#it really is as bad as people were saying it was | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

verstappenverse · 2 days ago

Text

Waiting Game

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: You’ve been in love with Max for years, silently watching him date the wrong girl, until walking away makes him finally realise you were the one all along. (Requested)

3.9k words / Masterlist

The first time you met Max Verstappen you knew you were doomed.

Not in a he’s-going-to-ruin-my-life kind of way. No, it was quieter than that. Deeper. It was the kind of knowing that settled into your bones and never left. The kind that whispered, I will love him for the rest of my existence, even if he never loves me back.

And you had. Hopelessly. Silently. Faithfully.

You’ve never known a world without Max.

From sandbox castles to celebratory podium hugs, you’ve always been there. When you think of home, it’s not really a place, it’s him. The way he throws popcorn at you during movie nights, the way he remembers how you take your tea, the way he always texts “landed” the moment the wheels hit the tarmac.

You were inseparable. The kind of closeness that made people tilt their heads and ask, Are you sure you’re just friends? You brushed it off with a laugh, a shrug, a carefully rehearsed, Yeah, just friends. But you knew better. You felt it every time your hand brushed his and he didn’t pull away. Every time he called you at 2 a.m. because something was heavy on his mind and you were the only person he trusted enough to hold it with him.

There was never a clear moment when friendship turned into something more for you, it was just a slow unraveling. A shift in the way you watched him. The way your heart stuttered when his name lit up your phone. The way everything softened when he looked at you, even if he didn’t know what it meant. The time he flew across three countries just to bring you soup when you had the flu. You’d laughed, voice hoarse, swaddled in blankets and tissues.

“You’re insane,” you said, but your heart was already halfway gone.

You memorised him like a religion. The furrow between his brows when he was focused. The way his voice softened when he talked about things that scared him, the future, family, not doing enough. You traveled the world with him, race weekends blurred into hotel rooms and midnight drives and laughter spilling out of overpriced restaurants.

And at night, when you’re apart, FaceTime is your safety net. You fall asleep more times than you can count, with his voice crackling through your phone, tucked on your pillow. Sometimes it’s quiet, just the sound of his breath syncing with yours. Sometimes it’s laughter, or whispers about things he’d never say out loud during the day.

Still, you said nothing, because Max was Max. He had dreams to chase and tracks to conquer and a world to carry on his shoulders. And you? You were his best friend. The keeper of secrets. The one he called when everything else fell apart.

It’s always him.

Always.

And that was enough you thought.

That’s probably why it hurts so badly when he chose her.

It was one night, when you were sitting on the couch with him, legs folded, laughing about something dumb. And then, just as the moment quitened, he said it.

“I’ve been seeing someone by the way.”

So casual and unbothered, and you smiled like it didn’t split you open.

“Oh,” you said. “That’s nice, I’m happy for you.”

She wasn’t outright awful.

Not in a way you could call out directly. Not in a way that gave you permission to hate her.

She was sleek and polished and knew exactly how to pose for the cameras. Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, but it looked good on magazine covers. She knew how to charm a crowd, how to toss her hair just right, how to smile for the cameras and nod politely at press events.

She never reacted to his frustrations, because she didn’t care enough to be affected by it. She didn’t ask about his bad days. Didn’t know the way his fingers twitched when he was nervous or the sound he made in his sleep when he was too exhausted to dream.

You wanted to believe she loved him for his sake. But it felt like she loved the image more, the icon, the podiums, the press, the power. Not the boy who forgot to eat when he was stressed. Not the man who kept every letter from his mother in a shoebox under his bed.

You watched from the sidelines, clapping the loudest, smiling the widest, standing just close enough. Pretending that your heart didn’t fracture a little more each time she showed up wearing his jacket. Each time he kissed her forehead. Each time he introduced you as his best friend, like that word wasn’t slowly bleeding you dry.

You didn’t ask for more. You never had. Because loving Max wasn’t a choice, it was an inevitability. And you knew, deep down, he was never really yours to lose.

But God, it still felt like he was.

The longer she stuck around, the more cracks you began to see. Not gaping ones, just tiny fractures only someone who truly knew Max could notice. Subtle, quiet things that dug under your skin until they bruised.

It was in the way she watched his races, when she even bothered to show up. Sometimes she’d arrive midway through, sunglasses still on indoors, distractedly scrolling through her phone while his car kissed the barriers. She never flinched. Never held her breath when he went wheel-to-wheel.

That was the thing, her indifference wasn’t malicious. It wasn’t loud. It was just careless. Passive. It came out in the small things, the way she dismissed his nerves before qualifying with a flat, “You’ll be fine, babe.” The way she laughed when fans screamed his name, muttering, “They’re obsessed with you. It’s creepy.”

Max didn’t see it.

Or maybe he did. Maybe he caught glimpses of her disinterest and shoved them deep enough that they wouldn’t threaten the stability he’d convinced himself he needed. Maybe he stayed because it was easier to be with someone who never demanded the truth.

And you?

You smiled through it.

You were polite. Friendly, even. Because Max was your best friend, and the last thing you wanted was to be the reason for a wedge between him and someone he cared about. So you bit your tongue when she interrupted him. You offered her a drink when she showed up late to the paddock. You complimented her shoes. Let her lean on your shoulder for a group photo you didn’t want to be in.

You did it for him.

And still, people noticed.

The fans weren’t blind. If anything, they saw it more clearly than he did.

@maxarmy33: I don’t care what anyone says, Max’s gf is just NOT it. It’s actually wild how Max can’t see that Y/N has always been the one. She’s been by his side through everything. That kind of loyalty isn’t fake.

@redbullfan1: Max doesn’t just smile around Y/N LOOK at how he lights up around her.. You can’t fake that kind of connection. They’re meant to be, and everyone sees it but him.

@dutchlion26: The fact that Max still isn’t dating Y/N despite their perfect chemistry is a crime.

@maxy4stappen Y/N has been in Max’s corner since day one. She knows him better than anyone, and he’s out here dating someone who barely even watches his races?? Be serious.

You knew they weren’t kind comments. Fans never know the full story, they only saw what was on the surface. Still… you’d be lying if you said it didn’t feel a little vindicating.

You thought maybe, maybe, one day he’d see what everyone else did.

But he didn’t. He chose her.

Things changed slowly after that.

He called less. You didn’t always answer. You made excuses when he asked to hang out, not because you didn’t want to, but because every mention of her name was like pressing on a bruise that wouldn’t heal.

You watched him wrap his arm around her waist at events, post pictures with captions you assumed she wrote. You watched him smile at her like she might be everything.

You told yourself it was fine. That it was enough to love him quietly, from the background. That your place, constant and steady, just a little to the left of center, was still better than not being in his orbit at all.

But deep down, you hoped. Hoped that the weight of your love, quiet and unconditional, would finally register. That maybe one day he’d turn around and realise you’d been there all along.

The intervention happened after Monaco.

You’d watched from your usual place, tucked into the Red Bull hospitality suite, just close enough to feel like part of the chaos, just far enough to know you never really would be. The routine was muscle memory by now. Headphones looped around your neck, heart thrumming in sync with every lap. You could trace the corners of the circuit with your eyes closed, every turn etched into your bloodstream from years of watching him fly through them.

Max had been brilliant. Fierce and unrelenting. He’d carved through the streets of Monte Carlo like the track had been built for him, like it was always meant to be his. You felt every gear shift like a jolt in your ribs, every overtake like a breath you couldn’t quite finish.

His girlfriend had sat two chairs down from you, legs crossed, thumb lazily scrolling through her phone. She hadn’t flinched once. Hadn’t looked up when the entire suite held its breath. You’d barely heard her speak.

You stood in the paddock afterwards, soaked in golden light and champagne mist, your ears ringing with celebration. Cameras flashed. People screamed his name. He threw his arms around his team, his smile wide and breathless. She kissed his cheek and he didn’t even glance your way.

You should’ve felt proud. Happy. Triumphant, even. But instead, you just felt… hollow. Like you were watching the best moment of his life from behind glass.

That was when your friends stepped in.

You didn’t even notice them closing in until you felt a firm hand wrap gently around your wrist.

“You need to stop.”

“Stop what?” you asked, forcing your voice to sound casual, light. The kind of tone that might fool someone who didn’t know better.

“This.” She gestured vaguely, helplessly. “Hanging around like this… waiting for Max to finally wake up and realise you’re the love of his life.”

“I’m not—” you started, but your voice cracked and gave you away.

“You are,” she said quietly, cutting you off. “You have been. For years. And it’s killing you.”

You opened your mouth, closed it again.

She stepped closer. “You think we don’t see it? The way you look at him? The way you never say no when he needs something? You would rip yourself in half to make his life easier.”

Your throat ached. Your chest felt too tight to breathe in.

“I just want him to be happy,” you whispered, and it was the closest thing to the truth you could say out loud without completely breaking.

“Yeah?” Her eyes softened, but her voice stayed firm. “And what about your happiness? When’s the last time you even thought about that?”

You didn’t answer.

Because you didn’t know.

It started small. Innocent. A slow, gentle push toward something else, something that wasn’t him. Saying yes when someone asked for your number. Letting a date buy you coffee. Letting someone else ask you questions and actually listen to the answers.

The first date was forgettable. The second, slightly better. You started saying yes more often.

And suddenly, Max was paying attention. Longer glances. A missed text here, a delayed reply there and he started asking more questions, Where were you last night? Who were you with? when you posted a photo of a drink across from you at a candlelit restaurant. Did you not fly out this weekend? when he didn’t spot you in the paddock.

His voice stayed easy, but there was something sharp beneath it. Something unsettled.

One night your phone buzzed with a message from him.

Max: Who’s the guy in your story?

You stared at the screen, pulse skipping. Your photo had only shown two hands over dinner, one of them yours.

You: Just a guy I met. Does it matter?

It took him five minutes to respond.

Max: No. Just curious.

You didn’t reply.

For the first time in a long time, Max is the one feeling left behind.

He calls on a Thursday night.

You’re halfway through applying mascara when the screen lights up with his name.

“Hey,” you answer, brushing your lashes carefully.

He sounds tired. “You free to talk tonight? Facetime like always? I can’t sleep.”

You hesitate.

There’s a silence you’ve never had with him before.

“I have a date,” you say softly.

“Oh.” He sounds surprised. “You didn’t tell me.”

“Did I have to?” you replied, and instantly felt bad about it.

Max is quiet. Then, “Right. I guess not. Sorry.”

You hesitate. Then add, “Maybe this is something your girlfriend should be doing anyway.”

He doesn’t say anything.

You don’t say goodbye. Just end the call gently, then stare at your reflection in the mirror until the ache in your chest settles into something bitter and familiar.

Max doesn’t sleep that night.

Not because of the race, not because of jet lag, but because your voice won’t leave his head.

Maybe this is something your girlfriend should be doing.

You’d sounded tired. Guarded. Like you were hiding yourself from him.

And for the first time in his life, Max realises he has no idea what’s going on in your head.

It’s terrifying.

He calls the next morning.

You ignore it.

He opens his camera roll without thinking. Starts scrolling through old photos. Ones he’s probably passed a hundred times before without thinking. You in hotel lobbies, laughing at something he said. You wrapped in scarves on cold race weekends, clutching a takeaway hot chocolate. You curled up on his couch at 1 a.m. after some terrible horror movie, half-asleep, legs tangled in his.

And suddenly, it hits him how constant you’ve been.

Not loud. Not demanding. Just there. Always.

You never asked for anything. Never made him choose. You just showed up. When he was exhausted, when his dad said something that cut too deep, when the media turned cruel or the pressure felt suffocating, whether he won or lost, you were there. Not trying to fix it. Just holding space for him in a way no one else ever had.

How had he not seen it?

How his apartment feels colder without your socks drying on the radiator. How he still buys your favourite cereal without thinking, even though you haven’t been over in two weeks. How he used to FaceTime you after races if you couldn’t be there, win or lose, just to hear your voice while he fell asleep. He never does that with his girlfriend.

It’s never been the same.

He thinks about the last thing you said.

Maybe this is something your girlfriend should be doing.

And it lands like a punch to the gut.

Because she’s not the one he wants to call at night.

You are.

You were trying. Trying to mean it when you smiled at someone else. Trying to accept that Max had chosen someone who wasn’t you.

Which is why you brought Jake to the next race.

He wasn’t serious. Just kind. Simple. He asked about your day, laughed at your dumb jokes, and held your hand like he meant it. He didn’t know much about racing, but he tried.

You entered the paddock with his fingers laced in yours and felt the storm hit before you even made it to hospitality.

Max was standing by the Red Bull garage mid-conversation, but he went still the second he saw you. His eyes locked on Jake’s hand in yours like it was a threat. Like it didn’t belong there. His jaw clenched. Shoulders squared. A barely visible storm gathering behind his eyes.

You smiled like you didn’t notice, but your pulse fluttered in your throat all the same.

After the race, another podium, another photo-op, he found you.

Cornered you, really.

It was quieter outside the motorhome, the hum of the paddock fading behind you, tension heavy in the air.

“What’s going on with you?” he asked. His voice wasn’t soft, it was guarded. Accusing.

You turned to face him slowly. “What do you mean?”

“This.” He gestured in the general direction Jake had gone. “You and what’s his name? James? Jason?”

You blinked. “Jake.”

He scoffed under his breath. “Right. Jake.”

You folded your arms. “I don’t see why it matters.”

Max’s eyes narrowed. “Of course it matters.”

“Why?” you asked, harsher than you meant to. “Because you don’t like him? Or because you don’t like the idea of me moving on?”

He flinched, actually flinched. That small, involuntary pull of guilt across his features.

“That’s not—” he started, but you cut him off.

The words came spilling out before you could stop them. “Don’t you dare say that this isn’t fair. You don’t get to tell me what’s fair. I spent years waiting for you, Max.” Your voice shook, the truth finally cracking through the surface. “I waited while you ran to me for everything and still gave your heart to someone else.”

You took a breath. Swallowed the lump rising in your throat.

“I was your best friend. Your person. And I thought… maybe one day you’d finally see me.”

Max opened his mouth, barely, but nothing came out. His expression twisted, like your words physically hurt. Like they were the truth he’d buried too deep to admit.

“But you never did,” you whispered.

He looked lost. Like he didn’t know how to hold onto anything without holding onto you.

“I’m done waiting,” you said, voice steadier now. Stronger. “I deserve someone who actually chooses me. Who doesn’t need to lose me to realise I was there all along.”

He swallowed hard. The kind of swallow that hurts going down. His jaw clenched. His fists curled like he didn’t know what else to do with his hands.

And for once, he had nothing to say.

You come home the next day to flowers on your doorstep, express delivery.

White tulips your favourite. No note. But you know who they’re from.

You stare at them for a moment too long, heart thudding unevenly, before finally unlocking your phone.

Thanks for the flowers, you text, hitting send before you can overthink it.

His reply is instant. Like he’s been waiting.

Can I see you?

You hesitate, thumb hovering, nerves buzzing just beneath your skin.

Okay.

He comes straight to your place. Baseball cap pulled low, hoodie drawn up, not to hide from paparazzi, you suspect, but to hide from you. Or maybe from whatever truth he’s only just beginning to face.

There’s a hesitation when you open the door, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to be here anymore.

Once he’s inside he finally speaks. “I didn’t know,” he says, voice hoarse.

You frown. “Didn’t know what?”

Max exhales, slow and heavy, like dragging the truth to the surface is painful. “I didn’t know it was you.”

Your brows draw together, confused, lips parting, but he keeps going.

“I’ve been chasing all these things, titles, wins, people, and I didn’t realise I already had the most important one right in front of me.”

You blink, caught between disbelief and the ache of wanting to believe it.

He steps closer, carefully. “You’re the one I want to talk to at 2 a.m. You’re the one I want next to me when I fall asleep. You always have been. I just didn’t see it. Not until I thought I’d lost you.”

Your chest tightens, breath catching. “Max…”

“I think…” he cuts in, voice raw, “I think I’ve been in love with you this whole time.”

You freeze.

“What?” you ask, stunned. The word barely escapes.

“I didn’t know what it was,” he says, his hands shaking slightly as he rakes them through his hair. “I know I’ve been an idiot, but you have to know I never meant to do anything to hurt you, I was just blind. I thought… fuck, I thought it was just how we are. I thought everyone had a best friend like you. I didn’t realise it until I saw you with someone else, and it felt like the air got ripped out of my lungs. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t stand it.”

You step back on instinct, the pain too fresh, too tangled with old wounds. “Max… don’t do this. Not because you’re jealous.”

“I’m not,” he says quickly. “I mean, I am, obviously, but that’s not why I’m here. I’m here because I can’t keep pretending I’m not in love with you.”

The words hit you like a punch to the chest, so longed for, so impossible, and yet, somehow, not enough to steady the storm inside you

His voice breaks on the next part. “I ended things. I don’t love her. I don’t think I ever did. She was easy and safe. But she’s not you. No one is.”

And God, the way that splits you open. The way it taps into something buried but still bleeding.

He watches you, eyes wide and full of fear. “I know I’ve hurt you. I know I don’t deserve a second chance. But tell me…”

He swallows hard.

“Tell me it’s not too late.”

You stare at him.

Really stare.

You see it. The boy who once held your hand under a table because you were nervous. The one who stayed on FaceTime with you for hours after a race just to hear your voice. The boy who didn’t know how to love you the right way until he almost lost the chance to try.

And there’s a part of you, raw and wounded, that wants to say no. That wants to tell him it’s too little, too late. That it’s not fair it took you walking away, took someone else’s hands on your waist, for him to finally look up and see what had been in front of him all along.

But the love runs too deep. Deeper than pride. Deeper than reason.

“I love you,” you whisper, before you can think about stopping yourself.

Max goes completely still.

“I have for a long time,” you add, voice trembling. “I just didn’t think you’d ever feel it back.”

For a beat, he’s stunned. And then he laughs, a quiet, breathy sound, and crosses the space between you, pulling you into his arms like he never wants to let go.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs into your hair. “I love you.”

You smile, eyes burning, burying your face in the soft cotton of his hoodie, heart pounding loud enough to echo in your ribs. When he pulls back, his hands linger at your jaw, brushing your cheek with a kind of reverence. And then, finally, finally, he kisses you.

It’s soft at first. Careful. As if he’s still not sure he deserves it. But when you sigh into it, arms tightening around his neck, he deepens the kiss with a low, shaky breath.

When he eventually pulls away, he’s grinning, eyes soft and voice rough.

“No more falling asleep on FaceTime okay?”

You tilt your head, confused. “Why not?”

Max squeezes your hand.

“Because I want you next to me for real.”

Taglist: @shigarika @bunnisplayground @thecoolpotatohologram @ymrereads @alexxavicry @gigglepre @esw1012 @satorinnie @percysaidnever @osclerc @sainzluvrr @autumn242 @shadowreader07 @joyfulpandamiracle @inmynotes63 @athanasia-day @embonbon @waterdeeply @shadowsoundeffects13 @fastandcurious16 @odegaardlia @skzvibes-blog @iambored24601 @e10owmaks @painfromblues @brokenvines-wiltingflowers @leo-twins-3107 @rxx-eegh @treatallwithkindness @lewishamiltonismybf @mara1999 @armystay89

1K notes · View notes

batmanisagatewaydrug · 1 day ago

Note

I think cnc Tumblr porn helped me understand consent better. Like coercion is a brand of cnc, so when I noticed my partner said "I think" instead of yes, and arms pulled away even though other parts were responding, it reminded me of coercion cnc, which lead to a stop and discussion. I might be a bit of a horny fuck, (nothing wrong with that, just inconvenient right now), but is there a way to turn down arousal/libido? Depression, stress, and relationship issues seem to be the big ones on Google, but. Um. Yeah. I'm also worried that things I wouldn't put much weight in could be coercion. Like if I ask about sex they'll feel a time limit on when they have to say yes, or cuddling with them while asking will pressure them towards saying yes.

hi anon,

I'm gonna say first and foremost. let's maybe work on starting a new paragraph when we introduce a new idea. because some of these swerves hit like trucks and you gotta warn a bitch.

anyway, let's talk about it!

no, there's not a reliable way to decrease your libido. that happens to a lot of people via mental or physical health problems and stress, as you noted, as well as in response to some medications or other things that cause hormonal shifts. it's not really something that can be purposefully induced, no matter how irksome being horny may be. life is a series of annoyances.

re: your thoughts on coercion - listen, man, you're going down a bad rabbit hole here. do we want to follow this thought to its logical conclusion? then asking for anything is coercion, because it places pressure on the other person to say yes or risk disappointing you.

when my wife asks me if I want to watch an episode on Once Upon a Time with dinner, he really wants me to say yes even though OUAT sucks so bad that it makes my brain hurt. sometimes I say yes, because I'm in a good mood and I like to make him happy and also because I post OUAT recaps on patreon and I need that sweet sweet #content. but other times I say no! and that's okay with both of us, because I know my wife is a big girl who can handle not always getting exactly what he wants and he knows that I'm not saying no because I hate him or because I think he was being an inconsiderate asshole for asking. and, most importantly, when I say yes he knows I'm not doing that because I feel pressured to say yes but because I'm genuinely fine with it.

if you ask about almost anything there's an expectation to answer eventually. it's entirely reasonable that you would be thinking about sex while cuddling and present the option. if you don't feel that you can trust your partner to say no when they don't really want to do something, then that's something you need to talk about with them! but there also comes a point when you have to believe someone when they say yes rather than perpetually second guessing them.

#sex edventures 2025

473 notes · View notes

strawberry-nugget · 2 days ago

Text

Katsuki does his own Calvin Klein ad and the comments you see all over TikTok make you jealous!

Pairing: Bakugo x fem!reader

Tags // Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, smut, top! reader, oral (m receiving), cumflation(?), jealousy, a little fighting, LOADS of comfort, Jungkook mentioned ig? All characters are 20+

You're mad.

Extremely mad.

Ac/dc’s TNT plays on repeat from the speaker of your phone, your laptop, your TV, the Main Street screen from the building across your apartment a few stories below. And truly, every single time a replay goes on and on, each screen unsynced, your anger grows even worse inside your already too tight chest.

The reason?

Your boyfriend’s Calvin Klein ad has actually broke the internet.

It’s fucking ridiculous—The whole thing is worse than what happened with Bad Bunny a few months ago.

The comments are all over the place. Messy. Too messy. Too thirsty. Too delirious. Too fucking disrespectful.

You've scrolled through way too many edits. No scratch that. You've only scrolled through edits. With millions of likes, hundreds thousands of comments—that you've spent hours reading to their entirety. The actual video from the official Calvin Klein account has thirty, no forty million likes. Almost as many saves and shares too.

You’re naturally jealous. You knew you were bound to be even if you were the one who practically begged him to say yes to the offer and you definitely knew your boyfriend was the cause of thirst for many people worldwide.

It’s never been a problem until now. You've usually encountered the occasional ‘congratulations to whoever is bouncing on it’ edit, hell you’ve even smiled like an idiot at it, but now? After digging through comments that explicitly say ‘his girlfriend aint even deserve all that’ and ‘damn Dynamight’s gf i said LET GO’ you want to scream. Yell. Get back at him.

You can’t even bear to witness the video anymore. Only because when looking at it out of context, you feel like you can forgive him because of how hot he just looks!

It’s all over your screen; Katsuki flexing his muscles, biceps, forearms, back, thighs, torso. Letting off explosions, pulling the waistband of his boxers down just enough to tease, stomping his hero boots before he kneels completely. All while being extremely sweaty.

Seriously, fuck him and that hero work durability underwear line.

You’ve now unliked the original post out of pure spite. Then re-liked it. Then unliked it again because it felt like you were feeding the beast that's unleashing negativity and pumps jealousy throughout your whole body

You’ve closed the app, deleted it, redownloaded it, and then ended up stalking your own boyfriend like you were a crazed fan girl and not the person who literally shares a bathroom with him, only to be met with the same ten posts on TikTok—yes the one where he does push ups with you on his back and the other edit he has posted of you, even the one and only repost he has that’s of your ‘somebody point me to the best ass eater’ TikTok, where he acted like a feral beast and actually tried to bend you over.

And then his instagram, where there are only a few yearly hero chart posts that have him as a co creator and like, three actual posts that he made himself. One from his agency, one from a school reunion and one with you smiling next to him, both bloody and bruised after a villain attack with the caption ‘you should see the other guy’.

Back to TikTok now, you take one last look at the ad before you ultimately close it, yes, for real this time, fists clenched like you’re about to march straight to Calvin Klein Japan HQ and file a formal complaint about emotional damages.

Instead, you exhale sharp through your nose and storm into the kitchen like a woman on a mission.

Fine.

If the internet wants to thirst over your man like they’ve never seen shoulders before, then so be it. You’re not threatened.

Not really. Not even a little.

You’re the one he comes home to. You’re the one who knows the exact way he likes his coffee in the morning, the brand of muscle balm he’ll pretend he doesn’t need, the scar on his side he never talks about.

They don’t know him.

But you do.

And tonight, you’re going to prove it. Prove that you’re the most perfect girlfriend for him, that you won’t let go because someone on the internet begs you to.

You slam the fridge door shut with the kind of force that makes the condiments rattle. Chicken breast. Garlic. Thyme. That expensive parmesan he rolls his eyes at but always eats the fastest. You’ve got all the ingredients for the dumb TikTok “marry me chicken” and honestly, yeah—maybe it’s manipulative. Maybe it’s desperate.

You don’t care. You've made it before and he adores it.

If the competition is public thirst, then your counterattack is a home-cooked seduction plan followed by a bath with that weird overpriced salt soak that smells like cedarwood, cocoa and sex. Let them drool behind screens—you’re setting the mood with candles and your favorite playlist and maybe even the nice satin robe with nothing underneath if it’s clean.

And it almost works.

It almost makes you feel better. Like maybe you’ve got the upper hand again. Like maybe you’re not going insane over a stupid fucking ad where he literally flexes his thighs and kneels and sweats on purpose. And flexes again.

Until you start chopping the garlic and realize your hands are shaking.

You stop abruptly.

You stare down at the cutting board, knife hovering mid-air, and realize your throat’s a little tight. Your chest’s a little too hollow.

Because the truth is—deep down, like deep deep deep down, where all the ugliest thoughts live—you’re not mad.

You’re scared that you’re not enough. Insecure. Like youve got any right to when you've literally grown up with him. When he’s never even bat an eye to anyone but you.

But you feel like a high school girl again. Standing in the hallway outside your class, so mad and sick of jealousy that fangirls from year one are swamping your boyfriend that you drag him by the ear into the classroom and shove your tongue down his throat.

And damn, was that punishment from Aizawa worth it when he caught you.

No, now, it’s even worse. It’s not just the girls at school. Not just Japan. It’s the whole world.

And you're so scared that the world seeing him like that is going to remind him of what he could have. Of what else is out there. Of how easily people fall to their knees for him—not in ad campaigns, but in real life.

And what are you?

Somebody who gets overwhelmed easily. Somebody who overthinks. Somebody who can’t even watch a thirty-second ad without spiraling into a meltdown that tastes like garlic seeped deeply into fingernails and salt and the distinct flavor of not enough.

What if ‘animemencracker22’ could cook better for him or what if ‘Dynamightsleftbicep’ could massage his head better when they run him a bath? If ‘gymratgirl4life’ wanted to go out with him more and if ‘corrrrruptedlvr’ wasn’t throwing jealousy fits?

You’re not the girl in the comments. You’re not the fantasy.

You’re just you.

And even when you’re holding the knife and planning the perfect welcome-home meal and pretending like the bath you’re running later isn’t strategic—you still wonder if that’s going to be enough to keep a man like Katsuki Bakugou.

Worse, you wonder if he knows you’re trying this hard, because of your overwhelming need to feel like you deserve someone like him.

You let the knife drop and suddenly, you’re not hungry anymore. You were never even hungry to begin with. Your fucking eyes are welling up with stupid tears that you dont want to shed.

You’re not even a jealous person. Save for two or three times, you don’t feel like this over him. And it’s not because you’ve taken him for granted, but it’s been years that you two are together that have worked you into not thinking Katsuki could want anyone else other than you. You don’t want anyone else other than him.

But what if he’s tired. What if he feels youre the same old song stuck on repeat when he could have anyone. 30 million people in the world and you included.

The silence in the kitchen hums louder than any song on loop, only broken by the sound of your choking as you’re trying not to violently sob. The garlic’s sharp sting still clings to your fingers. The oven’s preheat light blinks like a mocking little eye. Your playlist, the one reserved for special nights, is halfway into some sultry R&B Aaliyah track that now feels like a joke.

Your arms go slack at your sides.

This was supposed to feel empowering. Sexy. A big middle finger to the comment section and the edited thirst traps and the “she doesn’t even deserve him” discourse that’s been hijacking your feed all damn day.

Instead, you feel small. Stupid. Still so embarrassingly in love.

You rub your eyes with the backs of your hands like that’ll somehow push the thoughts back in. Like that’ll make you forget the way your chest aches with that special kind of loneliness that only shows up when you’re still physically close to someone but emotionally spiraling into the trenches of your own insecurity.

You glance at the clock. Patrol should end in twenty minutes. Thirty, tops. And you push your lips together, scrunching the corners of your mouth in, pursing your lips and squint your eyes.

You’ll push through, because even if you’re so extremely jealous, Katsuki still deserves a nice home cooked meal and a hot bath, even more often than every other day, when you stay home to handle the agency paperwork, because of your latest injury after a villain attack.

He really hasn’t done anything wrong, you tell yourself, other than being extremely hot.

So you end up cooking, with tears in your eyes and the most pouty expression and by the time you finish, setting the pan on a part of the stove that isn't hot and curl down in front of the fridge, dropping to your knees to cry your heart out—The door clicks open.

Oh. Shit.

Weighty boots make contact with the floor first. The heavy stomp of post-patrol exhaustion. Then the groan of his back hitting the door frame. You hear the soft rustle of his gloves coming off, his keys clinking in the ceramic dish by the entry.

You freeze—You can’t let him see you like this. You can’t let him be the one who finds you curled on the tile like some lovesick idiot who lost a battle to TikTok.

“Heyy I’m home” you hear and you grunt to yourself, trying not to let it be known you sniffle right after.

“…Smells fuckin’ good,” his voice calls out—gruff, like he’s trying not to yawn. “You cookin’ somethin’?”

You grunt again.

He doesn’t see you right away. But his voice gets closer. Each step across the hardwood is loud and certain and distinctly him. The kind of sound that always used to make you feel safe.

Now it just makes your stomach twist.

You force yourself to stand, too fast, too suddenly, brushing your hands on your thighs then your apron and you try to act normal when your chest is about to cave in again.

Katsuki rounds the corner, still in uniform, gauntlets off, sweat clinging to his hairline, a little dirt smudged near his jaw, where some blond scruff is starting to grow. His eyes find you instantly—and narrow.

“Babe? You okay? Say hi back”

You hate how quick he notices. How easy it is for him to read you. You’ve never been good at hiding from him, especially not when it comes to shit like this.

“Oh—uh, hey. I was,” you say, eyes glued to the counter. “Got distracted.” Still, you force a smile “im fine”

“You don’t look fine.”

You flinch. “Can we—can we not do this right now?”

The silence stretches.

Katsuki exhales through his nose, tilting his head like a puppy, eyes big with inquiry boring in yours as if he’s debating whether to let it go or push. You know which one he’ll pick. He’s never, ever been the let it go type.

“You saw the ad.”

It’s not a question. It’s not even said with guilt or amusement or defensiveness. Just certainty.

You look away. Embarrassed. “Everyone and their mama saw the ad Katsuki.”

A pause. Then a sigh. Then he rubs a tired hand over his jaw.

He walks over, slow and careful like you’re a spooked animal, and you hate it. You hate that he’s being gentle when all you want is to yell at him and fall into his arms and scream into his chest all at once.

His hand lands on your waist. Warm. Familiar. Real.

“You mad at me?” he murmurs, lips pouty in the way you just love.

You shake your head up and down. A silent yes.

“I’m mad at me too tho.”

His brows furrow. “The fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

“I shouldn’t care this much,” you mumble. “I shouldn’t be jealous of a bunch of people who don’t even know you. I shouldn’t be chopping garlic like it’s a last-ditch attempt to prove I deserve you, but I—I just—”

Your voice cracks.

Katsuki’s eyes soften, his lips too.

“You think I’d wanna be with anybody else?” he asks, so blunt it hits like a punch.

You don’t answer. You can’t.

He lifts your chin with two fingers, thumb softly brushing lines across your bottom lip— he makes you look him in the eye.

“I did that ad ‘cause you told me to. ‘Cause you said I should. And I ain’t think it’d piss you off—but even if it did, I’d still be comin’ home to you.”

You swallow hard.

“They can watch,” he adds. “They can comment. They can make all the stupid fuckin’ edits they want. But you think I give a shit about any of ‘em when I’ve got you runnin’ me a bath?”

You blink. “…You knew I was running you a bath?”

“You only play that playlist when you’re tryna seduce me.” He snorts.

Your face burns, but your chest still burns hotter, tighter. Tight-est. You’re not ready to let go of this just yet. A hug and no kiss yet are already making your head spin back to that awful insecure state. You hate overthinking every little thing, but you can’t help getting caught up in it.

“Chicken smells good,” he adds casually. “Wanna feed it to me naked?”

You shove his chest gently. Though when you look up at him, you realise you're still greatly mad at him. “Shut up. No”

“C’mere,” he mutters, dragging you into his arms again. You go willingly, burying your face in his neck, nuzzling your nose too deep into his skin. “I love you,” he says into your hair. “All of them can choke.”

“They’re your fans, Katsuki”

“Yeah yeah. They can choke on my dick”

Oh that—that makes you snap.

“Im sure they’d love to” you hiss, lurching back away from him, too mad at how willingly his arms let you go.

You want to jab, hurt him just a little. Make him jealous just a tad. Make yourself look like you've got better options than plain old ‘_narutoswife’ in his IG comment section.

He doesn’t deserve it. No, not at all. He just came back home from work and you want to catch a toxic attitude instead of communicating. You just want to make him a little mad over you too.

“Fyi, if you remember, Jungkook did say in an interview that im his type! He called me a strong female hero! Choi San also follows me on instagram” you say, crossing your arms, your eyes shut closed and lips pursed.

Unfortunately, you end up making him mad at you. That was so foul. Especially when he was about to sue Jeon freaking Jungkook for what he said in that interview. When the fuck did you become his type even? And why would he say that on national TV about some other man’s girlfriend?

His eye twitches. Just barely. But it definitely twitches. Great!

“…The fuck did you just say? You wanna start somethin’ now?” Katsuki says, voice low, sharp, practically growling, mouth pushed to the side of his face, one brow raised in desbelief,

Your arms are crossed like a petty little shield but it’s not enough to protect you from the instant shift in the air—his energy changing the moment those names leave your mouth. You can see it, feel it, in the sudden tension between his brows and the twitch of his jaw, in the way he takes one step back just so he can plant his hands on his hips and fully absorb the ridiculous thing you just said.

“Well I am his type,” you mutter, fake-casual, even adding a dramatic upward move of your chin for flair. “He literally said so. On record.”

You double down when you shouldn’t. Because now you’ve committed, and if you take it back, it’ll only make you look desperate. You tilt your head, faux-casual, all sugar and venom.

Katsuki blinks once—slow. Like he’s buffering. Like you’ve just spoken a dialect of petty he never expected to hear from your mouth.

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice quiet in that scary way, “are we talkin’ about Jeon fucking Jungkook right now?”

“I mean, he’s not the worst,” you say, airily. “He’s cute. Built. Has manners and a Calvin Klein ad too! Like you”

“You are not fuckin’ doin this with me—” His voice spikes as he takes a step forward, fingers flexing at his sides like he’s physically restraining himself from hurling the rice cooker across the room. “You’re mad at me for a promo gig and now you’re bringin’ up some K-pop bastard—?!”

You bite your lip to stop the smirk. It’s immature. Childish. And so, so satisfying—ah the sweet feeling of getting your lick back.

His hands fly up and immediately start doing that panicked, half-feral gesture thing he does when he’s so mad he doesn’t even know where to put his anger. “You think that’s cute? You think throwin’ other guys in my face is what’s gonna make this better? You want me to start listin’ all the bitches in my DMs right now? ‘Cause I will. I fuckin’ will—”

“Oh so now it’s bitches plural—”

“They don’t matter!” he barks. But you don’t seem like you believe him. “You’re just mad and you’re not telling me the actual reason”

Your face goes hot, tears rising again. “I’m mad because you don’t get it!”

“Then tell me! Tell me what I’m not gettin’!”

“I want you to care!” you explode. “I want you to see that this hurts! That I don’t feel good enough half the damn time, and now I’ve got people with 800k followers stitching your photos sayin’ how they’d treat you right while I’m in our kitchen trying to figure out if I’m even the one you’d want anymore if you realise there’s someone better out th—”

“Don’t you fuckin’ finish that sentence.”

His voice goes deadly low.

You glare at him, eyes blazing. “Why not? Afraid I’m gonna be right?”

“No. Because you’re not.”

His chest is rising now, jaw clenched tight. You’ve both crossed the line, bleeding all over the tile floor with your words.

“None of them matter. Just like Jungkook doesn’t matter. I don’t care about anyone else on TikTok and I definitely don’t give a shit if he writes you a song and a marriage proposal and names his next album ‘Strong Female Hero I Wanna Wife’—you’re mine. You hear me?”

You’re stunned into silence. Half because of the outburst. Half because of the fact he just said you’re his with the kind of conviction that makes your skin burn and tingles run up your back.

“…You gonna tattoo that somewhere?” you murmur, trying to deflect your way out of being completely swept off your feet.

He steps closer, wraps a hand around your waist, nose nearly brushing yours, eyes blazing. “Gonna put a ring on it. Don’t tempt me.”

You blink at him, wide-eyed. His palm feels hot, too quirk charged against your clothed skin “What if I’m not joking?”

He narrows his eyes. “You are.”

You shrug, then whisper just slightly. “…Maybe.”

Next thing you know, Katsuki’s scooping you up like a caveman—no warning, no prep, just two strong arms under your ass, your back colliding with his chest, and your feet dangling uselessly as he stalks toward the bathroom.

“Put me down! I haven’t even plated the chicken!”

“We’ll eat it later.”

“I— but—”

“You’re so mine, and I’m about to prove it.”

He kicks the door open like a man on a mission. Your bathwater is already perfectly hot and steamy, the playlist still humming from the speaker in the corner. You barely notice it because you’re too busy clinging to his shoulders like you’re about to be ravished.

“I can’t believe you got mad at me over a Calvin Klein ad,” he mutters against your neck, lips hot and dragging lower as he sets you down only to start untying your apron, aggressive and purposeful.

“It was a very public ad, and you were nearly naked” you argue, squirming, trying to twist out of his grasp—but he’s already unlooping the neck strap, already tossing the apron somewhere over his shoulder, not even watching where it lands on the bathroom floor “Katsuki, no—”

“Sex isn’t gonna fix everything, you know,” you say, breath hitching when his mouth finds that spot just below your jaw, the one he knows makes your knees buckle. He’s too fast to start pressing hot open mouthed kisses on your neck.

“Then let’s talk about it” he says, calm as hell. He sinks onto the edge of the bathtub like a menace, eyes smoldering, hands still locked around your waist like you might run. “You said you don’t feel enough, why’s that? What part of us did I neglect that made you feel like this?”

You blink, thinking. Well he didn’t really do anything wrong, he just. Exists. And he’s gorgeous and amazing at everything he does.

Oh god? Do you resent him for being good at everything?

“You’re deranged.” You finally respond, pouting but refusing to look at him while you say it.

“I’m in love with you.”

Katsuki’s palms rub soothingly up and down your thighs, head tilted back to look up at you ever so slightly. He's trying to pull you in closer, get you loose, comfortable. He wants you to drop this ‘being difficult’ act you've got on right now.

You follow his lead, come in closer, until your knees scrape the edge of the bathtub and your thighs the inside of his.

“Yeah but,” you pause for a second, debating on whether this is the right thing to say. “why me”

Finally, you kneel between his legs. Your eyes are locked into his, trying to study him, his expression, trying to find a glimpse of hesitation behind his gaze, even if there’s none.

Katsuki catches the insecurity in your head, with a simple bore of his eyes into yours. And it’s bad. How he can read you so well, like he isn't confused and insecure at times too.

“Is it cause we grew up together?”

“Well that’s why your dear to me, but no”

“Then why?”

“Cause you’re you. Simply. You’re kind and fair. Too smart and you’re too pretty. You stand your ground and stand up for what’s right. I knew damn well who I hunched on my back and tried to set off with explosions at five years old”

He catches your chin between his thumb and forefinger, tips your face toward him until you’re locked in his orbit again.

You want to cry again. Be it the memory, or the fact that you've pushed him to say this much about why he’s in love with you. You've got no reason to get jealous over people on the internet. They don’t know Katsuki like you do. They never could. Fate chose you to be the one to grow up a few blocks away from him. All your shared memories together, no one on TikTok could live them out.

No matter any Vogue cover, any Calvin Klein ad, or late night show interview, you and Katsuki are two human beings who grew up together, beat the odds of death together. Fell in love with each other to top it. So many humans in history have had this storyline, they’ve shared their first time with each other the night before setting off to war, kissed for the first time behind the bleachers in middle school.

“I was so scared back then” you sob. Just one violent sob after another “‘m sorry babe. I'm so sorry for how I acted right now. You're just so hot that I can’t handle it. Can you like, be that bratty little five year old again?”

Katsuki huffs a breath, mouth twitching like he wants to smirk but knows better. His hands stay firm around your waist, grounding you while leaning towards you.

“Well I can’t be five again,” he says, voice rough but fond, lips already pursing as his forehead sticks to yours “but I can give you a small brand new Bakugo”

You let out a choked, watery laugh, but he’s already shifting closer, his thighs spreading so you fit better between them. One of his hands, followed by his eyes, slides up to your chest, and with exaggerated slowness, he taps a finger just above your sternum.

Tap. Then a little higher. Tap.

Then again—until two fingers are softly “walking” their way up, up, up your chest like little boots. You blink at him.

“Katsukiiii”

Tap.

The pads of his fingers rest at the hollow of your throat for a beat before lifting to your chin, tipping your face toward him like you’re fragile glass he’s been carrying his whole life.

He’s pouting. You can see it clearly now—the petulant pull of his mouth, the faint crease between his brows, like he’s upset you made him feel things and doesn’t know how to ask for reassurance without being difficult.

“You sayin’ shit like that,” he mutters, eyes flickering down to your mouth, then back up, “makes me feel like I’m not doin’ enough. Like I ain’t sayin’ it right. And I already suck at this.”

You open your mouth to protest, say you didn’t really mean it when you said that you don’t feel enough, that it was a moment of weakness, just like when you tried to tell him you’ve got options, but he presses his thumb gently against your bottom lip, quieting you, you’ve already apologised. He hasn’t.

“Lemme show you instead,” he says.

His voice isn’t cocky. Not quite. It’s soft—almost shy. Like how it was when you asked him to walk you home a week into UA, like he knows now, sex won’t fix anything, for sure, but the humanity of it, the lack of personal space between you as you groan in each other's open mouths, will help, just a little to ease the pain of your words.

“You’re my soft spot,” he adds under his breath, kissing the corner of your mouth like he’s afraid you’ll vanish off to some hot idol that does fanservice for a living, before he finishes the sentence. “Always been. N’ I don’t want you forgettin’ it. I ain’t leaving you for no one”

His fingers trace the line of your jaw now, slow and reverent. The pout still hasn’t left. You’re not sure it ever will. But now it’s paired with heat, and a pull between your legs that starts low and deep as he finally—finally—brushes his mouth against yours.

Just a whisper of a kiss. All pout. All need. All Katsuki.

You wouldn’t really trade him for anyone, either.

You can feel how badly he wants to be touched back. He always wants to be physical and touchy after an argument. You know how grounded and real it makes him feel, how reassuring it is to him to know he is still loved enough to be touched, despite words that are meant to sting.

You make a move to peck him, only right as this was your fault, and he slowly moves his lips against your own, soft, smooth. Slipping between every hollow space until you can't pull away. Seems like the chapstick you got for him last week has done wonders to make his lips so soft and plump, when they’re usually so chapped; his mouth glides against yours with practiced ease.

“M sorry” he whispers, so faint against your lips, but you still catch it.

His voice stays in your skin long after it’s said, like steam caught between your ribs, not ready to evaporate just yet.

You don’t say anything at first—just lift your hand to cradle the back of his neck, drawing tiny circles at his nape with your thumb. His eyes flutter a little at the touch, and it’s so Katsuki the way he tries not to lean into it. Still pouting, still pretending he’s not craving softness like it’s the only thing that could save him, but you know him better.

You let your other hand wander, trailing along the hem of his work top, your fingertips skating just beneath the fabric—slow, just the way he likes it. And when your hands drift to the button of his pants, you catch that tiny hitch in his breath. Barely audible. But it’s there. His lashes drop, golden. Sun-kissed. His grip on your waist tightens, not to stop you, just to hold on.

“You said you’d show me,” you murmur, your voice dipping low, warm against the shell of his ear. “But maybe I show you first.”

He doesn’t answer. Just swallows hard. And you skip the rest of the sentence ‘how much better I am than those TikTok bitches who want you’.

The button of his work cargos clicks open beneath your fingers.

It’s intimate, the quiet that settles between you. Not awkward. Not even heated yet. Just close. Bathwater is still steaming behind him. The scent of your shared home in the air—sandalwood, white musk soap, the thick smell of chicken being cooked—him.

His cologne, faded but still clinging to the collar of his shirt. The playlist hums something slow and familiar in the background—Hot like fire, because maybe Aaliyah wasn’t mocking you a while ago—like this moment has its own soundtrack and the world outside doesn’t exist.

Your fingers fiddle with his zipper, slow and smooth. He looks down at you—heavy-lidded, and all vermillion, lips slightly parted, like he’s already halfway gone from just being touched with intention for pleasure.

“You looked so confident in the ad” you whisper as your fingers brush just below his waistband, teasing. “But this is better. This right here. When you’re a little shy for me.”

He exhales shakily, like you cracked something open inside him. And you feel it—something primal and possessive bloom in your chest.

“No one gets to see you like this but me”

“You’re tryin’ to kill me” he mutters.

You smile up at him, biting your lower lip. “No, Katsuki. I’m just trying to blow you away with my insane head skills”

He laughs, a breathy little sound, as his hands move to take off his shirt, softly ungluing his eyes from yours for only a second. You lick your lips at the way his muscles flex, so thick and bulky and by all means yours.

Suddenly, the ad pops back into your head, every shot, every zoom in. You’re overtaken by lust driven jealousy again.

No one on fucking TikTok gets to see the way his abs flex when he cums. You do.

So you work to lower his pants in fast movements, pushing the heavy fabric down until it hits the floor in shuffling sounds.

Your hands slide lower, palms flattening against his calves, then his hips as you stick your cheek to his thigh. He watches you like you’re a sunrise—warm and tender, grazing where his skin ends with where your skin begins, or running tender, teasing circles all over his tip through his boxers.

His fingers twitch against his thighs, unsure of where to go—if he should cup your cheek, fist your hair, or just hold on to the edge of the tub before he slides down into something desperate.

And when you look up at him from where you’re knelt, his breath catches. His hand finds the top of your head, like he needs the grounding contact, thumb brushing a gentle path through your hair, and his eyes are wide with something soft and so, so red and open.

“Yesssss” he says hoarsely, half-laughing, half-moan “im about to get the best head of my life”

You quirk your brow and pucker your lips as if it’s your turn to pout now, then, you jab “Was it bad before?”

He shakes his head, cheeks already pink. “It’s always damn perfect”

His breathing catches in his chest but by now, your lips catch onto the skin of his thigh, placing a kiss there while still looking at him. It makes him go completely red now, face ears and chest flustered.

You kiss higher on his inner thigh, barely missing where he’s straining against the fabric of his boxers. Katsuki’s knuckles press into the edge of the tub now, trying to keep himself grounded, but his hips twitch when your lips ghost just beneath the band of his boxers.

He looks like he might fall apart already. Lower lip caught between his teeth, lashes fluttering low, cheeks warm and pink in the bathroom light.

Your fingers tug at the elastic slowly—like a question. And he nods, fast, almost frantic.

You hum, and finally pull the waistband down, freeing him.

He’s already hard, tip flushed and leaking, twitching a little in the cool air. And the way he watches you—mouth parted, chest rising and falling quick—is nothing short of irrelevant. He looks at you with hunger, full blown everywhere on his face, like it burns just to feel it. His hand hovers near your cheek, and you guide it up into your hair with your own.

“Keep it here,” you murmur. “I want you to touch.”

Katsuki’s thumb brushes your scalp, tender, trembling.

His thumb twitches as it strokes your scalp.

You press your lips softly to the base of his cock. Not rushing. Just placing open mouthed kisses over his length. Letting the heat of your mouth register on every kiss before you move to the next one. Then again, higher this time. Then again—closer to the tip, where he shudders and grips your hair a little tighter. Your lips wrap tenderly around half of his tip, your tongue storming out for a circular lick before you give him a little suck.

His hips shift like he’s trying to stay still and failing. Then you kiss just beneath the tip, so close your breath makes him hiss.

“F-fuck,” he hisses, hips twitching once more. “You’re—baby, you’re—”

You wrap your hand around the base of him and drag your tongue along the underside, slow, teasing, drawing a whimper from him so small and raw that your thighs clench just hearing it.

“You gonna beg?” you ask softly, glancing up.

His head falls back against the tiled wall for a second, mouth parted, so red in the face. “Don’t make me—fuck—‘m already losin’ it.”

You take him into your mouth inch by inch, slow and careful, tongue flat underneath, eyes still locked on him. You feel his thighs shake.

He moans—a rough, broken sound—and his hand fists harder your hair. You pull back with a wet pop and stroke him slowly, thumb brushing over his leaking tip. “You’re so easy to ruin, Katsuki. One suck and you’re falling apart.”

“You—you're evil,” he pants, biting his knuckle. “You can’t say shit like that when your fuckin’ mouth is on me.”

You grin, licking your lips. “It’s on you again now.”

You take him deeper this time, hollowing your cheeks, letting your tongue drag in deliberate patterns. He groans, head tipping down again to watch, jaw slack. His voice is wrecked. Raw. Low in his throat.

“Katsuki–” you pause, you murmur, pulling off again, cupping him with both hands now. ogling your eyes into his “Tell me i'm the only one who’s ever gonna make you feel this good’

Every movement you make is intentional—little flicks of your tongue, your hand twisting at the base, your lips tight around him. You don’t let him cum yet. Every time you feel him start to twitch harder, you ease back, sucking gently on just the tip.

“Babe,’s all you—” he chokes out, voice ragged. “Never gonna be anyone else but you”

“Yeah?” you breathe. “No thirsty fangirl, no fantasy, no fuckin’ ad? Just me?”

His eyes lock on yours—glassy, wild. He nods hard. “Just you.”

You glance up again. His eyes are glassy, pupils blown. He looks desperate. Like he’s holding onto the last threads of sanity. But this moment is bathed in vulnerability, raw love that makes you want to claim again and again. Katsuki’s had his moments like this, way more than you. He lets you go through with it, he even likes how jealous you are right now, but this doesn’t mean he’s not utterly and completely ruined and under your spell right now.

You kiss his head again, so sweet, and finally wrap your mouth around him once more—this time faster, deeper, your hand working in tandem. He lets out a strangled cry, almost panicked with how hard he’s trying to hold on.

“You’re mine, Katsuki. You know that, right? Doesn’t matter how many people thirst over you online.” You press your lips around him again, drag your mouth up slow, just to the tip. “They don’t get this. They don’t get you like I do.”

He looks down at you again, eyes still glassy. So red. So wrecked.

You take him deeper, your cheeks hollowed, your tongue gliding in slow circles, teasing him at every sensitive spot. The veins on the underside of his cock, the base, as he hits the back of your throat. Katsuki moans, raw and shaky and his hips stutter forward before he forces himself still. The inside of your mouth is so slippery, so warm, he’s literally going crazy with each movement.

“Don’t even fuckin’ want anyone else.” He sounds destroyed now, ruined into a slurring mess as your hand is sliding along his thigh.

“Let me—let me cum, shit—please, let me—”

His tip kisses the back of your throat, and you gag around him, just a little—just enough for him to choke on a moan that sounds like he’s dying.

You don’t let up. You feel the way he twitches, the way his thighs tense, the way his grip in your hair tightens. He’s close. So close. You hum against him, nodding just a little, eyes locked into his in such an intimate, tender way. You take him all the way in one last time, his tip hitting the back of your throat, eliciting just a small choking sound from you, letting him fall apart in your mouth, with every soft roll of his hips into you.

He grunts. Head lolling back again, so hard that is adam’s apple protrudes enough even for you to see. His hips stutter, and he tries to hold back—but his thighs are trembling, breath breaking. He snaps his head again, desperate to look at you and he swallows now, bites his lower lip in concentration before he clenches his legs, to buck his hips into your mouth.

His hands come to cradle your head, your cheeks, like he’s afraid to let go, like you’re the one keeping him from falling through the floor. And the way you keep eye contact with him while swallowing him down your pretty little throat–It’s a killer.

You back up, worrying his tip between your soft, plump lips and that's it–He shatters. Violently and way faster than he thought he would. Clawing at your face to make you take him in once again; he bottoms out, and you… you take him in easily, like a champ.

Katsuki falls apart in your mouth with a raw, choked moan, hips bucking just once as you hold him steady, taking every twitch, every pulse, every broken sound he makes as his cum spills in ropes down your throat. You try to swallow as much as you can, eyes tearing up at the amount of cum that’s making you choke– Katsuki’s favorite sounds when you’re giving him a blowjob. He’s only urged to spill more, but this time you back up a little, letting him fill your mouth until it spills down the sides of your lips.

“F-fuck. Baby. Fuck.” He gasps like you’ve already stolen the air from his lungs, and he spasms. His hips jerk forward once, like instinct takes over.

Your eyes well up again, tears beading on your lashes from the stretch, from the pressure, from the sheer force of him.

He groans again at the sight—his cock buried in your mouth, cum spilling out the corners of your lips, glistening. His hands cradle your cheeks like he’s trying to memorize the shape of your mouth, the feel of your skin under his thumbs.

You swallow again, letting him ride it out with one last soft suck, and he moans like he’s unraveling from the inside out. His knees almost buckle.

And still, you don’t stop touching him. Your hand strokes slow at his base as you pull back with the loudest pop, letting some of the mess trail down lower at your chin, your lips swollen and glistening as you tilt your head up.

“You came so much,” you murmur, licking a drop from your bottom lip. “Were you that needy for me, baby?”

He groans as he’s still recovering, hips twitching slightly as your breath ghosts over him. His hands finally leave your cheeks, fumbling around, still shaky, down to where his pants are.

“Where the fuck’s my phone?” he rasps, breath catching on the tail end.

You blink up at him, mock-innocent. “Why do you want it, hmm?”

His gaze drops back to you, pupils blown wide, chest heaving as he glares like you’ve just personally offended him by being too hot to handle yourself.

“First, I’m taking a fuckin’ photo of you like this,” he grits out, voice still rough and low, “with your mouth all messy, lookin’ proud of yourself like that.”

You smirk, tilting your head as cum still drips slowly down your chin, your fingers catching it just to suck them clean. “So you can jerk off to it later?”

“So I can frame it,” he mutters darkly, eyes dragging over every inch of your face. “And then you’re watchin’ the ad again. Every second of it.”

You blink slowly. “But it makes me mad”

He nods. “Yeah exactly. Youre watching it.‘Til you get so fuckin’ riled up you suck me off meaner than this.”

Your lips curl. “Meaner? Baby… I was being sweet to you.”

“Exactly,” he pants, reaching for your wrist to drag you up into his lap. “I wanna see you do it when you're pissed.”

You climb into his space, knees bracketing his thighs, grinning into his mouth as you kiss him—messy, deep, still tasting like him. “Careful what you wish for, Katsuki. I might make your dick fall off”

His voice is just a whisper now and wrecked against your lips.

“Fuck yes”

Yeah… maybe the Calvin Klein ad was a good idea.

______

The water’s somehow still warm, barely steaming, and smells like cocoa and the shea butter soap he always pretends he doesn’t use until you catch him stealing it.

You’re settled between his legs, your back against his chest, and he’s folded around you—arms over your middle, face buried in the crook of your neck, breath soft and steady against your skin. You sink into him, muscles loosening all at once.

The bathwater laps at your collarbones. His thumbs trace slow circles into your stomach. And for a while, the only sound is your breathing, synced. The occasional soft swish of water when one of you shifts. The playlist outside still hums faintly, muffled through the bathroom door. Just gentle vocals and low drums. Like the score to this quiet little world you’ve made.

“Sorry I was a dick,” he mutters. His voice remains unsure of what to say in a situation like this, yet muffled against your neck. “I just—y’know…”

“Yeah. Me too. I should not have mentioned Jungkook because people online are asking how I handle all of that” you chuckle, tenderly placing a kiss at the back of Katsuki’s hands when you lift it from the water.

He frowns, letting off a sound of annoyance “asshole, he can shove that seven song up his ass”

“Oop— you listening to him now?”

“No, it’s all over the radio though” Katsuki kisses your shoulder in response. Then again, higher this time. “But I don’t care about nobody. Just you. Always you.”

You tilt your head and press a kiss into his damp hair from the side, catching just a little bit of his ear in the process. “I know, baby. I know.”

And you do. Deep in your bones. The same way you know how his eyes soften and he whines when he’s sleepy, how his jaw ticks to the right when he’s embarrassed, how his voice drops an octave when he wants to be taken seriously. You know him. Not the whored out Calvin Klein version the world sees.

You curl your hands around his forearm and let yourself melt back into him completely, the bathwater swaying at the peak of your chest now. Safe. Soothed. Held.

He squeezes you a little tighter and rests his chin on your shoulder, finally quiet. And if you listen close, you can feel it: the rise and fall of him. The warmth of his skin. The steady thrum of his heartbeat under your back.

“So” you murmur “wanna talk about that little mini Bakugo you mentioned earlier?”

Katsuki mumbles something under his breath, eyes closed against your skin. He’s mellowed out in the split of a second, but you’re riled up at the thought when your mind returns to it.

“‘S no use.” He whines, finally, like he’s annoyed “Our kid’s gonna look like you”

“So you'll get a mini me all over again and I won’t get the same? Un-faiiiir! Booooooo” you groan, leaning your head back against his shoulder dramatically. The water sloshes with the motion, and he huffs a tired laugh into your neck, chest vibrating behind you.

“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters, lips brushing your skin. “Like I wouldn’t be fuckin’ obsessed with either version.”

You smile. Small. Soft. Let your thumb glide along the scar on his wrist and then you swallow. Blink a few times. Then nod once, slowly, before you speak.

“Wouldn’t be so bad, would it? A little baby with your temper and my sweet tooth?”

He lets out a real laugh now, low and gruff and warm against your back. “Fuckin’ menace. Our apartment wouldn’t survive.”

“Your PR team wouldn’t survive.”

“Shit, you’re right.”

You both laugh, muffled and close, and when it quiets again, you let your fingers lace through his under the water. His grip tightens like a reflex.

And then, just above a whisper:

“You really think about it sometimes?”

“…Yeah.”

“Me too.”

He kisses your shoulder again. No jokes this time. Just silence and warm water and cocoa steam. The both of you holding that dream quietly, like something sacred.

In his arms, now, today, midst June, after feeling threatened that strangers online will ever do better than you when it comes to him, you think of you and him, back in his childhood room, watching Spirited Away as Mitsuki would fetch you cookies and milk before Katsuki would try to shove her away and she’d pretend to be knocked over.

“Hey…We’re still naming the baby Chihiro like we promised back then, right?”

He goes still behind you. Like, dead quiet. Like you’d short-circuited something in his brain.

You almost think he didn’t hear you until you feel the deep inhale against your spine, his arms tightening just a little more around you like he’s trying to fuse your body to his.

“…You remember that?” His voice is hoarse now, barely more than a breath.

You smile, eyes still half-lidded, watching the water ripple at the edges of the tub. “Of course I do. You made me pinky swear on it, when Mitsuki said we’d get married and have kids too!”

“Shut up,” he mutters, but it’s soft, affectionate—almost embarrassed. His nose nudges your jaw like he’s trying to hide the warmth in his face. “Was a fuckin’ loser.”

“No,” you say gently. “You were just sweet. Always were.”

There’s a beat. He swallows. You feel it in his throat against your shoulder.

“…Chihiro, huh?” he murmurs, finally. “Still want that? Even now?”

You nod, and his hand floats up from beneath the water, trailing along your stomach, resting just under your ribs. Protective. Hopeful. Like something unspoken is blooming there.

“I always loved that promise,” you whisper, throat a little tight. He doesn’t answer. At least not with words.

Katsuki grins against your neck, and the sound of it, the way he breathes in like he’s grounding himself in the smell of your skin—it’s everything. It’s homely. Warm water. Summer steam. A shared name from a shared childhood.

Take that ‘tojissecondworm222’, not only do you handle all that, but everything the world’s fantasy driven Dynamight has to offer, is yours.

Always has been.

Always will be.

Likes, reblogs and comments are all appreciated equally

Dividers by @/saradika-graphics

704 notes · View notes

munsonify · 3 days ago

Text

admiring

pairing. bob reynolds x reader

summary. three times bob catches you staring, and the one time he confronts you about it

content warning. slight nsfw thoughts 18+ (very very brief/light detail), a little angst but mostly just a load of fluff, pining, new avengers!era and new avengers!r, mentions of insecurities (bobs), overthinking (both bob and r), non-established relationships

word count. 3695

a/n. i’m hardcore projecting myself into some of this my bad gang. also the dialogue kind of sucks so im sorry. not proofread

———

the briefing room

it had been an oddly quiet day for bob. he’d spent it alone, catching up on laundry that was 2 weeks overdue, finishing a book that’d been glued to his hand for the past couple days. there wasn’t a single interruption, not a single word spoken or an accidental run-in from anybody on the team.

bob hadn’t quite noticed until around 6 in the afternoon, lounging on his bed, staring at the ceiling. music played lowly in the headphones he had on, fingers thrumming against his chest in tandem with the soft bass in the back. normally by now, he would’ve had a knock at his door from walker, or a handful of missed texts from yelena claiming they needed him for something important.

he found that the word important meant very different things to these people.

the only person who seemed to have a grasp on what that was was bucky - who, by the way, was the one who interrupted his incredibly peaceful day. the thrumming of his knuckles against bobs door broke him out of his trance. letting his eyes roll into the back of his head, he pushed himself off of his bed, tugging his headphones off and letting it settle around his neck.

bucky was standing outside bobs door, visibly annoyed. and as if reading his mind-

“can’t let you rest for too long, kid. val wants us down in the briefing room in ten.”

“did she say why?” bob asked, scratching the back of his head. he really didn’t want to deal with her today.

“nope,” bucky told him, shaking his head in disbelief. “she barely ever does. just be there, got it?”

that’s how bobs perfectly fine day turned into a raging headache. val had practically nothing of value to say, and even if she did, he wasnt listening. after five minutes of sitting in those god awful office chairs, his mind began to wander elsewhere. specifically, it went to how comfortable his bed had been just 20 minutes ago.

what snapped bob out of his thought was the odd feeling that someone was staring at him. with furrowed eyebrows, his eyes began to flick through the room until they landed on you.

in the few short months that the team had been living inside of the tower, bob hadn’t quite gotten a read on you. he’d spoke to you briefly in passing, just a simple hello, but never anything more. that seemed to be how you were with everyone though. quiet. he never took quietness personally. needless to say, seeing you staring at him caught him by surprise.

bob saw the way your eyes grew wide the moment he noticed you. you quickly pried your eyes away from his, your fingers that were once fiddling with a pen grew steady, gripping it enough for it to bend and nearly snap in your hold. his eyes lingered on you for a long few seconds, trying to finally get his read on you, only to fall short.

he wondered if, by accident, you had zoned out just like he had. that’s happened to bob before - zoned out directly staring at someone he didn’t mean to be. he remembers how mortified he’d been when that’d happened. surely, that’s what you’d done. simply tuned out of the conversation at hand.

and while bob left it at that, your mind started to spin.

for the weeks that you’d known bob, you’d grown a raging sense of curiosity about him. even from the beginning, there was something about the man that intrigued you - it wasn’t the serum he’d stumbled upon or the powers he’d gained from it, no. it was the way he carried himself, awkward and lanky with a sort of sideways confidence tied in with it. the sharp features he had didn’t seem to quite fit him you didn’t think, though you couldn’t help but admire them, especially in contrast to his soft, round blue eyes.

you were simply admiring bob when he’d caught you staring. god you wished he hadn’t. despite how entranced you were with him, you’d barely spoken to him. you couldn’t quite bring yourself to hold a conversation with him just yet. eventually, you were sure you would.

———

the training room

training with walker was always exhausting. he’s a diligent, hardworking, relentless man who strived for perfection - of course that shines through when he trains. it was good practice sparring with him, and you always felt good about yourself after somehow managing through workouts with him. still, you were over the moon when you finally called it quits for the day.

“you did good, just remember to keep your shoulders back when you’re throwing punches,” walker commented, tossing a cool towel at your chest.

“thanks walker,” you mumbled as you searched around for your crisp water. neither of you were the best with words, so you kept it at that. simple. effective.

your knees nearly gave out on you as you bent down to grab the water you were in desperate need of. walker was somewhere across the training room putting away the rest of the equipment you’d used today. somehow, he still had the energy to do all of it. you simply chalked up to the super serum. it makes you feel better about yourself.

through the clanking of metal, you could hear footsteps approaching the training room. the sound of two voices slowly began to echo into earshot, one in which made your heart miss a beat or two. you looked down at yourself in agony.

with the towel hung around your neck to soothe your heated skin, you began to realize just how worn you looked. your thin tank top clung to your sticky skin, sweat dripping slightly down onto the floor below you. your knees were trembling still, something that only worsened the moment he walked into the room.

yelena strutted her way into the room with confidence, bob right behind her, nearly tripping over the foamy mat as he stepped onto it. you were quick to look at the man - tall and clumsy, wearing workout clothes you were sure he’d never wear out of this room. your mind was quick to move from your appearance at the sight of him.

while your confidence has grown the longer you’d been in the watchtower, you still couldn’t bring yourself to communicate properly with bob. you were beginning to be a little better with it, making small talk that eventually died down after a few minutes. otherwise, you fell short.

“i was just telling bob how you finally did the widow move,” yelena spoke out to you, snapping you out of your thoughts. a few awkward moments passed as you realized bob had caught you staring again before you forced your eyes away. “it was pretty badass.”

you hummed out in agreement with yelena, taking a nervous drink of your water as you started your way towards the exit. this was your time to leave before things became worse for you.

“yeah,” you chuckled nervously, small smile playing on your lips. your eyes glanced over at bob, who hadn’t let you out of your sight since he’d caught you. “‘s a pretty cool move. glad to finally master it.”

“oh, i didn’t say master,” yelena quipped, pointing her index finger at you sternly. “i just said you did it.”

“i’m sure you did g-great,” bob finally spoke, stuttering slightly on his words. he knew the widow move, he’d seen yelena do it himself. the thought of you doing it successfully had him choking on his words.

he was quick to move past your stare this time around, his mind otherwise preoccupied. that didn’t stop him from wondering on it later in the day, long after the both of you left the training room. he still chalked your gaze up to nothing but a coincidence, even if it did have him a nervous mess.

———

the kitchen

it was never uncommon for bob to stay up through the night. silence was hard to come by in his mind when he had so much to think about. when he became restless like this, he turned to quiet walks around the tower to try and clear his mind, or a book to read to try and suppress it all. unfortunately for him, none of his coping mechanisms quite worked for him some nights.

the coffee that just finished brewing was the first of many attempts bob made to keep his body going today, the late night turning into a very early morning. he could already see the sunrise on the horizon out of the corner of his eye as he poured the coffee shakily. his normal mug was sitting in the sink, the insides stained slightly by coffee he had drank the day before. the man settled on a mug with a garfield graphic instead.

bob glanced over at the stove, a huff of air coming out of his nose the moment his eyes found the time. 6:05. the grip he had on the mug tightened while he finished preparing it. with hunched shoulders, he shuffled over to the kitchen table, pulling out a chair just enough for him to slide into it. he wanted nothing more than to rest in his bed, large and warm and welcoming. but alas, his mind still wouldn’t quiet down, not quite. a buzz rang low and steady in the back of his head.

that’s when you walked in. bobs head snapped up the moment he heard your quiet footsteps, eyes that were once unfocused on the table focused in on your figure as you stumbled into the large kitchen. he could feel his whole body tense, throat tightening up slightly as you glanced over at him and offering him a small smile.

bob noticed that he tensed up around you a lot. he was prone to nervousness around you. everything about you captivated him - the way you spoke, the way you looked, the way you carried yourself. even if you never really interacted with him, he couldn’t help but admire you. a part of him knew that he tensed up around you for another reason. that weird little staring problem you had, one that only seemed to be directed at him and no one else.

“g’morning,” you spoke, voice quiet and a little raw from sleep. bob gave you a half-hearted smile back, mumbling a good morning to you. his eyes began to dart between you and the open space that surrounded him in an anxious sort of way. he wasn’t quite sure where to put his eyes.

“mind if i have some?” you asked, thumb motioning over to the pot of coffee on the countertop. you were already grabbing ahold of a floral mug in the cabinet, though, like you already knew the answer.

“‘course,” bob nodded. he suddenly became aware of how he must look - hair a mess, eyelids drooping and bloodshot, a slump to him that he couldn’t straighten up to save his life. he tried to distract himself from his own appearance with yours.

not in a bad way, never a bad way. simply in a curious way. with your back to him, pouring yourself a cup of coffee, he noticed that your baggy shirt had a few holes in it. it reminded him of the clothes he wears to bed, old and worn and perfect to sleep in. as a matter of fact, there was a hole in the armpit of the shirt he was wearing now. most of his clothes were like that.

bob noticed that you poured an obscene amount of milk into your coffee, almost too much. he was well aware of the bitter taste, a taste he didn’t like much, but this was just absurd. he could excuse it though on accounts of you being so pretty. even fresh out of sleep, you caught his eye.

his gaze snapped back to the table the moment he noticed you starting to move again. you turned around, mug in hand, before waddling yourself over to a seat. you sat at a respectable distance from the man - far enough away so that you weren’t crowding his personal space, but close enough so that it didn’t seem like you were allergic to being around him. you sometimes wished you could consider being a chronic over thinker a hobby.

you found your eyes wandering off to bob again. it’s like they couldn’t help but gravitate towards him. the first thing you noticed about him was his eyes, and how tired they looked. you were aware he struggled to sleep. there had been nights where you had caught him walking the halls of the tower while you were in search of a glass of water or a late night snack. he truly looked exhausted this morning, though, like he was forcing his body upright.

your eyes eventually drifted down to his hands. bob had both wrapped firmly around his mug with two fingers slipped beneath the handle. if you hadn’t known there was a garfield mug inside of the pantry you wouldn’t have been able to pinpoint what the orange peaking past his fingers was - bobs hands were large.

you blinked a few slow, hard times as you processed that thought of yours. you watched as a pointer finger of his traced the ceramic rhythmically, a grounding technique of his. you began to wonder what his fingers would feel like against you, dancing against your skin like they were that mug. you wondered what his hands would feel like against your face, warm and a little shaky. you wondered what they’d feel like against your hips, firm and unmoving as he held you close. the thought of his hands drifting further down your body has your head going a little fuzzy.

it wasn’t until bob let out a strained cough, shifting uncomfortably in his seat that you’d realized you’d been staring for far too long. your bottom lip that somehow traveled between your teeth was released from its confines quickly, eyes darting away immediately. now it was your turn to tense up.

while bob didn’t say a word, his mind began to swirl. of course, the moment he’d thought he’d had his mind under control, his thoughts began to betray him again, picking right back up at the speed from earlier.

why were you always staring at him? what he once thought was a coincidence was now quickly spiraling into something that had to be purposeful, personal. was he doing something wrong that was making you stare? were you upset with him? were you wanting the mug he was using? or was this all in his head? couldn’t be.

rather than asking you, bob chose to do nothing but sit in his uncomfortable-ness. this was something for him to deal with when he wasn’t so tired.

��——

the common area

it was hard to find peace and quiet in the tower. between constant bickering, mission briefing and debriefing, and simply existing together, noise was something that was inevitable. while a fact, it didn’t make it any less frustrating. that’s why you appreciated any silence you were handed greatly. today was no different.

for the first time in two weeks, the common area was empty, motionless, and quiet. you were quick to occupy one of the squishy rocking chairs that inhabited the open room, resting into it and sighing in relief. the warmth of the sun spilled into the room through the large floor-to-ceiling windows, engulfing you perfectly. the sun wasn’t shining in your eyes, though it gave you the exact lighting you needed to get some reading done.

with your feet propped up on the now reclined chair, you did just that. in peace.

there were only two other members of the team inside of the tower. bucky was in his room, finally finding peace in the quiet tower just like you were. without walker and ava bickering, or alexei’s usual obnoxious demeanor, he didn’t have anyone to rope him into their bullshit. you liked bucky, and bucky liked you. you respected each others personal space.

bob was also inside the tower. though, while you respected each others space, you somehow always ended up within it anyways. at the beginning, you didn’t mind his company. he’s thoughtfully quiet, and you found that he made good conversation. but now? now all you wanted to do was crawl out of your skin and hide while he was near.

he made you painfully shy and insanely flustered and you hated it. the worst part? it didn’t even seem like he was trying.

it’s why you tensed up the moment you saw bob walk into the common area. you were sure that if you weren’t partially facing towards the entrance you wouldn’t have noticed him. the man was always so quiet on his feet. your eyes flicker up from your book, forcing a small smile on your lips to acknowledge and greet him.

bob offered up a small, toothy smile back at you, fingers wiggling slightly in a wave. if you weren’t so caught up in breathing properly you would’ve noticed the way he cringed at himself, nose crinkling up all cute as he overthought and instantly regretted his hello.

he went over to a chair closer to the windows, slipping on his headphones, before fumbling with his phone to find music to play. bob loved having this opportunity. it wasn’t often he could sit and listen to music, simply staring out the window and into the large city. sometimes he admired the sight, looking at what hustle and bustle he could make out down on the streets, scanning the skyline for everything and nothing. other times, he simply just stared, engulfed in his own thoughts or the music he had playing.

and, despite pressing shuffle on a good playlist of his, bob decided that thinking was the way to go today. especially since the thinking had to do with you, and how he desperately wanted to confront you. now would be the perfect time. you two were alone, and bob was sure bucky wouldn’t find his way in here anytime soon.

even if the man didn’t intrude on the conversation, bob felt like he was cornering you. you were so clearly enjoying your quiet time, engulfed in a book he couldn’t quite see the title of. he’d hate to interrupt you. that was until he caught you staring. again.

in your defense, you were also deep in thought. bob looked so cozy in his seat, a large black hoodie engulfing him in warmth, hair slightly disheveled. he finally looked well rested, too. you were simply admiring the man as your mind started to run laps, wondering how it’d feel to hug him, feel the warmth he felt right now. you didn’t even really notice you were staring at him this time.

“do you, like, hate me or something?” bob blurted out, breaking the silence between the two of you. he was quick to take his headphones off, placing it in his lap with a little too much force. your book that was once loosely grasped on your hands was in your lap in an instant, pages fluttering shut, losing your place.

“what?” you croaked out, eyes wide. you began to shake your head quickly. “no!”

bob couldn’t help but scoff. “are you sure? it kinda seems like you do!”

“yes, bob, i’m sure!”

“then what’s going on?” he asked you in a weak voice. his eyes were owlish as he stared at you, face etched in nothing but worry and anxiousness. bob looked like he could cry. “if you want me to give you space i can, i just… i wanna know why you’re always so weird around me. why you always stare.”

your heart dropped to the bottom of your stomach as he spoke, guilt and anxiety filling your bones as you tried to think of a response. all this time, bob thought you didn’t like him, that your staring and your awkwardness was out of spite, not out of admiration.

“bob,” you let out, voice cracking slightly as you adjusted upright in the chair you sat in. “i’m sorry, i don’t hate you.”

a hand found its way to your forehead, rubbing gently as you let out a shaky breath. you couldn’t believe you were about to say any of this.

“i stare cause i think you’re really nice to look at. like really nice. and you’re always so kind to me. i just get so nervous around you and i forget how to act. im so sorry i made you think i hated you or something, i actually quite like you.”

those round blue eyes of bobs don’t leave you even after you’re done speaking. they stare into you like it’d hurt to leave, or like he’d miss something important if he didn’t keep staring. you noticed quickly that his hands started to mess with the headphones in his lap, anxiously feeling against the warm material.

he tried and failed to push down the adorable red blush that started to creep up his neck, the tips of his ears thankfully hidden beneath his hair. this way, he was able to spare some of his dignity. your confession had him flustered and at loss for words. which really sucked right now. you were staring at him again, this time expectedly. you’re patient, you always had been - that didn’t stop him from feeling like he needed something to say to you, and quickly.

“oh,” bob whispered, only barely finding something to say to you.

“yeah,” you whispered back, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth, chewing on it anxiously.

finally, bob had something meaningful to contribute. “i think you’re really nice to look at too.”

he let out a relieved sigh the moment he saw a small smile play on your lips. this time, when you looked over at him, bob didn’t overthink it. he didn’t question himself, or try to fold in on himself. he simply let it happen. he let himself stare back at you, eyes gazing into yours, smiling just like you were. it finally felt right.

#munsonify #bob reynolds #robert reynolds #bob reynolds fluff #bob reynolds imagine #bob reynolds x you #bob reynolds x y/n #bob reynolds imagines #bob reynolds x reader #robert reynolds imagines #robert reynolds x y/n #robert reynolds imagine #robert reynolds fluff #robert reynolds x you #robert reynolds x reader

574 notes · View notes

the-prophesied-disco-gay · 2 days ago

Text

It really comes down to this question: Is your goal harming pedophiles or protecting children? Because yes, they are mutually exclusive. People will never seek help for a paraphelia when it is legitimately dangerous to do so. They will use that danger to pressure children into not telling ("yes what they did was bad, but not enough for them to die for!" is an extremely common reason children give for why they didn't say anything). Ultimately, for children to be safer, pedophiles must be safer (to exist, not advocating for allowing people to offend). We need better education for children, therapy and treatment options for pedophiles as well as humane options for removing access to children for those who cannot be rehabilitated, and options for people to report potential abuse that don't mean someone's life is completely ruined if they were wrong about their suspicions. That was what held my friend's parents back. What if they were wrong? Fear is powerful and we, as a society, are wielding it incorrectly.

Speaking as a survivor of child sex abuse: the world would be a lot better if yall spent less time talking about the ways in which pedophiles should be punished and more time supporting survivors and preventing abuse

I get it, punishment can feel cathartic. I’ve certainly spent time imagining all the ways in which my own abuser might be punished. But ultimately, him dying, or being jailed, or publicly shamed, isn’t actually going to help me nor will it stop more kids from getting hurt in the future.

I don’t want more prisoners. I want free therapy with trauma informed counselors. I want better sex education for young children that teaches them about consent and body autonomy. And I want a society in which I can openly discuss my trauma, or at least as openly as yall discuss the evils of pedophiles

14K notes · View notes

em1i2a3 · 6 hours ago

Text

I’m On Fire

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

Summary: The heating unit in the compound breaks during the peak of winter, leaving everyone in the tower freezing cold and grumpy, except for Bob–who’s a walking furnace. So you decide to get a taste of the warmth.

Warnings: No explicit warnings, just fluff! Bob and you are friends…With feelings…Friends with feelings I say.

Author’s Note: I really enjoyed writing this request anon, but I kept laughing when writing this because all I was picturing was this Tik Tok. Anyways, I absolutely loved writing this one! Very fun fluff for a Saturday, and thank you @receedingdawn for the cute ass banner.

Word Count: 4,034

The cold came in like a wave. It didn’t crash through the windows or blow in through the doors. It seeped through the cracks, and invaded.

It started sometime before dawn–quiet and unnoticed–at the base of the Tower, where a blinking red light pulsed steadily on the diagnostics board in the lower mechanical level. It was just a minor system alert. One line of code trying to tell someone to check the heating core. A low-priority flag. The kind of warning that gets buried under a dozen other maintenance requests, and a digital blanket.

Nobody noticed it, or bothered to check, so the cold just continued to climb. It crept floor by floor, rising like tidewater. Slow. Patient, and semi-forgiving it the alert got caught–which didn’t happen.

By midday, the lower levels had cooled to a mild chill–noticeable, but nothing out of the ordinary for winter in New York City. It was the kind that made you rub your hands together and blow against your palms to give you a little relief from the cold, before moving on with your day. But by the time the sun dipped below the skyline, the eightieth floor–the Thunderbolts living quarters–was freezing.

High above the city, the wind screamed against the glass walls like it was a living thing. The steel bones of the Tower groaned softly in response to each gust, and you could’ve sworn you could feel the floors shaking at some point. The vents blew nothing but a mechanical sighº–like it had risen a white flag in surrender to the harsh winter–and the lights that lined the ceilings flickered every so often as if they were shivering with you. The floor tiles had the bitter feel of ice cold concerte, mugs of hot coffee and tea went lukewarm within minutes of being poured, and your breath had turned visible even within the confines of the living quarters–puffing out in little clouds that hovered and curled like ghosts before fading into the stillness.

The air had a sharpness that bit at fingertips, slid down collarbones, and made people quiet, and frustrated all at the same time.

”I’m telling you,” Yelena muttered, pacing in thick socks, and two layers of sweatpants, “We are one bad power surge away from an ice age in this damn place.” She fixed her gloves on her hands, as she huddled into the collar of her sweater.

”Pretty sure my blood is trying to congeal in itself…I think I’m on the brink of death.” Walker added, hunched over on the common room couch with a blanket draped over his shoulders like a funeral shroud.

Across the room, Ava was bundled in a military-grade parka she must’ve pulled from storage. Only the sharp glint of her eyes were visible above the thick wool scarf that she had wrapped around her head. She hadn’t said a word in fifteen minutes, she just stared into her mug, watching as little frost specks floated on top of her coffee.

Nobody was handling the cold well.

Except Bob.

He looked like he had wandered in from a completely different climate–like he had gone on a beach vacation in the tropics and brought the heat with him.

Perched at the far end of the sectional, he sat cross-legged with a worn paperback in his lap, a bowl of salt and vinegar chips balanced on the armrest beside him, and a cold Coke Zero sweating quietly on the coffee table in front of him from the warmth of his hand touching it every so often.

He didn’t have a blanket or socks, just a pair of soft grey sweatpants and an old, slightly threadbare long sleeve shirt that clung gently to the shape of his chest and shoulders–damp in spots where the heat radiating off him had started to collect.

In comparison to the rest of the team–who looked like they were preparing to trek across the Arctic–Bob looked like he was five minutes away from cracking open a window. It also wasn’t just the fact he looked comfortable–it was that he was radiating heat.

It was rising from his skin in slow steady waves if you paid close attention to him. The faint shimmer was lifting off his forearms, and a soft flush clung to the tops of his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, like he had just come in from a run rather than being sat unmoving in the meat locker common room for the last forty minutes. There was even a sheen of sweat glistening at his temples, catching the light every time he turned a page and tilted his head.

Yelena froze mid-pace and squinted at him.

”Bob…” Her voice was flat, bordering on accusatory, “Are you–are you sweating right now?!” Bob blinked up from his book, pushing his light brown hair out of his face.

”Uhm…” He lifted a hand to wipe at his forehead, as if he was surprised to find it damp, “Y-Yeah? A little. I–I mean, I told you guys I run warm…A-And I’ve got the Sentry in me, so–uh–of course I’m kind of…Y’know…Hot.” There was a beat of silence, then Yelena turned to the others.

”And he has the audacity to joke about it.” Walker let out a dramatic groan from beneath his blanket.

”He‘s not joking, he is hot. Like tropical-level hot. Bob…You’re a walking space heater.” Bob went pink immediately. Not just his face–his ears, too. He ducked his head with a bashful shrug and tried to laugh it off, but it came out awkward, then he reached out for his Coke Zero and took a long sip.

From the kitchenette, where a bottle of whiskey was being passed like emergency rations, Alexei glanced up from his glass.

”We should wrap Bob in blanket burrito, then take turns crawling in like it’s sauna.” He stated, and Bucky, who had been silent until now, raised his glass slightly, unbothered by the cold.

”I’d pay to watch that happen.” Bob choked on his drink. Not a little, polite cough–a real sputter. He turned his head and pressed the back of his hand to his mouth, trying to keep it quiet, but he could feel the heat continuing to rise beneath his skin. Alexei, of course, was completely unbothered.

”Just saying,” He shrugged, pouring himself another half-glass, “You get three people in there with you, rotate every thirty minutes…Efficient heat source I say.” Walker snorted.

”We could even install a zipper on the blanket, then call it the Bob Bag.”

“Worst part is I would definitely be the first person to try it…It’s freezing.” Bob hunched slightly where he sat, trying to disappear into the cushions. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the idea of someone cuddling up next to him–it was the idea of the entire team looking at him like he was the last functioning radiator in New York City that was making his skin prickle.

”G-Guys, “ He stammered, lifting his palms in surrender, “I’ll probably end up combusting if you all t-try to–if anyone–I–I mean…” He fumbled for a save.

”H-How about we just–uh–call m-maintenance again, yeah? I’m sure they’ll help…R-Right?” No one responded. Instead, they all turned toward him slowly. Creeping forward. Ava didn’t even stand–just started sliding across the armchair like a sleep-deprived slug with one goal: heat. Yelena grinned.

”You’ve been outvoted, human furnace.” Walker stood.

”Don’t resist Bob…Embrace your destiny.” Bob’s shoulders hit the back cushion as the group began to close in.

“G-Guys, I’m being serious–”

His voice cracked at the end–not from fear, but from that thing under his skin, the one that didn’t like being crowded. Not when he didn’t want it. Not when he wasn’t ready. Then his eyes glowed. Just a soft, flickering glint beneath his lashes. It was enough to make everyone freeze. Walker stepped back instinctively. Ava’s mug lowered a fraction. Even Yelena lifted her brows and let out a soft scoff as she retreated a step.

“Ugh…The sunshine god always has to ruin the fun and scare us off,” She commented, letting out a long sigh, “I guess I’ll call maintenance again and see what the hell they’re doing. Probably still trying to figure out how to reset a server without breaking a nail.” She grabbed her phone from the coffee table and turned her back on the couch. Bob exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“S-Sorry guys…Didn’t mean to uh–to flare.” He hated that part. That undercurrent of otherness. The way people joked until something flickered in his eyes, and then everything stopped being funny. How he went from Bob to the Sentry in a heartbeat without meaning to. Even here, in this mismatched pile of sarcasm and trauma and second chances–they still backed off when the light showed.

Bob was still hunched over, fingers pinched at the bridge of his nose, trying to will the faint glow in his eyes away when the sound of teeth chattering echoed down the hallway.

Everyone turned toward it.

The sound grew louder–soft footsteps over the cold floor, the rustle of layered blankets, the stifled clatter of a mug being carried between violently trembling hands. And then you appeared in the doorway, wrapped in two fleece throws like a cocoon, shoulders hunched, cheeks flushed with windburn, and face pulled into a miserable grimace.

You looked like you were on the verge of dying. Or committing murder. Possibly both.

“The hell…” You croaked through your chattering teeth, breath curling in front of your lips, “How did this happen without anyone catching it on time?”

Your voice wavered on the last word–not just from frustration, but from the way your whole body was trembling. You were shaking, jaw clenched, knees knocking together slightly under the blankets as you shuffled forward like someone trying to survive a blizzard in a hoodie.

Bob’s heart slammed in his chest. Not from panic, or from Sentry wanting to see you, but just from pure instinct. He felt it burn inside him–this pull toward you, this immediate, deep, animalistic need to wrap you up and make you warm. Not just because you were cold. But because you were you–someone that had connected and tethered to him on more than just a baseline friendship level. Though it was hard for Bob to really contain himself, and the desire to take care of you in general because he knew you probably didn’t see him in the manner he saw you in.

“They probably missed it. That’s the only reason this could’ve happened. Nobody flagged it in time.” Ava responded first, her voice muffled behind her scarf. You exhaled hard through your nose, steam huffing from your lips. Your eyes flicked to the sectional–to the wide, open space beside Bob. You took one step toward it, then paused.

Your eyes landed on him.

You blinked slowly, your gaze dragging from his flushed face to the damp edge of his collar to the Coke can on the table still sweating with heat.

Then it clicked.

“Oh, right,” You rasped, eyebrows lifting. “I forgot about you running hot, you’re gonna be my life saver!”

Before Bob could respond–before he could stammer out anything–you moved.

You dropped onto the couch beside him with the exhausted weight of someone who had given up on survival. You let your blankets slide open just enough to let the heat in, curled your toes beneath you, and leaned into his side with a soft, contented groan.

Bob stopped breathing.

He felt you. Every inch of you. Your icy fingers brushing his thigh. The chilled edge of your arm nudging his ribs. Your cheek settling lightly into the curve of his shoulder. And then–God help him–the tiny, blissful sound that slipped from your lips when the warmth of his body hit you full-force.

It was quiet. Barely audible. Just a hum of deep, unconscious relief.

“Mmm…”

But to Bob, it was devastating.

His entire body tensed like he was preparing for impact. His breath caught in his throat. His hands twitched on his thighs, and the heat under his skin flared so suddenly he had to will it back down before his shirt started to steam.

You didn’t even notice.

You were too cold. Too relieved. Too focused on not crying from the sheer comfort of finally, finally finding warmth after what felt like an hour and a half of your limbs feeling like they were going to shatter.

“Oh my god,” You whispered, pressing your face against the side of his arm like you were trying to melt into him. “You’re boiling. This is perfect.” You breathed in deeply, smelling the cool mint scent of his body wash, letting it invade your lungs, as you nuzzled even closer to him.

Bob swallowed hard. “I-I…Uh…”

You sighed again. And this one was worse. Better. More dangerous. It wasn’t just relief–it was pleasure. The kind that only came from thawing out after a deep freeze. A sound that vibrated low in your chest and hummed right against his ribs.

He couldn’t look at you.

If he did, he’d die. Spontaneously combust on the spot. Sentry and all.

You tugged the top blanket around the both of you, like it was natural–like sharing heat was second nature. Like you weren’t undoing him with every breath that ghosted across his neck.

A long silence settled over the room.

Not awkward. Not exactly. But heavy with something unspoken.

You didn’t notice the way everyone else had gone quiet. You didn’t see the way Yelena lowered her phone without pressing call, or how Walker and Ava slowly exchanged looks, eyebrows raised. You didn’t catch Bucky’s subtle nod from the kitchen, or Alexei’s low whistle as he leaned back in his chair like he was watching the beginning of a very good movie.

Because you were too busy melting.

Literally and figuratively.

Your arm moved slowly. Almost imperceptibly. It slipped from beneath your blanket, slid across Bob’s damp shirt, and curled around his torso–fingers splaying wide across his side. Not in a flirtatious way. Not in a way that begged attention. Just an unconscious, instinctual kind of closeness.

A gesture that said: you’re warm, and I need all of it.

Bob’s heart skipped.

He didn’t move. Couldn’t. His spine had gone rigid, and his breath had stalled somewhere between his throat and lungs. You were touching him. Really touching him. Not in passing, not in jest, not in the familiar bump of shoulders during a mission or a sarcastic pat on the back.

But this. A full-body lean. An arm around his waist. Your chilled hand flattening over his ribs, tugging him–gently–closer to you.

And he let you.

Because he would’ve let you do anything.

Your fingers brushed a damp spot on his shirt. He was sweating. Badly. But you didn’t flinch. Didn’t comment. You just let out another of those sighs–low, content, sinful in its softness–and nestled closer until your forehead touched the curve of his neck.

“God…” You mumbled into his skin, breath curling warm under his jaw, “You’re saving my life right now.” Bob let out a shaky laugh that sounded more like a whimper.

His hands were still on his thighs, white-knuckled, as if he were holding himself down. As if one move would tip this entire fragile balance into something he couldn’t pull back from. Because it wasn’t just warmth he was giving you–it was everything.

Every part of him was screaming for more.

More of your voice. More of your weight leaning into him. More of your fingers splayed against his side and the way your leg was now casually draped over his calf under the blanket.

And yet–somehow–you still didn’t seem to notice what you were doing to him.

From across the room, Yelena’s voice broke the silence.

Soft. Distant. A whisper clearly not meant to be heard.

“Oh no…She’s gonna kill him.”

Walker coughed into his sleeve. “He’s not gonna survive the next ten minutes.”

“I give him five.”

“Three, if she sighs again.”

Ava hummed in agreement. “He’s gonna short-circuit.”

Bob could hear them. He could hear everything–every shifting blanket, every laugh being swallowed behind a cup, every knowing glance being passed around like popcorn.

But all he could feel was you.

The weight of your body against his.

The cold that finally eased from your limbs.

The way your breathing slowed, softened.

And the way you whispered–barely audible, but so close he could feel the words against his skin:

“…Think I could stay here all night.” The words left your lips like a sigh—half asleep, half joking—but Bob felt them hit.

They lodged somewhere between his ribs, soft and brutal, and echoed in his chest long after the sound had faded into the blanket-wrapped stillness.

He didn’t respond right away.

Couldn’t.

His mouth opened slightly, but no words came. His throat was dry. His breath was shaky. The heat he’d been radiating all evening was nothing compared to what flared through him now–less like warmth and more like a furnace igniting from the inside out.

You shifted again. Just a little. Your fingers flexed slightly against his ribs. You were settling in deeper.

Bob’s voice, when it finally broke free, was small and trembling.

“Y-You can. I-I mean–if you…If you want. I-I wouldn’t–I wouldn’t mind.”

You didn’t say anything at first.

But after a beat, you tilted your head and looked up at him.

And that was it.

The end of him.

Because you weren’t even trying to do anything. You just looked up–sleepy and flushed, lips parted, eyes soft–and you saw him.

The way his jaw was clenched. The way his shoulders were locked up. The way his fingers curled into his thighs like they were holding on for dear life. The way his shirt was soaked from heat and nervous sweat and yet he hadn’t dared move.

And then your eyes met his.

And you saw it.

The wreckage.

His face was flushed–burned red at the ears, his lips slightly parted like he was afraid to exhale too hard. His eyes were wide, glassy, stunned. Not from embarrassment. Not from discomfort.

From everything.

From being touched, and wanted, and needed.

From your breath on his skin, your arm around his waist, your words curling like ribbons into his ear and tying knots he didn’t know how to undo.

You blinked once, slowly.

“…Bob?”

His breath hitched.

“I-I’m f-fine,” He stammered, the lie so thin you could hear the tremble beneath it. “J-just…Y-You’re really close, and I-I’m trying not to–uh–I mean, I d-don’t wanna–”

He stopped himself.

But the damage was done.

You stared up at him for another long moment, blinking against the golden flush of his cheeks and the sweat dotting his brow, and the way he couldn’t quite meet your eyes now.

And something shifted in your chest.

You loosened your grip around his waist–but not to move away. Just enough to smooth your hand against the curve of his side. Gentle. Careful. Tender in a way that quieted everything else.

“…Am I making you uncomfortable?”

Bob shook his head before you’d even finished the question.

“N-No. G-God, no,” He said quickly, too quickly. “Y-You’re not. I-I like it. I–”

He swallowed hard.

His eyes finally flicked toward you, just briefly.

“I-I just…Don’t k-know how I’m doing this w-without Sentry going o-off the rails…” Your lips curved into a quiet smile against his skin.

“Maybe he’s used to me pestering you by now,” You murmured, voice low and teasing, “Maybe he knows not to get in the way of things.”

Bob blinked.

His chest lifted with a deep breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, and the glow in his eyes flickered briefly behind his lashes.

“Y-Yeah,” he said softly, with a quiet sort of wonder. “M-Maybe.”

He didn’t add that Sentry was right there. Listening. Not pushing forward, not flaring to the surface like he so often did when Bob felt overwhelmed.

He was just…Calm.

Not silent, exactly. But watching through Bob’s eyes with something that felt like reverence. A kind of awestruck stillness that made Bob feel like his ribs were filled with golden thread instead of bone.

You were still watching him. Still close enough that every breath he took shifted you slightly. And even in the dim light of the living room, he could see the soft twitch of your lips and the calm around your eyes–like your nervous system had finally unclenched for the first time all day.

“Sorry I’m so clingy,” You added after a moment, eyes fluttering shut, “I know this probably feels like being tackled by a human-shaped block of ice.”

Bob’s voice cracked again.

“Y-You could tackle me any time.”

Your eyes opened slowly.

“What?”

His ears turned bright pink. “N-Nothing. N-Never mind.”

You snorted–this breathy, fond little sound–and let your hand trail lightly across the shape of his ribs, fingers drawing lazy circles through the soft fabric of his shirt.

“I think I’ll just pretend I didn’t hear that,” You said, lips curving into a slow smile. “For your dignity’s sake.”

Bob swallowed hard. You shifted a little closer until your forehead was tucked under his jaw and your fingers were curled in the hem of his shirt like you didn’t want to let go.

He could feel your eyelashes brushing against his skin.

Your voice dropped to a whisper.

“Give me a few more minutes with you…And then I’ll untangle and let you recover.”

That almost made him laugh.

But it caught in his throat because something about the way you said it–something about the gentleness behind the tease–made it feel bigger than just cuddling on a cold night.

It felt like you knew.

Maybe not everything.

Maybe not how often he thought about you. Or how many times he caught himself daydreaming about a moment like this–exactly like this. The weight of you against him. Your breath slowing. Your body folding into his like it belonged there.

Maybe you didn’t know how much he ached when you brushed against him on missions or leaned on him when you were too tired to stand. Or how long he’d been pretending it was nothing when every second of contact burned through him like a star being born.

Maybe you didn’t know that every part of him had been waiting for you.

But maybe you felt it. Just a little.

Because you didn’t pull away. You didn’t tease too much. You just settled in, calm and warm and real, and gave him the one thing no one had offered in a while.

Time and gentle touch.

A few more minutes. A few more inches of closeness. A few more breaths shared between them. Bob turned his face slightly toward your hair, just enough to breathe you in. Your scent was cold, but there was a depth of warmth beneath it, something fruity–like jammy blueberries and blackberries, maybe a field that had ripening strawberries. It was like you were bathing yourself in something that was tropical to emote the sense that you were someplace warm instead of a cold compound.

Finally Bob lifted his hand, and let it rest over your back. It was tentative at first, then more solid, like a soft protective weight. His thumb stroked gently across your spine, and he whispered:

”Take as long as you want.” You didn’t respond, you just let out a slow, steady breath that warmed his neck and a soft hum of contentment as you curled into his chest and closed your eyes again.

312 notes · View notes

leafyln4 · 1 day ago

Text

"And what the hell were we?"

summary: lando and you have known each other for most of your lives, he was your best friend and you were his. what happens when you both have too many glassesof wine? or where lando and reader live together and they end up drunkly kissing after his monaco win.

warnings: smut, 18+ only!! soft sex, praise kink, best friends to lovers, lando is soft in this one, piv, unprotected sex (wrap your willy, silly), reader is a virgin, virginity loss, fingering, fluff, angst if you squint. maybe bad writing(?).

author's note: i'm writing the streamer!max thing, but this idea came to my mind and i reallyyyy had to write it. hope you guys enjoy, <3. not proofread!!

Living with Lando was... Convenient. You two had known each other since you were little kids. Your parents were long term friends with Lando's, so it was obvious you two would grow up together.

He was a constant in your life, he was always there. From your first day of kindergarten, to your last day of high school. So when he moved to Monaco, you went together. You didn't plan on actually living together, but it was convenient.

He needed someone to take care of the house while he was away for racing, you needed a place to stay. You both trusted each other enough for that, so why not? You two quickly found a place big enough to fit both of you.

You had your room, Lando had his. The apartment had stuff from the both of you, it was balanced in a way only two people who had known each other for long knew how. It was comfortable, cozy. It felt like home.

You and Lando were really close. Really, really close. People always joked about you two, saying how cute you two would look as a couple.

But you knew Lando wasn't exactly your type and you weren't exactly his. Not that it mattered. In your head, nothing could ever happen between you two. You two were only friends! It had always been like that and it always would.

It was one of those weeks Lando was away for a Grand Prix, the first one of the european triple header. Imola, as far as you could remember, and then Monaco before going to Spain. Only one week until he was home again. Great, you really needed his help with some stuff.

You try to keep the house as clean as you can, on a daily basis, but this past week was so busy to you, you weren't able to do house chores. So, considering it was Saturday, nothing much important to watch besides qualifying, you put on some music and start cleaning everything.

You were deep into the song, cleaning the dust of one of the shelves, when you accidentally knock a picture of the two of you over, the delicate frame breaks in a sound that makes your heart almost jump.

You quickly get off the stairs and pick up the frame in your hands. It wasn't really broken, but it wasn't perfect. The frame had seen better days. A sigh of relief leaves your lips when you see it's still 90% intact, so you put it back on the shelf.

Your fingers linger on the writings on the frame, a small smile forming on your lips. It was a picture of you and him, both of you were somewhere along the lines of 13 years old. It was one of those family trips you had, the ones you missed from your teenage years.

God, you really missed Lando. When you were younger and he was in his karting days, it was easy for you to go to the races with him. It was still easy when he started on Formula 1, when both of you lived with your parents. But, then, you two moved to Monaco and you found a job.

Time was not something either of you had much. So seeing each other became harder and harder, those little bantering and funny moments you had as friends became rare. You missed Lando, you missed your best friend. But you understood it, you really did. He was following his dreams and you were following yours, it was okay. For an extent.

Shaking your head, you let go of the frame and go back at taking off the dust. Once you finish everything, you throw yourself on the couch and turn the TV on. Better to distract yourself with something silly than let your mind wander.

The weekend passed in a hurry and, soon enough, Lando was already back home. You hear the familiar sound of the door closing and his footsteps echoing through the apartment. You were in your room, finishing some stuff from work, but as soon as you hear it, you rush to the living room.

He was there. White t-shirt, curls falling on his forehead, that smile on his face. He was home. And you were in his arms as soon as he put his bags down. You really missed him. And he missed you, too.

His arms wrap tightly around you, his smile only growing. He missed you so much. It was kind of weird to not have you around most of the time. Even if he didn't want to admit, it felt like a part of him was missing. A part he really cared about.

Of course you two always texted and had those long calls whenever you could, but it wasn't the same thing. You both longed for each other more than you would ever admit. You told yourself it was only because of habit, that this longing wasn't something more.

You two finally let go of each other, his smile turning into a smirk. "So... You did miss me, huh?"

His voice was teasing, full of that familiar mischief Lando seemed to not have left behind in your teenage years. Such a silly boy. You roll your eyes at him, pushing him lightly.

"Who said I missed you? I actually was just cleaning my hands on you. I was eating chips, y'know?"

The lie was obvious, but you would never say the truth. Not when he would get all cocky and arrogant if you did.

"Yeah, yeah. Chips. Totally believable."

Lando knew you better than everyone else, but he decided to let this little lie pass. After all, he was tired after the travel. He still had two days until his duties as a driver, so he wanted to relax as much as he could.

He passes through you, bumping into your body as he walked, that smug smirk on his face. "I'm going to sleep a little bit, I'm too tired for this now."

With a roll of your eyes, you let him go without any more words. But it doesn't take long for you to go to your room, too. You would steal him from everyone else in those two days, it was only fair you gave him a little bit of time to relax.

After all, you really needed him to fix some stuff on the house. And to do stuff with you, of course.

The moment he parks the car in that first place spot, the whole world seem to disappear. Even if there were people screaming, even if there were cameras all around you, you could only see him. Your best friend, the one you trusted the most, winning in Monaco.

He fucking won in Monaco! The pride you were feeling was immeasurable. You wanted to cry, to scream, but you were frozen in llace, eyes teary and mind hazy. You push your way through people, going straight to him.

He sees you approach, his eyes locked on yours. He seemed as happy as ever, in his element. You didn't care of he was sweaty, smelly or anything like that at all.

No, you give him the tightest hug of his life. Ignoring all of the cameras, all of the people watching you both, you feel at ease. His spark was coming back.

You let him wander through the rest of the people, whispering to him that you would see him later and that he should enjoy his win. His heart was beating so fast, he didn't want to pull away. But he does, anyways.

"I promise I will talk to you later."

You nod, a proud smile on your face. You knew he wouldn't forget about you. He was your best friend, after all.

After podium celebrations are over, you two go home, a nice chat flowing between you two. He was sparkling, glowing with happiness. And his happiness made you happy, too.

The ride home doesn't take long, it's Monaco. And, before you know it, you two are sitting on the couch, each with a glass of wine in your hands. This was your third glass, your mind way too fuzzy already.

"Lan, you should really go party if you want to. I don't mind, I swear."

"I don't know what you mean. I'm exactly where I want to be."

It was not like this was the first time you got drunk with him, but something about this was... Different. The tone of his voice, the way his curls fell to his face, how his words carried a little hint of flirtiness on them... It was normal, yet so different.

Maybe it was your fuzzy mind. Maybe your mind was playing tricks on you. But you were seeing Lando with different eyes, your mind going through paths it never went before. You try to shake the thoughts away, but it doesn't work at all.

He notices how distant you seemed for a bit. Lando also had his fair share of wine, he was just as tipsy as you. He never intended to flirt with you, but some things just happen. It's life, we can't control how it works. And you looked so pretty with McLaren's jersey, it should be a crime.

Lando clears his throat, his eyes drifing from your pretty lips to your intense eyes. The ones that, once eye contact is made, it's hard to not look into. It must be the wine, right? That's messing with his head, making him see stuff he shouldn't be seeing.

And, suddenly, he is brought back to your teenage years, to when it was hard to control himself around you. It wanders to how it felt to secretly desire you, the hormones messing with him as much as the alcohol is now.

He shakes his head, focusing on you and the way your breath seemed to pick up. The room felt hot, too hot. It wasn't how it was supposed to be. The couch never felt so small.

"I... You just won in Monaco, you deserve to party." Your voice was low, weak, rough. As if you were holding back. As if you didn't really want to say what was in your heart.

The air around you two was cackling with a tension you two were unfamiliar with. Never once between you two this seemed to happen. Never once you desired each other. Well. At least you.

"You know I don't want to party. Not without you." His voice was charged, his words carrying some secret meaning your fuzzy brain was fighting hard to deny. "I want to be with you."

He puts his glass on the small table in front of the couch, his eyes canning your face for any signs of discomfort or want. He wanted you more than he would care to admit. He wanted you to want him so bad.

Your breath hitches, your hands slightly shaky and that strange buzzing feeling in your lower belly marking its presence within you. His gaze was intense, full of years of repressed feelings. Feelings you never noticed until now.

"Lan..." He approaches you, ever so slowly, his right hand cupping your cheek while his left one rests on one of your thighs. Your heart was beating fast, the heat was hard to ignore.

Your thighs clench unconsciously, his left hand drifting closer to your core. But he doesn't touch you. Not yet. He looks into your eyes, almost begging for your approval. He wanted you to want this as much as he did.

"Can I?"

His voice was measured, a bit rougher than normal, and a nod of your head was all it took for him to glue his lips to yours. You melt into the kiss, arms wrapping around his neck and hands fidgeting with his hair.

The kiss was slow, full of emotions you were both too drunk to explain. His lips felt softer than they should, he tasted like the wine you two were drinking. It was intoxicating and so intimate.

His hands go to your waist, pulling you into his lap in a desperate try to get more of you. You whine into his mouth, eyes closed and lips slightly parted. He kisses you like you're the last person he would ever kiss, full of passion.

Once you two pull away, Lando starts planting kisses down your neck, goosebumps trailing down your spine as soft gasps left your lips. His right hand lifts your shirt and you help him take it off with ease.

Looking at you on his lap, your bra being the only thing covering your chest, he thought you were the most beautiful woman to ever exist. With one nod of your head, he takes your bra off, his breath catching on his throat.

"So beautiful, baby... Can't believe I never made any moves on you."

His tongue licks your left nipple, a soft moan leaving your lips. You were so sensitive. Nobody ever touched you this way. Nobody got this close to you before. You couldn't believe Lando, your best friend of years, was the one doing this.

But you didn't mind. Not at all.

"Lan... Please, I have never..." You were ashamed. Your cheeks were tinted a light shade of pink, your chest raising and falling as he looks up at you once again.

Even if you were drunk, you were conscious enough to remember the details about your life. But the look Lando gave you... How fucking gentle he seemed... It was driving you crazy. You needed him. You wanted him.

"I know, baby, I know. I promise I'll be gentle... Do you trust me?" You nod, but that's not enough for you. His right hand squeezes one of your breasts gently. "Use your words, baby."

"Y-yes... Please, Lan, I want you. Only you. It has always been you."

Your little cry goes straight to his cock. Lando's mouth is immediately back on your breast, sucking the soft flesh and lightly scraping his teeth in your nipples. It felt so good. It was so different from when you tried to pleasure yourself with your hands.

He stands up with you, your legs wrapping around his waist as his firm hands keep holding you. He takes you to his bedroom, gently laying tou down on his queen-sized bed. He kisses you again, gentle, soft. He wanted you to savour the moment, to enjoy it even more than him.

His fingers trail down your body, slipping into your pants and underwear as soon as you nod at his silent question. Lando's breath hitches when he feels how wet you are, his point finger spreading your slickness through your pussy.

He pulls your underwear down along with your pants, taking it off of you and leaving you bate before him. He looks up at you one more time, wanting to see if you were really sure about that. The smile you give him is enough as a yes.

Slowly, torturously, he inserts a finger in your cunt. It makes you gasp. His finger was so much thicker than yours, it was a new sensation. You had never felt this before. He pumps the finger in and out, mesmerized by how tight you were and how your cunt seemed to suck his finger in.

"Look at you... So damn pretty. Want to feel that tight cunt squeezing my cock. You'll take it like a good girl, hm?"

His words were filthy. But they made you blush. You felt seen, desired. Only Lando could make you feel like this, like you wanted more. He puts another finger in, curling his fingers just in the right way. A broken moan leaves your lips, your back arching.

He plants a kiss on your inner thigh before licking a long stripe on your pussy. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, it felt so good. He sucks your clit while working his fingers inside of you. It didn't take long for you to come all over him, a strangled moan leaving your lips.

"Such a sweet cunt for such a sweet girl. Fuck, baby... Can I fuck you? Take that pretty pussy?" His voice was low, charged with need. You were so beautiful, so perfect.

He takes his fingers off of you, making you whine at the sudden emptiness. "Please, Lan... Need you so bad."

He finally undresses, his toned body making your mouth water. His cock springs free and you gasp audibly. He was so big. It would never fit. Lando notices how worried you seem, kissing your cheeks softly.

"It's okay, baby. I'll take care of you."

Slowly, he starts putting his cock in. Inch by agonizing inch. You whine in a bit of pain, holding his hand tightly. He coos you, kissing the few tears that spilled from your eyes away. Once he bottoms out, he stays still, waiting for you to adjust to him.

It was too much. You had never felt so full. Soon, the pain starts to drift away and leave way to the building pleasure. Lando feels you clench around him, a moan leaving your lips, so he starts moving slowly against you.

"So tight, baby. Feels so good." His thrusts were slow, but deep, hitting all of the right spots inside of you. You moan his name, chanting it like you were caught in a spell. He finds your g-spot, your back arching and a loud moan spilling from you.

It felt so, so, so, so good. You were drunk on him and how he felt inside of you. His right hand finds your clit, your own hands resting on his shoulders and scratching his back at the new-found pleasure. You cry out, your high approaching once again.

"Lando, I will--- Oh, shit!"

Your eyes roll back, your back arches even more. Your cunt clenches around his cock, your orgasm triggering his own as he spills his seed deep into you.

"Fuck, such a good girl." He talks you through your orgasm, his thrusts slowing down until they fully stop.

He pulls out, leaving your panting form on the bed to go get a clean towel. He cleans you gently, knowing how sensitive you are, then cleans himself. He lays down besides you, peppering your face with little kisses that make you giggle.

Nothing much is said between you both and you soon fall asleep.

You wake up in Lando's shirt, your body sore and his side of the bed cold. The curtains were slightly pulled aside, some rays of sunlight entering the room and casting a cozy glow inside of it.

You hear footsteps approaching, Lando stopping by the door as he notices how you're already woken up.

"Hey... Sorry for leaving. Making breakfast." He was holding a small tray, a plate with some pancakes, fruits and toast on it alongside a mug of what seemed to be either coffee or hot chocolate.

You sit up in bed and he puts the tray in your lap, sitting beside you on the bed. You murmur a small "thank you", not really knowing what else to say.

Last night changed everything between you and Lando, that's for sure. But, if the way he was looking at you was any sign, it really changed. For the better. <3

#f1 #f1 smut #formula one smut #f1 x reader #formula one #formula one x reader #ln4 smut #lando norris smut #lando norris x reader #lando norris #chase yaps #ln x reader #ln4 x reader

328 notes · View notes

thetrasha · 2 days ago

Text

One Piece: The Princes of Pining

How down bad are they?

SANJI

∞/10

Sanji… oh, poor Sanji! He’s a hopeless romantic through and through. He wants to be at your beck and call, he wants to make you happy… because he’s never been happy. He has his dreams, yes, but they pale in comparison to his bleeding heart he tries to protect by uselessly flirting with every woman he comes across. Can’t reject him that way, can they? They know he doesn’t really mean it. Sure… he genuinely cares and wants to make people smile and show him that he’s worth something, but deep down he doesn’t believe a word they say. Yes, he’s a great chef, an even better prince charming and a phenomenal judge of character – but he’s also depressingly sad. At first, you were just like all the others. A woman to be taken care of! Another way to get a drop of validation and a whisper of true love without the real work that goes into a relationship, without showing who he really is, without revealing just how pathetic he thinks he is…

Unfortunately for him, you’re so glad he’s here, and you tell him that quite confidently. Often.

And it breaks him.

Why are you trying to do something nice for him? It’s fine! You don’t have to talk to him at all, he’s fine with cooking in silence and humming on occasion. Absolutely not! You’re not cleaning up after him, you’re a delicate flow-

The thing is, though, it scares him. Sticking around without expecting anything from him shocks him to his very core. Sanji knows that you’re amazing. You pull your own weight, you’re a vital part of the crew and you care for everyone… but his heart cannot help but beat uncontrollably whenever you’re near, even if you just see him as a good friend. He fantasises about what could have been if he were more of a man and woo you properly, if only he had the courage to sweep you off your feet – but… life has dealt its cards.

So he’s pining. Bad.

The others think it’s super obvious, but then again… they also think you’re quite obviously affectionate with him and he doesn’t notice a damn thing.

Sanji subtly tries way harder, even if he thinks that he doesn’t have a chance anyway. He stands up straighter, argues with Zoro even more frequently, makes you two an extra meal, just to feel closer to you... He talks to you all the time and remembers every detail.

Sometimes he’s smoking, leaning on the railing and dreaming about you. Those moments have become an everyday occurrence these days, because he just cannot stand being on the same ship as you without being able to hug and kiss you, without touching your skin, without loving you.

And Sanji desperately tries to hide his smile when you come find him and talk to him about the latest gossip in the girls’ quarters while you hand absentmindedly reaches for him.

Somehow, you always come around to find him when he's down.

You’re always there.

And you appreciate him even when he doesn’t go out of his way to show you what a catch he is.

…He loves you, doesn’t he?

ACE

10/10

Ace is another one who ranks high on the self-hatred scale, but for entirely different reasons. His self-worth issues poison every single aspect of his life and he cannot recognise his own worth even though he rationally knows that he’s an okay-guy, maybe more… he doesn’t know. All that he knows is the visceral pain in the pits of his soul whenever he thinks of his unique circumstances – he wishes he’d never been born in the first place. He’d hate to disrespect his mother like that, she wouldn’t know about his plight, but he doesn’t know how to come to terms with the fact that his biological father abandoned him, abandoned his purpose, and made him into a Devil. Ace doesn’t know why that guy is so famed and feared when his chosen father isn’t just a great leader but a phenomenal role model, too. Many may disagree – particularly those belonging to the Navy kind, but he doesn’t care. Whenever he’s with his friends, he doesn’t feel any sudden fatigue plaguing him. The restless nights and endless nightmares filled with taunts and hate suddenly don’t seem so problematic anymore. He’s found his calling and he is so happy to call Whitebeard his dad. Said title seemed so humble compared to the saviour he really is in his eyes.

Perhaps that’s why you unsettled him. His dad liked you a lot. The old man spent time with you and enjoyed your gentle nature. Ace didn’t know your role back then, he didn’t care to know if he was honest with himself… he hated you. He was jealous of you and the way you instantaneously clicked with the man who’d saved his life, a man so careless he’d crouch down to make himself appear less intimidating in front of you despite his old age and terrible state of health.

You noticed that Ace began competing with you… and you didn’t know why. He was technically your boss, why would he see you as an equal in the first place? In your confusion, you turned to Whitebeard who just laughed in amusement. And your Commander watched from the sidelines, pouting.

Ace hated you. He hated you so much.

...Until you started spending time with him because your captain, his dad, suggested it. And Ace would rather die than disappoint the man who’d given him what he always wanted – a father figure. So he kept you around, passively at first but getting more enthusiastic with time.

His dislike towards you was so natural in the beginning but he found himself enjoying your presence at some point. You were more than comrades in arms – you became true friends. And sleeping by your side eased his nightly troubles. You didn’t cure the flesh wound on his heart, but you consistently mended it, one day at a time.

He couldn’t bear looking at you when you turned around in your own hammock, shivering from the wind.

You’d hate it if he helped you out.

He’s broken. Totally shattered. Nobody wants that baggage, especially not when he lifts the veil and shows his true personality.

Less extravagant, less confident, less fun – worthless.

His flame would die.

He’d just keep being your friend.

It’s all a monster like him can ask for…

BUGGY

9/10

Buggy believes that nobody would ever love him… or even like him for all that matters. He’s so cynical that he scoffs at women before they’ve taken a proper glance at him – before they could laugh in his face and whisper amongst themselves about his… rather strange looks. He completely ruled out the chance of ever being with someone who means it and it made him bitter. Buggy is so dejected by this that every bit of self-loathing turns outwards in fits of blind rage and petty anger. His crew knows that he’s easy to tip off; one word about that godforsaken nose and there would be Hell on Earth waiting for them for days to come.

He plays the tough guy to discourage anyone from mocking him any further. His need for self-aggrandising displays of strength and cunning stem from a place of deep insecurity about his appearance. Whatever he can do to make it less painful, to cushion the impact – He does it. He’s become a fanatic perfectionist when it comes to matters of make-up because it may distract some people from the you-know-what in the middle of his face. He’s taken on the image of a fool and oversees a pillaging circus because he’d rather force people to laugh with him instead of at him.

He’d never admit that he’s miserable though.

Maybe that’s why he started treating you so poorly recently…

All had been normal for the first few months. You briefly got to know him when your social circle overlapped, meaning you find yourself serving Buggy the Star Clown far more often than you’d anticipated. It’d been professional, you did your job diligently and without any complaints. He was the boss. Whatever he says, goes.

With enough time he became sour, criticised things that meant absolutely nothing, but you acknowledged it because it was still reasonable and solely about your craft. As soon as he riled you up just to get a rise out of you, you were electrified with anger as well. So you talked back – all the time now.

Meanwhile, Buggy was painfully aware of his gigantic crush on you. It shouldn’t even have happened. You certainly didn’t make it known that you were interested, but your honesty and morale is what completely drew him in. Sure, you were easy on the eyes, too, but that doesn’t keep his interest for long because he hates himself too much to entertain the mere thought of that. This attitude had protected him throughout the years, yet as soon as he faces an actually nice person his coping mechanism breaks down?! Ridiculous!!

You never lashed out at him, no matter how hard he tried to squeeze the truth out of you, how much he wanted to see you blow up at him and ridicule his looks just to prove it to himself that he was utterly hopeless… but you just wouldn’t budge. You started arguing with him but wouldn’t take a swing and land a right hook right on his fucking nose. No…

You had turned to banter. You’d lost all respect because you were suddenly very aware of the fact that he was constantly bluffing, and you just smirked at him.

You damn tease, prancing around without a care in the world after you dug your claws into him and stole his heart.

But at least you were polite enough to ignore his whimper whenever you’d playfully tease him with your hands around his shoulders.

Oh fuck…

BROOK

8/10

Despite his advanced age he has shockingly little life experience. Sometimes he thinks that he’s hallucinating and haunts the ship in the dead of the night when all the other members of the Straw Hat crew are asleep. He believes that, at any moment now, he will wake up in a cold sweat in the middle of the Florian Triangle while holding onto the skeletal corpses of his former comrades – during those moments, he cannot properly rationalise that he gave them a proper burial at sea decades ago so that they may rest in peace. Music is the only thing that saves him when he’s like this. The wind carries his anguished melodies miles away, causing many villagers and pirates alike to mention an eerie song they heard in their sleep, like an omen of death.

Brook wants to be so much more than that, he wants to bring joy and mess around with people, just like he was used to when the unthinkable happened. He is grateful for his second chance at life, he just cannot help but mourn the life that he’s lost.

He’s an acclaimed musician, people love his music, they recognise him, and he’s found some reliable friends who have his back no matter what – not that he has one!

Anyways… he wishes he could sing more accurately about love. He knows family, he knows friendship but romance completely evaded him. Brook doesn’t know whether the memories that creep up in his head are him actually indulging in real flings with real people or whether they’ve been made up by half a century of loneliness and solitude. He wishes he’d know for certain because he knows that it’s all that he has left now.

Nobody would want a literal bag of bones – his longing was long dead before it emerged again, before he felt sane enough to let his mind wander again… but never stray too far.

His fellow crew mates were all beautiful in their own way, so bright and youthful. The women in particular were tough – so otherworldly beautiful, far exceeding the fragments of his lost life, so lethally intelligent and so different from one another. He appreciated Nami for her excellence, diligence and her silver tongue. She always knew how to live it up, yohoho! Robin was known for her survival skills, sharp mind and spooky comments. They were great friends and he cherished them.

You, though… you were his friend, too. Brook treasured your friendship greatly. It’s just that… you were so much more than that. He drew inspiration from your beauty, grace and tenderness, like you were his muse. All those songs he dedicated to your greatness was nothing compared to the graciousness you provided. Some of the others were hesitant to touch him, assuming that he was frail, but you sought him out for protection even know he knew that you could take care of some classless scoundrels. Still, you trusted him, wrapped your arms around his thin torso and pressed your warm skin against his cold bones. He could hardly feel the sensation because it suddenly felt like he’s had his heart back… just for a moment. Brook sensed the flutter in his chest and shivered, not knowing how to express himself.

He was falling in love with you. This is what this was.

But he wouldn’t ever confess his love to you, thinking that he’d be robbing you of your life.

He’s a dead man walking… and you’re so vibrantly alive.

He couldn't do that to you.

#fem reader #one piece #one piece x reader #op x reader #one piece fluff #sanji x reader #buggy x reader #ace x reader #portgas d ace x reader #brook x reader #x reader #thetrasha writes

237 notes · View notes

chongoblog · 2 days ago

Text

WHY THEY PUT THE COW IN MARIO KART WORLD

I’m sure many people have put this together at this point, but I figured out why there are so many weird characters in MKW, and I think it speaks to why I love this game

So let’s say you’re a game designer, and you’re coming up with ideas for items that play into the whole “World” theme and work well with the new game design philosophies of an open world Mario Kart. Eventually, after a lot of back and forth, theres one idea on the table that you all feel like could be fun: Kamek!

After all, he’s been increasing in relevancy recently as a sort of right-hand man for Bowser, and in his very first appearances, he was using his magic to transform everything into Bad Guys for you to fight. So what if using Kamek spawned a bunch of baddies to be obstacles? Fun idea! And similarly to how characters can change their costume depending on where they are on the map…what if the enemies that spawn vary depending on where you are when you spawn Kamek? REALLY fun idea.

But then someone asks the question. Did you say “he was using his magic to transform….everything…into Bad Guys”? Like…even other racers?

Now THATS a fun idea.

But then you run into the problem of scope creep. Yes, this is a fun idea. But it’s a logistical nightmare! You can’t just put a model with a couple animations in as a racer and call it a day. When you’re making a game, ESPECIALLY a game with as much in it as this, you NEED to account for edge cases. So let’s say you get turned into a bat, or a little ghost, or a goknba (somehow) and then you get hit by an item? Well okay, you’ll need an animation for that. How about throwing an item? Getting hit by lightning? Honking your horn? Turning left and right? Backing up? Crossing the finish line and winning? Crossing the finish line and losing? Hell, did you know that in this game, you have a special animation for throwing a blue shell?

And you want to just make a new racer model, complete with a full set of animations, most of which no one will EVER see, just to allow Kamek to be as fun as it can be? And this is gonna be for all sorts of weird characters, a lot of which being deep cuts since we’re putting enemies from across the Mario franchise. Like, we’re talking Cataquacks, Cheep Cheeps, Dolphins, Para-BiddyBuds, COWS of all things.

Well, fortunately they were working on the launch title for the new system from the biggest gaming company on earth, so while a lot of companies couldn’t afford the time and the polish to make all these different characters (and even those that could would see all that work as not remotely worth the time put into it) instead Mario Kart World said “well who said that no one’s gonna see those animations?” And they put them in the roster for you to play as. Because if you wanna play Mario Kart as a cow, then there shouldn’t be anything stopping you

#mario kart world #i was about to tag mario kart spoilers (an insane thing to tag)#but all this was kinda on display #except maybe kamek? idk i didnt pay attention to any of the promo stuff except the first trailer

218 notes · View notes

oopsiedaisydeer · 2 days ago

Text

manhandle me

smut, manhandling, oral (f!receiving), p in v, semi-public (bathroom), jealousy, possessiveness, mild hair pulling

word count - 1.9k

Chris knows Dolly.

Knows how to move her. Hold her.

Handle her. Throw her.

Touch her.

So why is she keeping her distance tonight?

He had kind of assumed that even though she was busy last night, they’d see each other tonight. Find their way to each other, like they always did.

That was the only reason he was here. He didn’t really like going out. Too many bodies, sweaty and disorganised. He always drank too much to cope with the discomfort, and then people started getting on his nerves, and before Chris knew it, he was swinging.

That was sometimes worth it, when she’d look into his eyes afterwards, cleaning the cuts on his knuckles, and he knew, knew somewhere deep in his bones, what was going to happen next. How it was going to feel. Sliding into her warm, wet mouth, easing away the pain in that language, the rhythm that seemed so easy, felt so good between them.

She’s too far from him tonight. Not that he’s the possessive type. But she’s his, and he knows that. They both do.

Because Chris knows that she gets wet whenever his hands are on her. Grabbing her by the waist and moving her, like a body moves through water, easy, pliant, relaxed. Randomly picking her up when she can’t reach something on the top shelf, and then tugging her to the bedroom, kissing her all the way, because he’s impatient, because she’s already soaked.

Also knows that she loves it when he gets protective. Physical but not violent. Picking her up, guiding her away, away, away. Away from those people, the ones he doesn’t like, the cocky assholes. Not that he isn’t one, but they’re annoying. Dolly doesn’t belong with them. She belongs with him. Under him. On top of him.

With him.

Not that this dude needs to know any of that. He just needs to know to steer clear.

He’s been watching them from across the room, this guy leaning closer and closer to Dolly, an ugly smile spreading across his face as Chris grips his cup tighter and tighter. He probably smells like beer and bad cologne. She probably hates it.

He’s been flirting with her, sweet talking her for the past twenty, creeping ever so nearer to her, now with one hand lightly brushing the end of her braid, and that makes the blood in Chris’s veins boil, because her hair is his to touch. Just like her face is his, her body is his. She’s his.

It’s not that Dolly is uncomfortable, although she’s definitely not going to go home with the guy. And Chris knows better, knows he should just stay where he is, wait for her to come to him, but he just can’t anymore. Can’t wait for the other guy to know better.

Chris can’t just stand there, and, and just, just watch.

So he puts his cup of soda down on the nearest surface and marches up to them, Dolly eyeing him, full of quiet warning and promise.

She barely has time to part her lips before he’s there, a quiet warning, quiet question on her lips, please?, all in one look. His arm snakes around her waist roughly, the other slipping down her thigh with intention, claiming her in front of this stupid, clueless man.

“C’mere, Dolly," he whispers down her neck.

“Hey,” the guy starts, brows lifting. “We were talking!”

“Chris, don't–” she starts, but it’s too late.

He grabs her without ceremony, strong arms scooping her right off the floor like she weighs nothing, tossing her up and over his shoulder. Her skirt hikes. Her gasp is sharp and startled, palms smacking against his back, braid swinging with each step as he carries her off like a prize.

“Put me down,” she hisses, but she’s blushing. She clutches at the fabric of his hoodie, pressing her thighs together, knowing exactly where this is going.

“Nope,” he says casually, like he’s done this a hundred times. “Too busy teaching your new little friend boundaries.”

A slam of the bathroom door. A twist of the lock.

Then Chris has her up against the wall before she can say another word. One hand at her neck, just holding, thumb grazing her jaw. The other pushes her skirt up slow… teasing, possessive. A greedy palm slides over her ass, fingers digging into the crease just enough to make her squirm.

“You let him touch your hair?” he asks, voice low, breath warm. “You think that shit’s funny?”

Her breath hitches. “You were ignoring me.”

“I wasn’t,” he says, mouth grazing her jaw, pressing her back harder as he grinds his hips against her. “I was watching. Trying to be good. You were being a brat.”

One hand grips her thigh, the other tilts her face up.

“I should make you say sorry,” he murmurs, breath hot against her skin.

“But I’d rather make you come instead.”

He presses her back harder, grinds his hips against her. “You knew I was waiting, especially after you ghosted me the other night.”

Her breath catches. She had known. “I was busy–”, she begins, but he cuts her off again.

“I should spank you,” he mutters, grabbing a fistful of her ass, dragging her hips flush to his. “Make it so you can’t sit through brunch tomorrow.”

Then he spins her, bends her forward over the sink with a roughness that makes her moan, quietly desperate. His hand snakes between her thighs, and he groans when he feels her.

“Already dripping?” he grits. “Fucking knew it. My girl gets wet just from me looking at her.”

He spreads her gently, fingers filthy and slow, pressing where he knows she’s sensitive. His other hand reaches for her braid, winding it tight around his fist and tugging her head back with a smirk.

“I should leave you like this,” he says against her ear. “All pretty and needy. Maybe let that guy get a look at what he won’t be touching.”

“Chris, please,” she whimpers, grinding back against him, shameless.

And he groans, pressing a kiss to the back of her shoulder.

“Nah,” he breathes. “Patience.”

He drops to his knees behind her, mouth already trailing open kisses along her thighs, tongue teasing just where she needs it. His hands keep her still… big, warm, a little rough, palming her doughy soft skin and keeping her spread for him.

“You gonna say thank you?” he murmurs against the inside of her thigh, voice thick, eyes dark. “For rescuing you?”

She whines, shifting her hips back, needy. “You’re so dramatic.”

Chris grins. “That’s not a thank you.”

He kisses the dip where her thigh meets her pussy, then drags his tongue slow, hot, deliberate, flattening it against her until she gasps and grabs the edge of the counter. His hands hold her firm, thumbs spreading her open as he eats her out.

Like he’s starving, like he’s proving something.

Dolly trembles, soft and slick against his mouth, braid hanging loose, unravelling places, swung over her shoulder as she tries not to cry out. One of his hands slips up, palm flat on her back to hold her down, keep her still, while the other keeps her spread, just how he likes her.

“You taste like mine,” he mutters, breath hot between her thighs. “All sweet and messy.”

She makes a strangled sound, hips twitching.

“You like that?” he asks, lips brushing her swollen clit. “Me talking with my mouth full?”

“Shut up,” she gasps.

He chuckles, low and wicked, then sucks hard and slow until her knees start to give.

“Mm, you love it,” he says, and she does. Of course she does.

And just when she’s right on the edge, when her thighs start to shake, he pulls back.

“Chris–” she whines, voice breaking.

He’s already standing, already undoing his belt, pupils blown wide and mouth slick from her. He strokes himself once, twice, then grabs her hips and lines up.

“You were gonna let him touch you,” he says, more possessive than angry. “You let him look at you like that.”

“I didn’t do anything,” she whimpers, but her voice is too breathy, too turned on. “I never do.”

“You wore this little skirt,” he mutters, dragging the head of his cock through her slick folds, teasing her entrance. “You knew I’d see it.”

“I didn’t wear it for him–”

He thrusts into her in one smooth, hard motion, and she gasps, hands flying to brace against the mirror. Chris groans into the crook of her neck, his chest pressed to her back as he bottoms out.

“You wore it for me,” he says, hips snapping forward. “Say it.”

She nods, breathless. “Wore it for you.”

“Damn right you did,” he growls.

He fucks her slow and deep at first, letting her feel every inch, one hand tangled in her braid, the other gripping her hip so tight she knows she’ll feel it tomorrow. His rhythm builds fast, rougher with every thrust, the sound of skin slapping echoing off the tiles, as he leans in to nip at her shoulder, to whisper filth into her skin.

“Fuck,” he groans, thrusting deep again, harder. “You love being tossed around, huh?”

She gasps, nodding helplessly, all flushed cheeks and glossy eyes. “Mhm,” she manages to get out.

He laughs, breathless. “You’re like my own little ragdoll, just for me.”

He doesn’t even need to say it. The way his hands move her, confident, practiced, like she’s made to be handled, says everything.

And Dolly, soft little thing that she is, lives for it. For the way he’s moving her without asking. The way he picked her up before like it was nothing. Puts her where he wants her, where she wants to be, bent, breathless, pliant in his grip. He fills her up so good, warm, thick, the drag of a prominent vein making her stomach flutter.

She melts for it. Gets even more wet from the way he grabs her hips to steer her. Moans when he grabs her jaw to kiss her just how he likes, a little too hard, a little too needy. Whimpers when he manhandles her into another position, one hand on her lower back, the other fisting her braid like a rope.

And Chris, he’s obsessed with how easily she lets him. Like her whole body wants to be moved. Like his hands are the only ones who know how to. She squeezes around him, velvet and vice, and he nearly loses it. Nothing else ever feels like this. Nothing ever could.

“You gonna come for me, Dolly?” he pants. “Gonna come on my cock like a good girl?”

She nods, helpless, fucked-out already. “Y-yes, Chris, please.”

And he loses it a little at that, hips slamming into her as he fucks her through it, her body trembling under him as she falls apart, moaning into the bathroom vanity. He holds her tight, keeps her grounded, even as her legs shake and she cries out his name like it’s the only thing she remembers.

He follows close behind, biting down on her shoulder as he spills inside her, hand clamped over her mouth. Because he loves the way she moans into his palm, nothing getting him off harder than those desperate, muffled little sounds.

Afterwards, he doesn’t pull out right away. Just keeps her pressed to the counter, kissing her neck, her cheek, her temple, soft and reverent and slow.

“You good?” he murmurs, smiling as he brushes a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

She hums. “You’re an asshole.”

“Yeah,” he grins. “But I’m yours.”

And Dolly doesn’t argue with that. Because she’s his.

His perfect, pretty ragdoll. Just how he likes her.

dividers by @enchanthings ꨄ

a/n: aaaaa i feel really good about this so i hope you all enjoy xx

credits: thank you @strnilolover for this idea!! love u gabby <3

thanks for reading!!!!!!!! likes, comments and reblogs are much appreciated!

280 notes · View notes

sourappl3s · 2 days ago

Text

It’s getting to a point where some of you are doing TOO much.

(i did say i was going inactive, but i came back to check on you guys and..was disappointed in some of the things i saw..)

“oh i see no movement and i’ve been doing everything right!!” -> words of affirmation

“Law of assumption just doesn’t work for me” -> words of affirmation

“ i’ve been persisting for 3 days straight and nothing happened!!” -> words of affirmation + were you really persisting?

“nothing i do works” -> words of affirmation AGAIN

“loa bloggers/shift bloggers are lying” -> well someone just manifested your dream celebrity crush and someone just shifted to a reality of your favorite anime!!

let me ask you this and i want you to be honest with yourself, do you TRULY want what you desire? or do you just like the idea of it? for some of you i think you just like the idea of it. because if you wanted something so bad you WOULD NOT be saying any of things from the list above this. i’m genuinely not even trying to be mean but it gets so incredibly annoying when you guys keep surrendering to failure, every single day you’re abandoning yourself from success, and the sad part about all of this is your desires are a DECISION AWAY and every day you’re deciding to just simply not have them. the audacity of you. the law of assumption is the simplest Law ever and so many people managed to over complicate it, its not your fault because so many people have different beliefs which you may of followed but with you overconsuming so much information of different beliefs it would make sense why some of you have difficulty to truly understanding the law.

The law of assumption is about ASSUMPTIONS that you CLAIM and KNOW to be TRUE without needing OUTSIDE EVIDENCE.

know what you want -> decide its yours NOW -> therefore its now done.

LEAVE THE OUTSIDE WORLD ALONE, LEAVE THE LOGIC ALONE, LEAVE THE HOW,WHAT,BUT,SO,WHY,WHEN,WHERE,IF,IS ALONE!!!

please stop over-complicating the law

i also hope everyones summer is going great!! i’m just coming back from a vacation! but now im gonna ACTUALLY permanently be inactive, my summer has been super fun. but please, actually take this post as a wake up call.. just decide you have what you want.

#loa tumblr #law of assumption #imagination creates reality #permashifting #manifesting #loablr #void state #neville goddard #shiftblr #loa success

265 notes · View notes

grenadehearts · 3 days ago

Text

textbook kisses - eijiro kirishima

synopsis - between countless textbooks, twitching fingers and hushed distracted giggles, you kiss him.

authors note - this is actually based on my selfship lore! I'll link right here, hidden locket selfship scrapbook. masterlist link here!

You and Kirishima were sprawled out on his dorm bed, surrounded by a mess of textbooks and half-filled notebooks, highlighter stains and ink smudges everywhere. Both of you were trying to study for the chemistry midterm—something neither of you were good at. Usually in these study sessions, Kirishima helped you with math, and you helped him with English, but tonight it was just you two, shoulder to shoulder, knees brushing, and the silence was so loud you swore he could hear your heartbeat.

The only sounds were the rustling of pages and Kirishima’s quiet grunts of frustration, his eyes narrowed as he tried to focus, red hair falling loose even with all the gel he packed into it. His brow furrowed just enough to highlight the scar above his right eye, his foot tapping lightly against the carpet like his body was begging to move.

You tried not to take up too much space, even though you were already close—too close. Usually these sessions had more people, a whole group of you gathered around some dorm common room, but not this time. Just him. Just you. And all you could think about was how warm he was beside you.

His room was exactly how you'd imagine—posters of Crimson Riot, shelves full of boxer memorabilia, the walls plastered with scribbled affirmations in Japanese, little reminders to stay strong and push forward. Manly, as he liked to say. There was a punching bag hanging in the corner, and you remembered the first time you saw it, back when you knocked on his door late one night to ask if he wanted to come watch a movie with the others. He’d opened the door sweaty, hair down, in a loose tank that clung to him, a hand wrapped in a makeshift bandage with blood seeping through.

He had overworked himself.

You ended up sitting him down and bandaging his hand yourself while he laughed nervously, cheeks flushed as he kept apologizing. If someone asked when you realized you were in love with him, you’d probably say that moment. But truthfully? It was earlier. Maybe the first time you saw his dopey grin, or the way his red eyes lit up when he was talking about something he loved. It was always him.

What you didn’t know was that Kirishima had felt the same. From the second he saw the quiet girl with headphones in, tucked in the back of class scribbling in a notebook you clutched like it was sacred—he’d wanted to know what was inside. Wanted to know you. And maybe, if he was lucky, find his name written somewhere on a page.

But now you were both here, knees touching, fingers dangerously close, and your heart wouldn’t stop pounding. You hoped he couldn’t hear it. But he probably couldn’t—his was too loud.

He groaned suddenly, tossing his pencil aside. “Man, there’s no way I’m ever gonna get this. It’s like every question’s in a different language or something.”

You let out a tired sigh. “Yeah, same. I failed so bad last time the whole test was covered in red ink and question marks. Honestly I think the teacher debated quitting after that one."

He laughed—really laughed—and you felt like you could breathe again. Like his laugh gave you life. The crinkle in his eyes, the scrunch of his nose, all of it made your stomach twist sick with love.

He looked back down at his notebook, nodding to himself. “Okay. Time to get serious.”

But you weren’t listening anymore. Your head was too loud, thoughts spinning, heart racing, and you kept stealing glances at him like you were trying to memorize the way he looked when he was this close.

Then his knee bumped yours again and you swallowed hard.

“Kirishima,” you said, voice low.

He didn’t respond. Still talking, still ranting about how chemistry was the worst subject known to man.

“Kirishima,” you said again, a little louder.

Nothing.

“Kirishima!”

He jerked his head toward you, blinking in surprise. “What? What’s wrong?”

You hesitated, eyes darting from his to your notebook and back again. You felt his body shift slightly closer as he tilted his head. “Hey… what is it?”

You didn’t say anything.

“Y/N?” he whispered, voice softer now. More careful.

The moment cracked wide open between you.

You leaned forward, hands cradling his face, and kissed him.

Fast. Barely even a second. But enough.

You pulled back right away, eyes squeezing shut in panic. Shit. Shit. Shit.

But then you opened them—and he was just staring, wide-eyed and stunned, red creeping all the way up to his ears. His lips were parted like he was still trying to catch up.

And then suddenly he surged forward, grabbing your face with both hands, kissing you harder than you expected—like he’d been holding it back for years.

He kissed you like it meant something.

And then he slowed, adjusting, finding a rhythm, one hand slipping to the back of your head to hold you steady, the other brushing your cheek, thumb making soft circles on your skin.

His lips were rough but warm, sweet but a little clumsy. It felt like kissing his personality—passionate, bold, and stupidly gentle all at once.

When he finally pulled back, he fell flat onto the bed, covering his face with both hands as he let out a sound between a groan and a scream.

You quickly adjusted yourself, And spoke. “I’m sorry—did I do something wrong?”

He reached up and grabbed your hands, shaking his head so fast his hair whipped into his face. “No, no—God, no. I’m just—fuck, I’m really bad at this. I’m freaking out. This is kinda embarrassing but, uh... I’ve liked you forever and I literally cannot think straight right now.”

You opened your mouth to say something, but he panicked again. “Wait, no, maybe that was weird. Maybe I shouldn’t have said that—”

You kissed him again.

This time slower.

And when you finally pulled away, you collapsed against his chest, both of you breathless, his arms wrapping around your waist as his fingers lightly traced your spine.

He mumbled shy hushed compliments against your skin, you giggled, both of you flushed and shaky, hearts still racing but finally—finally—on the same page, chemistry long forgotten.

taglist: @xoxojisu @candiiee @luvseraphh @cvnt4him @soundtrqck @chlosology @lotusstarr @cupkiki @wokasiv @badslittlemuffin @princessshnazzy @203steph @chitteringcicadaeyes @idk1187 @notartemis777 @chosostonguepiercing @chocolatedefendorbaa @t33th--r0t @3lenaatvt @the-faceless-bride @tuneinwlosers @badslittlemuffin @dreamcastgirl99 @gethexxed @moonstonejpg @pluto-9456 @wonubby @kye1aaazene @izukusfangirl @van9lla @dienamiight @sofi4dsam @kawaiiclubdaily @therefore-evermore @bluemailhiot @luckybibucky @sk1ppy-art @d011yyxx @myths-and-ledgends @icanread-icantwrite @changkyunnnie @blue-birdie-bixch @aj1j @twoplayergaymers @socialobligation @calliopemanga

273 notes · View notes

inkdrinkerworld · 3 days ago

Text

𝐏𝐑 𝐒𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐥

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐭 𝐁𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐥𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐏𝐑 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐧 𝐒𝐚𝐦'𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞. 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐥𝐭𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐜! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐤

𝐚/𝐧: 𝐒𝐚𝐦 𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐬 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 '𝐍𝐞𝐰 𝐀𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬,' 𝐬𝐨 𝐈 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐒𝐚𝐦 𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫

You’re anxious as you stand in the elevator of what used to be Avengers Tower. Your kitten heels tap on the linoleum, the hem of your pants brushing your ankles with the action as you take the elevator straight up, holding your laptop, phone and a series of files against your chest.

You know what you want to tell Bucky. You’d thought about it all night, you want to tell him that this isn’t what you signed up for; this superhero act he’s gone into, you only know the world of politics. Then that thought had you thinking about how good you’d be at helping him with whatever this is going to turn into.

There’s already been some blow back in the media, so you really are behind already. Bucky can’t risk not keeping you.

Your resolve is hardening the longer the elevator ride, your back straighter as you formulate your argument in your head. If you’re confident and stern, Bucky can’t say no to you. He needs you.

That’s what you tell yourself as the doors slide open and you see all six of them sitting in what had to have been a living room.

“Y/n?” Bucky stands, surprise on his face as he jogs to meet you at the elevator doors.

“You should really get security here.” You say to him and he smiles despite his worry.

You shouldn’t be here. Shouldn’t be even remotely asssociated with him anymore; it’s career suicide. That’s what Bucky’s telling himself, what he’s planning on telling you.

You and Bucky have a weird relationship; you’re his PR manager, but there’s something else underneath that title begging to be let loose.

You and Bucky hadn’t seen eye to eye in the beginning, butting heads and getting into yelling matches instead of being able to have a simple conversation. It had driven everyone you worked with mad, until one day when you hadn’t been feeling in the mood to argue and had let Bucky drone on and on before he realized you weren’t saying anything back.

“Y/n?” his voice had gone soft, crouching near your table and trying hard to meet your eye. Sure he liked the back and forth, the arguing; it was like foreplay in the most innocent sense of the word.

Bucky just liked you, even if he felt like he was wrong for even having those feelings.

“I really don’t feel like it, today James. We can pick it up tomorrow.” Your voice had sounded wrong, and your coworkers were watching in a weird mix of shock and amusement as he nodded.

Bucky hadn’t said anything to you after that, but you had noticed that your favourite lunch was on your desk, along with two bottles of juice from that place that sells the fresh pressed juice you like and there had also been a few cookies.

After that, they’d started keeping a betting pool for what would come first; him lasting a full term as congressman or the two of you getting together.

“You shouldn’t be here, doll. We don’t know what’s going on and I don’t think there’s any more PR crises you need to save me from.”

You roll your eyes, pointedly looking around. Sometimes, Bucky’s can be such a man. You don’t point out that he’s in the old Avengers tower, but your glance around the place has him flushing a little.

“I’m serious, doll. There’s no PR management needed.”

You scoff, it’s so like him to get under your skin so quickly.

“James, look around. This is the PR crisis.” You point to the other people in the room, feeling only slightly bad for it when they look at you in confusion. “You’re not exactly all heroes in the general sense of the word. And you’re using a government owned tower that used to belong to Tony Stark and the Avengers.”

He says nothing, just puts his hands on his hips and you can tell he’s getting his argument ready.

Bucky doesn’t get time to answer because Alexi pipes up, “But we are new avengers, very different thing.”

You watch as John Walker rolls his eyes, and you feel a little strange having him agree with you.

“You know I’m right, James.”

“Doll,” he sighs and shakes his head, his argument dying on his tongue as he thinks of all the articles that have been published about them since Valentina’s little stunt. His mind runs on Sam and how they’re not talking right now.

Bucky knows you’re insanely capable and you’re terrifying when you want to be, but he’s not sure you could pull them out of this one.

You take his silence as free reign to make your case.

“You’re going to be in some sort of legal trouble after Valentina’s little stunt. Surely the name is trademarked under either the Stark name or through the government seeing as they own Stark tower now. You can’t just use it, unless you actually become part of the Avengers. I can deal with the legal backlash of it, or try to mitigate the damage.”

You take a breath as he stays silent, blue eyes boring into you with an intensity that makes your skin hot and itchy.

“James, I’m serious. This is a big deal, especially if Sam doesn’t want you guys to use that name. He is Captain America, and he wouldn’t be wrong. After that whole fiasco with Thaddeus he’s under scrutiny as well, he has to do everything by the book, create an illusion of perfection. Working with you guys might be bad, unless we can shift his opinion of your merry band. You don’t know how to play this,” you pause, “But I do.”

Yelena is the one who pipes up first, “She does have a point. Even you could not get through to your friend.”

You raise your eyebrow, a smirk forming on your lips.

You and Bucky stare at each other for a few minutes, your eyes darting to his metal arm as he uses it to run through his hair.

“You can help with this. Only this. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

That makes your stomach summersault.

“Whatever you say Barnes. Where do I set up? We’re only going to look worse if we don’t get ahead of this now.”

Bucky pinches the bridge of his as you find a seat, his other hand on his hip as he looks up at the ceiling. He’s hoping if there’s anyone up there, they’ll help him with his sassy PR manager who he’s definitely got a little crush on.

198 notes · View notes

c4tluver02 · 1 day ago

Text

blind date

wc: 2.9k

summary: Robin and Vickie set their best friends up together for a blind date, they can only hope it goes well!

cw: r is said to wear a dress, tiny mention of anxiety, other than that none!!

Robin had enough of Steve's constant complaining. Always the first to hear how his dates turned into hookups and never anything serious. She felt bad, afterall if anyone knew how kind and caring Steve is, it's Robin. That's how Vickie got into this whole situation. From Steve complaining to Robin and Robin complaining to Vickie.

So when Vickie mentioned a friend that seemed a perfect fit for Steve Robin had an amazing idea. You were too shy to put yourself out there, never going on dates and Steve was too out there, a new date every weekend. It felt like maybe this could be a fun match and if it didn’t work out at least you had been on a date and Steve gave dating another shot.

However, when Robin introduced the idea to Steve of a ‘blind date’ he immediately shut it down. He didn’t need help getting dates, he had the looks and the charm to get that just fine. It was finding people who were as serious as him that was what Steve was missing. The yearning and wanting to spend every second of every hour with each other is what somehow Steve couldn't find.

Little did Steve know that was the whole reason you didn’t entertain dates. Each guy quick to ask you to come home with him and never being the perfect gentleman. It was disappointing and you were giving up on the idea of a nice guy in general. Although Vickie had spoken highly of this person you were going on a blind date with which led you to be excited. Maybe even hopeful, which could always be dangerous. Allowing yourself to be hopeful leaves room for disappointment or overthinking the things you did even though 9 out of 10 times it’s never your fault things didn't work out.

And after some sugar coating of the situation Steve did agree to the date. He has to have some trust in Robin that she wouldn't pair him up with someone who didn’t mesh well with him. Because if anyone knows what he likes and hates on a date it’s her after hearing him talk about it for so long. Robin had told him that you were struggling with the same things he was when it came to finding a partner. Everyone was non-committal, never interesting, and almost always tried to end things in bed. If Robin could find someone new for Steve to complain to then that would be a win in itself.

The date was on Friday, they say never to plan dates on Fridays but at this point your weekends look like nights on the couch with pizza so really the bar isn't too high in general.

Vickie and Robin had helped you pick an outfit for the date. Robin even told you that she had to help Steve find an outfit. This helps you know that at the very least you won't have to worry about being over or under dressed. And maybe, just maybe, he was as nervous as you were. Taking this whole date seriously, not wanting to waste anyone's time.

–

Friday came quicker than expected. The date would be at a nice restaurant and afterwards if things went well there was a firework show outside a few blocks away. Robin told you that Steve had offered to pick you up, which was a kind gesture, certainly gentlemanly. But you kindly declined, after all you’d never met him. Having him drive you home left room for him to invite himself in. A simple date of eating food and taking a walk was fool proof. Leaving no room for anything more, which after all, was what you both were looking for.

Putting on the outfit your friends helped you pick, you got ready. Your room was filled with warm toned lights, a candle that reminded you of the cozy weather that reached Hawkins, and music you quietly hummed.

Steve’s situation was a little different. More chaotic since Robin was there but things were still getting done nonetheless.

“Are you excited? I’m excited! I can already picture you calling me saying how well it went and how thankful I begged you to do this. It’s gonna go great.” She finished with a wide smile.

Steve was in his bathroom fixing his hair. She was talking outloud and luckily Steve could hear her from the room he was in.

“If this is a waste you owe me, Buckley.” It comes out sternly but Steve wouldn't be too mad at her if it comes down to it.

She rolls her eyes and is now thankful he isn't in the room with her. “It won't be a waste, you go on a date every week. If anything, this is just another week for you, except I actually care this time.”

Steve walks back into his room to put on his shoes. “First of all, very rude. Second, I don't go on dates every week, you’re just being dramatic.”

A quick pat down of his pants as he stands back up, and Steve is ready.

“Do you think it’s a bad sign that she didn't want me to pick her up?” Steve’s tone comes off with a hint of worry despite trying to hide it.

“No, no definitely not. Vickie told me that she is just nervous.” No matter what Robin can see through him either way. “I think maybe this is a good thing, you shouldn't always have to pick people up.” She finishes hoping she's convinced him enough.

“I guess.” It comes out with a sigh and the conversation ends there. He’s giving himself one last look in the mirror, messing with his hair.

–

The drive to the restaurant is quick and Steve is 5 minutes early. Walking in, getting settled in the booth they gave him, he had enough time to sort his thoughts. If he was gonna give you a hug when you walked up to him or would a handshake be best?

The five minutes go by quickly when he hears a voice say his last name. You’re asking the hostess about the reservation with him, he can see you walking up.

Quickly getting up to greet you, his eyes fall over your body. The dress you have on is very pretty and it fits you perfectly. You’re too busy talking to the girl walking you to the table to notice him right away.

“Well, the food will be amazing.” He hears the hostess say to you. It must be a generic conversation but you are watching her intently. Like you actually care what she's talking about.

When you do see him, you let out a smile. Steve is quick to copy, not out of being polite but because he's actually excited about this date now. Not that looks are insanely important to Steve but you might just be the prettiest girl he’s ever seen and he doesn't know how he's missed you.

You give a small nod towards the lady letting her know you no longer need directions and she leaves. Steve extends his hand out but you raise your arms to wrap around his neck before you can even see it.

“Oh, shit sorry.” You say quickly pulling your arms down. The smile is still glued to your face and you wonder if it will go away throughout the night.

This makes Steve smile, you were going for a hug. He should have done a hug.

“No, let's hug, c’mere.” It’s quick and slightly awkward but it makes you giggle.

“It’s nice to meet you.” You say as you let him go.

“You too.” You smell really good and Steve hopes you couldn't physically feel his heart beating a million times from the hug.

Both of you decide to sit and it’s a race of who speaks first.

“So, uh, have you ever been on a blind date?” Steve asks. You like that he was the first to talk, maybe it means your shyness won't show through.

“Oh no, no I don’t really actually go on many dates.” You say it before you even think about what you’re saying. “But Vickie said so many good things about you I decided to go for it.” Shaky finish but arguably strong ending.

“Robin says I go on a date every week but that's a big exaggeration.” Steve jokes, his smile is really pretty.

“Well then you’re definitely gonna be better at this than me.” You bite your lip and Steve has to tear his eyes away.

“I don’t know about that, most of the dates aren't very good.” He says letting out a huff. A piece of hair falls from his gelled look and you think he could be from a book, perfectly made.

“Yeah, I’ve had pretty much the same experience.” Your hands are tucked under your thighs and you wish you had brought a cardigan. Why are restaurants so cold?

Before Steve could even ask you more about it, your server comes to ask about drinks. It’s quick and efficient but now the two of you are left in silence.

“Have you-”

“You look-”

It’s said at the same time and your smile is back. Steve needs to figure out what he needs to do to make you smile more.

“You first.” You decide.

“I was just gonna say you look really pretty.”

His compliment makes your cheeks blush immediately.

“Thank you, so do you.” You remove your hands from under your thighs and to your arms.

“Are you cold?” Steve asks. The compliment wasn't lost on him but now his mind is taken over by something else.

“Just a little. I think we are under a vent or something.” The thought makes you look up, trying to find one to see if your comment was correct.

Before you can even find it, you hear Steve move around. Quickly looking back at him you can see him take off his blazer.

“Here you go.” He says it so simply like it’s just a simple favor he does. And maybe he has, maybe it’s a move he’s pulled on other girls. For some reason picturing him with another girl doesn't make you feel too great.

“Oh, thank you. You really didn't have to. Let me know if you get a cold, okay? I’ll give it back.”

It looks big on you, you have to scrunch it up at your elbows for your hands to free.

“I think i'll be okay.” Steve winks. “Want help rolling the sleeves? It might get in your way when we eat.”

His charm might kill you by the end of the night. He thinks about everything before you get a chance to. The feeling of being looked after feels nice, something you could definitely get used to.

“Yes please.” You say putting your hands on the table.

He grabs your hand to pull your arm a little closer to him. His hands are warm and soft against yours. It only takes a fold or two till the jacket isn't in your way.

“There, all good.” You really don’t want to move your arms away. The feeling of his hands in yours makes you want it again. Like a new addiction you don't really want to shake.

“Thank you.” You pull your arms back but your hands lay on the menu that's laying on the table.

“I think you’ve thanked me like 5 times already.” Steve says with a small laugh.

“Well stop doing nice things and I won't have to thank you.” You say leaning forward. The conversation is playful and Steve wishes he could take a picture of you looking so good in his clothes.

“I haven't even thanked you for calling me pretty.” Steve has never been called pretty before. He really likes it coming from you though.

“Well you are pretty. You have a nice smile and your eyes are a beautiful color.” Now it’s Steve's turn to blush. You pointing out features Steve doesn't think twice about makes his tummy fill with butterflies.

“I-”

“Are you two ready to order?” The waitress asks.

Steve thinks maybe you two should have gone somewhere else, the interruptions are getting to him. He didn't realize he would want to talk to you so badly.

“Uh, I actually haven't even looked at the menu.” You say sheepishly. But Steve lets out a laugh because how did you guys get so caught up in each other that you didn't look at the food?

“I’ll give you two a few more minutes.” She nods and leaves. It’s quick and dismissive like the fact that you two aren't moving with haste is creating problems.

“I guess we should look huh?” Steve jokes.

“She seemed mad at us.” You pick at your nails, a horrible anxiety tick that you can't quite quit.

“Don’t worry about her, it's not your fault. She's probably just having a bad night.” Steve reassures, you wonder if he knows if he asks for a second date this will be something he will be doing often. The guilt of it picks at you slightly.

“Yeah probably.” You nod, deciding its best to let the topic go.

A minute or two passes as you both look at the menu and Steve speaks up. “D’you know what you’re gonna get?”

“I think so, it’s my first time here but the girl who walked me in said that the pasta was good.” You say as you still look at the menu. There's a lot to eat but it’s all pretty expensive. You wonder if Steve noticed that when picking places.

“I always do the steak but the food here is good so I wouldn't doubt it.”

“Oh is this where you take all your dates?” This is finally when you look up at him and his eyes go wide. The smirk on your face tells him it’s a playful question but he doesn't want you thinking that's true.

“No! No, um, I just, I was here for a friend's birthday.” He explains. It was for Nancy’s birthday but he doesn't even want to begin to explain her to you.

When the waitress comes back you two are able to give her answers this time. Between the time the food is ordered and when it arrives you two have talked about a million different things. The conversation flows easily without any awkward pauses and time passes quickly.

By the end of the date you feel like you could still talk about things for another hour, if not more. Steve pays and declines even when you offer to at least pay the tip.

“Would you want to go look at the fireworks? I think they are only a few blocks down, by the park.” Steve asks with a hand scratching his neck. You can tell he was a bit nervous to ask.

“Yeah that sounds nice.” You nod feverishly.

He opens the door for you to exit the building and easily intertwines his hand with yours. The motion is smooth and neither of you say anything about it. You’re still in his blazer which you are even morethankful he gave as it’s even colder outside than it was in the restaurant. His warm hand is happily taken by your cold one as you both walk towards the park.

“Do we know what these fireworks are for?” There's no holiday to celebrate which makes you wonder why there would be fireworks in the first place.

“There's movie nights that happen at the park and at the end they have fireworks.” Steve explains. “I don’t really know why a movie deserves fireworks but it is nice to see.”

Your other hand has found its way on his bicep, steadying yourself as you walk next to him. If you weren't moving you’d place your head on his shoulder. He’s just so warm you want to be absorbed by him.

“A movie night at the park sounds fun, maybe they do it just because it's outside and they can.” You say shrugging your shoulders.

“Maybe we can make that our next date.” His comment makes you turn your head to look at him quickly.

Your movement makes him realize what he just said. “If that's something you want, that is. Or if you even want a second date. I didn't mean to suggest-”

You give his cheek a kiss and it quickly makes his ramble stop. Both of you are no longer walking, paused on the sidewalk.

“I would love to make that our next date.” The smile on your face probably gives your excitement away. If not, the red flush to your cheeks definitely will.

“Yeah? You’d want a second date?” The wind is blowing your hair against your face from the direction you're standing and Steve gently puts the blowing strands behind your ear. His hand lingers on your jaw as he waits for an answer.

“Of course I want a second date. Did you want a second date?” You know the answer but decide to ask anyway.

“If you couldn't tell by how i'm already planning for it, yeah, I’d like a second date.”

This time you lean your head against his chest as you two begin to walk. Steve's arms are tightly secured around you, rubbing one against your back in hopes to warm you up.

This date couldn't have gone any better, maybe he really should call Robin to thank her.

#steve harrington #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #stranger things au #writing #stranger things #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things x reader #steve harrington fluff #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x y/n

209 notes · View notes