anything!” he insists, but it’s too late. Helmeppo’s smirk deepens.

Before Koby can stop him, Helmeppo waves in your direction “Oi, Y/N! Got a minute?”

You look up, blinking in confusion before setting down your clipboard and walking over. Koby wants to disappear.

“Captain Koby, you needed me for something?” you ask, tilting your head slightly.

Koby opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again “Uh—I—”

“Yeah, Captain,” Helmeppo drawls, arms crossed “You did seem eager to talk.”

Koby silently vows to get revenge on him later. For now, he struggles to form a sentence under your curious gaze.

“I—I was just checking in!” Koby blurts out “You know, making sure you’re, um, settling in alright!”

You blink “I’ve been here for three months, Captain.”

Koby wants the sea to swallow him whole “R-Right! Of course! I just... uh...” He rubs the back of his neck “How’s inventory going?”

You look down at your clipboard and back up at him "…Fine?”

Helmeppo snorts, and Koby kicks him (it’s not subtle).

An awkward silence falls between you both, and so you clear your throat “Well… thanks for checking in, I guess? I should probably get back to work.”

“Y-Yeah! Yeah, of course. Sorry for interrupting!”

You nod and turn away, but before you get too far, Koby calls after you “Wait!”

You pause, looking over your shoulder.

Koby hesitates, then forces out “Let me know if, uh, if you need anything!”

You smile small but warme “Will do, Captain.”

The moment you’re out of earshot, Helmeppo claps a hand on Koby’s shoulder “That,” he says, grinning “was painful to watch.”

Koby groans, face burning “Shut up.”

Helmeppo just laughs.

Morning drills leave Koby exhausted, but that doesn’t stop his mind from wandering. Specifically, to you.

It’s frustrating. He’s supposed to be focused on training, strategy, and leadership, not on the way you smiled at him yesterday.

Helmeppo, of course, has noticed “You’ve been sighing a lot today, Captain,” he teases, leaning against the railing of the training ground “Something on your mind? Or should I say… someone?”

Koby nearly drops the training manual he’s holding “I have not been sighing!”

Helmeppo raises an eyebrow “Right. And I haven’t been watching you sneak glances toward the docks all morning.”

Koby stiffens, gripping the manual tighter. He refuses to dignify that with a response. Instead, he turns his attention back to the field, where a group of recruits is finishing their sparring exercises. He clears his throat, forcing his voice to be steady.

“Focus on work, Helmeppo. We’re not here to gossip.”

Helmeppo snickers “Oh, you might not be, but I certainly am.”

Before Koby can protest, a voice calls out from the direction of the supply docks “Captain Koby!”

He turns so fast he nearly gives himself whiplash. And there you are, jogging toward him with a clipboard in hand, eyes scanning a sheet of paper.

“I need your signature for the new shipment approval. Do you have a second?”

Koby straightens too quickly “Y-Yeah! Of course!”

You stop beside him, close enough that he catches the faint scent of salt and parchment ink. He takes the clipboard from you, trying very hard not to let his hand brush against yours as he signs the form.

Helmeppo, standing a few feet away, watches the exchange like he’s witnessing a drama unfold.

You shift on your feet “The shipment came in earlier than expected, so I figured I’d get the paperwork done now.”

Koby nods, handing back the clipboard “That’s… really efficient of you.”

You blink at him, then let out a small laugh “Well, I try.”

Koby realizes, belatedly, that he’s still staring at you. He quickly averts his gaze, clearing his throat “Uh—good work. Keep it up.”

You tilt your head, amused “Thanks, Captain.”

Another awkward pause. Koby swears he can hear Helmeppo physically holding back laughter behind him.

You give him a small nod before heading back toward the docks. Koby watches you go, feeling his entire face heat up.

The second you’re out of earshot, Helmeppo claps him on the back, nearly knocking him forward “Captain, that was tragic.”

Koby groans, rubbing his temples “Please. Stop talking.”

Helmeppo grins “Oh, absolutely not.”

Koby has survived brutal training, impossible missions, and direct battles with some of the world’s most fearsome pirates. And yet, none of those things compare to the sheer terror of sitting across from Vice Admiral Garp while Helmeppo tries very hard not to choke on laughter.

“So, Koby.” Garp takes a massive bite out of a rice cracker, crumbs spilling onto the table “You got a crush?”

Koby nearly chokes on air “W-WHAT?!”

Helmeppo completely loses it, practically keeling over with laughter “Oh, this is amazing.”

Koby grips the table, staring at Garp like he’s just declared war “Where did you—who told you—what are you talking about?!”

Garp snorts “Oh, come on, boy! You think I wouldn’t notice? You get all stiff and weird whenever that supply recruit’s around. Like a nervous little sea slug.”

Koby buries his face in his hands “I do not get stiff and weird…”

Helmeppo, still wheezing, barely manages to say “Koby, you literally bowed yesterday when Y/N handed you a clipboard. A clipboard.”

Koby groans “I panicked!”

Garp laughs so hard the entire table shakes “Panicked?! Boy, if you freeze up over a clipboard, how do you plan on ever confessing?!”

Koby immediately launches into damage control “There’s nothing to confess! Y/N and I are just—we’re colleagues! That’s it! Absolutely nothing else!”

“Right,” Helmeppo says, smirking “That’s why you turn the color of a cooked lobster every time they talk to you.”

Koby’s about to protest when a voice calls out from the doorway “Captain Koby?”

His soul leaves his body.

You step inside the room, looking between the three of them, clearly confused “…Did I interrupt something?”

Helmeppo immediately straightens, looking like he’s about to combust from holding back laughter. Garp, meanwhile, just grins like he’s enjoying the show.

Koby, on the other hand, is desperately trying to appear normal. He sits up way too straight and forces a totally casual smile “N-No! Not at all! What’s up?”

You glance at him suspiciously before holding up a document “I need your signature on the cargo report.”

Koby nods too quickly “Of course! Right! Cargo! Work!” He grabs the paper and hastily signs it, nearly snapping the pen in half with how hard he’s gripping it.

You hesitate for a second “…Are you okay?”

“Yep! Perfectly fine! Why do you ask?” he blurts out.

You blink “…Because you’re sweating?”

Koby internally screams “I-I was just… uh… training! Hard training! Very intense!”

Garp chuckles “Yep, boy’s been real worked up today.”

Helmeppo snorts so loudly he has to cover his mouth.

You still look confused, but eventually just nod “…Alright then. Thanks, Captain.”

With that, you turn and leave, and the second the door closes, Koby slams his head onto the table “Kill me. Right now.”

Garp howls with laughter, slapping Koby on the back hard enough to nearly knock him over “Boy, you’re hopeless!”

Helmeppo wipes a tear from his eye “Hopeless and hilarious.”

Koby just groans, face still pressed against the table “…I need to be reassigned.”

Koby tries to avoid Helmeppo for the rest of the day, but it’s nearly impossible when the man keeps appearing everywhere just to smirk at him.

At one point, Koby swears he sees Helmeppo whispering to Garp about something before the old man grins in his direction. He doesn’t have time to question it, though, because the universe decides to make his day even worse.

“Captain Koby! I—oh—wait—ah!”

Koby barely has time to turn around before you crash directly into him, nearly sending both of you to the ground.

He instinctively reaches out to steady you, hands awkwardly hovering before actually making contact with your arms “Are you okay?!”

You immediately straighten up, waving your hands “I-I’m fine! I wasn’t looking where I was going!”

Koby quickly steps back, rubbing the back of his neck “No, no, it’s okay! I wasn’t paying attention either!”

There’s a long, awkward pause as you both look anywhere except at each other.

Helmeppo, standing a few feet away, slowly puts his head in his hands “This is painful.”

You clear your throat, still visibly flustered “Um—right! I was actually looking for you!”

Koby’s brain completely shuts down “M-Me?!”

You nod rapidly “Yeah! I mean—yes! Because I, uh… I had a question! About… the, um… the thing.”

Koby blinks “The… thing?”

You shift your weight, clearly struggling “…The… Marine thing. With… the reports?”

Helmeppo audibly groans “Oh come on, Y/N, even you now?”

You snap out of your panic mode and shoot him a glare “Excuse me?!”

Helmeppo gestures wildly between the two of you “This! This! The mutual awkwardness! You’re both acting like nervous cadets instead of normal people!”

Koby sputters “W-We are not!”

You cross your arms, cheeks heating “I’m acting perfectly normal!”

Helmeppo gives you both a look before turning on his heel and walking away “I can’t do this. You two are a lost cause.”

There’s a moment of silence. Then, you nervously rub your arm “…I really did need to ask about the reports, though.”

Koby straightens “O-Oh! Right! Of course! Let’s—uh—go over that.”

You both walk toward his office, keeping at least a two-foot distance between you the entire way. Neither of you say a word. The tension is so unbearable that even the recruits passing by seem uncomfortable.

At this point, everyone in the base is starting to notice.

And everyone is waiting to see how long it takes before one of you finally admits something.

Koby does not want to be here.

Not because he doesn’t respect Vice Admiral Garp, he does, a lot even. But because you’re here too, standing stiffly beside him, and the moment Garp notices, Koby knows he’s doomed.

The Vice Admiral leans back in his chair, massive arms crossed over his chest, eyeing the both of you with a smirk that immediately puts Koby on edge “So. You two are spending a lot of time together lately.”

Koby nearly drops the stack of reports in his hands “I-It’s not like that! We—we just—work! We’re colleagues! Just normal colleagues doing normal Marine things together!”

You nod aggressively, gripping your own paperwork like it’s a lifeline “Yes! Exactly! Just work! That’s all it is!”

Garp snorts “Right. And I’m the King of Alabasta.”

Koby sputters “Sir, we’re serious!”

Garp waves a hand “Oh, I know you’re serious, boy. That’s the problem.” He leans forward, grinning “Because you’re so serious that it’s painfully obvious you’ve got it bad.”

You immediately stiffen “I—what?!”

Koby turns bright red “That’s—that’s completely incorrect, sir! I have no idea what you’re talking about!”

You nod far too quickly “M-Me neither! No idea! None at all!”

Garp glances between the two of you. Neither of you can hold eye contact with him or with each other. You’re both standing like you’re facing a firing squad, shoulders locked in place, expressions frozen somewhere between denial and horrified realization.

Then, Garp starts laughing.

Not just any laugh, a full-blown Garp laugh. The kind that shakes the entire room and nearly blows the papers off his desk.

“Oh, this is golden!” he howls, slapping his knee “You two look like a couple of schoolkids caught passing notes!”

Koby groans “Sir, please!”

Garp wipes a tear from his eye, then gestures toward the door “Go on, get outta here before I start planning your wedding.”

You both immediately move for the exit, neither of you daring to say another word. The second the door closes behind you, you and Koby stand there, stiff as statues.

For a long, awkward moment, neither of you move. Then, Koby slowly turns to look at you “…That was horrible.”

You nod, face still burning “Yeah. That was… a nightmare.”

More silence.

Then, you clear your throat “…Well. See you later?”

Koby nods way too fast “Yep! Later! Definitely! Okay bye!”

And with that, you both practically sprint in opposite directions.

From inside the office, Garp just shakes his head, grinning to himself “Hopeless.”

Koby swears he’s never been this embarrassed in his entire life.

And that includes the time he tripped in front of Admiral Sengoku. And the time he saluted the wrong superior and didn’t realize it for a full minute. And definitely the time he panicked and called Garp “Dad” during a training session.

But this? This is a new level of humiliation.

Because ever since the disaster in Garp’s office, the entire Marine base has started talking.

It starts small. A couple of recruits whispering when he walks by. A few smirks from officers who normally never pay attention to his personal life.

Then it gets worse.

Way worse.

By noon, Helmeppo has fully weaponized the situation. He strolls up to Koby while he’s trying to review patrol reports, looking far too pleased with himself “Hey, Captain.”

Koby doesn’t even look up “No.”

Helmeppo grins “I didn’t even say anything yet.”

“I know you’re going to say something, and the answer is still no.”

Helmeppo leans on the desk “Fine, I’ll just show you instead.”

Before Koby can react, Helmeppo holds up a sheet of paper.

Koby squints “…What is that?”

Helmeppo beams “It’s a petition.”

Koby feels instant dread “…A petition for what?”

Helmeppo flips it around. At the top, in very large, very bold letters, it reads:

“MAKE KOBY AND Y/N STOP BEING AWKWARD AND JUST ADMIT IT ALREADY.”

Koby makes a strangled noise “What—WHAT IS THIS?!”

Helmeppo chuckles “Oh, just something the crew put together. You’d be amazed how many signatures we got. Look, even Garp signed it.”

Koby’s eye twitches as he scans the list.

Not only is Garp’s name right at the top, but nearly half the base has signed.

“WHY IS THERE A WHOLE PAGE JUST FROM THE KITCHEN STAFF?!”

Helmeppo shrugs “Apparently, they’ve been betting on you two for months.”

Koby slams his head onto the desk “This cannot be happening.”

And just when he thinks it can’t get worse—

“Hey, Captain, I need to—”

Koby’s head shoots up.

It’s you.

And you’re holding a stack of documents, looking just as awkward and uncomfortable as he feels.

For a second, the whole room is silent.

Then Helmeppo, still holding the petition, smirks “Oh, perfect timing.”

Koby lunges for him “DON’T YOU DARE—”

But Helmeppo’s already turning to you, holding up the paper like it’s an official Marine decree “Hey, Y/N, wanna add your name to the list?”

Your eyes widen in confusion “ uh? For what?”

Koby desperately grabs for the petition “IGNORE HIM! IT’S NOT REAL!”

Helmeppo dodges, still grinning “Oh, it’s very real.”

You look between the two of them, clearly so confused. But then you catch a glimpse of the title. Your entire face turns red “…Oh my god.”

Koby groans “I’M GOING TO JUMP INTO THE SEA.”

You look horrified “WHO SIGNED THIS?!”

Helmeppo cheerfully flips through the pages “Well, Garp, obviously. Most of the officers. Some of the cadets. Pretty sure the janitor added a heart next to his name. Oh, and the kitchen staff wrote a whole paragraph about how sick they are of you two pretending you don’t like each other.”

Koby wants to die “I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS IS HAPPENING.”

You cover your face “I need to quit. I need to leave the Marines and change my name.”

Helmeppo grins “Oh, come on, you both like each other, just admit it—”

“WE DON’T—” both of you yell at the exact same time, which is the worst possible answer because now everyone in the room is watching.

Helmeppo just sighs, shaking his head “You two. Hopeless.”

And with that, he walks away, still holding the petition.

Leaving you and Koby standing there.

In the middle of the Marine base.

Surrounded by people who are very clearly eavesdropping.

Neither of you say a word.

Then, at the exact same time—

“I have work to do—”

“I should get back to training—”

You both turn and power walk in opposite directions.

The second you’re gone, one of the recruits sighs loudly “I swear, if they don’t get together in the next month, I’m quitting.”

Koby cannot take this anymore.

It’s been three days since the petition incident, and somehow, things have only gotten worse.

Everywhere he goes, people give him knowing looks. Recruits whisper the second he walks past. The kitchen staff has started serving his meals in heart-shaped portions.

And Helmeppo? Helmeppo has been insufferable, more than usual.

Koby really tries to pretend none of this is happening. But then, this morning, he finds a new note pinned to his office door:

“Confess or we riot.”

That’s it. That’s the final straw.

So now, Koby is marching down to the docks, fists clenched, heart pounding because damn it, if everyone is going to make his life miserable over this, he might as well get it over with.

And then he sees you.

You’re sitting near the supply crates, flipping through a stack of reports, completely unaware that Koby is about to have the most disastrous conversation of his life.

He takes a deep breath, walks up, and “WE NEED TO TALK!”

You jump so hard you nearly fall off the crate.

“What?? koby?!” You clutch your chest, eyes wide “You scared me. What is wrong with you?!”

Koby swallows, his face already heating up “S-Sorry! I just—I need to say something! Because if I don’t, I think I might actually die!”

You blink “…Okay?”

He exhales sharply “Listen. I don’t know when it started, and I don’t know why the entire Marine base thinks they have the right to butt into our business, but I… I like you, okay? There! I said it!”

There’s a long, horrible silence.

Koby’s entire body is on fire.

You just stare at him, mouth slightly open, as if your brain is still catching up “…You… like me?”

Koby nods aggressively “YES. VERY MUCH. A LOT, ACTUALLY.”

You blink again.

Then, slowly, your face starts turning red “…Oh.”

More silence.

Then you bury your face in your hands “I hate everyone so much.”

Koby freezes “…What?”

You groan, voice muffled against your palms “Because I like you too! But I was never going to say anything because I was convinced you didn’t feel the same and everyone was just trying to make fun of me, and now the entire base is going to rub it in our faces forever!”

Koby short-circuits.

“…You… like me too?”

You look up, expression absolutely miserable “Koby. Did you think I was just constantly being awkward for no reason?!”

Koby stares at you. Then he stares at the ground. Then he stares at the sky, as if begging for it to strike him down.

“Well, you thought that of me though… I am an idiot anyway”

You sigh “Yeah. Me too.”

And then, before either of you can say anything else.

“FINALLY!!!”

Koby whirls around.

Half the base is watching from the distance, cheering, clapping, and throwing their hats in the air.

Helmeppo is holding the petition, waving it over his head like a victory flag.

Garp is standing nearby, laughing so hard he actually wipes a tear from his eye.

The kitchen staff is clinking glasses.

Even the janitor is there, pumping his fist in the air.

Koby buries his face in his hands “…I should’ve transferred when I had the chance.”

You groan “We will never survive them”

Then, you both turn to look at each other and, despite everything, you both start laughing, because honestly this is exactly how it was always going to happen.

[rekino2114]

screw it Male Reader Cuddling with female Chigiri Hyoma

Cuddling with fem!chigiri

Pairing:fem!hyoma chigiri x male reader

A/n:when I was searching for fem!chigiri art I always had to double check because I was like "is this genderbent or just him?"

During the second selection, you eventually ended up joining a team comprised of isagi, nagi, and your girlfriend chigiri thanks in no small part to her convincing her teammates to pick you when your team lost

"Looks like we're finally together again"

"It sure does......"

"Come on are you still salty I didn't wait for you at first?"

"......a little bit"

"It's not my fault, you just had to be faster"

Chigiri started giggling as you rolled your eyes and sighed. Seeing this, your girlfriend kissed your cheek

"If it makes you feel better, that definitely helped you improve, you put up a good fight in the match, I wouldn't have asked isagi to choose you if you sucked"

"That's good to hear"

"Exactly, so don't be so petty, the thing that matters is that we're here now"

"Yeah, you're right"

You now officially joined the team so all of you went in the next room, where you would most likely find the next team to go against, but before that you decided to relax in one of the rooms for teams of 4

"Finally, I was waiting to take a nap"

Nagi immediately plopped into one of the beds as isagi sat on another one. You and chigiri looked at each other before scanning the room and realizing something

"......wait.....what?"

"........why are there only three beds?"

"What?....oh I guess you're right"

"We have to tell ego"

"You can try but it's not like he can put a whole bed here in so little time"

"I dunno doesn't he control this whole facility?"

"If you want to sleep in a room who's gonna be under construction be my guest"

"......fine, I'll sleep on the floor"

"What are you doing?"

"Hm? I told you I'm gonna sleep on the floor"

"Yeah I heard you, but why?"

"I'm not gonna let you sleep on the floor, I'm a gentleman"

"There's a perfectly good bed there"

"Yeah for you"

"No for us"

"........you mean.....sharing a bed?"

"Obviously, you're acting like we don't cuddle every night"

"Yeah but.....in front of them?"

Chigiri narrowed her eyes and pointed at nagi, who was already sleeping and isagi, who went to train

".....alright fine"

"I'm glad, now give me 15 minutes, I need to do my hair"

"15? You usually take way more time"

"I'll hurry so we can cuddle sooner"

You two smiled at each other, and chigiri went into the bathroom to get ready while you sat on the bed and changed into your pajamas before pulling out your phone

"I'm ready"

A few minutes later chigiri walked out of the bathroom, having put on her own pajamas and with her hair styled in a ponytail

"Make some space"

"Oh yeah sorry"

You went to the side of the bed letting your girlfriend get under the covers with you

"The bed is warm, that's nice"

"Yeah....."

The red panther turned to face you and snickered once she saw that you were blushing

"Seriously? You're still embarrassed?"

"Sorry I'm just not used to this"

"Literally no one is watching this and your face is redder than my hair, I can't say you're not cute when you blush though"

Her remarks just caused you to blush more

"See? Adorable"

"Whatever"

You two started hugging and cuddling, you stayed silent for a while before yelping realizing something

"Oh sorry, I'm not squeezing your leg too hard am I?"

"Don't act like I'm made of glass"

"Sorry I'd just hate to hurt you"

"You could never hurt me and even if you do then I guess that's just fate"

"Don't say stuff like that"

"You're the one who started it"

"Yeah you're right so-"

"If you apologize one more time I'm pushing you off the bed"

"..............."

"Good, now just cuddle me and don't worry about me or my leg anymore ok?"

"OK I can do that, cuddling with you great anyway"

"I'm happy to hear that, you make a great cuddle buddy too"

"Just a cuddle buddy?"

"I guess you also make an alright boyfriend"

"Alright? Then you're an above average girlfriend"

Chigiri pouted but quickly started laughing along with you

"Just shut up"

"Let's shut up together then"

"Yeah cuddling in silence is better anyways"

You two kissed briefly before nuzzling closer into each other and continuing to cuddle comfortably for the rest of the night

[yandere-sins]

Yan-Poll #37

You wake up feeling cold and disorientated.

Just now, you were on your way home after a lovely day in the city, looking at the shop's windows and buying some essentials before taking the train back after sundown. You were jamming to the music from your headphones and then? Nothing. Just darkness.

Neither did you notice someone approach you, nor did you anticipate any malicious intent. But regardless, something must have knocked you out for you to barely remember the last few seconds before your memory disappears. Forcing your eyes open, you were bombarded with a grating bright light above you, and you quickly looked away, blinded by it for a moment.

"You are so beautiful... Finally... Finally!"

The voice reached your ears, and you pried one eye open again to look down at where it came from. It was the first glimpse you got of yourself and your whole body flinched in surprise as you saw the barely long enough patient gown covering your body while your legs were spread on a medical chair, a cold breeze swooshing between them. Immediately, you tried closing your legs and covering yourself, but you encountered immediate resistance, causing you to look left and right at your arms and legs, finding them to be restrained.

Panic overcame you as you began struggling in the chair, moving your body left and right, trying to loosen your limbs. This was straight out of a horror movie, and a hand suddenly laid down on your shoulder, your head snapping up to look at the person standing by your side.

"Don't move now, you'll get hurt."

His voice was calm and authoritative, sounding like a younger man. He wore a white coat, mask, hair covering, glasses, and a headlamp that switched on as he reached for it. However, what freaked you out the most was the syringe with some kind of green fluid in his other hand, and you began to cause another ruckus, noticing the gag in your mouth as your words couldn't come out.

"Keep still," the doctor continued, walking around you and sitting down on a stool that he could roll around the room, positioning himself right between your legs. You didn't think about staying still when your life was on the line like this.

In a spurt of adrenaline, you managed to tear off one of the restraints on your leg, kicking your foot square in the face of the doctor. He rolled back, sputtering in surprise while you felt triumphant. The feeling, however, didn't last as he got a grip on himself immediately, glaring at you, clearly pissed off. Throwing the syringe to the ground, the glass shattered, fluids flying everywhere as the doctor got up, marching over angrily.

"I tried to be nice!" he hissed, tearing off his mask and revealing his face. Somehow, you felt like you had seen it before but you weren't sure. Wrestling your leg back into the hold, he tied a firm knot with the restraint to keep it down, and you shrieked and whined your muffled complaints.

"I'm doing something good for you! I am helping you! You can either stay still, and I'll untie the restraints once I'm done, or you can keep behaving like an utter brat and stay in the restraints as long as you need to learn your lesson! Do you understand?"

Silence fell between you two as you stared at each other. Damn, where had you seen that face before? Neither option was good. Whoever this guy was, he seemed to have a temper and access to something that you didn't want to find out what it was.

The first option seemed quite lenient, but you didn't know if you could trust him. What was he doing in the first place? Why did he need to kidnap you? How could you even think of relenting when everything inside you screamed Danger! at the sight of him?

But whatever he was planning seemed to have consequences. Were you messing up your chances of escaping and getting help? What if he injected some kind of virus that you needed to get rid of asap? Fuck there was so much to decide, and he seemed more impatient by the second.

(Reasoning and discussions welcome! ♥)

[crowsofdarkness]

Cam Boy!Bill Skarsgard: Bill moans your name while on stream-Part Four

-pics not mine.-

Pairings: CamBoy!Bill Skarsgard x Viewer!Reader

Summary: Bill isn't ashamed of the work he does, showcasing his body online for anyone willing to pay. His number one rule was never to make a connection with anyone who either sent him messages or paid for private one-on-one video sessions. That was until you decided to request a certain private session.

Content Warnings: 18+ smut which includes Bill having an only fans page, masturbation, phone sex, virtual sex, and language.

Authors Note: this is a limited mini-series, just a bunch of blurbs that take place in this universe. i'm not sure exactly how long this will be. tags will be open for this if anyone is interested!

The next few blurbs are going to hurt.

CamBoy!Bill masterlist.

The vibrations from my vibrator echoed in my room, along with my breathless moans as I arched further off of my bed. I pressed the rose closer against my clit and almost immediately felt my body begin to tense up. But I held on, not quite ready to let go. 

Not until he let go. 

My computer was bright in the dark room, showing Bill on the screen, his body was slick with sweat, as he fucked the fleshlight. He’d gone live about twenty minutes ago, right after our phone call. We’d been talking for nearly a month now and our conversations were the highlight of my day. We never made anything official even though we had phone sex a few times a week and sent each other risque videos and pictures. 

I thought I’d be jealous when he continued to film content but deep down, I knew I couldn’t be. We weren’t dating. We were simply having fun. And this is how he made his income, I couldn’t get in the way of that. Plus, even though I loved his company albeit virtually, I wasn’t ready for a relationship. I was trying to focus on myself. 

“Fuck, it feels so good.” 

Bill’s voice brought me back from my thoughts and I let out a choked moan at how wrecked he sounded. The sounds of his wet cock fucking the toy bounced off the walls of my bedroom along with the vibrations from my vibrator and I had to muffle a scream in my hand when I began to feel the familiar burn at the base of my spine. My 26 year old, male neighbor did not need to hear me moaning. 

I kept my eyes trained on the computer screen, on Bill’s bright eyes as they zoned in on the camera. Fuck, those eyes always had me drowning. And don’t get me started on the mustache. Earlier in our phone conversation, he mentioned maybe shaving it to which I nearly yelled into the phone he better not. 

“Such a naughty little thing,” Bill said, sitting further back in his computer chair. 

This angle I was able to see every rippling muscle of his stomach and chest. The quality of his camera was so clear, I could see the sweat that gathered in the crook of his neck as his grip on the flesh light tightened. He brought it forward and back with a pace so fast, I could barely see it. Bill let some spit fall from his lips to his cock and let his head fall back against his chair, eyes gone from ecstasy.

I couldn’t hold back anymore. I needed to let go so I pressed my vibrator harder against my clit sending shockwaves throughout my body. My orgasm was so close, I could taste it on my tongue and it tasted like sin. 

“Your cunt feels like heaven, Y/N.” 

My eyes snapped open and my vibrator fell from my hand down to my floor, it buzzing on the carpet. But I couldn’t move to grab it. My gaze was stuck on my computer screen where Bill had just painted his hand with his cum. 

While moaning my name. 

Oh shit. Oh fuck. God damn it. 

Scrambling from my bed, orgasm long forgotten, I stood in front of my computer and saw the comment section ignite. 

Y/N?! Who is Y/N?!

Do you have a girlfriend while doing all of this? I could never date anyone in this line of work. 

How does it feel to live our dreams, Y/N? 

Do you think she’s a follower? Maybe she’s watching this!

If Bill knew what he said, he didn’t give anything away as he cleaned up his hand. My ears buzzed while my body flushed with heat as he rambled on with his typical goodbye before the screen went blank. 

He said my name. On live stream. In front of hundreds of other people that were watching. 

“It’s fine, totally fine,” I told myself while nodding. “No one will ever find out it was me. There’s probably a bunch of people with the same name.” 

Shutting down my computer, I walked over to my still vibration rose and snatched it from the ground. As I was about to walk into my bathroom to clean up, my phone dinged twice from on my nightstand and I froze. 

There’s no way anyone found me already. 

“Calm the fuck down,” I sighed and reached for my phone to see two new texts from Bill. 

Bill: Hey, you. Give me a little bit to clean up and we can have our nightly facetime. 

So is he really going to ignore what he said? 

Before I could respond, I began to receive notification after notification from Instagram; new follower, new like, new comment on your photo, new follower, new follower, new comment on your photo.

“What the actual fuck,” I cursed while falling to my bed, still naked. 

As I scrolled through the notifications, I noticed that in a matter of five minutes I gained thirty new followers. 

No, scratch that. Fifty new followers. 

How the fuck did people find me? And so fast at that. 

My heart began to beat wildly in my chest, nearly rendering me useless, and when I felt an upcoming panic attack creeping its way in, I exited the app. I was about to shut off my phone when another text from Bill came through. 

Bill: There’s also something I need to talk to you about tonight if you’re up for it. Nothing bad, I promise. 

Bill: I’ll call you in about twenty minutes. 

His words became fuzzy as more notifications popped up from Instagram so without thinking of how it would eventually bite me in the ass, I replied to Bil. 

Me: Can’t, I’m busy tonight. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. 

Not bothering to wait for his reply, I turned off my phone and threw it into my nightstand drawer before dragging my feet into the bathroom. I signed up to talk with Bill, not to have random people find a part of my life I tried to keep somewhat private. Yes, my instagram was public but before tonight, I had less than 150 people following me. 

Now, my follower count is nearing 200. 

The feeling of being judged was something I did not sign up for. I already had issues with how I looked, the last thing I needed was to have people who didn’t know me judge me. 

Maybe talk about how this whole thing makes you feel with Bill. He’d understand.

Ignoring the voice in my head, I slammed the bathroom door shut behind me. I was definitely not going to talk about this with Bill. Maybe if I ignore him, he’d move on to someone else. 

[bambini-della-luna]

Why the term ESSA (emotional support stuffed animal)?

Others may have different reasons and opinions, but here are mine.

I get comfort from all of my plushies, but a select few (as in currently 2) provide extra support. And yes, I mean support. They help reduce my anxiety, my paranoia, my intrusive thoughts, my flashbacks, etc. They help ground me when I need it. They help with sensory overload. They provide a level of support that other plushies don't. Why don't they all do that? No clue. Brains and weird. We've just formed stronger attachments and resonate with some plushies more than others. But I can physically and mentally tell the difference when my essa isn't with me. Hopefully, with time, having them around will train my brain to exist in a more calm state. But I'm not there yet and that's okay. It took over a decade to train my brain to constantly panic. It'll take at least that long to train it to be calm again. And my essa helps me do that.

What about esa's and service animals?

What about them? Why does someone putting a harness on a plushie immediately make you assume they're mocking service animals? You put a harness on your pets without issue. No one is going to confuse a stuffed animal with a service animal. Like, that's just not going to happen. It's a plush toy. We aren't taking space, resources, nor anything else from service animals. We don't have anything to do with them. As for esa's, they can't go everywhere like a plushie can. I can take my essa to a doctor's appointment where I'm extra anxious or to a noisy restaurant where I'm uncomfortable. Unlike a real animal, my plushie doesn't need care, and as a disabled person, that's huge. Also, why is my plushie an issue when someone's untrained esa isn't? Esa's can be a huge problem as people often try to pass them off as service animals, don't train them, ignore animal rules, ignore safety rules...my plushie isn't going to bite someone if they get to close. And how is my getting support from a plushie mocking or spreading misinformation about esa's exactly? Because I put them in a harness with an emotional support patch? The harness makes them easier to carry as I can attach a purse strap and be hands free or carry them by the handle. The emotional support patch let's people know that the plushie is important, and if there is an emergency, they're more likely to keep my plushie with me rather than leaving it behind. The harness also protects the plush from dog and child attacks (yes, these happen). There are so many reasons to use a harness on a plush that aren't just "haha he looks like a service animal now." I've never seen an essa owner put a harness on for that reason. And if they did? No one is going to think that plush is a service animal. No one is ever going to confuse a stuffed toy for a service animal. So why do you care? This hang up just confuses me. I've never seen someone from the disabled and service animal community say essas are bad or disrespectful. In fact, many of them also have essas. So, if the service animal community doesn't have a problem with it...why do you?

Isn't it just kids with essas?

Nope! There are a lot of adults in the community. Tiktok is primarily used by kids, so the community there is obviously primarily kiddos, but there are still a lot of adults there who like engaging in a creative community of plushie lovers and essa owners. And in places like reddit, tumblr and Instagram, you'll find even more adults who have essas. Comfort and support don't come with age limits. And honestly, if you think an adult shouldn't have a plushie, I don't know what to tell you. Find your whimsy and learn to be more accepting of others.

Okay, but why that term?

Why not? It tells you exactly what the plushie does. It provides emotional support. It's more than just comfort, as I said. These plushies help us function, and if that makes you uncomfortable, I would recommend looking into yourself and trying to figure out why rather than harassing someone for their coping mechanism that doesn't harm anyone, including service animal owners and esa owners.

Honestly, I feel like people judge the term more harshly because it is used by a lot of kids, and people can't just be normal about kids for some reason?

Anyway, I felt like rambling about this. I love the term essa and the community around it. I love having a term that makes it clear that this isn't just a plushie, it's a coping mechanism and a tool I use to help with my mental health. And I love knowing that there are tons of kids out there who are having fun while doing their best to cope in a harsh reality, with their plushies and essas.

[pomniegranate]

Even with his confirmation, it still didn't help her frazzled hands as they tried maneuvering the gun that was half her body length. Kinger's already lost an eye (because of her, sadly...), they couldn't afford any other limbs to go amiss right now. Which means, Pomni's accuracy had to be on point.

As the horse, Mayflower as the man referred to it raced, so did her nerves and mind. She didn't even know her hands could feel sweaty and clammy. But there was no time to focus on those little details, though they scouted her thoughts as her eyes trained down the sight of the barrel. God, getting a clean shot wasn't happening with the constant movement.

So, she tried at will, allowing her finger to pull the trigger⸺and it misses. Thankfully, her shot landed at the horse's leg instead (sorry!), keening over immediately from impact and deterring one bandit from continuing his pursuit on them. One down, one to go; but the yielded power to the machine did shove her hard against the royal's back and had caused her to slip to the side for a moment, but her hand was quick to grasp his robe and shove her heels just enough to not bother the animal, but to keep herself situated on top.

The last thing she wanted was to feel the impact of hard dirt and gravel on her face. Her breathing was hard to come by, constantly forgetting the notion that she didn't need to breath as she moved shaky hands to ready her aim again once cemented against Kinger, using his station as leverage. She shot again; another miss at the idealized target, but it at least landed at the crook's hand, disarming him from continued bullets to be shot their way.

That should be enough for now. She couldn't believe the adrenaline coursing through her. Pomni kept her eyes shut, however, putting her trust into the taller male in high hopes that he'd continue getting them to their destination. Hands gripped tight coming down from the high that she endured and called out to him, ❝ I - I did it! A-are we almost there?! ❞

The  monarch's  robe  fluttering  about  makes  for  some  oddly  grounding  reigns  to  seize  .  The  trick  to  taming  such  a  wild  animal  seemed  to  allow  him  to  apply  his  usual  ideal  to  just  '  not  think  about  it  '  .  All  he  needed  to  do  is  focus  on  steering  Mayflower  &&  that's  what  he  does  .

Until  he  hears  Pomni  call  out  to  him  .  He  startles  a  little  ,  hearing  a  bullet  bounce  off   of  something  nearby  making  a  'shing  !  '  .

❝  W-Wha  ?  !  ❞      He  looks  over  his  prominent  shoulder  ,  past  the  jester  to  see  the  two  approaching  bandits  .  His  mind  swirls  as  he  tries  to  focus  on  the  dirt-path  ,  it  seeming  to  spiral  in  his  vision  as  his  heartbeat  hastens  .  ❝  Y-Yeah  !  S-Shoot  them  !  ❞   There's  an  incredible  direct  subtlety  to  the  command  ,  it  makes  his  tone  briefly  hoarse  even  as  he  stammered  it  out  .  If  she  misses  maybe  it'll  still  be  enough  to  scare  their  horses  &&  encourage  them  to  buck  their  pursuers  &&   hopefully  not  them  !

Their  firing  practice  earlier  couldn't  have  been  anymore  convenient  .  Huh  ...

Without  anything  to  properly  ground  her  to  the  horse  if  Mayflower  startled  or  if  the  force  of  the  gun  pushed  her  about  it  was  a  risk  ,  the  two  riding  flank  of  them  now  close  enough  to  make  a  perfect  shot  to  either  Kinger  or  Pomni  .

[demdems]

love trio gives me cuteness aggression, things that'll fix me include seeing these goobers happy forever

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Lan Wangji Goes To Lotus Pier AU: Part 4: Deranged Bedfellows

(Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4.5)

[vaguely-concerned]

walking through lucanis' mind prison. the tam lin of it all

[polysyndetonaddictsupportgroup]

hello hello!! your fic pez dispenser debris brings me immense joy. and i wanna know if the other nejire and tamaki will be showing up. id love to see their reactions to fucking #leku. and i’d love to hear your thoughts on them in general if you have any to spare. the big three have such a fun dynamic to me.

Tamaki will appear. I’m not fully settled on Nejire. In my mind, she moved to Kyoto not long after she graduated but keeps in very close touch (if you read the battle of Yokohama posts, she was there during that fight because she was visiting Her Boys and insisted on a Big Three Sleep Over, which is why the three of them were together when Izuku called to begin with). They have a group chat that she started blowing up when the Leku news hit. All of them are painfully, violently aware of the fact Mirio is absolutely not dating Izuku and also of the fact that Mirio’s probably close to drowning himself at the mere thought.

I do really like the idea of the Big Three having been sort of outcasts before they were the big three, and I think canon supports this reading. They were all sort of the weird kids. They were each other’s only friends. After they started rising in the ranks, they became more popular, but they all consider the others their main people.

I also like the idea that they became the Big Three because of each other.

They were friends before they were the big three. And it’s not a coincidence that the big three were all already friends. They pushed each other to grow in their skills and surpass everyone else.

The reason why they haven’t been more present in pez is actually the same reason why I didn’t have them open a hero agency together: they all need to grow separately from the others for a bit.

Like. Here’s Mirio, with two very skilled and experienced heroes at his side, waiting for Izuku to graduate so he can start his agency. Why not go into business with the friends he’s already been fighting with for years?

I see the Big Three as people who all, for one reason or another, decided that they needed to learn how to be strong on their own at the start of their career.

Take Tamaki. He’s childhood friends with Mirio. He was briefly referenced in one of the tumblr posts as one of Mirio’s staunchest advocates after he lost his Quirk. So why isn’t he heroes with Mirio?

Well, he sort of is. He���s got a mutual support agreement with him.

Time to derail into my favorite topic: the economic models underpinning fictional societies. As you can probably guess I’m great at parties.

Mutual support agreements are contractual devices that I came up with in response to the convoluted economic structure of heroics compensation I discussed a few posts ago. In that post, I discussed independent/underground v. agency models with respect to public compensation and how I think that there’s an impossibly complicated matrix that grants heroes portions of the local budget based on their statistics. Briefly, I discussed how that calculation would cause conflict with big name heroes taking credit for their sidekicks’ work because agencies would necessarily need to be counted as one entity for the purposes of public funding.

What happens when multiple agencies are involved in the same incident?

As a reminder, the reason why they need to assign credit for a bust to one individual is because agencies are funded as a whole. This is a grant system that’s meant to be more than just about paying a salary—the government is providing funds meant to go towards an office space, supplies, everything. You could not give everyone in an agency public funding separate checks under that model. Public funding is made out to the agency as a whole and it’s up to the agency as to how to use it. But if you have six people from the same agency who all register the exact same take down because they all participated—well now you’ve got the one job reported six times over for the same filing entity. That’s going to horrifically skew the funding calculation. The government’s paying for the same bust six times over and you just incentivized hero agencies to send their people all to do the same job because it pays the same to have six guys stop one criminal as it does to have six guys stop six different criminals separately.

But hey—sometimes it’s a six guy job. That would more appropriately be considered an enhancement to a job’s relative difficulty than it would be to giving credit for a takedown. After all, the same job could require “six guys” or “one All Might.” If you focus on the number of heroes an agency uses in a job than you do on how difficult that job actually is, then you’re inadvertently penalizing better heroes because Mid Tier Agency needed six guys to handle what you did on your own, but since they needed six whole guys they get paid more for the same thing that you could do solo.

But the reason for this one man credit structure is because you’re getting one check for the government per agency. But what about when heroes from different agencies team up? Big Hero is not sharing a government funding check with Even Bigger Hero, and there’s absolutely no way that every single team up is just fucking pro bono for everyone but one guy. That’d make it impossible. So the same job would have to get counted multiple times when it involved different heroic entities.

The fact that you were teamed up instead of solo would go into the relative value calculation of each independent job. You get the full pot if you’re solo, but if you’re sharing the load, you’re sharing the credit. But at the same time, how much credit you get would also have to be determined on a case by case basis. Like. A hero that evacuated three civilians contributed to a fight, but they in no way should get equal credit and compensation to All Might, who fought the entire villain team solo.

So say Big Hero Agency and Bigger Hero Agency are doing a team up for the good of Japan. Big Hero Agency initiated the investigation, did most of the legwork, and invited Bigger Hero Agency onto the job. However, when it came to actually fighting, Bigger Hero Agency absolutely carried the day. Big Hero Agency would have been dust if Bigger Hero Agency hadn’t been there.

Who deserves more credit and compensation?

There is probably some kind of governmental dispute/appeal board to settle disputes about compensation, but like. As someone who does government work. The government’s absolute favorite thing to say is “we are not babysitting you, fucking figure it out like big boys.” They’ll have a way to resolve disputes, but they will also heavily incentivize voluntary agreement amongst the parties.

Planned team ups probably have legal working shit out ahead of time. Spontaneous team ups or heroes stealing each other’s fights a la Mount Lady and Kamui Woods in the pilot are probably the biggest headaches.

But what about heroes that are always teaming up? They’re your go to. Your homeboy. The daredevil to your Spider-Man. You don’t file your paperwork together, but you’re still always fighting side by side. Are you renegotiating who gets credit for what in every single little fight?

Fuck no. That’s a huge pain in the ass. Enter the mutual support agreement. It’s a contract that has a bunch of clauses meant to help streamline deciding who gets credit for what and resolve disputes before they happen.

You wouldn’t just want this for compensation purposes. Say Big Hero commits the hero equivalent of police brutality. Now he’s being sued. He’s apparently not that big of a hero as the name implies, because he’s got no fucking money. You want more money for your client, so you need a deeper pocket to pull from. At the time of the incident, he was working with Bigger Hero Agency. They’re not the same agency, but it was Bigger Heroes bust, and they work together all the time. Big Hero is basically one of Bigger Heroes employees hidden behind a different corporate structure. Should Bigger Hero be liable for Big Hero?

That’s a big fucking court case that can be headed off at the pass by the fact that Bigger Hero put indemnification and liability clauses in its mutual support agreement. There’s a lot of issues that would arise from the practice of heroics that you’d want to govern ahead of time with a contract. So you sign a mutual support agreement.

But the silly little fake tumblr post also said they weren’t popular and mostly agencies like Idaten used them. So why is that?

Frankly, because it’s not very worth agencies while to team up with other agencies on the regular. The system doesn’t incentivize it.

If you have all of your own sidekicks on a job, you can steal credit from them. The same is not true for heroes from other agencies. You get more public funding if you staff a job with all people from your agency instead of having part of the credit go to other agencies. And you get to stand in front of the cameras and say “Big Hero Has Saved The City Again” instead of having to say “Thank You To Our Dear Friends From Bigger Hero Agency Who Carried This Team.”

Idaten is the exception because, well. It doesn’t care. Idaten’s priority is cultivating the necessary talent and teamwork needed to get the job done. It doesn’t care if it has to go outside of the agency for that. Fuck, Tensei’s canonically willing to reach out to vigilantes. Its genuine focus is saving people, so it goes against the grain of what the system incentivizes.

Mirio and Tamaki have a mutual support agreement. They’re out working together so much that Fat Gum’s agency approved an overall disliked mechanism to facilitate their team ups. They are heroes together—so why aren’t they in an agency together?

I think Tamaki wanted to spend his first year in heroics forcing himself out of his comfort zone so he’d improve. Fat Gum will force him in front of the cameras. He’s focusing on learning how to communicate effectively with the public and with the media, and Fat Gum has the sort of resources and infrastructure where Tamaki can devote the time to learning that and improving. If he was in an agency with Mirio, he’d use Mirio as a crutch to hide from something he genuinely wants to improve in. Fat Gum forces him to grow.

Mirio himself sort of had to go independent. For one, he and Izuku decided to start their agency not too long after Mirio got his license. It was before Mirio debuted. Izuku had just finished his first year. No one knew who either of them were, and they had no clue just how famous they’d both become before Izuku graduated.

They both figured they’d be a couple of nobody heroes with a dinky little agency right out the gate of Izuku’s graduation and were sort of genuinely excited at the prospect. They’d just be heroes together, which is all they wanted. They’d figured no one would give a shit about them until well after they started their agency and started working and that Izuku would have 0 offers to work elsewhere because he wasn’t even going to apply to agencies. So Mirio decided he’d stay independent until Izuku graduated so he wouldn’t be tied up in an agency contracts and they could just start fresh.

The other reason is that most agencies wouldn’t touch Mirio with a ten foot pole because he was Quirkless, and even with the ones that would, he suspected they’d sideline or coddle him because he was Quirkless. Being independent meant he could do whatever the hell he pleased. So he bought the Mirio Mom Van and, for a brief, glorious moment, convinced All Might to supervise their bullshit so he could start going on jobs with Izuku (students have to be supervised by heroes with a teaching license, which he wouldn’t be eligible for for the first three years of his career, except in exigent circumstances. He couldn’t have Izuku as an intern himself but All Might sure could). For a few beautiful weeks it was just Mirio, Izuku, and fucking All Might in the Mirio Mom Van going on stakeouts, all wearing the world’s stupidest mustaches. The UA internship program revoked permission for this arrangement not long after it started formally out of concerns for the legality of this arrangement since All Might was no longer an active duty hero, informally because All Might, Izuku, and Mirio is the stupidest and most reckless combination fucking imaginable and they are killing Aizawa from the stress they are killing him. So now Mirio works alone while he waits for Izuku to be fully licensed.

Nejire I kind of see as someone who moved away from her hometown right out of the gate of graduation but visited home very frequently, which is why she moved to Kyoto after graduation but was having a fucking sleepover at Mirio’s place when Yokohama happened. She takes the bullet train back at least once a month and spends the weekend bumming on Mirio or Tamaki’s couch. I think she wanted to see who she was away from home and there’d never be a better time to do it. I also think she’ll move back so that way she can work more fully with Her Boys one day, but wanted to push herself out of the familiar first.

All of the trio’s reasons for not working together quite yet are mutable, to be clear. Tamaki just wanted the experience early in his career or he knew he’d never learn the public relation skills he wanted to get. Nejire also just wanted the experience somewhere else before she put down real roots somewhere and is liable to move back to be with her friends and family. And Mirio’s on the verge of opening his own agency, so he doesn’t have to worry about getting sidelined by his boss anymore or getting tied up in a bad contract.

[unusualshrimp]

i would be such a punctual guy if not for the Outfits

[eightspringdays]

Just saw a TikTok complaining about fanfics that didn't have "enough dialogue" because "reading more than three sentences" was hard.

I'm not against heavy dialogue-oriented fics; they are fun, but... that's a script. You want to read a fucking script, hope you know that. A writer isn't "bad" because they are... you know, writing. Just say it isn't your thing and move on, but categorize something as "bad" because you lack the ability to fucking read... ain't the author's problem; it seems like a "you" one.