#this is just. i keep giggling and grinning

[kisses4themissus]

Little Ballerina | M.R X Reader

a/n: i feel like that mouse eating rn...but yay more lovebug and robby!! pairing: Michael "Robby" Robinavitch X Single Mom!Reader wc: 2.8k warnings: semi proofread!!

previous | requests open for dr. robby | masterlist

Robby sighed into his thermos as he finally sat down on a desk.

As he signed onto the computer, he didn’t pay attention as someone sat down beside him. “Morning robinavitch.” 

Turning to face the person, robby stopped, surprised to see you sitting on the chair beside him, two coffees in your hands. “What are you doing down here?” He asked, slightly excited as you handed him one before logging onto the next computer. 

“Gloria said if I covered for dr. ellis today, I could get saturday and sunday off.” You grinned, tapping your badge. 

“I always forget you were cross trained..” Robby chuckled before going back to the screen. 

“Yep, oh that’s for you!” You pushed the cup of coffee towards him, robby nodded in thanks before taking a sip. “I always see you drinking black so I got you a dark roast.” You explained to him before picking up your coffee, sipping as you typed something up before getting up.

Robby nodded, lost for words. “Thank you.” He muttered, watching as you scanned the board before going to a room. On the opposite side, Dana stared at him and laughed, her glasses slipping to the edge of her nose. 

“You’re like a little boy with a crush on his older neighbor!” She laughed, robby quickly waved her off, the tips of his ears flushing.

 - - - - - - - -

The interns had followed you most of the day like lost puppies, watching in awe of how attuned you were to the ED.

As you entered a room with Victoria, your heart broke a bit at the sight in front of you; A young dad sat on the uncomfortable hospital chair, leaning over his baby trying to calm the poor baby down. 

You introduced yourself and the others before beginning your assessment. 

“I don’t know why he keeps crying, night and day. He only stops when he tires himself out!” The dad rambled, tearing up himself. You nodded at the information and began checking on the baby with a frown on your face.

“Is he allergic to anything?” You asked. Victoria quietly watched as you examined the baby. “Not that I know of..” He sighed into his palms.

You nodded once more before softly turning the baby to check for any rashes. You quickly turned to Victoria and smiled politely. “Could you get me a towel with warm water and a warm blanket please?”

At your request Victoria took off to find the items. Leaving you only with the young father and crying baby. “My wife passed away during childbirth, I’ve been struggling real bad with him…does he hate me?” The young man broke down crying, making you sigh; he had reminded you of your days with lacey.

“He doesn’t hate you, probably the opposite, he must adore you but he’s just a little upset he can’t outright say what’s wrong with him.” you comforted the dad.

“I thought the same when my daughter was born, her biological dad wasn’t around so I was left on my own with a baby. I was convinced she hated me, but she always adored having me around. Now I have a little sidekick for everything.” You added, making the dad lift his head up at you. “Does it get easier, y’know being on your own with a baby?” He questioned.

You nodded and smiled. “You boys will be great together, always put his heart first even over yours.” You smiled reassuringly at the dad.

Victoria walked into the room, a warm towel in hand and robby behind her, tugging on his stethoscope.

“What’s going on with this little guy?” Robby asked, you quickly filled him in as you scooped up the baby and bounced lightly with him in your arms as victoria laid out the warm blanket. You skillfully and swiftly unbuttoned the baby’s onesie before laying the warm towel on his stomach and the baby on the warm blanket.

You all watched as the baby’s cries stopped and turned into sniffles. The baby boy relaxed into the warmth, making you giggle as he visually relaxed and sighed. 

“What kind of formula do you give him?” You asked, turning to the dad who watched with a smile now that his son had stopped crying. He quickly fumbled for his phone and pulled up a photo, once you saw the container you nodded and smiled at the dad.

“Poor thing is lactose intolerant.” You chuckled, running your gloved hand over the chubby baby cheeks.

“I’d recommend switching him to lactose free, and if it starts again just place him in the bath or even the sink and have warm water and a warm towel, it’ll help release the gas bubbles.” You explained, smiling down at the baby, not seeing the look of admiration from robby.

The young father thanked you profusely, making you smile and nod. “I have to ask though before I discharge you both…can i hold him please?” You asked, robby found it cute, the way you tilted your head like a little kid.

The father agreed and let you pick the baby up once more. You squealed as the little boy nuzzled into your neck. “He’s so cute and tiny!” You said in a high pitched voice, making victoria and robby smile. Victoria excused herself to see another patient while you and robby stayed behind.

The dad had placed the boy’s binky in his mouth while the boy was readjusted by you and now sat his head by your shoulder. You lightly swayed, enjoying the little warmth from the infant.

Too busy yawning, the little boy dropped the binky from his mouth, internally you cringed imagining it’d hit the dirty hospital floor. Robby watched in awe as you managed to swiftly catch the binky before it fell to the ground, you sighed and handed the pacifier and the baby back over to the dad.

“I’ll have a nurse come in and give you the paperwork for discharge and instructions for the warm baths, otherwise you two boys have a great life together!” You smiled and excused yourself and robby away.

Walking back to central you began to start the discharge paperwork, robby slowly chuckled before clapping at you, standing in front of your spot at central.

“How did you do that?” He asked, making you glance up at him. “Do what?” You questioned.

“The whole thing, the formula, the baths, oh or the pacifier!” He listed the examples off.

“Instincts, dr robinavitch.” You winked at him before going back to typing. 

 - - - - - - - -

After your stressful day in the ED, you had joined some of the workers in there after work drinking activity. You sighed as you sat on the bench, declining a beer by robby.

“Alright, I gotta go before I miss my train.” Donnie sighed, getting up from the bench. Mohan nodded and joined him, leaving you and robby to be the last ones in the park. You sighed as you checked your watch, lovebug was already sound asleep at your brother and sister in law's house, they had agreed to watch Lacey under the gist of a sleepover with her older cousins.

Robby smiled as you got up and turned to him. “I gotta go too, need to stop to get dinner for myself.” You sighed, robby quickly jumped up and motioned the way to your car. “I’ll walk with you– y’know for safety.” He added watching as you giggled before nodding and guiding him the way to your car.

As you both approached your vehicle , robby was confused, normally his three beers wouldn’t have gotten him tipsy or drunk but before robby could stop himself the words tumbled right out. “What are you doing tomorrow?” He asked, standing up straight.

Slowly warmth grew on your face at his question. “Um– I’ll probably be at my mom’s ballet studio…why?” You asked, excitement growing in your stomach. “Maybe, we could uhh- get coffee tomorrow?” He proposed, nervously waiting for your response.

“How about coffee in the morning and then dinner later?” You asked, clutching your bag strap tightly. Robby chuckled and nodded at you. “I’ll text you the cafe..goodnight.” He smiled like a school boy as you got into your car and took off.

Once out of sight, Robby silently celebrated.

 - - - - - - - -

The next morning was a rush despite being your day off of work. Lovebug had forgotten her ballet bag and needed you to bring it to the studio.

You had gotten ready in a rush before heading out to hand off the bag.

It was crazy how fast you had gotten looped into doing little girls buns as they scurried into the studio bathroom. You sighed as you finished the small line of girls asking for a bun. With the crack of your neck you turned to see lovebug in her tutu practicing rat with the other older kids.

With a chuckle you felt your phone begin to buzz in your pocket. Quickly pulling it out your heart fell; robby’s phone number popped up.

You quickly answered, feeling guilty. “Robinavitch, i’m so sorry I forgot about our coffee and i need to run to the ballet studio, i swear i’m just right up the street-!” You were cut off by his chuckle.

“It’s alright, I was calling since I'm running behind too.” You both sighed, with a pause he asked. 

“Do you need to reschedule?” 

You quickly denied it, “I'll be there I swear.” You reassured, already picking up your purse from the bench outside the studio room. Robby chuckled and let you go.

With a flustered face, you quickly stopped in the studio’s bathroom once more to freshen up before walking to the cafe up the street. Opening the door the smell of coffee beans wafted through the air.

You did a quick look around the room, thankful you had beat robby there. As you stood in line, you swayed light waiting for your turn to order, reading over the menu. As you stepped up to order, another person slides beside you.

You turned, ready to be upset at the line cutter but stopped and smiled warmly at robby.

“Dr. robinavitch, it’s nice to see you out of scrubs and that jacket.” You teased earning a hearty laugh. “That’s what I was gonna say, no compression jacket?” He quipped back. You both quickly laughed about it before ordering your coffees.

“Seriously though, you look very nice.” You compliment, smiling at his outfit. 

His ears turned red, “Same to you, I like the overalls.” he motioned to the embroidered overalls; they had been a matching set with lacey.

“Thank you, the embroidering was all done by my grandma.” You grinned, posing for him.

He chuckled, his heart melting at the sight of you out of the workplace. “So you work at your parents' ballet studio?” He asked as you both stood off to the side for the coffee, helping you sit on a bar stood by the window.

“Occasionally, like for the busier seasons.” You explained, placing your face on your palm. Robby nodded. You both had begun to talk about work and different patients and diagnoses.

You turned, ready to get down from the stool to grab your drinks when robby stopped you and grabbed them before returning, handing you your cup. “Thank you robinavitch.” you smiled and took a sip, robby sat in silence for a second before chuckling. 

Glancing at him, you raised a brow. “What is it?”

“You never have called me Robby, or anything else.” He chuckled, making your face feel warm. “That you know of.” You joked, “I never really thought about calling you anything other than robinavitch..” you pondered.

“It’s jewish right?” You asked, earning a nod.

Robby smiled at you, “Now I gotta hear you call me robby.” 

You both laughed as you kept stopping yourself from speaking. “C’mon honey, just say robby.” he tried to coach you. With a flustered giggle you turned to him, “Stop it robby.” You tried to wave him off. Robby stopped, his heart skipping at the sight of you laughing and saying his name, it was sight for sure.

Noticing his now quiet demeanor, you slowly dropped your smile and looked at him concerned. “Are you ok?” You asked, earning a nod from him. “How did it feel?” he asked, making you smile into your cup.

Swallowing the coffee quickly you snickered. “It felt different”; A good different, it was new and exciting.

He smiled and nodded before picking up his cup. As you both talked about your personal lives you stopped and waved to the passing ballet dancers who passed by the window, them doing the same as they walked past to get lunch.

“I used to be a ballerina, up til I was eighteen; I stopped and decided to follow my brothers into the medical field.” You explained, Robby sat up and listened intently.

“Your brother met his wife there, at your parents' studio?” he clarified, making you nod.

“She was new and he was so fast to offer her a tour of the building, we all teased him. Marissa is a great dancer, my mom hoped I would've followed in her steps..” You sighed, swirling the almost empty cup around.

“Ahh yes, the prima ballerina; the star of the show.” he said jokingly, earning a confused smile.

“She never made it to be the studio prima ballerina; since I left my mom never chose another.” You offhandedly explained, making Robby raise a brow at that.

“:Lacey said her mom was-!”

As he opened his mouth to say something your phone began to ring, you glanced over and picked up. 

“She’s what, I'll be right there!” You said in a panic, quickly getting off the stool and walked to the door, “I’m sorry, Robby, I need to go deal with something!” You apologized before running out the door and back to the ballet studio.

Robby watched, confused; turning his head to your now empty seat he froze as he noticed the item on the table.

You had been too busy being in a hurry to notice you had left your purse. With a heavy sigh he got up and picked up the leftover cake pop you had ordered and grabbed your purse and attempted to follow you.

 - - - - - - - -

Walking into the ballet studio, a group of kids stood in a circle as they watched Lacey and another little girl fight. 

You marched through the crowd and pulled lacey away. “What are you doing? We never hit people, that’s mean and there is no excuse to do that!” You lectured, holding the seething five year old, who chomped her mouth at the other little girl who was being held back by her caretaker.

“She told me that her nanny said you’re a witch and will always be alone and that’s why you don’t go on dates!” Lacey explained, huffing as she recalled the little girl's words, ready to bite someone’s ankle if they made her snap once more.

“She said what?!” You scoffed and turned to the nanny before you both ended up on the studio’s floor, you began to slap the nanny, saying names you never thought of saying in front of your daughter or the other students.

Walking in, Robby froze at the sight of a crowd surrounding a fight, he quickly placed your purse onto the front desk before getting in the middle and helping hold you off the nanny.

“Talk shit about me again and I'll make sure every plastic surgeon knows to give you a messed up nose job!” You yelled, trying to claw your way out of robby’s arms and towards the nanny once more.

Robby quickly walked away with you, cornering you to calm down, blocking out the other lady from your sight. “You alright?” He asked, checking for any bruising or wounds on you. “I’m alright, it would've been better if i broke her nose some more!” You called out, making Robby chuckle before glancing over his shoulder, expecting to see a crowd of traumatized kids only to see them all chattering and laughing about the fight.

Lacey walked over to you both and checked on you herself before nodding and sitting down beside you against the wall. “Are you ok girlfriend?” You asked, earning a tired sigh from lovebug.

“She didn’t get me, but I wanted to bite her ankle so she can't do snow angels..” She scoffed, shaking her head. Robby chuckled as he stared at you both.

You turned to robby with a confused look, “You didn’t have to follow me here.” you told him as you rubbed over a part of your jaw. “I kinda did, you forgot your purse.” He chuckled and motioned for the front desk where you laughed and nodded.

Turning to lacey you smiled at her. “Got you a cake pop.” You nodded your head to the white paper bag by your purse.

She perked up but didn’t move. “But I was in a fight, and you said it’s mean…” She sighed, her eyes downcasting to her shoes.

You shook your head. “You stood up for me, though maybe in the future you just tell me what’s said about momma ok?” You smiled at her.

With a grin she nodded before running to the front desk to receive her treat, leaving you with a shocked robby.

“You’re her mom?”

robby taglist: @nerdgirljen @whatdoesntkillyoumakesyoustrange @snowflames-world @whimsicalfungiforager @lovebuggyies @itschelseacisneros @kmc1989 @foolishseven @rhysology @delicatetrashtree @evans-dejong @coffinheartz @equallyshaw @baileythepenguin

[lovebugism]

Bug! What if you and grumpy!Bucky were trying to spend time alone together but the rest of the Thunderbolts kept interrupting?

thank you for requesting :D — the one where bucky wants to kiss you but the rest of the thunderbolts won't seem to let him (established relationship, fluff, thunderbolts spoilers, cw for brief mentions of injuries)

A dark blue bruise peeks from the neckline of your dress. It falls like spilled watercolor down your spine and bleeds softly past your shoulder blade before disappearing into the fabric of your rented gown. 

Valentina needed good press and thought throwing a gala the day after a near-lethal mission was the way to do it.“The whole beat-up schtick makes you guys look more heroic, trust me,” the woman said through gritted teeth as she faked a grin for the journalists. “Now just smile for the cameras, okay?”

The front page of the newspaper will undoubtedly show six bruised and beaten New Avengers tomorrow morning, but at least they make the future president look good.

You let Val have her fun in front of the cameras and distinguished guests while you disappear outside to the balcony. You stand at the edge of the Avengers Tower, overlooking the star-speckled skyline you’ve looked upon for years, and try not to think about how different everything is now. ‘Cause you’re back home, sure, but in a way you’ll never truly be back home again. 

“These still hurt?” Bucky wonders from beside you, tracing the blurred edges of your bruises with a gentle, vibranium hand. 

You answer him with a question of your own. “Shit— You can see them?” you mumble, trying hopelessly to peer over your shoulder and fix the sleeve of your borrowed dress at the same time. You can feel the ache in your shoulder blade every time you move your right arm, like a dull knife stabbing under the skin.

Bucky huffs sharply through his nose and looks away. He stares daggers through the sliding glass door at Valentina as she parades through the crowd in a bright red, floor-length dress like satan herself. Anger pierces somewhere deep in his chest. He fidgets with the knot of his tie with his flesh hand when he feels like it’s choking him. 

“I told her we needed to wait— We weren’t ready for this yet—”

“It’s best to get it over with,” you shrug and bring the flute of champagne to your mouth. Your following words come out echoed as you mumble into the glass, “The less I have to hear from her, the better.”

Bucky looks back at you and softens all over again. You’re too stubborn for your own good. There hasn’t been a battle you’ve backed away from — not the Winter Soldier, not Thanos, and certainly not Valentina. You’ll keep fighting the good fight ’til it kills you.

“I just don’t want you to hurt yourself,” Bucky admits quietly, smoothing his metal hand up and down the length of your spine. “That’s all…”

Your mouth leaves a faint lipstick print on the rim of the glass. Champagne glitters faintly on your rouge-tinted lips before you lick the sheen away. “You know I’m an assassin, right?” you quip with a pair of squinted, made-up eyes.

Bucky huffs, ‘cause it’s too like you to dismiss his attempts to care for you. “Shut up,” he murmurs in a low, honeyed tone and ducks down like he intends to kiss you. His gelled back locks fall over his scruffy cheek as he cups your jaw in a gentle hand.

“Like, for years,” you continue despite his face being mere, stomach-swirling inches away from yours. “My whole life, basically. So I think I can handle a few bruises, Sergeant Barnes.”

“Shut up—”

You’re left giggling against his mouth when he finally kisses you. You fight back the sunshine smile on your face so you can kiss him properly back. He tastes like sweet wine, spearmint, and something unnamed but still strangely familiar when he licks into your parted mouth. His spit glimmers faintly on your lips in the moonlight when he’s forced to part from you.

The sliding door opens with a whoosh. Bob stumbles from the threshold with a lopsided smile on his flushed face, clad in a pair of borrowed slacks and an ill-fitting button-up. If he notices the way you and Bucky part less than casually, he doesn’t show it.

“This is such bullshit, right?” he says through an awkward chuckle and swipes a nervous hand through his curls.

You nod with a tight-lipped smile and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. “Yep,” you sigh and turn your back to Bucky, facing the dishevelled boy across from you. 

“I mean, we just got back from a mission saving her ass yesterday,” Bob rambles and saunters towards the opposite end of the luxurious balcony without ever looking your way. “She could’ve at least given us a warning, you know? Like, read the room, Valentina. Come on.” 

He laughs at himself and looks over his shoulder at you and Bucky. Only then does he notice the tension between you, which he has since sufficiently broken, and the rosy lipstick smudged on the grumpy man’s mouth. His eyes widen at the realization, and his chest inflates with a deep breath.

“Oh, shit…” he mumbles, eyes flitting wildly between you. “I— I’m the one that needs to read the room, aren’t I?”

You shake your head with a kind laugh. “No, Bob. It’s okay—”

“Well, yeah, kinda,” Bucky mumbles simultaneously, then winces when your elbow digs into his ribs.

“Sorry,” Bob grimaces, wringing his pale hands into a knot. “Sorry… I’ve always had a weird thing about that— You know, showing up places I shouldn’t. I think that should’ve been my superpower, honestly.”

“You can stay, Bob,” you assure him. “It’s okay.”

He shakes his wild head and walks backwards towards the door. “No, I should— I should go—” 

He spins on the heel of his brand-new loafers and hits the glass door with a thud. It garners the attention of the crowd in the main room, and Bob flashes you a wavering grin before sliding the door properly open and slinking back inside.

You sigh wistfully when he’s gone. 

“He’s so cute…” you hum to yourself.

Bucky scowls from behind you. “I’m standing right here.”

You turn to face him and poke him hard in the chest. “You should stop being so mean to him, you know?”

“And you should stop treating him like a kid.”

“But I like him…” you whine with a scrunched nose, using Bucky’s tie as a leash to pull him further into you. “Do you think we can keep him?”

Bucky laughs, a sharp exhale through his nose. “I don’t think we have a choice,” he grumbles and glances inside again. 

Through the large glass door, he can spot the blundering members of the new team. Walker towers over everyone else and tries hopelessly to show off his new shield to an uncaring crowd. Bob follows Ava around like a lost dog before she phases suddenly through a wall (which he, then, ultimately runs into). Yelena and Alexei take a series of shots together, never minding the press watching their every move.

Bucky sighs. “I think we have to keep all of them, unfortunately.

“Don’t say that like you hate them,” you giggle.

“Well, I kinda do.”

“What about me?” you whisper with your brows raised, and your eyes wide and innocent and knowing.

“Especially you.”

Bucky smiles crookedly and ducks down again when you pull him closer with his tie in your fist. This time, his attempt to kiss you is interrupted by a rapid beating at the sliding door — several thud, thud, thuds from the other side of the glass. You part from each other again, heads whipping to find Yelena and Alexei all but pressed against the door. (They tend to act like carbon copies of each other when they’re drunk.)

“I need help!” the blonde girl whines, muffled through the closed door.

“With what?!” you shout back.

Alexei tries to answer at the same time as Yelena. You can only halfway understand them as they talk over one another in similar, deep, Russian accents. “Valentina said— But we wanted to— And we can’t find—” is all you can make out.

“What?!” you repeat, face twisted with confusion.

They repeat the same spiel once more: different sentences spoken muffled and simultaneously.

Bucky huffs in annoyance. You shake your head and shout, “Just open the door!”

“Oh,” Yelena says, pink mouth pouted, as she slides the glass open with a whoosh. She pokes her head past the threshold with an innocent smile. “Do you maybe know where you can find the booze?” she lilts, voice airy and slurred in a Russian drawl.

“The good stuff,” Alexei corrects from behind her. “Not this watered-down American shit.”

You click your lips against your teeth. “Uh, well, the liquor Tony left is somewhere in the depths of the wine cellar, I think— The one downstairs, not the one in the kitchen.”

“Thank you,” Yelena says with a huff, like she’d been looking everywhere for an answer. She’s about to close the door behind her but stops with a suspicious look in her eye. “Were you guys about to make out?” she singsongs quietly, waving an accusatory finger between you.

Bucky nods. “‘Trying’ being the key word here.”

“Oops,” Yelena whispers with a feigned wince, disappearing back inside and talking through the closing door as she goes. “Sorry— Carry on— We were never here.”

Bucky sighs when she’s gone. “We’re never gonna have a moment alone again at this rate,” he grouses.

You grin with a mischievous glint in your eye. “But that just makes it more fun, don’t ya think?”

[gf2bellamy]

Hear me out…reader on Spencer’s glasses and he’s struck by how pretty she looks. Or, reader puts her glasses on at work after her contacts dry out, and the team tease her for her glasses, but Spencer can’t help but find them adorable

pretty — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: fluff a/n: i went with the first idea !! such a cute one <3

Spencer Reid took off his glasses for two seconds.

Literally.

Just long enough to scrub the sleep from his eyes, to blink away the exhaustion that clung to him after hours of staring at case files. The team had been working nonstop, and even his brilliant mind was starting to fog over. He set the glasses down on the table, rubbing his face with both hands before letting out a long, slow breath.

And that was all the opportunity you needed.

You had been bored out of your mind—stuck in the same chair for what felt like eternity, flipping through the same reports, waiting for something to happen. So when Spencer’s glasses sat there, unattended, you acted on impulse.

You snatched them up before he could even register they were gone.

Spencer didn’t notice.

He was too busy yawning, his jaw cracking as he stretched his arms above his head, his eyelids heavy. For a second, you thought he might actually slump forward and pass out right there on the table.

Grinning to yourself, you unfolded the glasses and slipped them onto your face.

The world immediately blurred.

Wow. You hadn’t realized just how bad his eyesight was.

Everything beyond your own hands was a hazy mess of shapes and colors. You blinked a few times, adjusting, but nope—still useless. How did he function like this?

You were still grinning when Morgan walked in.

His sharp eyes landed on you immediately, and a slow, amused smirk spread across his face.

“Well, look at you,” he said, voice loud enough to make Spencer jolt slightly in his seat. “Looking all nerdy.”

Spencer turned toward him, squinting—which was generous, because without his glasses, he could barely make out more than vague blobs of color. But then his gaze shifted to you, and his breath hitched.

There you were, his glasses perched on your nose, your lips curled in a playful smile.

“How do I look?” you asked, tilting your head.

Spencer’s mouth fell open.

He didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

Because you looked nice.

No, not just nice.

Pretty.

Really pretty.

Something about seeing you in his glasses made his chest tighten in a way he couldn’t explain.

Morgan dropped into a chair across from you, his smirk deepening as he watched Spencer’s dumbstruck expression. “Took the words right out of his mouth. Literally.”

You giggled, reaching up to take the glasses off, but Spencer’s hand twitched forward before he could stop himself.

“No—you, uh. You can leave them on. If you want.”

Your eyebrows lifted.

Spencer swallowed, heat creeping up his neck. “You… uhm. You look very pretty.”

The words came out in a rushed mumble, barely audible, but you heard them. A soft warmth spread through your chest as you bit back a smile.

“Thanks, Spencer,” you said, deliberately ignoring Morgan’s quiet chuckle from across the room.

But then you carefully slid the glasses off anyway, holding them out to him. “I think you might need these more than I do.”

Spencer’s lips twitched into a subconscious pout before he could stop himself.

“You know,” you teased, “to see things.”

He turned even redder, suddenly mortified by his own words. Why would he tell you to keep them on? He obviously needed them to see.

But before he could spiral further, you leaned forward in your chair.

Spencer’s breath caught.

Your fingers brushed against his temples, gently sweeping his hair back as you carefully slid the glasses onto his face. You nudged them up the bridge of his nose with a light touch, your fingertips lingering near his skin just a second too long.

Spencer stared at you, wide-eyed, his pulse hammering in his throat.

“You look pretty too with them on,” you murmured, your voice softer now, almost intimate.

Both of you were silent.

Spencer stared at you. Wide eyed. Mouth hanging wide open.

And then Morgan cleared his throat.

“Is he still alive?”

[tom-whore-dleston]

Can I Keep You?

Pairing: Robert 'Bob' Reynolds x barista!f. reader

Word Count: 1.3k

This fic includes: minor spoilers from Thunderbolts*, fluff (so much of it), Bob playing with dogs, flirting, Bob is awkward baby boi until he's not, Bob and reader hold hands

Summary: You loved working as a barista at a dog cafe and Bob gives you another reason to love your job.

Notes: ahhhh the chokehold this sweet man has on me sadjgahgsg Bob is gonna be my new favorite to write for bc I had so much fun with this piece! Please continue to feed my growing love for Bob by sending requests, thots, concepts, literally anything and everything!!

request: Saw your thunderbolts post and just wanted to say - me too!! Could I have a piece on Bob x Reader at a Dog Cafe (if it’s ok) because he needs all the cuddles he can get! Thank you -@blackbat05

Being a barista at the new dog cafe has already brought so much joy to your life. You found purpose in combining two things you love, coffee and dogs, into a profession. A fun profession that didn’t feel like work to you. 

You had already anticipated today to be like any other Saturday with the typical rush of caffeine-driven dog enthusiasts waiting for their turn to play with pooches with their favorite drink. While your predictions came true, you had not expected to become flustered when a tall, brown-haired man approached the counter upon calling the name ‘Bob’. He flashed a smile so stunning, you could have fainted as he stopped in front of the counter.

“Hi!” you blurted with a toothy grin. “Vanilla latte with oat milk?”

Bob nodded, “Yep, that’s me.” His hand reached out for the styrofoam cup and you gulped upon noticing how large and veiny it was. You hid your nervousness behind another trained customer service smile. 

“Awesome! Hope you enjoy your drink and have fun with the pups.” The world stopped around you as his fingers brushed against yours as you extended the drink out to him. Your face warmed up feeling the softness of his fingers, imagining them interlaced with yours. As he gingerly held the hot latte, you desperately wished that you had more time to memorize the feel of his fingers against yours.

“Thank you!” Bob responded cheerfully before turning to find a dog to curl up next to him. You watched as a corgi and maltese ran towards the tall man, giggling to yourself as the energetic dogs attempted to jump as high as they could but only getting as high as his knees. He beamed upon noticing the dogs fighting for his attention, his voice raising a pitch to match their little yaps. You snapped out of your intense gaze on Bob when your supervisor called your name for the third time.  

“Huh, what?” You turned towards them dumbfounded, and you realized they had been needing the can of whipped cream on your side.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize you were asking me to give you the whipped cream.” As you fetched the item, you peeked a glance at Bob through the glass. The corgi and maltese were licking his face, causing him to burst into a fit of laughter so contagious you couldn’t help but laugh yourself. You didn’t pay attention to your supervisor finding the source of your distraction, responding with a knowing hum.

“Go ahead and take 30.” 

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, no worries, I’ll cover for you. Just go talk to him instead of gawking like a love struck teenager.” The other baristas eavesdropping snickered while exchanging glances with one another.

“Who?” You asked, playing coy.

“Oh my gosh, just go before I put you on dish duty!” Your supervisor jokingly threatened and you scurried to rip the apron off your uniform while walking towards the employee door.

Once you clocked out and removed your apron, you walked out onto the cafe floor, a herd of dogs racing towards you in hopes to receive treats. Amongst the adorable chaos, you caught Bob’s attention who was rubbing the tummy of the corgi laying across his lap. You fought against the thought of being the one with your head in his lap while he smooths your hair. Behind the counter, you could sense your coworkers spying on you while pretending to be busy. Ignoring them, you gathered the courage to join Bob on the floor, keeping your eyes on the corgi starting to doze off from Bob’s petting.

“I see you met Maggie,” you started, causing Bob to meet your gaze. 

Bob smiled, “Yeah, I think I’m her new best friend.” Now that Maggie was fast asleep in his lap, Bob seized the opportunity to take a sip of his lukewarm latte. “By the way, this is the best coffee I’ve ever had. I give my compliments to the barista.”

Your cheeks warmed up again, heartbeat thumping a little faster. “That would be me.”

“I know, I watched you make it.” Your head tilted to the side, studying if he was serious or not. Bob gave a bashful look, letting out a short, nervous laugh. “Sorry, that must’ve sounded weird to you. I didn’t expect someone so pretty like you to come talk to me, let alone even see me. I mean, I’m having a blast with the dogs, especially Maggie. I’d have never guessed I’d be sitting and talking with the cute barista that made my latte.” As he blabbered on, your smile grew, and you chuckled at how his cute face became a tinted pink.

“Gosh, I’m so sorry, I-”

“No need to apologize. I think it’s sweet.” You reassured him, gently caressing his hand over Maggie’s rising chest. “If it means anything to you, I’m taking my break now so I could talk to you. My supervisor caught me getting distracted by you…but in a good way.”

Bob sighed a breath of relief, then cleared his throat before extending his hand out to you. “I’m Bob, by the way.”

“I know.” You responded before taking his hand in yours and sharing your name with him. A gesture as simple as a handshake felt electrifying between you two. You hoped this moment with Bob would never end so you wouldn’t have to hear your coworkers’ endless teasing. On top of that, 30 minutes wasn’t enough to learn about the man you and Maggie have grown a soft spot for.

Nevertheless, you spent the remainder of your break getting to know each other, actively listening to what stories you both had to share. You held your composure upon learning that Bob was now a part of The New Avengers, as you have become a fan of them from reading news articles and listening to podcasts about them. It even broke your heart after he shared parts of his past with you. He allowed you to take his hand in yours, giving it a comforting squeeze. 

“I liked this. I wish you didn’t have to go back to work so soon because I really enjoyed getting to know you.” Bob frowned, head bowing down towards his empty coffee cup. 

“Me too. You’re like the dogs here, just want to keep them all and spend all the time in the world with them.”

“I’d keep you too. And spend all the time with you.” The background noise drowned out around you as your eyes got lost in his. Suddenly, Bob removed the sleeve from his cup, tearing it in half with ease. It was the hottest thing you have seen in a while. 

“Let’s exchange numbers. I’d like to take you out on a date tonight and I’d hate to keep you from work.” His voice sounded so confident and cool that your stomach did flips inside you.

“Yes, I’d love that!” You fished around in your pocket for a permanent marker, jotting down your name and number for him. You gave him the marker and your torn up part of the coffee cup sleeve. After he finished writing his number down, he handed you his portion of the ripped paper and your marker.

“Well, I better get going. Bucky and Yelena are gonna send a search party for me and I think your boss is side-eyeing me.” You glanced over at the counter, and your supervisor whipped their head around whisking a matcha in their bowl. Bob was already standing, and he helped you to your feet. You could never get tired of feeling how soft his hands were. 

“It was nice meeting you, Bob!” Your hand was still attached to his, neither of you ready to let go.

“Likewise, sweetheart.” You wanted to melt into the floor. “Thanks again for the coffee.” He swiftly brought your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles lightly. You were speechless as he gently dropped your hand to your side, winked at you, and headed towards the exit. Everything happened so fast, you didn’t get a chance to react until you were in the bathroom washing the hands that were once touched and kissed by Bob. Once you were back behind the espresso machine, you felt your phone vibrate in your back pocket, smiling to yourself already knowing who the text notification was from.

Navigation | Fic Masterlist | Robert 'Bob' Reynolds Masterlist

[asce-of-hearts]

dilf!toji hates wearing his glasses

"You're squinting again." That's the first thing Toji hears before an overwhelming sense of dread overcomes him. He mutes the television, turning to look at you from the sofa.

"How do you know? You're like a kilometer away inside that kitchen. Is dinner ready, by the way?" He tries to play coy, and you walk over to him. Hands on your hips, a favorite of his, means he's getting scolded. Which he finds hot for no particular reason.

"Where are your glasses?" You ask, your eyes narrowing into slits as you look into his mossy green irises. And he averts his gaze, a sardonic smile on his face as he avoids the question.

"Didn't even remember I had those things. God knows where they are."

"Toji."

"Fine, fine!" He groans, like a child who refuses who clean their room. "In the room, first drawer. Where I keep my underwear."

"I'll kill you if you're lying." You hiss at him, and search for the stupid glasses case and bring it to him. The marks of its non-existent usage visible by how the glass is completely clear, transparent and pristine.

"Great. Now can you go back to—" You grab his face, almost poking his eye out as you try and place the frames over his nose bridge.

"Stay the fuck still, you menace—" You growl as you finally manage to get him to wear the things. His eyes immediately adjusting, not looking uncomfortable anymore. He swears his headache dissapeared. And now he can look at your pretty face without it being slightly blurry. You even have pores now! "There... much better. Isn't it?" You croon, and he would agree if it wasn't for his pride. Sitting over his lap, your arms wrap around his neck as his own hands hold you by the waist.

"No. They make me look—" Smooooooch. You press a kiss to his slightly pouty lips, and you can feel Toji Jr. starting to wake up under his trousers. Fucking dog. "—Make me look old." You giggle at that sentence, and he hides his face in the crook of your neck, flustered. You smell like home, which is always comforting for the troubled man.

"They make you look handsome, in my opinion." You reassure him, and he perks up almost immediately at the praise. "It's the truth. They make you look... mature. Like a silver fox, specially with those grey hairs you've been getting lately." He grins, now flattered. You take pride on seducing him so easily.

"I'll have to wear them more often, then," How easily does he change his mind when it comes to you. "This silver fox can't let you become a cougar." He purrs, and you burst out in laughter, hitting him in the chest. Finally he lets you go, not without giving a good squeeze to your ass. Staring at you fondly as you walk back to the kitchen. At least he can see you, not just a blurry figure that moves around his home.

And has that stain always been under your fridge?

EXTRA

"How do I look, Megs?" Toji asks his son as he looks at himself in the mirror. The boy doesn't even look up at him.

"Ridiculous." Megumi deadpans, and Toji feels like he's been shot.

TAG LIST

Toji M.List

TAGGING: @sunnymmoon  @lilithlunas @imvivian @eroscastle @goldenglow149 @lurexin @stranger00001 @kitzusune @mizzhellsingsstuff @lakxcpsta @coolnekochan9961 @notreallyablogger @lilyalone @oliviathatgirl @hannas16 @mimihaitani @raxshall @ayn-yurbestie @janeisnotonline @architectofsuffering @mrstraffy @thatoneweirdkidattheplayground @poopooindamouf @samstrav @yutterfly @staarflowerr @nanamiswife @majissunshine

[superhoeva]

making out with robby during your 15min, his hand sliding in your panties and him groaning "oh, you're soaked, sweetheart. what made you wet like this?" but he wasn't prepared for your answer and now he can't stop thinking about fucking your ass every damn surface. the worst part? abbot knowing smirk because of course it was him that was sexting you insteof sleeping before his next shift.

holy shittt

"nine minutes and counting," robby mumbles against your mouth and you shut him up with a yank to his jacket and swirl of your tongue around his. 540ish seconds is all the man has before he'll be forced to slip out of the on call room, wipe hand to his swollen lips, and not imagine himself taking you for another four fucking hours.

a rough tug of his bottom lip between your teeth returns him to reality, and robby feels you grin at the growl he rumbles out. you're playing dirty and the attending adores it. fucking lives for your purposeful provoking of buttons only you know the site of. (plus the extra ones that jack taught you.)

"fuck," robby grunts, drawing you closer to him with an even tighter grip. "do that again, and you'll be fucking limping to your next patient."

when you smirk at robby, he stares back at you with a lowered chin and a challenge in his eyes. inching to him slowly, you make sure take a few extra seconds before catching his lip back between your teeth. you drag it into your mouth and suck with a moan that melts him into a nothing but a whimper.

before you can blink, robby spins your body and pins you against his front. with a grip on your face and hand tucking into your waist band, robby rolls his hips into you backside with a choked moan.

his cock sits thick and throbbing against his scrubs, and doesn't know how the fuck he's going to last the rest of his shift.

"i wanna taste you but you might lead somebody to us with all your squeals." not that he doesn't love them.

"if i remember correctly, it was your mouth i had to cover the last time i we fucked in here," you fire back, and both of you have to grin at the memory.

"well maybe i just want the whole damn hospital to know how fuckin' well you take my cock," robby husks out, fingers finally reaching behind your thin layer of underwear. he huffs, chest heaving at the mess he finds. it coats and slicks against his fingers, causing robby to blow out a breath. "jesus, 'm surprised you haven't leaked through these scrubs. been reading my thoughts, angel?"

"mmhm," you mewl, hips flinching up into where he presses your clit. "plus jack keeps texting me about all the horrible things he wants to do to me this weekend... you're invited, by the way."

robby uses a laugh to cover the way his head starts spinning.

"oh, i am?"

"yeah," you nod, reaching to hold his forearm in place so the pads of his fingers stroke against you just right when you flick your hips again. "but only if you let me use that new vibrator jack got me on you. wanna how many loads i can milk outta you before you tap out."

jesus fucking christ. he used to joke about how you might make him pass out one day. funny enough, he doesn't currently find his wobbly knees and swimming brain all that amusing...

"oooh, you're horrible," robby rasps, pressing his digits down harder. you gasp and he breathes in the sound, head shaking with another heated chuckle. "i'm serious. fuck you, sweetheart."

a giggle shakes you along with him, and robby kisses your neck.

"you could at least buy me something from the vending machine first."

four long hours later, robby's hiking his backpack over his shoulder and shutting his locker. he pauses as abbot rounds the corner and tilts his head at the other attending, who's doing a bad job at hiding his growing smirk at the look on robby face.

jack whistles a song to himself as he punches in his combination, eyes peeking over to where robby's watching him with crossed arms.

"long day?"

"yeah. yeah, they usually are when i got someone sexting one of my best senior residents," robby throws back, making sure to keep his voice down and eyes peeled for any wandering ears, eyes, earls, or myrnas.

jack breaks his unknowing facade, warming with a pleased snicker. "she teach you that word?"

"yep," you answer for him, bag and thermos already in hand as you appear. you smile and head for jack, who gives you a sweet hey, baby before kissing you. rubbing a ghosting touch against his back, you grin. "then he spelled it out with his tongue inside my pussy. not as long as robinavitch, but it still did the trick."

jack coughs out laugh, eyebrows shooting upwards.

"she's on one today," robby exhales, reddening as he looks at jack. "thanks a lot."

jack replies to the words with an unbothered wink, closing his locker and leaning with an arm around your waist while he whispers against your ear. "stay sweet, yeah?"

melting, all you can do is hum out a dazed reply at his heat. jack pecks your cheek one more time before squeezing a hand onto robby's bicep.

"and try not to wake her neighbors," jack teases the other, eyes cutting to you with a wicked twitch of his lips. "might have to move in with one of us if you get dinged with another noise complaint."

© 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐯𝐚

[pearlessance]

Cupid's Chokehold

summary: Tommy meets Joel's new girlfriend and takes a twisted liking to her live-in daughter.

pairing: step uncle!Tommy Miller x f!Reader

warnings: explicit sexual content MDNI. step-cest, age gap (unspecified, but reader is 19/20, Tommy in his early-mid 30s), unprotected piv, oral sex (both f! and m! receiving), attempted seduction (from reader), pussy pronouns, praise, dirty talk, creampie, begging, dacryphilia, alcohol consumption, no outbreak AU, Tommy POV

note: genuinely this is the filthiest most diabolic thing I've ever written and I'm absolutely terrified to post it!!! if it's not your cup of tea pls keep scrolling, and if you do read it, let me know what you think!! also, I wrote the nightclub scene with the song Feel So Close by Calvin Harris in mind (iykyk), but feel free to imagine whatever you like!

wc: 12.1k

[masterlist] [AO3]

You’ve always been close.

Since that first night you’d met in Joel’s kitchen, Tommy has always felt drawn to you. Like you were one and the same. Two peas in a fucking pod, despite how…indecent it sometimes felt.

It was late summer. Hot. Your mother and Joel had arranged a dinner. They’d wanted everyone to ‘get to know each other.’ Grilled burgers and made pasta salad and poured glasses of cheap champagne. The whole nine yards. 

Joel had warned Tommy about you ahead of time. Talked about his new girlfriend’s daughter, about how you were a bit…wild. Impulsive. Too pretty and too smart for your own good.

You’re a couple of years older than Sarah, freshly out of high school with a devil-may-care attitude. The two of you get along well—Sarah thinks the whispered comments you pour in her ear all night are just hilarious. The two of you spend most of the afternoon on the side of the pool chattering while Tommy…well, Tommy certainly feels a bit like a third wheel. 

He knows it’s not intentional. Joel isn’t like that, he’s just…excited. He loves your mom and is eager to start this new chapter of his life, to expand his family the way he’s always wanted to. And your mom is nice enough. Sweet and easy going, a good match for his brother. But she’s a mom. And Joel’s Joel. 

It’s Saturday night, and Tommy Miller is bored half to death sipping champagne and watching two teenage girls giggle over something on their cell phones. 

And it’s not like he can leave right away. At least, not until after his desert has settled. But he knows where Joel keeps the good liquor, and dismisses himself in search of it.

He’s pouring two shots of whiskey into a glass tumbler when he hears the back door open. Tommy expects it to be Joel, coming to offer a penny for his thoughts. He opens his mouth to soothe his brother's nerves, to reassure him that his other half does fit him as perfectly as it seems. To tell him that he’s crazy for letting another little girl live under his roof, to warn him it’ll be double the hormones and double the attitude, but if it makes him happy…

“Hey.”

It’s not Joel who speaks at all. It’s your voice, soft but sultry. Tommy smiles at you over his shoulder. “Hey, kiddo.”

You saddle up to his side, so close your elbow brushes his as you lean on the counter, eyes focused on his hands as he pours. “This is the most boring party I’ve ever been to,” you say with a dispirited sigh.

It makes Tommy laugh. He sets the bottle down and lifts the tumbler to his mouth, grinning all the while. “Can’t say this little soirée is particularly, uh…exhilarating,” he says, sipping from his glass.

He can feel your attention on him, hotter even than the burn of the whiskey. Your eyes slide down the column of his throat, over his chest, stopping at his waist. You turn your head the smallest bit, not dissimilar to that of a curious little puppy. Crude and shameless in your examination. You look back up to find him staring at you, unable and unwilling to fight his knowing smirk. “Can I have some of that?”

“You old enough?” Tommy doesn’t even know why he asks, because he already knows the answer.

With a shrug of your shoulders and a sweet little smile, you say, “No. But it’s not like it would be my first time. No cherry to pop here.”

Filthy mouth for a girl your age. Funny, though. It’s kind of endearing. He was an awful lot younger than you are now when he started drinking. The first time he’d blacked out had been his sophomore year of high school—barely sixteen, woke up in the middle of a field two hours away from home. He’d had to use a pay phone to get ahold of Joel to come pick him up. 

And it’s better this way, isn’t it? To do it at home, surrounded by people who care about you. Who will keep you safe. It’s not like one drink’s going to put you on your ass, anyway.

He nods slowly. “Alright,” he says, opening the cupboard to find another tumbler. 

You stop him, delicate hand around his wrist. “Are you crazy? That’s evidence.”

Tommy furrows his brows. “What, the cup? I’ll wash it when you’re done. S’alright.”

“Waste of time.” You take the whiskey and twist off the cap, pushing the smooth glass bottle into his hands. “You know how to waterfall without drowning me?”

He likes you, Tommy thinks. Probably more than he should. He gets that familiar tug in his lower abdomen, the one that urges him to move closer, to speak slower. 

It’s a little fucked up, he knows. You’re so young, and odds are your mom will marry into the family, and then you’d be…well, you’d be his niece. Kind of. 

His heart races a little faster at the thought. 

“Well?”

“Yeah,” Tommy promises. “Yeah, I got you. Tilt your head back.”

You step further in front of him, spine pressed against the edge of the countertop. He can feel the heat of your skin against his, and it makes Tommy feel dizzy. You tilt your head back, just as he said, but it’s not quite enough. 

He reaches up, cradling your jaw in his hand, thumb pressed against the underside of your chin. He knows he could just tell you, could just use the words ‘a little more’ and you’d do as he asks. But the heated look in your eyes as he touches you so gently…it’s worth it. “Like this,” he tells you, pushing your chin back. “There you go. Now open your mouth.”

It sounds so vulgar in his ears. And Tommy doesn’t mean it that way, but you smile up at him and say, “You’re supposed to take me out on a date first, I think.”

“You think?” He scoffs. “You ever let another man in your mouth and he doesn’t wine an’ dine you first, you let me know so I can take care of him.” Tommy’s only sort of kidding. If you ever asked, he’d do it in a heartbeat. 

“Alright,” you say. “No other man, then. Just you.”

He has to look away, unable to contain his amusement. “Christ, girl.” Tommy shakes his head, delighting in the sound of your giggling. He can feel the vibration of it in his hand, still pressed against the side of your neck. “Ridiculous.”

Joel’s voice cuts through the kitchen, calling Tommy’s name. 

He tries to take a step back, get some distance, but you hook your leg around his to keep him close, bare and exposed to him from the hem of your denim shorts down. Tommy grips your thigh tightly but doesn’t quite push you away. “Yeah, Joel?”

You tilt your head back, perfect this time, just like he showed you.

Tommy shakes his head again, surprised by your brazenness, but he just can’t seem to stop smiling. He lifts the glass bottle and pours the whiskey slowly, holding in his laughter all the while.

“Bring out another slice of that pie,” Joel says from the back door. “The key lime one. Sarah wants some more.”

“Yeah, sure. One slice of key lime,” Tommy calls back, watching with rapt attention as the amber liquid pools in your pretty mouth. And then, more to you than to Joel, he says, “You got it.”

He stops just before your mouth is too full and sets the bottle back on the counter as the back door closes. You tilt your head back down, grimacing as you swallow. You have to do it twice, and Tommy knows that shit burns.

He’d feel bad if it weren’t for the drop of liquid that spills from the corner of your pursed lips, leaving a trail of whiskey as it drips down your chin. It’s such a sight to behold that his mouth waters. It takes every last ounce of his common sense to keep from leaning forward and licking it up.

Instead, he runs his thumb across the seam of your lips, collecting every last drop, and proceeds to suck it clean. “No man left behind,” he says playfully, painfully aware of the slight lift of your hips and the almost unnoticeable arch of your back.

“Right, no. Of course,” you say, words just a little breathless. “It would be, like, alcohol abuse.”

Tommy chuckles as he finally steps away, surprised by the complete lack of guilt he feels. He pulls a plate from the cupboard and finds the remainder of the key lime pie in the fridge.

Your steps echo in the kitchen when you leave, the screen door creaking as you push it open. He catches the words as you speak them under your breath just before disappearing from view. “Certainly not boring anymore.”

Tommy returns to the backyard with Sarah’s key lime pie in one hand and his refilled glass tumbler in the other, a newfound spring in his step.

It doesn’t take long for family dinners to become a tradition. They’re moved to Sunday nights, though, which works a hell of a lot better for Tommy. He usually shows up hungover, sporting a headache and a bad mood.

You’re real good at pulling him out of it, though. Always making those dirty jokes, uncaring of who hears, often earning a scolding from your mother when your humor graces the dinner table. 

Eventually, it takes nothing but a shared glance before you slink off to the kitchen, one at a time, to steal more of Joel’s whiskey. Like a secret, shared language that only the two of you understand. As if the moment the thought crosses his mind, it crosses yours, too. Almost like you’re connected, somehow. 

Sometimes Sunday dinners will be paired with a movie. Often, it’s a film Joel rented for the weekend that he claims has ‘good reviews,’ but never has a satisfying ending.

Tommy doesn’t stay for the popcorn or the candy, though. He doesn’t even stay for the movie, in truth. 

He stays because you always sit beside him on the loveseat.

It always starts innocently enough. You pull the scratchy, old blanket from the back of the couch, draping it over you both. And then you’re poking his thigh while murmuring comments in his ear.

You’ll say, “God, that guy has the worst fake crying face I’ve ever seen. Looks like he’s constipated.”

And Tommy will laugh, and Sarah will scowl and shush him, and your hand will linger on his knee. 

Halfway through, you’ll shift in your seat, trying to get comfortable. You’ll lean back against the armrest and lay your legs across his lap. And Tommy, impulsive man that he is, will slide his hands between your thighs and rub circles into your soft skin, careful not to move too fast, to be too obvious. 

Once you reach this point of the night, Tommy doesn’t pay attention to the movie at all. He focuses on you instead, on the way your breath catches in your throat when he squeezes hard, on the way your knees slowly drift further and further apart, on the flush that crawls up your cheeks each time he catches your eye.

It never feels quite so innocent when the movie ends and Tommy has to sit on the couch with that blanket over his lap just a little longer than everyone else.

In September, Joel tells him you and your mom are moving in permanently. No more weekend sleepovers. You’re taking the spare room across the hall from Sarah, the one Tommy knows like the back of his hand after crashing in it countless times.

He’s not sure why, but there’s something satisfying about knowing you’ll be there, sleeping in the bed he’s slept in hundreds of times.

Joel asks him to help move some of the furniture, and Tommy doesn’t hesitate to agree. They move the larger things, while you and Sarah excitedly unpack cardboard boxes and talk about sharing clothes and shoes.

Tommy remembers the times Sarah would beg Joel for a sibling when she was younger, and it warms his heart to see she’s finally gotten the sister she’s always wanted.

He sees you a whole lot more often after that. Tommy picks Joel and Sarah up every morning and drops Joel off after work every day.

Most of the time, you’re still sleeping when he shows up at seven. But the evidence of you is littered all over the house; your shoes by the front door, your jacket slung over the dining room chair, your denim shorts on the floor beside the laundry basket in the bathroom. 

And after work, he always comes inside to visit you. Just to see how you’re doing, to see if you’ve had a good day, often making some silly joke just so he gets to hear your sweet laughter. Sometimes he finds you watching one of those teen dramas in the living room, and he loves to poke fun at you for it. “These weird ass vampires again? What, now there’s werewolves, too? How original.”

“Shut up,” you’ll say, tossing a throw pillow at his head. 

“I’m just fuckin’ with you, darlin.’ I know how you love that freaky shit.” The embarrassment will show on your face, and Tommy will laugh but his shoulders will drop as all the stress from the day melts away.

Some nights, he’ll find you in the backyard by the pool with that tiny lime colored bikini on, lying on your belly, soaking up the sun. He’ll try to scare you, try to get close with soundless movements. 

But you always catch him. Can always sense he’s there. “Now, what if I suddenly decided I didn’t want tan lines and took off my top while you tried sneaking up on me? Tits out. Then what?”

Tommy stops just a few paces away from the spot in the grass where you’ve thrown out your beach towel. He towers over you, casting shadows across your spine. “Wouldn’t be nothin’ I haven’t seen before,” he says.

“You peeping on me, Tommy? Is that where you got your name?”

He snorts, but the idea isn’t half bad. “You fuckin’ wish.”

“Yeah, maybe I do.” The comment gives him pause, but he doesn’t have time to think too hard about it because you’re turning on your back and reaching for the string tied loosely around your neck.

You stare up at him, eyes all glittering and mischievous, hair splayed out in a perfect halo around your head. Tommy knows that he should stop you. Should laugh it off and walk away.

He doesn’t, though. His feet stay firmly planted, pressure building in his lower abdomen, cock pulsing behind the chrome zipper of his jeans.

You tug at the strings until the fabric falls slack. Still covering your chest, but only just barely. 

Tommy thinks green might be his new favorite color.

You hook your thumb around the thin string across your ribcage, the only resistance left between this moment and the next, a lone scrap of polyester that stands between Tommy being the fun uncle and the weird one.

He doesn’t say it out loud, doesn’t say anything at all. But he admits to himself only that he does want it. That he wants you. To see you, to touch you, to feel you. It’s wrong and perverted and maybe even a little gross, but you’re just so fucking pretty. 

Slowly, those loose-fitting triangles drift lower and lower, almost there. His breath comes fast and labored. The seconds tick by, feeling much longer than they truly are. 

 And then—

“Dinner!” Your mom’s voice carries through the backyard, kind and airy. “Are you staying, Tommy? We’re having pasta tonight.”

Tommy clears his throat and looks over his shoulder at your mom, who stands on the back deck completely oblivious. “Uh, no,” he says. “Not tonight. Thanks, though.”

“Suit yourself,” she says before disappearing back into the kitchen.

You extend your hand to him, the other held tightly over the fabric of your top to keep it in place. “Help me up,” you say, and he does. 

He watches as you turn your back to him, straining to memorize every last second of this moment because he never, ever wants to forget it. The smoothness of your skin, the shallow slope at the small of your back, the delicious curve of your ass—if this is all he ever gets to see, Tommy wants it stuck in his brain like glue. Permanent.

You move the arm that’s held to your chest, and the green fabric finally drops, exposing you completely. With your back still to him, all Tommy can see is the subtle curves of the sides of your breasts, but it’s enough to make his heart race. You gather your hair at the nape of your neck and ask, “Can you tie it for me?”

Tommy knows you’re doing this on purpose. Trying to get a rise out of him, and it’s working. “Course,” he says, stepping forward, placing his rough, calloused hands on your delicate shoulders. He reaches down your body and gathers the nylon strands between his fingers, careful not to touch you more than what’s necessary.

He wants to, though. Christ, does he. His lungs stutter at the thought alone. It takes everything in him to resist lowering himself to his knees and giving you the tender, loving care you deserve. He’d worship you, Tommy decides. He’d demonstrate how a girl like you is supposed to be treated. Touched slowly, gently—until you beg him for more, until you whimper and cry and remember no words but his fucking name. 

Until his touch is so deeply embedded in your skin that you’d never be able to root him out. 

But he doesn’t give you so much as a clue to what he’s thinking. Instead, he exhales a shaky breath, fanning across the back of your neck, and ties the lime colored strands into a perfect bow. He presses a chaste kiss to the crown of your head and says, “Be good, now. Alright?”

You turn to face him, that familiar, provocative smirk on your sweet mouth. “Never,” you promise, and he knows you mean it.

Tommy doesn’t even notice he’s speeding the entire way back to his shitty apartment. What’s worse is that he doesn’t even make it inside. He sits behind the wheel of his truck, right in the open, empty parking lot, squeezing his aching cock in his hand, head filled with thoughts of you.

The next time he stays for dinner, your mom makes fajitas. You sit beside him on the steps of the back porch and pick red peppers off his plate.

You and Sarah belly-laugh about some YouTube video you watched together late last night, mimicking impressions of an animatronic voice. And it’s at this very moment that Tommy realizes he might be in real trouble.

Because he wants to fuck you. Thinks about it almost every goddamn night. Can’t even get off with the women he meets at the bars anymore without closing his eyes and recalling that lime bikini or the arch of your back or the way your thighs fit so perfectly in his big hands. It’s a carnal desire. Uncontrollable.

But this? Feeling a sense of elation provoked only by knowing you're here beside him, safe, happy, and fed? It’s something else. Something heavy. Something he can’t quite put a name to because he doesn’t have any experience with it, despite his age.

All Tommy Miller knows is that he smiles just at the sound of your name.

The thought crosses his mind that he should try to keep his distance, and he tells himself he will. He lies in bed thinking about it, conducting a plan in his head while staring at the ceiling at two in the morning. He can’t not see you. But maybe he doesn’t have to be so inviting. Maybe he doesn’t have to seek you out every afternoon, doesn’t have to check in and make sure you’ve had a good day. 

Maybe he sits on the opposite end of the table during Sunday dinner. Maybe when you give him that look and head to the kitchen in search of whiskey, Tommy keeps his ass on the couch.

But then the next morning rolls around, and he’s picking Sarah and Joel up with dark circles under his eyes and a cigarette hanging from the corner of his lips. He glances over his shoulder when the front door creaks open and is only a little surprised when you step outside with bare feet, wearing nothing but a thin tank top and a pair of sleep shorts.

Your hair’s messy, and there’s an imprint from your pillow on your cheek. Still half asleep, you let out the cutest whimper he’s ever heard and crawl right into his lap like it’s where you belong. 

Tommy spreads his knees apart to make room for you, stubbing his cigarette out on the concrete and tossing it in the grass. He brackets his arms around your waist and interlocks his fingers at your hip while you curl up against him, stealing his warmth. 

It feels so easy, so natural that he doesn’t fight it for a second. Doesn’t even realize he should. All those big plans he made six hours ago to right this wrong dissolve as easily as sugar in water. He kisses your forehead and holds you close and says, “Hey, sweetheart. You alright? Somethin’ wrong?”

You nuzzle your nose against the crook of his neck and murmur sleepily, “Missed you.”

Just two words, but that’s all it takes. He decides that the heavy feeling inside his chest is his to cope with. He won’t make you suffer for it. Can’t imagine ever pushing you away or sitting across from you instead of at your side.

There’s only one word for this, he knows. Only one explanation for why he continuously fights for your laughter, your comfort. Only one reason he’s memorized the pattern of your breathing and would know the touch of your hands with his eyes closed.

It’s not right. 

It’s not, and Tommy knows it, but he doesn’t have the strength to fight it. So, he cradles this feeling in his hands. Holds it gently. Sees it for what it is. 

And then he tucks it away. Locks it up tight and promises never to speak of it. 

Joel takes your mom to Galveston for the weekend on their anniversary. He asks Tommy to keep an eye on you and Sarah, to keep his phone on in case the two of you need anything.

He brings takeout over after work on Friday night, but leaves the two of you to your own devices after that. Tommy remembers being your age and doesn’t want to hover, doesn’t want anyone involved to consider him a fucking babysitter. So he gives you the space he wanted when he was young. Figures if you need him, you’ll call him, and he’ll come running.

The phone doesn’t ring until late Sunday afternoon. 

Joel and your mom are due home in the next few hours, and your voice is panicky on the other end of the line. “Hey. Can you—can you come over? We sort of broke something, and I tried to fix it but I think I only made it worse.”

Tommy’s in his truck before the call even ends. He asks a hundred questions, tries to get some sort of clarification on the way over. But you don’t give much in the way of answers, and his confusion only increases when he pulls into Joel’s driveway and sees you standing on the porch with a trash bag in hand. “Okay, before you come inside, you have to swear to secrecy,” you say.

Tommy’s brows furrow.  “Christ, kid. What the hell’d you do? There a fuckin’ dead body in there?”

You roll your eyes. “Just promise you won’t tell Joel or my mom.”

“Can’t promise nothin’ if I don’t know—”

“Just promise me, Tommy,” you say, frustration building. He’s never seen you this serious, he realizes.

Even if there was a dead body behind the front door, Tommy knows he’d do nothing but protect you from the fallout. And he hates how nervous you look, so the decision comes easily. “Hey.” He reaches out and takes your hand in his, running his thumb across your knuckles. “I promise, alright?”

You let out a sigh of relief. “Good. Cause Sarah’s in there freaking the fuck out cause I called you.”

Tommy follows you inside, mouth open with the intent to ask more questions. But they’re all answered rather quickly when he sees the state of Joel’s living room.

There are half-empty beer cans and red solo cups littered all over every viable surface. Pink and green and orange streamers hang from the ceiling fan and over the stair bannister. Confetti covers the floor and there’s a shattered glass bottle in the kitchen sink, but the most obvious stressor is the six-inch hole in the wall beside the fridge.

Sarah’s footsteps rush down the hall, finger pointed at Tommy. Her eyes are wide, and there’s genuine tension on her face. “Did you swear?”

Tommy raises both hands in surrender. “Cross my heart,” he says, and means it. “Let me take care of the wall first. I’ll get the broken glass after. Don’t wanna see either one of you near it. The last thing we need right now is a trip to the emergency room for stitches.”

Between the three of you, it doesn’t take long. Tommy finds a mesh patch, spackle, and a half-empty gallon of paint in Joel’s garage that matches the kitchen walls. He fills the cavity as quickly as he can, using the box fan from Joel’s bedroom window to speed up the drying process.

You make quick progress, and yet still, he feels his heart sink to his feet at the sound of tires in the driveway.

Both you and Sarah freeze in place, staring at each other with expressions that are somehow both horrified and amused. “We’re so fucked, dude,” you whisper.

But when it comes to hiding things like this, Tommy Miller might just consider himself an expert. “Not just yet,” he swears. “Throw it all out back. I’ll keep them outside for a minute, and then when I leave, I’ll take care of it, alright? Be quick.”

He tries not to laugh as you and Sarah launch into action, running around the room and filling your hands with what remains.

Tommy meets Joel at his truck and asks him how their vacation was, making comments and drawing the discussion out as your mom talks about the aquarium and the restaurants on the pier and how the hotel staff folded your towels into the shape of little swans. 

Joel asks how you and Sarah behaved, asks if there had been any trouble. Tommy shakes his head, leaning against the side of the truck. “Nah,” he lies easily. “They were perfect angels as usual.”

When he can no longer make viable conversation points, he very nosily helps them bring their luggage and souvenirs inside. He finds you and Sarah cuddled up on the couch, both reading books that Tommy knows you’ve never cracked open a day in your life.

You both look so out of place that it almost gives you away. He tries not to laugh, but it doesn’t quite work. Joel stares at him in confusion while you and Sarah glare at him from across the room, and so Tommy dismisses himself quickly. “Gonna head home,” he says. “Have to, uh…check on the neighbor's cat. Watching it for the weekend, too.”

He leaves through the front door, but sneaks around through the gate and quietly grabs the trash from the backyard just as he promised. It takes two trips to get it all, and he throws everything into the back of his truck on the off chance that Joel checks the bin before trash day.

Tommy’s tossing the last one when he sees you come sprinting off the front porch. He thinks maybe he’s forgotten something, or maybe Joel and your mom had seen right through the lie and all that acting was for nothing.

But then you’re throwing your arms around his neck and wrapping your legs around his waist, face buried in his shoulder. 

Holding you is as easy as breathing. He keeps you upright, keeps you close, with his big hands spread wide over your back.

You say, “Thank you, Uncle Tommy,” and the air is punched from his fucking lungs. 

It’s the first time you've said it. The very first time, and he feels giddy and nervous, and his stomach gets all tied in knots like he’s some teenage boy. He squeezes you tighter, and his laughter slips out unrestrained this time. 

It’s filthy and dirty and disgusting, but he loves it. “I’ve always got you, darlin',” he says. “You know that.”

You lift your head to look at him, and your pretty mouth is suddenly so close to his that you share the same breath. “Yeah,” you giggle. “I know you do.”

It warms him from the inside out to hear it. He loves being this for you. A holder of secrets, a shoulder to lean on, a solver of problems. He loves that you make him feel needed—wanted in a way he’s never been before.

He loves being your Uncle Tommy. 

You press your forehead to his, and desire creeps up his spine, hot and thick and asphyxiating. His limbs feel heavy, and his breath gets caught in his lungs. It’s painful how badly he wants you. Like a peak he can’t quite reach, an itch he can’t quite scratch. You thread your hands in the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling gently, and his eyelids flutter closed. 

Nothing has ever felt as good as it feels to be touched by you, Tommy realizes. And he knows nothing will ever compare. 

“Fuck,” he hisses. “Fuck, sweetheart, I…”

There are no words to say. They get all jumbled in his head, and the only thing he can make out in the chaos is his yearning.

“I know,” you say. Because of course you do. You’ve always known him, have always understood him in a way no one else has. Have always been able to see the look on his face and read the thoughts in his head. “I know.”

Slowly, carefully, you untangle your legs from around his waist. You slide down his body and he knows you can feel it. Knows there’s no way in hell the throbbing of his cock could ever be mistaken as just his belt buckle. 

But you say nothing. Just smile up at him with those hungry eyes and press a sweet, soft kiss to his cheek.

He drives home in silence.

No music, no news station. Even the windows he leaves up. Tommy can’t think beyond the taste of your oxygen, can’t see past the absolute fucking shit show he’s gotten himself into. He sits in his truck outside his apartment for twenty minutes before he moves again, scratching the stubble along his jaw.

And then, as if he hadn’t almost kissed you in broad daylight, the world keeps turning.

He cleans out the bed of his truck, showers the smell of paint and cheap beer from his skin, and then he goes to work the next morning. He teases Joel about the swan-shaped towels, but there’s no salt to it. Truly, he’s happy for his brother. 

Joel’s been so selfless his whole life. Has given the first half of it up to raise Tommy and the second half to raise Sarah and never complained, not even once.

If anyone in the world deserves that gooey, cliche kind of love that’s just good and uncomplicated and easy, it’s Joel. They really are perfect for each other, he and your mother.

Tommy tries not to think about how his happiness for his brother is paired with a simmering jealousy underneath. Decides to take that green-eyed confession to his grave.

Friday afternoon, one of the electricians Joel hired a few months ago invites Tommy out to a nightclub. “The whole team’s going tomorrow,” he says. “Booze, girls, drugs if you’re into that kinda thing. One of those pop-up ones. It’s in that old warehouse on the other side of town.”

Sounds tempting, he’ll admit. Right up his alley. But Tommy knows himself, and knows that in a place like that he’s likely to go a little overboard. Spend too much money, have too many drinks, wake up the next morning with a girl in his bed he doesn’t remember talking to. And if he does that, he likely won’t make it to Sunday dinner at Joel’s. 

Which means no time with you. 

No stolen, longing glances across the room. No heat of your thigh pressed against his. No thieving fingers on his plate.

Tommy shakes his head. “Thanks, Mike. But, uh…I’m—I’m good.”

He thinks that’s the end of it. But then Joel asks, real gently, “You got a girl or somethin’ I don’t know about?”

“What? Nah, man. No. Definitely not.” Tommy knows his answer comes too quickly, too dismissive for it to be even remotely believable. But it’s true, isn’t it? You’re not his girl. You just…well, you’re his niece. Sort of.

Joel eyes him suspiciously. All he says is, “Never would’ve imagined you’d skip out on that.” But it’s enough to convince Tommy that his brother doesn’t believe him for even a second.

He lay awake that night, head filled with thoughts of you. Because Tommy knows Joel’s right. Before you’d waltzed into his life and altered its course, he would’ve been all over that. Would’ve jumped at the opportunity for an exclusive warehouse party, even knowing what would likely happen. He’d take the migraine and the dehydration and the overdrafted checking account at just the plausible idea of a good time.

And he’d declined so quickly. That’s the part that gets him. The thing that gives him perspective. He hadn’t even debated it for a single second because the things that once brought him joy pale in comparison to simply being at your side. 

Saturday morning, Tommy makes a phone call. Says he changed his mind and gets the address of the warehouse.

He spends his afternoon running errands, doing everything he knows he won’t have the energy for tomorrow. And then he showers and puts gel in his hair and picks out a nice outfit. Starched blue jeans that fit him nicely and an expensive leather belt and a white t-shirt. He puts on a simple gold chain and sprays his favorite cologne (trying not to think about the fact that it’s only his favorite because one afternoon you’d said he smelled so good he was ‘edible’). 

On the drive over, he has to hype himself up. Has to try and convince himself that this is a good thing. It’s what he needs. To get out there again, to find someone who makes him feel the way you do. Someone nice and age-appropriate and not loosely familial. Someone who doesn’t know Joel or your mother or Sarah or you in any fucking capactiy whatsoever. 

Tommy doesn’t think it’s likely that he’ll find that person here, of course. But there’s a possibility, right? To meet someone who could be the love of his life. A slim chance, but a chance nonetheless.

There are more people than he expects. The warehouse looks almost dark on the outside. Quiet and empty. But once the bouncer checks his ID and lets him through the double doors, the inside is a different world entirely. 

There are three different bars. One on the left wall, one on the right, and one in the very center of the room in the shape of an oval. There’s a big stage with a live DJ and house music playing loud over the speakers. The dance floor is lively and drenched in neon lights and the air is thick with humidity and the smell of liquor.

Excitement trickles into his bloodstream. It’s been a long while since he’s been in a place like this, but Tommy thinks it might just cure him.

All it takes is a quick text before he finds Mike and the rest of the guys from the work site that decided to show up. There’s only a handful of them, but they all split the bill for a round of shots, and Tommy orders a whiskey and coke. 

They’re here for one reason, of course—and Tommy’s no different. They chat for a while, but eventually the guys all peel off from the group one by one after buying a girl a drink and then proceeding to disappear into the crowd of dancing bodies. 

Mike has a wife, but even he finds someone to dance with, and eventually Tommy sits at the bar alone. 

He pulls out his phone. Opens your thread of messages and smiles to himself as he scrolls through them. It’s filled with silly photos and dirty jokes and the occasional text from you that reads, ‘miss you today<3’ and his perpetual response, ‘I always miss you more. Be good, sweetheart.’ 

Tommy’s so deeply focused on his phone that he nearly jumps out of his skin when his drink is pulled right out of his hands.

He looks up with a scowl on his face, not anticipating a fight but preparing for one, and then—

“Can I have some of that?” You don’t wait for his answer before sipping from his glass, leaving lip gloss stains in the same place his mouth was moments ago.

“What in the fuck?” A crease forms between his brows as he takes in your familiar face, backlit by green and yellow lights. “They’re checking IDs at the door,” he says. “How did you even get in here?”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, come on, Uncle Tommy. You’re telling me you never had a fake when you were my age?”

Tommy knows he probably should say something…responsible right now. Should probably warn you of the dangers in a place like this, especially for a girl like you. Should be taught about covetous men with wandering hands and powders dropped in drinks and cigarettes laced with God knows what.

But he did have a fake ID at your age and could be found at places a whole lot like this one. Two peas in a fucking pod, he thinks. 

So, instead, he asks, “Did you, uh…come here with someone? Friends or…I don’t know. A boyfriend, maybe?”

He steels himself in preparation for your answer. You’ve never mentioned a boyfriend before, but you’re at that age. Probably experimenting a little, sifting through the options to find which one suits you best.

But you’re standing at a bar, all alone, buying your own drink. Shitty fucking option, Tommy thinks.

“Why? You jealous or something?” There’s a teasing lilt to your voice, and Tommy knows you’re just trying to get a rise out of him. But the sad part is that you’re not too far off, and that’s what has him turning to the bartender and ordering another.

“Got no reason to be jealous,” Tommy answers with a shrug. “Ain’t exactly like I’ve got a spot on the roster, darlin’.”

Your smile falls. Just barely, almost undetectable. But Tommy notices. Would notice it even if you were across the room. “Is that what you think?”

“It’s what I know.”

“Well, then you’re a fucking idiot, Tommy Miller.” You laugh, but there’s no humor in it. The words are sharp, icy. You take a long drink from his stolen glass. “What stops you?”

His brows furrow. “Stops me…?”

“From doing what you want to me.” It gives him pause, laying it out so boldly like that. The truth he’s never spoken aloud falls so easily from your tongue. “We get so close,” you elaborate. “Just one moment, one choice away…but you never do it. You always hesitate, and then the moment’s gone. So what stops you?”

His morals, your age, your vibrance. You’re so good, so lively and carefree and happy. How does he explain that he doesn’t want to ruin this? Ruin you? How does he explain that taking that next step with you would tarnish both of you forever? Red to blue, green to yellow. It would never be the same. 

He’s supposed to protect you. Supposed to give you a shoulder to cry on and a soft landing in your time of need and spot you a twenty when you’re short on cash. Supposed to be a guiding hand as an uncle should. He’s not supposed to be…whatever this is.

Tommy’s relieved when the bartender hands him his drink. “You know what stops me,” he says as if it’s obvious, throwing back half the glass in one long drink. The whiskey burns.

“Would it be different if you didn’t know me?”

“Very,” he answers honestly, his mind filling so easily with those obscene possibilities. “But I do know you, so it doesn’t matter.”

That familiar, troublesome smirk finds its way to your glossy lips. You toss back what remains in your glass, set it on the bar, and say, “I’m going to walk away. Okay? And you’re going to have one of those cases of temporary amnesia.”

Tommy laughs and shakes his head. “You’re crazy,” he says.

But you don’t pay him any mind. “You’re going to forget everything you know about me. Every last detail. I’m just some girl at a club, and you’re just some guy at the bar.” You put your hands on his shoulders, shaking lightly, staring up at him with starry eyes. Tommy’s heart races behind his sternum, but he can’t stop grinning. “I’m not me, and you’re not you. And tomorrow, you’ll be cured. Everything will go back to normal, just like it was. Okay?”

“S’a real bad idea, darlin’,” he warns.

“So don’t make me do it alone.”

Tommy swallows hard. He’s never said no to you in all his life, and it’s just…it’s just one night, right? Maybe it’s what he needs. A slow release of pressure, a controlled indulgence to prevent an explosion.

You see the decision as he makes it. Know what he’s thinking without him speaking a single word. Tommy covers his mouth to stifle his rugged amusement as he watches you take five steps away from him, turn in a complete circle, and then make your way back to the bar.

In a dramatic show of film-esque seduction, you lean against the bar and say, “Well, aren’t you a tall glass of water?”

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Tommy mutters to himself, smiling so hard the apples of his cheeks hurt.

You playfully slap his bicep with the back of your hand. “Aren’t you going to ask if you can buy me a drink? Wine and dine me?”

He recalls your very first conversation, that one in Joel’s kitchen when you’d promised not to let any man inside your mouth without properly romancing you first. “Alright, then,” he resigns. “What’re you havin,’ sweetheart?”

“Whiskey,” you say, and he’s not the least bit surprised.

Tommy buys your drink and says, “You look…really beautiful.” You’re wearing a silvery satin dress, sinfully short, tight in all the right places. The straps are thin against your otherwise bare shoulders, and he reaches out and gently runs his knuckles down the curve of your collarbone. He thinks it might be the very first time he’s ever touched you here, and it’s not inherently a sexual caress, but it feels so… intimate. Heavy.

You glance down at yourself, at the strappy black heels on your feet. “Thank you,” you say. “But I think it’d look even better on your bedroom floor.”

“Fuck yeah it would,” he agrees, chuckling.

“Do you wanna dance?”

Tommy’s never abandoned a drink so fast in his life. He takes your hand in his and says, “I thought you’d never ask.”

He leads you through the crowd while the DJ plays some bass-heavy pop song he’s heard on the radio a hundred times. He finds a reasonable space and raises your hand above your head, turning you so he can properly appreciate the sight of that dress.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he says. “Do you know that?”

You roll your eyes like it’s a joke, but Tommy’s being dead serious. You say, “Shut up.” But he sees the way your cheeks heat, even beneath the flashing lights.

You sway your hips in time to the beat, body moving in sync with the music. There’s nothing shy or timid about it; that allure of yours comes so easily, glowing from the inside out.

Tommy’s never been a good dancer, and he knows it, but it doesn’t feel that way at all. You seem to find such amusement in his nonsensical movements, not a drop of apprehension trickles into his psyche. 

When you grab his hands and place them on your hips, he lets his instinct take over. Pulls you in close, chests pressed together, his thigh between your legs. You sing the lyrics as if every song is your favorite with a face-splitting grin and those sweet giggles falling from your lips. He pushes you away and spins you around, only to pull you right back. Right into his waiting embrace, right where you belong. Your breath comes fast, but you don’t slow down, and neither does he.

He’s not sure he’s ever felt like this in his entire life. This open, this full. A strange sort of nostalgia passes through him, a homesickness, missing the moment before it’s even passed, knowing he’ll eventually look back on this night as the best he’s ever had.

The air is hot and stiff, but he breathes in your oxygen, and it gives him life. You move together so seamlessly, and Tommy thinks about how he’d come here seeking the possible love of his life and wonders if it’s fate that you were here.

Fate that you had a fake ID, that you somehow knew about the same exclusive pop-up party he’d declined and then came to anyway. Fate that you’d be here alone, that you’d choose one bar out of three others, and that he just happened to be standing there at the very same time. In a warehouse filled with a thousand strangers, you’d somehow found him.

The songs flow and fade, bleeding from one to the next. You dance and dance, and Tommy watches you—enthralled, obsessed, in love.

He loses track of the time, thinks hours could have passed without his notice, and he wouldn’t have even cared. But when he sees a bead of sweat trickle down your neck, he asks, “Wanna step out for a minute?”

You nod once, and Tommy grabs your hand again and pulls you out of the crowd. He gives the bouncer a tight-lipped smile as you slip out of the wide doors. There’s a designated smoking area near the entrance, and that’s where Tommy leads you. 

The music can still be heard outside, muffled and low. He pulls the pack of Marlboros out of his back pocket, lights one, and inhales deeply. When he looks up, he finds you watching him, leaning back against the concrete wall of the warehouse, the blue light of the moon reflected in your eyes. 

You outstretch your hand and take the cigarette from between his fingers, taking a slow drag. “Do you bring girls you don’t know home often?”

Tommy can see right through you. Sees that unease beneath your smile, sees the way you feel the need to ask but don’t want the answer, and relates to it. It makes his stomach turn, though. Because he doesn’t ever want you to think of yourself that way, doesn’t want you to think for a single second that this is anything like that.

Because you’re not a girl he doesn’t know. Not just a means to an end. You’re you.

You’re everything.

“I don’t like this,” he admits quietly. “The pretending.”

You pass the cigarette back to him, and when he puts it to his mouth, he can taste the cherry flavor of your lip gloss on the orange filter. “Would you have as much fun, though? With all that added weight.”

Tommy doesn’t know. Has never had a fucking clue about anything in all his life, really. Never knew what he wanted to do or who he wanted to be.

The only thing that has ever been clear to him is you.

“If we stopped pretending,” you say. “What would you do?”

He hesitates.

And then decides not to let this moment pass him.

He places both hands on either side of your face and kisses you hard, hungry. Tasting you feels like a breath of fresh air, like relief. Your bottom lip slots between his so perfectly that he thinks you must have been made for him, that there could never be anyone else. When you let out the most delicious whimper he’s ever heard, Tommy slides his tongue into your mouth and moans.

It feels like time wasted, like this is what he’s been meant to do his whole life, and now he has to make up for the opportunity lost.

When he pulls away, it’s reluctant, still cradling your pretty face in his hands. Your eyes are wide, and your breath is labored. 

“That’s what I would do,” he says.

A minute passes, and you just stare at him, searching his eyes for something. Doubt, maybe. But you won’t find any, because Tommy Miller has never been more sure of anything in his entire life.

And then, finally—

“Uncle Tommy?”

No more pretending. “Yeah, sweetheart?”

“I want you to take me home. Right now,” you say.

“Now?”

“Yes. Right the fuck now. Please.”

He smiles widely. “C’mon, baby.”

Tommy takes you to his truck and buckles you in. The ride back to his apartment feels like a blur. He’s barely had two drinks, but you make him feel drunk.

You can’t keep your hands off him. It only takes three seconds once he pulls onto the road before you’re unbuckling your seatbelt and sliding across the cab. You press wet, open-mouthed kisses to the side of his neck and run your hands over his strong thighs, giggling all the while.

He has to reel you in a little after almost running a red light. “Careful, now,” he says, taking your hand in his free one and pressing a kiss to the back of it. “If I die before I get to eat your pussy I’ll come back and haunt the fuck out of you.”

You throw your head back and laugh, but Tommy means it.

It’s a relief when he pulls in the parking lot in one piece, but before he even cuts the ignition, you’re crawling into his lap.

His pretty, desperate girl. 

You kiss him deep, tongue sliding against his, hips tilting over the already hard cock in his jeans. He could cum just like this, Tommy knows, with you on top of him and your hands tangled in the curls at the nape of his neck. You smell sweet and seductive, and he can think of nothing beyond this singular moment.

“Let’s just do it right here,” you say, panting, hands sliding beneath his t-shirt. “I want you so bad. I’ve wanted it for so long, please.”

There are no words to describe how much it satisfies him to hear it, to hear you beg for him. But you deserve better than this. Deserve so much more than a back seat fuck. He wants to give you everything, wants to give you all of him. “I know, sweetheart, I know,” he says. Because he does. “Wanna see you in my bed, though.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, and Tommy uses it to his advantage, holding you close as he quickly gets out of the truck and locks it behind him. You’re a giggling mess, pressing kisses to his face as he makes his way inside and up the stairs to his apartment. “You’re so handsome,” you say. “Have I ever told you that?” 

“A hundred times,” he says, kicking the door closed behind him. “But one more won’t hurt.”

His apartment is a mess. There are dishes in the sink and clothes on the floor and an empty plate on the coffee table, but just seeing you here makes his heart swell in his chest. 

He begins to wonder if this is where you’re meant to be; taking up room in his space, kicking off your shoes at the front door.

Tommy’s cock pulses in the confines of his jeans.

“Kiss me again,” you say. “Kiss me like you mean it.”

He does. His mouth clashes against yours, tongue licking into your sweet mouth, savoring the taste of what remains of your shimmery lip gloss.

Tommy’s hands drift lower, squeezing at the round globes of your ass, pulling you impossibly closer. One of his hands dips between your thighs, feeling the soft lace you wear beneath that sinful dress. “Fuck,” he hisses. “Fuck, I need to taste you. Been dreamin’ about it.”

“You dream about me?”

He wraps his big arms around your waist and lifts you. “Every fuckin’ night,” he admits, turning towards his bedroom. 

Doesn’t make it very far, though. Because when you wrap your legs around his waist and rut against him, Tommy lets out a low sound from somewhere deep inside his chest before laying you back against the kitchen island. 

“Fuck it,” he murmurs to himself. Close enough, he thinks.

You look so fucking pretty like this. All sprawled out for him, flushed with your swollen lips parted and your pupils blown wide. He’d always known it would be a sight to behold, but this…it’s something else entirely. 

Cataclysmic. Divine sacriliege.

He leans over you and kisses your chest softly. “Tell me you want this,” he says. “That you want me.”

Your answer comes fast. “I want you, Uncle Tommy.” 

And he feels a deep-seated desire swirl low in his abdomen. Because it’s fucked up. He knows it is. Is completely, lucidly aware that this is all wrong. Filthy and twisted.

Yet he wants it anyway. Maybe not despite it, but because of it. Pleasure heightened with this sick perversion.

He slides his hands under your dress and hooks his fingers around the lace, pulling it down your legs. You’re so wet for him he can see it stick, webs of slick snapping as he groans at the sight. “Goddamn, sweetheart,” he whispers. “Didn’t tell me it was like this.”

“I need you so bad it hurts,” you tell him. “Get so wet just thinking about it.” Your voice is low and desperate, almost a cry. 

“Don’t worry, baby,” he says. “Uncle Tommy’s going to take care of you, okay? Gonna make that ache go away.”

He kisses you slowly. Starts at your ankle and slowly works his way up. He kisses and bites the insides of your thighs, savoring the moment not for you but for him, leaving indentations of his teeth in your flesh. A memory, he thinks. A promise that you’ll think of this tomorrow and the next day. That you’ll remember the way he made you feel.

Then he’s rolling your dress up your hips, delighting in the way you get all shy and squirmy as he takes you in, unashamed in his study. “Such a pretty little pussy,” he says. “Gonna make her feel real good, sweetheart. Don’t you worry.”

He surges forward, licking through your folds. memorizing the way your slit feels beneath his tongue because he never wants to forget this. Never wants to forget the way you gasp beneath him or the way your hands pull at his hair. “Oh my god.”

“Shhh,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you, pretty girl.” he kisses your clit. Once, twice, before sucking it between his lips. He spreads your legs wide and presses his mouth to you, nose crinkling against your pubic bone. 

He could die here a happy man. You taste divine, better than anything his mind could have ever conjured up. He licks and sucks until you’re writhing, and when he presses two fingers gently into your opening, your back arches off the counter top. 

Tommy hooks two fingers inside you, hitting that sweet spot, your perfect moans echoing through his kitchen. He wraps an arm around your thigh and pulls you roughly to the edge of the counter. His tongue is warm and wet as he uses it to circle your clit, groaning against you, sending vibrations through your body.

His name falls from your mouth between gasping breaths. You grind yourself against him, making a delicious mess of his face and pulling at the roots of his hair.

He can feel you clenching around his fingers, chasing that high, chasing release. Tommy decides to give you a little encouragement. “Go on, now,” he mutters against your spit-soaked clit. “Take it, baby. You deserve it. Been so fuckin’ good for so long. Deserve a reward.”

Your breath halts, just for a second. And then you let out a long, salacious moan and your legs tremble around his head. Tommy feels your walls pulse around his two fingers, squeezing them hard. “Fuck, fuck—”

“That’s it,” he praises, flicking his soft tongue gently over your clit, fingers working you through it, pressing in deep. “There you go, shhh. Just like that.”

He looks up at you, branding this image in his brain. The arch of your back, the strain in your throat as you desperately take in oxygen, the way the shimmery, silver sequins on your dress cast little rainbows across his apartment. He’ll never forget it for as long as he lives.

“You look so beautiful, darlin’,” he says. “So pretty when you cum for your Uncle Tommy.”

Only when your writhing stops and your breath evens out does he slow the rhythm of his fingers, caressing your insides slowly, gently, making sure he coaxes it all out of you and delighting in the little whimpers you make in response. And then he carefully slides them out of you, digits slick and glossy with your release. Your eyes are glued to his as he brings them to his mouth and licks them clean, not wasting a single drop. That smirk of yours forms as you say, breathless, “Kiss me.”

Tommy grips the back of your neck and pulls you forward, grinning as he gives you what you need. He kisses you eagerly, tongue finding yours, licking into your mouth.

“Can taste it,” you mutter, giggling against his lips. “I made a real mess of you.”

In more ways than one, Tommy thinks. “Tastes fuckin’ good, though,” he says. “Just gettin’ started, anyway.”

He lifts you off the counter, laughing as you squeal in surprise when he tosses you over his shoulder so easily. You fist your hands in the bottom of his wrinkled t-shirt, seeking stability. “I bet you have blue sheets,” you say.

Tommy snorts. “You’ve thought about the color of my sheets?” Such a simple thing, an irrelevant part of his life that has never mattered to him in any capacity.

“Duh,” you say as if it’s obvious, and Tommy’s suddenly overwhelmed with warmth. He likes that you think about it—his sheets, his bedroom, him. Likes knowing he’s not been alone in his mania. “Always knew I’d end up in them.”

He laughs darkly as he pushes open the door and shoulders you onto his bed, right in the center of his navy blue sheets.

You smile up at him, beaming with pride, and he shakes his head as you say, “Told ya.”

It doesn’t surprise him that you’d guessed correctly because you know him. Better than anyone else ever has. Because you and Tommy are one and the same, two sides to the same twisted coin. “Yeah, yeah, alright,” he teases, crawling over you, knees braced on either side of your thighs. “S’enough outta you, know it all.”

You open your mouth, probably to make some filthy joke, but whatever it is never sees the light of day because Tommy hooks his fingers around the thin straps of your dress and pulls them down your shoulders. He tugs at the fabric until your breasts are bared to him, pretty and soft and perfect.

He cups them tenderly in his hands, thumbs grazing the hardened peaks of your nipples. He watches goosebumps rise across your chest, and it brings a sick smile to his face. “S’that feel good, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” you breathe, eyes heavy. “Touch me more. Wanna feel you.”

Tommy’s never heard a more tempting request in his life. He leans over and presses his mouth to your chest, hands roaming over your skin. He takes your nipple in his mouth and flicks his tongue over the sensitive flesh, sighing against you at the sound of your moan.

He pushes your dress down to your hips and lets you shimmy the rest of the way out of it, kicking the shiny fabric onto the floor. You lift your hips to meet his, and his cock is so hard and needy that the smallest bit of friction nearly knocks him on his ass. “Shit,” he hisses, trailing kisses across your chest, spreading his worship. He plans to take his time, wants to see just how close he can get you with just his mouth on your tits.

But then your voice breaks through your breathy whimpers. “Uncle Tommy,” you say. “Wait. Wait, I—”

He stops, pulling back, giving you room to breathe. The coldness of fear begins to trickle in as he anticipates your next words. Has he gone too far? Said too much, moved too fast?

“I want you in my mouth,” you say with those pretty eyes, and he convinces himself he’s dreaming. “Please.”

Because this can’t be real. There’s no way in hell he’s looking at you, naked in his bed, begging to suck his cock. His pretty, perfect girl. Tommy runs his hands down his face, and a sound of utter disbelief escapes him. But then he’s nodding, just as eager. “Yeah, baby,” he says. “Course you can.”

Your responding smile sends a shiver down his spine. Carefully, you move from beneath him, hands tugging at the buckle of his leather belt. He can do nothing but watch with reverence as you unbutton his jeans and pull at his zipper, tongue wetting your lips. 

The air gets stuck in his lungs as you reach into his boxers and pull him out with gentle fingers. It’s hypnotic, the way you touch him. You press a sweet, chaste kiss to his tip and with that one touch alone he’s already fighting for his fucking life.

But he lets you do what you want to him. Lets you move at your own pace. Tommy’s grateful you’re slow in your pursuit, though. Tasting him, tongue gliding down the underside of his shaft, savoring.

When you finally take him fully in your mouth, his head falls back and he sighs deeply. It’s almost too much to feel you and look at you, but Tommy doesn’t want to miss it. He strokes your hair as you hollow out your cheeks and greedily swallow him down. “Fuck,” he groans. “Look so good with my dick in your mouth. Yeah, there you go. Just like that.”

You suck harder, take him in deeper. His vision blurs, and pleasure builds and builds and builds, rushing to the surface of his skin. 

“Easy,” he warns. You look at him through your lashes, lips parted around his heavy cock. It’s the most pornographic image he’s ever fucking seen and it’s going to have him cumming down your throat. “Easy, easy, easy—” Tommy takes a handful of your hair and pulls you back, dick pulsing as he watches strands of your spit stick to him. “Jesus Christ, sweetheart.”

Pure, sprightly giggles bubble from your glossy lips. So beautiful it hurts him. “Can I tell you what I want?”

“Always,” he promises, and means it.

You move across his bed, crawling back towards the headboard. Your voice is low, a seductive whisper as you tell him, “I want you to take off your clothes.”

He does. Starts by pulling his t-shirt over his head and tossing it to the floor. Then he takes off his boots and shoves his jeans and boxers down, discarding them beside your pretty little dress.

“I want you to come over here and kiss me,” you say. Tommy moves on instinct, crawling towards you. He’s nearly there when you speak again, mouth hovering over yours. “And then I want you inside me, Uncle Tommy.”

He shivers as you spread your legs slowly, putting on a sweet little show. All for him. “Yeah?”

“Mmhm,” you murmur. You slide your hands down your body, that troublesome look on your face, teasing. As you glide your fingers through your pussy, slick and glossy, you continue. “Wanna watch it go in. Wanna see it here,” you say, pressing hard against your lower abdomen.

Tommy’s always given you everything you’ve ever wanted. Has never had any problem satisfying all your needs. And that doesn’t change now, either.

He kisses you slowly. Meaningfully. There’s intent behind it. Love. Adoration. He hopes you can feel it. Hope you can sense it.

With his forehead against yours, he lines himself up at your entrance. He cradles your face with his hand. Says, “Tell me if it hurts.”

And then he’s pushing inside you, and his hands shake. You watch it, just as you wanted. Watch his cock split you open, watch your pretty pussy make room for him. And Tommy watches you, delighting in the way your eyes go wide and watery, in the way your lips part in a gasp.

He sinks into you all the way, hips pressed tight against yours. And when he pulls back out his cock is covered in your slick. “How’s it feel, baby?”

You nod frantically, chest heaving. “S’good,” you answer. “So fucking…God. You’re so big.”

Tommy tilts his hips, quickly finding a cadence that makes you cry out his name. You feel like heaven. Warm and wet, soaked. The sounds echo in his bedroom, obscene and filthy. He kisses your forehead, your nose, your temple. Every part of you he can reach. “This what you wanted? Hm?”

“Yes, yes, please—”

“Shh, s’alright, darlin’. Ain’t gotta beg me. Uncle Tommy’s got you.” Your silky walls grip his cock tighter as he says it, and he knows then and there that you’re the same in this, too. Knows that you like the perversion, the corruption, the filth. 

He thrusts harder, deeper. Your back arches, and your hand reaches for his. Tommy laces his fingers through yours and has never felt closer to anyone in his life. You say, “I needed you,” and he agrees.

“I know, baby. Me too. I’m here now. Gonna make you cum for me.” He uses his free hand and presses it to your lips. “Open your mouth.”

You do. His perfect girl. He presses his fingers past your lips, into your mouth. Your tongue swirls around them, coating them in your spit. And then he snakes his arm between you and circles your clit, tortorously gentle. “Oh my fucking God,” you cry, squeezing your eyes shut.

But Tommy won’t have it. “Nuh-uh. Look at me, baby,” he says. “C’mon. Wanna see the way you look cumming on Uncle Tommy’s cock, huh?” You do as he says, and a tear rolls down your cheek. “There you go. Just like that. Good job.”

“Tommy,” you whimper, pussy fluttering around him. He’s not going to last long, not like this. Not when you cry for him so beautifully. 

He circles your clit faster, fighting off the bliss that creeps up his spine. “Right here,” he says, kissing your tears away, salt clinging to his lips. “Stay right here with me, sweet girl. Takin’ it so fuckin’ well for me.”

Your fingernails dig into the back of his hand and he knows you’re there, can feel your pussy sucking him in deeper. “Cum with me,” you say, breath ragged. “Cum with me, please.”

“Fuck, fuck…baby, I don’t know if—”

“It’s okay, I promise,” you tell him, voice pleading. “I’m on birth control, I swear. Just…I want to feel it, Uncle Tommy. Want you to fill me up.”

This will damn him, he knows.

“Please, please, please. I’m gonna—I’m gonna cum, oh my God—”

He’d do anything for you.

“Always gonna give you what you want,” he says. “My favorite girl.”

Your eyes are starry as you crest that high, somehow even more exquisite than the first time. Sweet moans fill the room, and your thighs shake as your release rocks through you, spine bending off his blue sheets. You cry out his name, and that’s what sets him over the edge.

His cock pulses inside of you, painting your insides with thick, sticky ropes of cum. It’s the most intense orgasm he’s ever had, and he knows he’ll chase this high for the rest of his fucking life. “That’s it,” he whispers, his breath hot against the shell of your ear. “Such a filthy little thing, beggin’ for your Uncle Tommy to fill you up with his cum. You’re so perfect for me.”

He gives you ever last drop, thrusting in deep until his cock is so overstimulated it almost hurts. But he circles your clit with his spit-soaked fingers until you come down, walls spasming uncontrollably around him.

When he finally pulls out of you, he does it gently. And then he collapses on the bed beside you, panting to try and slow the racing of his heart. He turns his head to look at you and catches your eye, and he’s not quite sure why, but you both grin and just laugh.

There’s no dirty joke or any sort of amusement. Nothing’s funny, but Tommy supposes he’s just…well, he’s happy. Seeing you on the right side of his mattress, all naked and fucked out and satisfied, it just feels so right.

And he knows it’s not. Knows it’s so far removed from the idea of right that it’s absurd, but you’re stifling your laughter behind your hands and turning away from him to try and find some sort of composure, and Tommy thinks maybe he just doesn’t fucking care.

Doesn’t care about right or wrong, doesn’t care about what anyone would think or say. Because how could he when you’re at his side? How could anything else on God’s green earth ever matter to him as much as you?

It can’t happen again. He knows that.

But this is enough, Tommy thinks. This one night. A stolen moment in time that will forever belong only to the two of you, where nothing and no one matters beyond his apartment. The life here, the love between you, encased so perfectly in these four walls…it’s a gift. One he doesn’t deserve. Sweet as maple syrup and warm as the hot summer sun.

And yet it’s been given to him anyway, and Tommy Miller’s going to cherish it for the rest of his life.

When you finally turn back to him, you lie on your side with a face-splitting grin. “We’re so fucked,” you say.

Tommy laughs. “Oh, absolutely,” he agrees, pulling you close. He wraps his arms around your waist and treasures the weight of your head on his chest. “Totally, completely fucked.”

“Well, at least we’re together.”

He smiles. Presses a soft kiss to the top of your head. “Yeah,” he whispers. “At least there’s that.”

Two peas in a fucking pod.

(ermmmm ik i said i wanted to write more single part fics this year but if literally just one person asks for a part two I'll cave)

[divider by @bernardsbendystraws]

[gojoest]

as newlyweds, you find yourself constantly flustered whenever the topic of starting a family comes up. it doesn’t matter if it’s just a casual comment from a nosy aunt or a teasing remark from a friend.

your husband (satoru) on the other hand… well, subtlety has never been his thing.

he grins, tosses an arm around you and launches into way too much detail without a second thought.

“trying? oh, we’re doing more than trying ;)” — he says, with a wink, completely unbothered by your mortified expression. “she’s been keeping me very busy, if you know what i mean ;)”

you try to hide behind your hands or nudge him in the ribs, hissing his name in warning, but… it only seems to encourage him. he laughs, as if embarrassing you is part of his daily love language.

“don’t worry”, he confidently says to your grandmother. “next time we visit, her belly will be bigger!”

and the worst part? everyone eats it up… your friends giggle. your relatives chuckle. and meanwhile, you’re silently begging the ground to swallow you whole…

but still, even if he’s a menace with a loud mouth, you can’t help but secretly love the way he talks about you. so full of pride, like he still can’t believe he gets to call you his.

and maybe he’s a little too eager and a little too bold, but you know where it’s coming from. he’s just manifesting — because he can’t wait for the day your home is filled with little versions of the two of you.

[willyoubemycherryy]

The fix it au!

Summary: Everyone survives UNTURNED besides Mary because this is for the _, strictly for the _. Takes place in the juke joint tho and Bo is still my man- argue with the wall.

Contains: Arguing, cursing, dancing, background stuff, everyone has a southern accent, gambling mentions, some fighting, but still cute sweet and nice, some anxiety and tension, the twins talk it out, flirting, Smoke x Annie, established relationships, one innuendo, this is for the _, strictly for the _

“Will you shut the fuck up?? Damn!”

“Boy, who the hell-!”

It was hot, drunkheads abound, and worse- there was still 2 hours to go until sunrise and you were tired, sighing from where you were sat on Bo’s lap, watching him deal cards with nimble hands.

“How don’t you know the steps? You black ain’t you??”

“Man, watch out!”

It’d been a long night for everyone.

It didn’t take long to figure out what the pale trio from earlier was really after, especially after Mary got back in and tried to off Stack. Annie was the first to ask the important questions while Smoke checked him over.

“She tried to bite me-“, and from that plus them asking earlier if they could be invited in, the answer came. Vampires.

The first order of business was to keep everyone inside. There was the usual fair share of complaining but no real protests once the situation was made clear: this was real and happening- leaving meant death. Period. Everyone had lives and families to get back to; even the ones that didn’t still had things they wanted to do so living was essential. Next, every window and door was locked shut.

“Well what if I gotta piss?” Cornbread whined out. A couple people shouted in agreement with him but Smoke wasn’t playing.

“Then yo ass can piss right from behind that door.” And the sound of his gun cocking made that end of discussion. Lastly, everyone had to take at least one bite of garlic to make sure no one got bit in all the fuss of the initial panic. Pearline complained, Sammie got knocked in the mouth, Stack almost caught it too because Smoke ain’t have to hit the boy like that and Delta Slim almost died since raw garlic and liquor don’t mix. Shaking your head, his old ass know damn well.

Y’all did what you could to help Stack grieve losing Mary- now you’re not saying she deserved it but god’s timing is always right. Slowly but surely, once the tension of the situation set in a bit, everyone got more comfortable. It’s just staying until the sun comes up. Delta got back on the keys, filling the room with a lazy but heavy tune, drinks got to being served again but since Sammy was temporarily banned from singing for the night, he and Pearline took to the floor with the other couples. Meanwhile the rest were either playing cards, dice, drinking or arguing.

“Mmhm! That’s why he ain’t here tonight!”

“Ya bullshittin’!”

“I ain’t! Ask anyone! Smoke shot em clear in the ass! Got the limp and erry’ thang!” The man vividly recounts what he saw earlier that day to the other slack jawed men at the table when Smoke came to get some stuff for the juke in order. It shouldn’t have been funny but you giggle anyways, leaning in to whisper in Bo’s ear over the music.

“S’that true?” He nods, grinning. You shake your head lightly at that as he presses a soft kiss to your cheek.

“How you feelin’, baby?” You hum, laying your head on his shoulder as you answer back.

“Sleepy. I wanna go home. Want you back to myself..”.

Bo’s eyes widen. Out of all the things, you just wanting to go home so y’all could be alone was what was bothering you? A fond smile dimples his cheeks as he presses another kiss to the top of your head, holding you closer to him. Voice dipping low as he gets close to your ear,

“I want you all to myself too…in bed…where I could-”, by the end, you’re flushing.

Meanwhile Smoke and Stack are off arguing in the corner office.

“See? I told you to let me handle it!” Smoke yells in his brothers face, breathing heavily in anger.

“She wasn’t yo’ business to handle-“,

“Which is exactly why I should’ve! You ain’t never been able to watch yo own back and damnnit I told you it’ll catch up and look what!”

Stack didn’t have anything to say to that because it was true. Smoke was always warning him about chasing waterfalls and when to built dams.

“You could’ve died! I woulda lost you! N’ over what? A woman you ain’t got no business bein’ wit anyways?? And I’m is ‘posed to be calm bout that?!” Unshed tears make his eyes shine as he yells and yells, until Stack understands. Cutting him off as he pulls him into a hug, clapping a hand firmly on his back. He gets it. Smoke was scared. Terrified even- of losing someone else.

Whenever he pictured any aspect of his life- past, present, or future; it always involved his brother. Like a habit. When Stack looked in the mirror, he saw Smoke. When Smoke looked in the mirror, he saw Stack. Two halves of the same whole. For a brief moment, he tries to picture how Smoke would live- truly live- without him and finds himself holding back tears at the grim image.

“I’m sorry I ain’t listen to you.”

Smoke is quiet but brings his hand over his back, patting gently.

“Should be. Don’t do no shit like that again.”

Huffing out a laugh, Stack agrees as they separate. Smoke looks up, narrowing his eyes when he sees Cornbread gambling at one of the tables, drink in hand and yells,

“Fool! Didn’t I tell yo big ass to stay by the door!”

Cornbread rolls again and the table bursts into cheers as he laughs before answering,

“Yea- but the lovebirds got that covered so I figured I take some time off.” Smoke looks around confused. Lovebirds? He looks around the floor, first spotting his cousin with his arms around Pearline then his glare softens as it lands on Annie, beautifully lit where she stood behind the bar. Soft voice and full curves have him gravitating towards her when Stack smacks him on his arm- barking out a laugh as he jerks his chin toward the closed door, smiling.

“I think thems the lovebirds in question.”

There, Bo sits with you in his lap. Thighs around his waist, foreheads pressed together, hands on shoulders as you smile, laugh and whisper about whatever. Sharing a drink and Smoke rolls his eyes as Stack coos.

“Aww~ Ain’t that just sweet?” Smoke is unamused.

“If they call that watchin’ the door then just call me boo boo the fool wit’ a side of ice because-“, Stack laughs again, hitting him on the arm as he hands him a cigarette.

“Ah ah, don’t be like that. Lighten up. S’ a hell of a night for everyone. ‘Nd before it’s over, you needa ease on a lil’”, Stack tilts his head as he rolls his shoulders. Coaxing Smoke to do the same as he takes a deep breath, shoulders dropping and Stack continues,

“And what better way to wind down than dancin’ with yo lady”, jerking his head towards Annie and Smoke follows with his eyes. Zoning out as he takes her in before he remembers-

“Then who gon’ handle the drinks?” Stack sucks his teeth, pushing him toward the bar until he’s face to face with the pain in his heart and balm of his soul and Stack shoots her off too.

“I got it covered. Y’all gon on.”

Annie shares an amused look between the two before offering Smoke her hand and he doesn’t hesitate to take it, leading her to the floor. Delta whistles, laughing as he plays up a tune that spells trouble.

It’s been one hell of a night for sure. But since the club survived this..

It’ll survive anything.

[blueberrisdove-sideblog]

Deadpool!Phainon was ridiculously hard to take seriously—with that half-lifted mask, tousled hair, and those mischievous baby blue eyes twinkling like he knew every dirty thought in your brain and was already five steps ahead of you. “You know,” he said with a little whistle, crawling over you like a cat with a laser pointer, “you keep lookin’ at me like that, and I might just have to do something unholy. Or y’know, five things. Maybe six, depending on your stamina, sweetheart.” He winked, teeth flashing, and dragged his fingers slowly along the hem of your panties like they offended him personally.

He let out an exaggerated gasp when he found the soaked fabric. “Oh my god, are you this excited just from me talking?” His voice dropped to a low, sultry murmur as he pushed them aside. “You kinky little cupcake.” Two fingers slipped inside without warning, and you cried out, grabbing onto his arms for support. “Aww, look at you,” he cooed, thumb teasing your clit while he fucked you with smooth, confident strokes. “All that sass earlier and now you’re squirming on my hand like I’m the main course.”

Phainon leaned down, nuzzling your cheek before kissing you silly, tongue sliding against yours in a sloppy, need-driven rhythm. “Bet you taste better than tacos,” he whispered into your mouth. “And you know how I feel about tacos.” His fingers pumped faster, curling just right, until your thighs started trembling. “Oh, that’s it, pretty girl. Fall apart for me. I’ll catch you… or at least land funny under you.” He laughed breathlessly, licking his lips, those baby blues gleaming like he’d found treasure.

When he finally yanked your panties down and kicked off his own pants in a flurry of chaos, his cock slapped against your thigh, thick and twitching with need. “Okay,baby,” he said dramatically, lining himself up, “this is the part where you say, ‘Oh Phainon, you’re so big, I don’t know if I can take it!’” He mimicked a high-pitched voice, then grinned when you gave him a glare that melted into a needy whimper as he pushed in slow. “Mm-mm, yeah. That’s my girl. So warm, so tight... I might cry.”

His pace built fast—rhythmic and wild, like he wanted to fuck you through the mattress and still make you giggle. He held your hips steady, whispering the dirtiest sweet talk with a grin that made your heart race. “Y’know, if I die tomorrow, this is how I wanna go—balls deep in the hottest girl alive, moaning like a loser.” Then his eyes locked on yours, bright and blue and burning. “And you, sweetheart... you’re mine. Forever. Mask on or off, I’m never lettin’ go.”

He didn’t stop when you started trembling—especially not then. If anything, Phainon’s hips got faster, harder, like he was trying to fuck the soul right out of you and laugh while doing it. “Ohh, what’s this?” he teased, voice giddy and sweetly mocking, eyes wide as he watched your body clench around him. “You gonna make a mess? Gonna squirt all over me, sweet little sweetheart?” His thumb found your clit again, circling in tight, mean little flicks, and the tension coiled deep in your belly until it finally snapped.

You cried out, loud and raw, legs twitching as a wave of heat pulsed through you—and then it hit, a gush soaking both your thighs and his stomach as he groaned. “Fuck, yes! There it is!” he gasped like it was the best thing he'd ever seen. “Oh, baby, you just squirted on me like a busted fire hydrant. So proud.” He laughed with a gleam in his eye, bending down to kiss your slack mouth, not even slowing his thrusts as you spasmed under him. “You are a super soaker, I swear. I’m gonna need goggles next time.”

Still hard and deep inside you, he moved slower now, grinding into your overstimulated cunt while his hands smoothed over your shaking thighs. “You okay, (name)? That was like… a level ten explosion. I should put you on the Avengers roster.” He nuzzled into your neck, sweaty and breathless, but still grinning like a madman. “Wanna go for round two? Or should I get us some post-sex snacks? You know I brought cupcakes.”

He pulled out just a little, only to push back in deep enough to make you yelp. “Or…” he smirked, licking your ear, “I could just keep going till you squirt again. Wanna see if I can fill the whole damn bed.” His voice softened then, real affection sneaking into the wild heat. “You’re so beautiful when you come for me, baby. I’ll never get tired of wrecking you like this. You’re mine, okay? All mine.”

Soaked, shaking, and utterly ruined, you nodded—and he just beamed, proud and possessive, his baby blues sparkling like stars.

© 2024-2025 blueberrisdove-sideblog all rights reserved. pretty please, do not steal my dividers, translate and plagiarize any of my works, or either repost my works in any other platform without asking, thank you!

[secretlovezz]

Your Muse

Eddie Munson x Artist!reader

Summary: Eddie finds out what the little secret you’ve been hiding in your sketchbook is.

Warnings: Just fluff I think

Wordcount: 2,332

Eddie knows that you love to draw.

Since the day he met you, you have always had a pen or pencil in hand, doodling whenever the opportunity presented itself. Worksheets, no matter the class, filled to the brim with messy sketches of whatever came to your mind. Palms covered in hearts and flowers from when you got bored listening to your teachers' lessons. But most of the time you would dig into your backpack to retrieve the mysterious little black book that you spent most of your time drawing in.

It was a thing that you never let anyone look at what filled the pages of your sketchbook, not even Eddie had seen the inside of it, and as your best friend he'd be lying if he said he wasn't curious about what exactly you were hiding. On more than one occasion, though he hates to admit it, he had thought about taking a peek at the, what he presumed were promiscuous, pages of art you spent so much of your precious time working on but the thought alone made him feel an inkling of guilt that he just couldn't get passed.

“What are you drawin’ this time, huh?” Eddie’s question ends in a prolonged yawn; he’s laid back comfortably in your bed trying to take a nap but the scratch of your pencil against rough paper keeps his curiosity piqued enough to overcome his exhaustion from school for the time being. He stretches like a cat along the length of your bed and his feet dangle off the edge, toes wiggling after being still for so long.

You're sitting at your desk hunched over in a way Eddie is sure must be uncomfortable, but he doesn’t say anything because he knows his posture isn't much better. He tries to glance over the top of your shoulder for a chance to see what exactly your drawing but he wasn’t nearly quiet enough because you’re quick to shut the book before his eyes can even break over the hill of your shoulder and all he can do is grunt in annoyance in correspondence to your secrecy. A deep rumble releases from the depth of his chest before he roughly plants his face into your pillow. The smell of your shampoo is enough to make him forget his previous irritation.

Spinning in your chair to face him you smile in amusement, “Why are you so nosey? Wayne didn’t teach you to mind your manners or somethin’?” You're teasing him and he knows it, he lifts his hand just enough to flash you his middle finger and the melody of the giggle you let out in response to his antics makes the beat of his heart accelerate to an alarming rhythm and his stomach flutter with the most vicious of butterflies. He's never been more grateful for a pillow because he’s sure that the heat that’s spreading along the skin of his face is causing his cheeks to redden an embarrassing amount. He can’t believe that just the sound of your laugh has him practically falling to your feet in absolute devotion. He turns his head to glare at you but finds that the glowing smile stretched along your lips, lifting the apple of your cheek which further rounds your face, has his own face softening into a gentle grin that almost matches the brightness of yours. 

Eddie continues to look at you even as you turn away to gently guide your fingers along the worn leather of your sketchbook, there is a look of uncertainty that flashes in your eyes and if Eddie wasn’t paying close attention to you like he always does he wouldn’t have noticed. He makes an effort to change the subject, “We should order in some pizza or something, I’m fuckin’ starving.” 

“Aren’t you always?” Eddie swats your thigh just barley from how you spin your chair to avoid his hand, grumbling words you assume to be comebacks.

You laugh again and despite your previous comment you get up to make the call for your usual pizza with no argument, somewhat of a tradition when Eddie comes over, and dig into the bag Eddie had haphazardly tossed on the foot of your bed when he first got to your place for his wallet; you paid last time so it’s his turn.

The door to your room creaks almost eerily when you open it to step out and creaks again when you close it; he hates that sound. For a while Eddie doesn’t move, just lays comfortable listening to the faint sound of your voice in the kitchen as you order the food. Eddie wishes you had made the call closer so he can hear the sound of your honeyed voice even if it wasn’t aimed at him.

He looks around your room regardless of the fact that he’s been in there more than his own room as of late. His probing eyes find their way to your desk and on your desk, just as you had left it only moments ago, is the little black sketchbook he was always so curious about.

It was wrong, his desire to grab it so he could selfishly get a glimpse of something that was absolutely none of his business. It was a breach of privacy but he had never had such an opportunity, the book was almost always in your line of sight never fully giving someone the chance to open it. He looks at the door, ears straining to see if you were on your way back to the room, but he hears nothing and so, with shaky hands, he stretches his arm across the gap between your bed and the desk and gently grabs the book. The guilt pours in almost immediately and he sighs in frustration. In truth he doesn’t know why he’s so adament on finding out what’s in it, he guesses that maybe he doesn’t like that you feel the need to hide something from him- or maybe he was just greedy, wanting to know everything there was to know about you so that he may keep you closer to his heart more than you were to anyone else's-, he was pretty sure you trusted him he just wasn’t sure why you didn’t with this.

You’ve had no problem letting him have his quick glances at other drawings; the little butterflies you’d draw with precision along the lining of homework, or the randomly drawn eyes in between sections of your notes, why was this so different?

Eddie sighs once more before placing the book back onto your desk, taking care to place just as it was. 

The door opens just as Eddie lays back down and his heart almost bursts out of his chest at how quickly you did it. He still feels that sliver of guilt when you move to giddily plop yourself beside him, letting your fingernails rub at his scalp and rake through the tangles in his unruly hair with a pretty little grin sat perfectly etched into your face. He face plants into the pillow again.

“I almost looked through your sketchbook,” for some reason Eddie’s never felt more full of shame, “I didn’t though.” He says the last part sternly as if to reiterate that you can trust him enough not to try again. 

You stay relatively quiet, hand still making its way through the frizzy waves, fingers curling the hair around themselves in an attempt to create curls. Eddie usually enjoys your random spurts of touchiness, revels in it, because it only happens once in a blue moon- when you’re too comfortable to register the way you’re touching him so intimately, but right now it does very little to quiet his nerves in the way he hoped it might. He wonders if you're mad at him.

The silence is deafening, he’s not sure why he said anything at all, the undeniable need to hold himself accountable when it comes to you is aggravating. Even with the reputation of someone like him it was incredibly hard to lie to you. The time he snuck a bite of your lunch abruptly crosses his mind, he remembers how it took all of ten seconds of your frowning stare for him to give in and stop blaming Henderson.

The thought is thrown out the window when he feels your body cuddle up to him, “It’s you.” you whisper the words so quietly he almost misses it.

His head turns to you, for what seems like the nth time tonight, only to find you already looking at his face close enough he can feel the warmth of your breath against his shuttering lips. You’re so close, maybe too close because he’s sure you can see the way his pupils dilated and the way his nose goes a little red in correspondence. 

Eddie’s brows furrow, “What’s me?”

Your eyes dart to look at everything but his eyes, you look at the crease formed from confusion between his brows and the way it makes his button nose scrunch a little, the smile lines that are prominent even without his usual smug grin, you look at the pink of his lips and the way the skin peels from how often he bites at them, you do see the way his pupils dilate and how his nose gets red, “The drawings in the sketchbook- their all drawing of you.”

At first he just watches you, brown doe like eyes looking for signs of deceit or sarcasm as if he thinks you’re seconds away from laughing in his face and telling him “It was a joke” because he doesn't want it to be. He wants to know if you look at him the way he looks at you. He needs to know if you notice how the corner of his eyes crinkle when he laughs the way he notices the way your eyes shine like gold in the light of the morning sun. Do you take notice of the beauty mark that lays hidden under the shield of his eyelashes the way he takes note of and admires every visible mark and scar that litters your face and body? Do you see Eddie the way he sees you? He hopes you do.

The breath he takes before speaking is uncharacteristically shakey compared to the usual confidence he holds in his chest, “Yeah?” 

Your confirming hum, even with it being laced with uncertainty, has his heart soaring to heights of tenderness he has never felt before. He brings his hand to your face and lets his ringed fingers, calloused and scarred, delicately trace the features he swears were sculpted by some sort of deity before letting it settle against your warming cheek with an adoration that could make even the coldest of hearts leap. His touch is so filled with irrefutable love that it could be mistaken for worship in the purest of forms and God does it make your heart ache with a passion like no other.

The euphoric feeling of exhilaration that fills the both of you and the room has you both giggling like children, pressing your foreheads together at the ridiculousness of the situation, everything not having fully settled in your minds.

This natural feeling of contentment between the two of you is all Eddie ever craves. He hoped almost everyday for moments like this- to be the reason you light up with laughter even in moments of seriousness.

“So… Am I like your muse or something? Cause y’know I’d be totally flattered.” The words are muttered as to not disrupt the intimacy of the moment but the teasing tone of his voice is there and a smirk that has his smile lines deepening, a sight you treasure, inches across his flushed face. When you jokingly begin to roll away from him in response to his mocking his hands press firmly into the dip of your waist to keep you close, he couldn’t even possibly think of being more than a foot away from you right now and he’d never pass up the chance to hold you close.

Eddie rubs his nose against yours, his hair tickles your collarbone, “I think you basically confessed to me by the way, sweetheart.”

You think your best friend is the only person in the world who would still crack jokes during times like this. You cuddle your face closer to his letting your lips brush against his just enough to make his breath hitch, “Oh yeah? Maybe you just have an ego and think I confessed to you. I gotta admit Munson, that's a little presumptuous of you.” Your fingers brush a little of his dark hair out of the way.

His hand moves from your waist to your cheek to the back of your neck to tangle his fingers into the hair by the base, “Well maybe I’m feeling a little egotistical.” The kiss he then places on your lips is nothing short of intoxicating, a gentleness that doesn’t exclude the devastating hunger he feels for you. It’s all consuming and all him. His lips are softer than you imagine and as his tongue slides against the seal of your lips for permission to enter you can taste the faintness of the cigarette he had smoked before getting to your place. His tongue dances with your own sensually instead of dirtily and slowly instead of frenzied like he wanted you to feel every ounce of absolute passion he felt. You pull him impossibly closer, hands clenched tightly into the tattered fabric of his metallica t-shirt, only pulling away when you’ve both run out of breath.

Heavy breathing fills the silence of your bedroom and even with his exasperation Eddie trails his lips across your cheek and along your neck like he never wants to stop. “You should pose for me the next time I draw you.”

“I could pose naked.” He giggles immaturely just at the thought.

“Never mind, you ruined it.”

[reignpage]

❀ In which you and your husband compete to be your baby's first word

“Say ‘ma-ma.’” 

Your baby makes some noise. It’s an adorable babble that induces cuteness aggression in the form of you biting her chubby cheeks and listening to her giggle, but it’s not the exact sound you want. Still, she’s a clever girl so you know she’ll pull through sooner than later. 

“Playing dirty, sweetheart?”

Kento walks into the nursery, laying his folded suit jacket over the armrest of the chair in the corner, where he sits down with a relieved sigh. He loosens his tie and gives you a tired smile, two long fingers beckoning you over. Baby in your arms, you nestle in his lap, immediately engulfed in his scent and warmth. He playfully nibbles on the fingers the baby shoves in his mouth, her own way of welcoming him back, you suppose. 

Fresh from a long day at work, you don’t bother asking why he didn’t change into his home clothes immediately after coming back or why he’s not taking a much needed nap – your husband has asserted multiple times now that his favourite way of recharging is with you and his little girl. Home is wherever you two are, he says.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you mumble, trying to distract the observant man by handing the baby over to him. 

Humming as he presses a kiss to her forehead, Kento muses, “So, my gorgeous wife, who loves nothing more than coming out victorious in every competition she creates, has been behaving the entire day, withholding any and all attempts to make our darling daughter’s first word be ‘mama?’ Somehow, I find that hard to believe.” 

You plead the fifth and the guilty grin you give him is all the answer he needs.

“Hi, my sweet girl,” your husband coos, eyes sparkling with adoration behind his thin-frame glasses. “Did you miss dada? Dada missed you, oh, yes, he did.”

“Hey! Now you’re playing dirty.”

“On the contrary, my love, I’m simply catching up.” His smile widens at the fairy-light sounds of pure joy that he elicits from his baby girl with his nose kisses. “Dada would never resort to cheating, would he? No, not like your mother. Can you say, ‘mother?’ No? Oh, dear.”

That earns him a slap on his chest. “You are so annoying, Ken. I carried her for nine months, it’s my right to be her first word. I deserve it.”

“Of course, sweetheart. I understand, but our little love doesn’t. All that matters to her is that ‘dada’ is much, much easier to say than ‘mother.’” The 'little love' in question steals her father's glasses and waves it around with her balled-up fist. Knowing that a baby's grip is second to none, he doesn't put up a fight.

She's definitely your daughter.

“Uhuh, Kento. Keep plying her with complicated words to make ‘dada’ sound easier all you want but my girl knows her roots. She’ll come through for me." Shuffling off, you give them each a kiss on the head. "Alright, alright. I have to get started on dinner — you two have fun. Hear that, angel? Mama is going. Ma-ma is making food for your sperm donor. Can you say ‘male parental figure?’ No? What a shame.”

They share a laugh: one appreciating your quip and the other, just happy to be there.

An hour or so later, dinner’s ready and waiting on the dining table. You don’t shout, not anymore; one never knows when the baby’s asleep and when she'll next sleep so every drop of quiet is gold in the Nanami household. 

Quietly then, you creep down the hallway and peek your head through the gap in the door. The twinkling of a music box plays in the background. 

Remaining where you left them, Kento rocks his daughter in his arms, running a finger from her forehead down to her nose bridge, tickling her delicate skin, a trick that never fails to make her smile. 

Your husband talks in a gentle, tender conspiratorial tone and your eyes narrow in suspicion — the man hides behind an air of maturity and wisdom, obscuring his penchant for competition, but he can’t fool you. “Come on, sweetpea, make dada proud. Just like we’ve been practising, hmm? Say it with Papa Ken.”

Who’s playing dirty now? 

Just about to scold him for his underhanded actions, hypocrisy and double standards be damned, his next words stop you in your tracks.

“Say ‘mama.’ Can you say, ‘ma-ma?’ Don’t you want to make mama happy? I know I do.” She only blows bubbles in response, tiny hands tugging at his tie now so she can gnaw at it, glasses returned to the rightful owner. “No? Tired from a whole day of being daddy’s perfect angel, are you? Alright, we’ll try again later. Come on, let’s go help mama. She gets grumpy when the food doesn’t cook fast enough.”

The last sentence was unnecessary but you appreciate the sentiment, nonetheless.

Beyond appreciative of his never ending efforts to make you happy, dinner's spent with you giving your husband a gummy grin and he, in return, eyes you in suspicion, all while your little girl entertains herself with her foot in her mouth.

At night, baby asleep and tucked away in her room, you push him down on the bed, practically ripping his clothes off. Dazed, confused, but very pleased with the evening's turn of events, Kento rarely ever has any choice but to let you have your way with him.

And beyond content in a way he never knew he could be, in a way he didn't know he'd ever deserve, Kento doesn't realise he's smiling beneath you until you thumb at his lips, a soft look in your twinkling eyes.

"Let's have another baby, Ken."

Softly, he mutters, “Whatever you want, dear.”

[magnagaruzenmon]

Accident

Karina looks too cute like this

You were on your way to the restaurant for your first date, stomach buzzing with nerves, when the universe decided to throw in a plot twist—by way of a speeding luxury sedan.

You didn’t even get a chance to swear before the front grill smacked you like a linebacker. You bounced off the hood and landed badly, ankle twisting with a sickening crunch.

“Ah, god—” you groaned, curling around the pain as your foot ballooned to nearly twice its size. The agony was sharp and immediate, then settled into something duller but constant—like your ankle had been replaced with a live wire.

A car door slammed. Footsteps rushed over.

“Oh my god—are you alive?! I swear I didn’t see you!”

You looked up, expecting some panicked auntie. Instead, you were met with the most disarmingly beautiful woman you’d ever seen—glossy black hair, porcelain skin, wide eyes full of panic and… chaotic sparkle?

“I’m so sorry, I wasn’t texting, I swear—well, I was looking at the restaurants, but that’s not the same—wait, what’s your name?”

You blinked, still on the ground. “Malcom.”

“I’m Yu Jimin—but you can call me Karina! Okay, I feel terrible, so I’m taking you to the hospital. Can you stand? No? That’s okay. I’ve got you.”

And just like that, she crouched, looped your arm around her shoulders, and half-carried, half-dragged you back to the passenger seat of the car that had just hit you. You stared, dazed, as she buckled you in with the tenderness of a mom securing her toddler.

Fifteen minutes later, you were in the ER, staring at a doctor whose mouth kept twitching like he was holding back laughter.

“So let me get this straight,” he said, glancing between you and Karina, “she ran you over and then personally chauffeured you to the hospital?”

You nodded.

Karina stood beside the gurney, arms crossed like a scolded puppy. “It was an accident,” she mumbled. “And technically I clipped him. Just a little clipping. Barely a love tap.”

The doctor gave up and left the room before he could laugh in your face.

After you got a boot on and were waiting in to be discharged Karina laughed and said, “You know I was actually supposed to headed to a date before this. That’s probably ruined,”

You laugh and say, “if it’s any consolation I was supposed to as well,”

“I guess this can be our first date then,” Karina said with a goofy smile. You laugh and say

“Sure,”

Over the next few weeks, you spent more and more time with Karina—and learned one undeniable truth.

This girl? Absolutely insane.

Not in a bad way. Not the dangerous kind of crazy. More like… a fizzy soda shaken too much, a firecracker in a Hello Kitty box, a sunrise that forgot it wasn’t supposed to talk at 200 words per minute.

Karina was a whirlwind of sunshine: too energetic, too happy, too much—but in the kind of way you start to crave. She skipped instead of walked. She made up songs about brushing her teeth. She got excited about vending machines like they were ancient wonders of the world.

But here’s the thing no one warned you about: her body? Ridiculously sinful for someone so wrapped in pink chaos.

Every time she bounced around the room in one of her oversized crop tops—grinning, giggling, hopping like an overcaffeinated bunny—there was a real risk of divine intervention. One bend, one innocent lean, and boom: cleavage apocalypse. You’d try to keep eye contact, but it felt like a test sent straight from the heavens. And you were failing. Hard.

Then there were the lap moments.

Karina didn’t mean anything by them. That’s what made it worse. She’d plop down on you mid-conversation with zero warning, back wiggling against your chest like she was trying to unlock some ancient, primal curse. Sometimes she’d shift without realizing it, and your brain would short-circuit while she nibbled Pocky and asked if ducks had teeth.

She was, somehow, both God’s most adorable angel and the devil’s most tempting succubus—wrapped in one soft, giggling, maddeningly affectionate package.

And the worst part?

She had no idea what she was doing to you.

Or maybe she did.

But either way… you were hopelessly, blissfully doomed.

The plan was simple: a chill double date. Dinner, drinks, and maybe a board game or two at Giselle’s place.

The execution, however, was anything but chill—because Karina, bless her chaotic soul, had once again decided to dress like a Victoria’s Secret model pretending to be wholesome. Which was ironic because you knew Victoria secret models who were more modest and wholesome than Karina.

She wore a baby pink cardigan that only had two buttons fastened—right at the middle—and underneath, a lacy bralette that could barely be called clothing. High-waisted jeans hugged her hips like they were in a committed relationship, and her hair was tied up in a messy ponytail that made her look infuriatingly effortless.

Giselle’s boyfriend tried very hard not to stare which would have annoyed you but you had your own issues . You tried very hard not to combust.

The whole night, Karina was a golden retriever in human form. She bounced around the kitchen helping Giselle cook, humming pop songs and spinning in her socks like the floor was a skating rink. Or she clinged to you like a new puppy would.

“Do you want more wine, Malcom?” she asked, leaning across the table to pour you a glass—from the wrong side. Her chest hovered right in front of your face like a sentient temptation. Your soul briefly left your body.

“Oh my god,” Giselle muttered beside you, hiding a snort behind her hand. “She’s not even trying.”

“She never tries,” you hissed, face hot.

When dinner ended, Karina claimed your lap like it was her rightful throne. She wriggled slightly to get comfortable, which meant your life expectancy dropped by about five years. She stole bites off your plate and pressed her cheek against yours like a cat marking its territory, all while giggling at a dumb story Giselle was telling about her boyfriend getting locked out in boxers.

You didn’t hear a word of it.

All you could focus on was the fact that Karina’s bralette strap had slid off her shoulder. Her skin was warm against your jaw. Her hips were grinding against your thigh every time she laughed too hard.

She looked up at you with wide, oblivious eyes.

“You okay?” she asked sweetly.

“Peachy,” you croaked, voice cracking like a teenager.

Giselle made a strangled noise. “This is the funniest date I’ve ever been on.”

“I’m just sitting!” Karina protested, still perched innocently in your lap, pouting like a kicked puppy. “Malcom’s the one acting all weird.”

You met Giselle’s eyes over Karina’s shoulder. She grinned like the devil. You were never going to live this down.

Later that night, after you’d survived dinner, board games, and the lap of doom, you and Karina finally made it back to your place.

She flopped onto your couch, kicked off her shoes, and gave you the look—head tilted, brows scrunched, lips pursed. The interrogation look.

“Okay,” she said, pointing a finger at you like you were on trial. “Why were you being so weird all night?”

You blinked. “Weird?”

“Yeah! You were jumpy and awkward and barely spoke during dessert. Did I say something dumb again? You’re not secretly allergic to lasagna or something, right?”

You sighed, rubbing the back of your neck. “Karina… it wasn’t what you said. It’s you.”

Her expression softened in that open, trusting way that always made your heart lurch. “Me?”

“Yeah, like—look, you’re adorable and funny and insane, but also you’re just… really sexy. And you don’t mean to be, which makes it worse. You sat in my lap in that bralette like it was no big deal, and leaned over the table, and giggled with your boobs basically—okay, you know what I mean.”

Karina just stared.

Then blinked.

Then laughed. Hard.

“Nooo way. You’re just saying that to be dramatic!”

“I’m serious!” you groaned, collapsing beside her. “Giselle even gave me that look like, ‘bro, I’m so sorry for your suffering.’”

She narrowed her eyes. “I need to hear this from a second source.”

And just like that, she grabbed her phone and FaceTimed Giselle.

You tried to stop her. She smacked your hand away like a mosquito. The line rang once before Giselle answered, wrapped in a blanket, holding a popsicle.

“What’s up, chaos goblins?”

Karina shoved the phone in her face. “Was I sexy tonight?”

Giselle blinked. Then howled.

“Oh my god—YES. Babe, you were almost radioactively hot. I nearly had to throw a blanket on you for public safety. You sat in his lap like it was your throne and bounced like you were trying to get him to fuck you right there.”

“I wasn’t even trying!?” Karina cried.

“I know! That’s what made it worse! You’re like an adorable succubus and he was suffering in absolute silence. Honestly, it was impressive.”

Karina turned slowly to look at you. Her mouth was slightly open in disbelief. “Wait… you were turned on that whole time?!”

You gave her a flat stare. “Karina. I nearly bit through my cheek during Uno.”

She gasped like it was the most romantic thing she’d ever heard.

Then she burst out laughing again—and tackled you onto the couch, straddling you without a second thought.

“Aw, baby,” she cooed. “You should’ve said something.”

You groaned. “You think I didn’t try?”

Giselle was still cackling through the phone. “I’m hanging up before I hear something I’ll never un-hear. Good luck, Malcom. You’re gonna need it.”

The line went dead. Karina grinned down at you, straddling your hips like she was born to sit there—like gravity itself had conspired to put her in your lap and keep her there. That wild sparkle lit up her eyes, mischief blooming across her face like fire meeting dry grass.

“Oh?” she purred, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Let me show you what me actually trying to be sexy looks like.”

And then she kissed you.

Not the shy, fluttery kind. No. This was a kiss that didn’t ask permission—it took. Her lips met yours with a hungry certainty, all heat and rhythm, like she knew exactly where you were weakest and aimed straight for the center. Her hands cupped your jaw, keeping you exactly where she wanted you, and every time you tried to catch your breath, she pulled you back under—deeper, slower, harder.

You groaned into her mouth, clutching her waist like a lifeline, your brain fogging up with nothing but the feel of her.

By the time she finally let you go, you were panting, light-headed, your pulse galloping like it was trying to outrun your restraint.

She didn’t stop there.

Karina leaned in, lips grazing the shell of your ear with infuriating gentleness. Her breath was hot, intimate, maddening. Then her tongue flicked out—just once—before she slowly dragged it along the edge of your ear and finished with a teasing nip at your lobe.

You gasped, hips involuntarily twitching beneath her. She giggled at the reaction, soft and smug, like she’d just discovered your cheat code.

Her fingers trailed down your chest, feather-light, tracing invisible patterns over your shirt. She wasn’t rushing—no, this was deliberate. Torturous. Seductive in the most innocent-seeming way, which somehow made it even worse.

“I’ve been waiting for the right signal,” she whispered, voice all faux innocence wrapped in sin. “Didn’t want to scare you off.”

She leaned back just enough for her bralette to catch the light—those two ridiculous buttons on her cardigan threatening to pop at any second—as she tilted her head, her short fluff of hair bouncing playfully with the motion.

“But it seems like you’ve been ready for me…” she purred, running her nails lightly along your abdomen, “…for a very long time.”

You swallowed hard. She smiled wider.

You had absolutely no idea if this was heaven or hell, but one thing was certain:

You weren’t leaving her lap any time soon. She slowly began to undress first the cardigan, then the bralette.

You almost drooled at how hot her body was and then somewhere along the way. A red light turned green and you took the offensive. You kissed her as you fumbled with your pants and belt as she took off hers.

Before you could think or even consider anything you plunged into her tight wet heat.

Karina smirked in the smug knowing way as you entered her.

Your ears ringing as blood rushed down to your dick. She smiled and said, “fuck me” her voice soft and seductive in all the right ways as you slowly plunged in and out as she greedily sucked you in,

“Fuck yu, your pussy is a vice”

Karina smiles at your struggle before saying, “well I do love you,” her words send you down a spiral as her pussy tightens around you leaving you ragged and breathless before exploding inside her velvety walls. Your seed enters her greedy womb as her walls desperately try to drain every drop from you. She smiles after your spent and says.

“I’ll tone down my accidental sexiness,”

Still inside her you say, “no keep me hard because I want you to know how much I love you as well.”

Karina smiles then says” oh you sweet poor boy,”

[secretaccountlol]

Tell me i’m good while im weak.

GENDER-NETURAL READER X MARK GRAYSON.

This is a smuttyyy Drabble 18+ no minor plz!

Warnings? : Dom!Reader x Sub! Mark. Reader does call mark some names and teases him a lot. Mark is..a pervert in this lol and soooo pathetic. Also degradation and praise galore. He also like.. lies bout bein sick lol.

Synopsis: Mark has a kink. Praise and degradation, and once you find out you're happy to help him out with it.

I got a beta reader in this hoe! Shout out to lovely, wonderful, stunning @sobbingscripter

Thank her ! Now you won't be subjected to my horrible dyslexia lmao

—-

Author note; Now,, all I kinda went lil crazy with the dialogue, it's like filthy?? Srry if he's a lil OOC, I just wanted to write a down right pitiful mark.. and I think I succeeded!

This is my first ever invincible Drabble! I don't tend to do them very often, so enjoy. Hey btw .: I like comments and reblogs tell me what you think okay?

Mark has a praise kink. You didn’t realize it at first,of course.

Who just randomly daydreams about their good friend’s kinks, not you, at least not intentionally.

It started simple, you had tutored Mark. With all the new hero shit he’s been thrown through, getting his grades up in college was the most difficult thing for him.

That’s when you graciously helped; late night study sessions with him after missions, early morning calls to go over answers before exams.

An unexpected call at 8:30 am in the morning wakes you, and it's Mark screaming about the 80 he just got on the test, worth 60% of his grade.

Your sleepy grin is all you remember as you promise to bring celebratory drinks later, “Good job, Mark! I knew you could do it!”

He pauses before you yawn, letting him know you’re going back to sleep now.

You don’t notice the breathy, stuttered goodbye he says as the phone clicks off.

Next time you're at Comic Con; he’s dressed as Séance Dog, you didn’t tell Mark what you were gonna be dressed as, with you adamant of it being a surprise for him.

His breath falters when he sees you, your legs out and oiled in a “sexy” invincible leotard.

“Surprise~”

Thank god, he was sitting and he had a cape because the boner he popped was massive.

“You look great!”

Your giggle pinpoints his cock, “You look even better, what a good boy you are!” You ruffle his hair, his eyes widen.

“Wha— good boy?”

“Oh, pfft sorry—, cus you're Seance Dog! He’s a dog, dogs are always good boys!”

“Right right right,” Mark’s ears burned, think cold thoughts, think cold thoughts.

“Speakin’ of, the panel of authors and animators is about to start. We need to get there like now, cus I already know people are fightin’ over seats.”

You skip off, not bothering to look behind you, and thank god because if you did, your eyes would be glued to the fucking snake in his pants.

‘ they said I'm a good boy, i'm a good boy, ’ kept chanting in his mind.

His cock did not know a moment of peace that night, with your words echoing through his mind.

His bedsheets dripped with sweat and cum as his cock softened for the 12th time.

Used tissues littered his room as he milked the last bit of cum.

Your phone call shakes him out of his sex haze, it’s a daily ritual of y’alls. You talk about your day and he does the same, trying to keep a sense of normalcy, with him being a hero, it’s hard to see each other every time.

You again, don’t notice his wavering voice as his hands pick up the pace again. His poor cock is beaten to hell, as the sloppy noises fill his room, his mouth press in a thin line.

“Mark, you okay?”

“Yea— yesyesyes, I’m okay…”

Your brow furrows, “Okay, we don’t have to keep talkin’ y’know? I can hang up if your bus—“

“Nonononono, please don’t hang up!” His words rush out in a whimper before he can stop himself.

“Okay! Jesus! ‘M sorry I won’t hang up. You're a needy lil thing today, aren’t ya?”

Mark whines, an honest to god whine. Silence insues, he fucked up.

“Mark, are you sick or somethin’?”

“I— I.. yes!” Mark does a terrible fake cough, “Mmhn, ‘m catchin’ a cold”

“Aww poor baby..”

A whimper slips through his lips, “yes, yeah yeah… mhn… poor me.”

“Wan’ me come over and take care of you, ya big baby?”

“Yesyesyes please,” another muffled plea from Mark as his fingers brush the tip of his head..

“Okay, I’m on my way with chicken soup!”

*Click*

Mark blinks, a dopey smile plays on his lips.

Oh shit.

Oh god, he wasn’t thinking straight, he’s not even sick! His bed creaks from the sudden upright movement.

His eyes darted around his room, oh shitshitshit.

His body zips around his room as he picks up his tissues and throws his soiled sheets in the washer, putting fresh linens on in the span of a second.

The next second, you were already knocking at the door.

“Maaarkkk, you in there buddy?”

His hands move in frenzy, rubbing his nose as hard as he can to make it a rosy red, jogging side to side to give himself a sweaty appearance, and finally a wet, cold folded cloth placed over his forehead before unlocking the door and hastily making his way back to his bed.

Clearing his throat before he speaks, mustering up his best “sick” voice, “Doooorss opppewwennn!!”

The door whines as you enter, Mark’s ears twitch as he hears you set down the homemade soup.

Clashing dishes in the kitchen before your feet shuffle into his room.

Your eyes ooze sympathy when you see his face.

“Awe, my poor baby.”

Mark throws out a helpless whine as he motions grabby hands for you to come to him.

“‘M sooo siick.., think I got somethin’ from space travelin’ too much.”

You back up slightly, “you’re not— like contagious are you?”

Mark shakes his head rapidly, shit. ‘Think, think, make up a lie, make up a lie.’

“Noooo, uh—“ he coughs, “Robot says it isn’t..annd who am I to argue with a super genius!” He coughs another time, for good measure.

“Uh okay!” You slink back over to him, flopping down next to him. “Here, big baby open your mouth up for soup.”

Mark’s mouth opens with a pop, light pink adores his cheek, god he’s pathetic.

“God, you’re shameless, aren’t ya?”

“Immm sickkk—!” He’s definitely milking it, but can you blame him, hearing you pity him like this, it gets him going.

”It’s kinda cute,” you spoon more liquid into his mouth. “I like takin’ care of your needy ass.”

“You do?” His eyes flutter, if he wasn’t ‘sick’, you’d mistake his tinted cheeks as a blush.

“Mm, yeah I like taking care of my friends and family. Plus, you take care of the whole galaxy, Mark. The least I can do is look after you when you need it.”

Mark blinks, then blinks again.

“Sorry layin’ it on too thick? My bad.” You pull back the spoon trembling slightly, the soup swishing around.

His hand hastily grabbed your wrist, “No no not at all, please praise me more.”

“What?”

“Praise me ..more, please”

Your heart burns, bubbling with desire. Shit, should you feel this way about your best friend especially when he’s sick? Is he even in the right headspace?

“You’re.. such a good hero, Mark. I feel so safe when you're around.”

Mark’s breath caught, “‘more?” His fingers squeeze your wrist softly, then release.

“Mark, you’re not — you’re not in the right headspace you aren’t.. you don’t know what you’re sayin’...” your hand caresses over his as you lick your lips.

“If— if I was in the right headspace, would you?”

You bite your lip, sighing “ Yes.. yes—“

“I’m not sick.”

“What?”

“I’m not sick, I lied. Please praise me now.”

Your arms snatch away from him, “You little liar!”

He pouts, sitting up, removing the cold towel. “I wanted you to take care offf meeee!”

“You could’ve just asked, I’d come over regardless!”

Your arms cross against your chest, “you don’t even deserve my homemade soup!”

Mark whines again, “nooo I like your souuup!”

“Why’d you lie! If you like my soup you, again. Could’ve just asked!“

“I—..it’s cus I don’t know! I just thought.. I just couldn’t think of anything else..to get you here.”

“Mark..” your eyes rake over his face. A cute pout plays on his lips and his brows furrowed like a puppy being scolded.

“I just .. mm, thought if I played sick you’d praise me more..”

“Oh..? Oh!” You kiss your teeth, as you stare at your best friend.

“Mark, lift your bed covers for me real quick.”

“Why..” his eyes narrow.

“I think you know why—“

“Noooope.”

“Dude, you totally have a boner right, don’t you?”

“No— I- don’t know what you’re talkin’ about!”

You shift your eyes to the rising spot in the covers, point a finger, “Right.. uh-huh..” your face deadpans.

His legs shoot to his chest nearly knocking the wind outta of him.

“Shit.”

“You’re a fuckin’ pervert dude! Wait wait! Is that why you sounded like that over the phone? Oh my god were you—?”

Mark's eyes dart away from yours, bury his face in his hands after.

“Oh my god, you were! You were jerkin’ off to my voice!” The shrill of your voice carried through his apartment.

“I— SHHH! Keep your voice down!” Mark grabs your collar, the jerky movement causes you to bend over him awkwardly, your chest over his lap.

“Augh- sorry! Shit sorry. I — just— “

Your hand brushes against his cock as you sit up, a strangled groan graces your ears as he grabs your hand again.

“Sorry again— uh don’t touch ther—uh!”

Your other hand grips his covered cock running your fingers over it.

“Tsk no, Mark, isn’t this what you wanted?”

“I— “

Devious grin splits your face as you rip the covers off him, a rush of cold air cools his body, your eyes stare at this boner.

“Ha, got a third leg here, huh?”

“Dude— this is so embarrassing, please don’t tease me..” his hands tug across his face as he speaks.

“Nahh, you said you wanted to be praised, right?”

Another whimper slips past his lip.

“Mark, be a good boy for me, use your words.” God, you were having too much fun mocking him.

“Fuckkk! Don—don’t talk like that!”

Your hand inches into his thin boxer, a hiccup in his breath as you cup his cock.

“You sound so pretty right, you know that?”

“Mmhn no— I “

“No, you’re right, you sound so deliciously pathetic right, I never thought I’d hear you this way.” Your lips ghost the side of his face as you start to pump, a soft sob bubbles from him.

“Imagine everyone knowing the mighty Invincible is such a whiny bitch in bed, hm?”

“Stooopp being meaaan!” Mark’s pitiful wails heighten as his cock twitches in your hands.

“Oh, so you like bein’ degraded and praise? Tsk, what a combooo..!”

“I don’t—! I- just your voice and I’m- I’m over—whelmed! Right now, okay!”

“I’ve barely touched you and you’re throbbing like you’re about to blow, are you? Hm?” Your tongue drags against his ear as your lazy tugs cloud his mind.

“ ‘m nooot! “

“Okay, can you be a good puppy for me and only cum when I tell you to?”

“Uh-huh, yesyes,” his throat bobs, “I can— I can be a good boy, please.”

“Aw okay, I believe you,” your lips slip down his neck, earning another groan, your teeth nip is skin.

“Let’s see how long you can hang on.”

oh, he was fucked.

You realize, he doesn’t just have a praise kink, he has a degradation kink too.

—

[malsmind]

anything vampire!chris please 🙏

vampire!chris 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 bsf!reader'𝘴 𝘰���𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘷𝘢𝘮𝘱𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘴

🕸 - content warnings: ★ chris eating reader out on her period ★ mentions of blood ★ dirty talk ★ pet names ★ praising ★ brief switch!chris ★

wc: 1.3k

you were only gone for, like, two minutes. three tops. you’d been cuddled up with chris all afternoon, lazy and warm and halfway dozing off in your room, cuddling away the period cramps that started last night when you and him were watching a movie. then your phone buzzed in the kitchen and you dragged yourself out of bed to grab it. you should’ve known better than to leave him alone with your stuff.

“yo,” chris called when he heard your footsteps returning. “what the hell is this?”

your heart dropped. he was sitting up now, your tiny black notebook in his hands—the one you hadn’t touched in forever. the one you definitely should’ve thrown out. his head was tilted, that shit-eating grin on his face as he read aloud,

“‘letting a vampire eat you out on your period n makin' him beg to keep goin’ cause you taste so good?’” he snorted, eyes lighting up when you froze in the doorway. “baby. what is this?”

“dude—chris, c’mon, stop that shit.” you lunged for the notebook but he leaned away, giggling like an actual child.

“if they existed, vampires would fuck hard—no explanation, they just give off that vibe?!” he quoted again between laughs. “shit, trouble. didn't know you were that kinky, what is this, your little vampire journal?”

“it’s old!” you groaned, trying to snatch it again. “i wrote that forever ago, like way before we even—just give it.”

“nah, nah, you got me hooked on it now,” he said, still grinning like he was having the time of his life. “letting a vampire eat you out on your period and makin’ him beg—beg, kid? really?”

you groaned, making another attempt on grabbing the notebook from him. “stop!”

he finally dropped the notebook to the floor and laughed, catching your wrist and pulling you in. his arms wrapped around your waist as you stood between his legs, annoyed and flustered and still warm from embarrassment.

“’m not even mad,” he murmured, eyes glinting. “you kinda manifested all that. we’ve done, like, ninety percent of it already.”

“except the beg part,” you muttered.

he smirked, voice dipping low. “y’know we can do that shit, right? ion mind. just ain’t gonna beg.”

you rolled your eyes, but your pulse jumped a little anyway.

“oh yeah?” you said, smirking back. “we’ll see…”

he raised an eyebrow, playful and a little dangerous.

“that a challenge?”

you shrugged. he tugged you down onto the bed beside him.

alright then, challenge accepted.

the air between you crackled. chris’s grip on your waist tightened, his smirk sharpening as he dragged you fully onto the bed. your back hit the mattress, but you propped yourself up on your elbows, refusing to let him loom over you completely. his hands slid up your thighs, rough and possessive, but you clamped your legs shut, raising an eyebrow.

“uh-uh,” you said, voice syrupy with false innocence. “you wanted a challenge, huh? then earn it.”

his fingers dug into your hips. “you playin’ games, trouble?”

“games?” you tilted your head, biting your lip as you nudged his chest with your foot. “nah. just…setting the rules. you wanna taste me? gotta ask pretty.”

a low groan rumbled in his throat, but he leaned back, eyes darkening.

“fuckin’ stubborn,” he muttered, though the corner of his mouth twitched.

you could see the conflict in him—the part that wanted to pin you down and take, and the part that loved this dance too much to cut it short. you shifted, letting your knees fall open just enough for him to catch the scent of you—coppery and sweet, the fabric of your sweats damp where your hips rolled against the mattress. his nostrils flared, gaze dropping to the tease of heat between your legs.

“chris,” you sighed, dragging a hand down your own throat, fingers skimming the curve of your breast. “c’mon. you know how bad you want it. just…say it.”

his jaw flexed. “nah. you’re gonna cave first.”

“am i?” you hooked your thumbs into the waistband of your sweats, inching them down slowly, revealing the lace beneath. his breath hitched. “guess i’ll just…take care of myself, then.”

you let your hand drift lower, brushing over the soaked fabric, and his growl was immediate, primal.

“stop,” he demanded, voice fraying.

you paused, fingers hovering. “why? you don’t wanna watch?”

he surged forward, catching your wrist and slamming it above your head. “you’re a fuckin’ tease,” he snarled, but his hips pressed into yours, the hard line of him grinding against your thigh.

you laughed, breathless. “begging looks good on you, y’know.”

“ain’t begging.”

“liar.” you craned up, lips grazing his earlobe. “your heart’s racing. jaw's tight. and your hands—” you flexed against his grip. “—are shaking. beg, chris. just once. i’ll let you have everything.”

he ripped his hand away like your skin burned him, chest heaving. for a moment, you thought you’d pushed too far—that the game would snap into something darker, hungrier. but then he slumped forward, forehead dropping to your collarbone, his voice a wrecked, whispered

“please.”

it wasn’t pretty. it wasn’t poetic. it was rough and ragged, torn from somewhere deep. and it unraveled you.

“please what?” you pressed, threading your fingers through his hair.

his teeth grazed your pulse. “let me taste you. need it. fuck—please, baby, let me fuckin’…”

you didn’t let him finish. you shoved your sweats down your hips, and he was on you like a man possessed, mouth searing a path down your stomach. his tongue laved over the lace, soaking it further, and you arched off the bed with a cry.

“shit, you’re soaked,” he muttered, nosing the fabric aside. “all this for me? fuckin’ perfect.”

the first lick stole your breath. slow, deliberate, his tongue flat against your clit before circling it tightly. you choked on his name, thighs trembling as he dragged the lace aside fully, exposing you to the cool air—air he quickly replaced with the scorching heat of his mouth.

“there ya go,” he murmured against your skin, lips glistening. “knew you’d cave.”

you tensed. “wh—”

his grin was feral. “you really thought i’d beg and not show you how this works after?”

before you could retort, his mouth was on you again, sucking your clit harshly as two fingers plunged into you. you gasped, back bowing off the mattress, but he held you down, pinning your hips with his free arm.

“nah, nah, sweetheart,” he taunted, curling his fingers just right. “you had your fun. now it’s my turn.”

he didn’t let you speak. didn’t let you think. his tongue worked in cruel, relentless patterns, lapping at the blood and slick that coated your skin, groaning like he’d been starving for it.

“fuck,” he rasped, pulling back just to watch his fingers move in you. “knew you’d taste like heaven. always do.”

“chris—fuck—don’t stop—”

“wasn’t plannin’ on it.”

he curled his fingers, setting a faster pace, the burn from his fingers inside of your sensitive cunt mingling with the pleasure until you couldn’t tell one from the other. you were close already, so close, your nails raking down his shoulders. but he slowed suddenly, withdrawing his fingers completely.

“chris—!”

“begging’s a two-way street, trouble.” he licked his lips, chin glistening. “ask nicely.”

“no—”

he sucked your clit again, sharp and sudden, and you sobbed.

“please—please, i need it—”

“need what?”

“y-you—fuck, your fingers, your mouth—”

he tsked. “not good enough.”

“chris, please let me cum—”

he relented with a dark chuckle, fingers plunging back into you, tongue circling your clit faster. “attagirl—s' okay, cum on my tongue, beautiful.”

you did. the orgasm ripped through you violently, your vision whiting out as you clutched at his hair, his name a broken chant on your lips. he didn’t let up, drawing out every last tremor until you were squirming, overstimulated and desperate. when he finally pulled back, he looked wrecked—hair mussed, lips swollen, pupils blown. he licked his fingers clean, eyes locked on yours.

“told ya i wouldn't beg” he said, voice gravel,

you had no strength left to argue. but he did beg. a smirk formed on your face as he grabbed a towel to clean you off, “ohh, you did though.”

♱ - @kittybitch @tits4matt @bgfshai @just-a-girl-1 @phonysuperstarr @sweetshuga @aflairforthedramattic @chrisbratt333 @courta13 @h3arts4nat @rizzgod12 @whore4chris @urlocallera @il0vey0um0st @slvtf0rchr1s @chrispycremedonut @oopsiedaisydeer @bluetalia @pair-of-pantaloons @dummyslut00 @chrissfavhoe @sturnsflirt @hello-emma @abbystromboli @y3sterdaysproblem @mi-co-uk @loser41ifee @emillionaireee @corpsebridedelrey @sturniolosssworld @certified-sturniolo @bluessturniolo @mattswifeyy @cass-sturn @tezzzzzzzz @ariasautumn @auttysturnz @mx7ka @backwardshatnick @applecidersturniolo @sturnsrecord @cass-sturn @matts-wife @chrattgetsmewetter @joanakaulitz @izzylovesmatt @mathewsmonkey @bgfshai @chrissfavhoe @herewegoagain-b @sturnslux3 @owensbabygirl @sturniolo-szn2 @chestersturn

[outtathisworld-imagines]

My only sunshine

——☀️——☀️——☀️——☀️——☀️——

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x F!Reader

Warning: MDNI! 18+ content, smut, heavy kissing, fingering (fem!rec), Oral (fem!rec), mutual orgasm, aftercare, some fluff, Bob is quite into the dirty talk and just being an all round kind, slightly slutty gentleman, swearing, very mild voyeurism, unprotected sex- pls wrap before you tap. Not proofread 🙃.

A.N: This is a continuation of this fic because I cannot let go of writing for Bob 🥲 Please let me know what else you guys would like! I do have a few other fics on the back-burner (for now!) that I’ll start to post soon 😊 and just let me know if you’d liked to be tagged in further works too ✨

—☀️—

When you were launched as ‘The New Avengers’, not everyone expected such newfound fame so fast. Some adapted well, like Alexei, most weren’t accustomed at all.

But in all the media circus, all the cameras, all the general PR chaos, you had one pillar of calm and that was Bob.

Since the moment two months ago shared between you both and the sunrise, the morning where you had both declared that the two of you had loved each other, the pair of you had been inseparable. Of course, you wanted to keep it as private as possible, to the point where you hadn’t even told the team yet- you hadn’t even told your brother. However you both loved your little bubble of privacy as the two of you started to find your feet in this relationship. Sharing a brief kiss every now and then, brushing hands and holding them under a blanket when it was movie night with the team. And of course, you had your nights where you held him close when he was fighting off demons in his nightmares.

“We are heading out for a couple of hours, some suspicious behaviour in Washington.” Yelena told Bob as everyone gathered themselves one late afternoon. “Will you be okay on your own?”

“Someone should probably still stay with him.” Bucky had spoke up, looking at you as he was zipping his coat. It instantly took you back two months ago to your conversation on the roof with him.

You cleared your throat “Y-yeah I can stay. I’ll stay with Bob. We can catch up with the dishes.” You smiled the group who agreed it was a good idea. They had all left and as soon as they did, Bob pounced on you, peppering your face with kisses. “I was serious!” You giggled “We should do some housework.”

Bob longingly sighed “Alright…I can always get my kiss fix later.” He kissed you again before pulling you to your feet.

The pair of you made fast work of cleaning the rooms of the watchtower where you all now lived before attempting the multitude of dishes.

“I don’t think Alexei realised you can wash a plate between each Doordash order…” you joked between scrubbing endless of plates and passing to Bob to dry.

“Let me take over for a little bit, save your hands from getting all wrinkly.” He scooted over and tried to take a mug from you, causing you to drop it in the water and splash over you both. You let out a shriek and looked up to Bob who had bubbles and water all down his front.

“Oh-oh I’m sorry!” You said between giggles. Bob looked at you with a sly grin, scooped up a handful of water and soaked you. “BOB!” You laughed and soaked him back. After a bit of back and forth spraying each other with bubbles and water he suddenly stopped and swallowed hard. “What? What’s up?” You asked, suddenly worrying that you had done something wrong, or worse…that a shadow was creeping back in. “Bob,” you grabbed his upper arms “What’s-“

“Y-your top…it’s wet…” he gulped again, swallowing hard.

“Well, of course it is you got me,” you looked down, your white top wasn’t probably the best idea to wash dishes in. Especially with no bra. “You, uh, got me wet…” you covered your chest with your arm. “I mean the water got me wet, that you soaked me with!” Your words spilled out, fumbled between apologies. You tried to turn away but Bob’s arm was tightening around one of your wrists.

His eyes were darting between your chest and your eyes. “S-sorry, I-I just- you know I think you’re so beautiful. A-and I know we haven’t had the chance to be…you know fully intimate with everyone always being here and-“ you silenced him with a firm kiss, one that he fully embraced along with you. You both stumbled backwards into the living room, lips still locked together.

You giggled falling back onto the large sofa as Bob hungrily kissed you. “You got me all wet too…” he retorts as he sat himself up, his legs straddling you as he slowly raised his t-shirt up and over his head. Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip seeing his perfect form glowing in the light of the sun that was starting to set. He leaned back down and feverishly kissed you “But I can guarantee you’re wetter…” you gasped at his words.

“Bob…you might not be as innocent as I once thought.” You kissed and softly took his bottom lip between your teeth, pulling it just enough to tease and draw a groan from him. “Maybe you’re as innocent as me…”

Bob smirked, his fingers tugging at the end of your damp top. “Oh…? I always thought you were a ‘butter wouldn’t melt’, ‘sweeter than sugar’ girl, my sunshine…” his words, dripping with tease made you show how just how strong that serum had made you and you flipped Bob over, now you were the one straddling him. You smiled down as the boy with the curly, floppy hair that captured your heart was now catching his breath.

You pitching out of his misery and mirrored the actions he had done earlier and removed your top. A mixture of a groan and a gasp left his throat as his hands subconsciously reached for your waist and then up to caress the rest of your body. “Oh god, dear god, my god…you’re so unbelievingly stunning.” He watched as the sun shone on your chest, how the tiny droplets of water shone, and suddenly became jealous of the light. How it hugged and caressed every inch of you when it should be him. He sat up ever so slightly. “I need to kiss you everywhere. I need to touch you everywhere…” his hands were jolting in excitement from the sparks he felt from your skin. “Can I do that? Can I have all of you?” He asked. He begged.

“Of course you can.” You softly shared a kiss in the orange glow on the sunset before it turned more and more passionate. Bob nervously fumbled with the button on your jeans which you were happy to oblige helping taking them off. You wriggled out of them and Bob began kissing up your leg and then to the inside of your thigh.

“So, so perfect.” He said between kisses “You’re so fucking perfect, my sunshine.” You felt a flush rush up your chest and to your cheeks at his words. You suddenly felt him stop kissing and you looked down, find him completely transfixed on your underwear. You ran a hand through his curls and he glanced up, as if asking for permission without moving his mouth. You nodded and rest your head on the pillow behind you, feeling his head move closer to the other wet spot on you. Bob gently kissed it, a soft growl leaving his lips as he tasted you on them. You gasped hearing a rip and found your underwear between both his hands as his eyes bounced between them in surprise at himself. “S-sorry I just- holy shit.” He dropped the shedded material and sat backwards in awe at you. All of you. “You’re the most goddamn beautiful person I’ve ever seen in my whole life Y/N.” He then crawled towards you “I bet you’re even prettier when you come…”

“B-Bob!” You gasped in delight as his tongue explored every curve and fold of your wet pussy. You groaned and grabbed onto his hair tightly “Oh god baby, just like that, god YES!” Your sounds only encouraged him more and he added his fingers into the mix, gently pumping one hand in and out of your pussy sand the other rubbing your clit while continuing to eat you out. “God Bob!” You moaned “What did I do you deserve this?!” You could feel him smile as he continued sending waves of pure pleasure through your body. You both locked eyes, he watched you intently how your face and body contorted in the sunlight, what was just right and made a mental note of it so he knew what he could do again to draw these stunning reactions from you.

Bob pulled away and you just had enough time to catch a single breath before kissing you with his slick lips. He giggled as he wiped the rest of his face “You deserve that all the time, my sunshine.” He kissed you again “Believe me I’ll be doing that all the time anyway because you taste so fucking good.” His tongue found yours and danced across it, letting you taste your own sweet mess that he made. He felt you try to undo the belt of his trousers which made him gently laugh against your lips. “Someone is excited,” he teased and you playfully bit his lip as retaliation. “It’s okay,” his hand found yours and moved it from the belt to his already rock hard cock “I’m excited too.” He spoke so innocently and softly while doing the least innocent thing which made you even weaker at the knees for him.

Bob stood up and in one swift and smooth motion, his trousers and boxers were off. You propped yourself up on your elbows, jaw almost hitting the floor at the sight of him. “Y-y-you’re…wow. Just wow.” Bob bashfully swatted away your comments “I’m serious Bob, you’re so beautiful…” your voice could raise barely above a whisper.

“I think I’m pretty well endowed…” He jested and you raised a brow at his underestimated comment. He walked towards you “You look so pretty with your mouth open for me like that, sunshine.” You smirked and opened wider, causing Bob to chuckle. “As much as I’d love that pretty open mouth to take me…” his thumb swiped over your lips and tongue before brining it to his own mouth and licking it with a groan. “It’s that pretty pussy I need. I need to feel that tight, wet, pretty pussy swallow my cock, sunshine. Can it do that?” You practically throw him on top of you, passionately kissing him as he laughed between your lips and said “I take it that’s a yes?” You smiled and gazed in his eyes as he pulled back. “Let me just grab a con-“

“Bob, it’s okay. Being injected with super solider serum and all…” you hinted in a round about kinda way that it would be fine.

He almost choked on his drool at the fact and said it aloud “I-I get to come inside you? I can come inside you?”

“Yes…” you smiled and then dozens of kisses grazed your face and your neck and across your bare chest. You looked up and saw Bob, glowing in the last burning orange light of the day before his lips reached yours again and he gently moved his hips forward towards yours and slid himself inside you. You tightly gripped onto his shoulders as you both let out a groan in delight.

There was no denying the man was right, he was very well endowed. “C’mon baby, you wanna take me all? I can feel that little pussy of yours squeezing my cock so good,” you widened your legs a little more and he moaned “That’s it, take all of me, I wanna give you all of me.” He started moving his hips back and forth and you shuddered in pure bliss.

“Just like that, Bob, god please don’t stop!” You begged as you held onto him for dear life.

He kissed you “Baby if I had it my way I would never stop, I’d never leave this perfect pussy.” You moaned in his ear and he picked up the speed a little. “C’mon my sunshine, so goddamn beautiful, more beautiful as that sunset out there. I love you, I love you so much Y/N.”

“I love you too Bob,” you said between pants and moans. “God I think…I’m gonna come Bob.”

“That’s it baby, come for me, come all over my cock I wanna feel you come for me.” Your face and body contorted in a wave of pleasure and Bob wrapped his arms around you, gently cradling you through your orgasm while still thrusting. “Oh god that was so fucking hot, you’re gonna make me” Bob practically screamed out as he came inside you before landing on your chest panting and trying to catch his breaths. “Holy shit…” he tiredly giggled and you wrapped your arms around him, resting your chin on his head with a smile on your face.

“Good day?” You asked.

“The best goddamn day of my life.” He turned his head and let his lips lock to yours as he pulled out and then sat on his knees to look at his work. “I thought that pussy couldn’t get any prettier,” he lay back on top of you and kissed you again “Turns out it’s just as pretty with all of me coming out of it.” You bashfully smiled and burried your face into the crook of his neck. “Someone getting all nervous on me now? All shy after all that? You’re too cute.” He teased and you shuffled around on the couch so you were laying next to him you looked up and shared a soft, lingering kiss. The stars were steadily burying into the night sky as the sun disappeared over the horizon.

You lazily traced pattered on his chest while he held you close, your limbs intertwined and both your worlds in complete peace.

That was until the doors opened and you both tensely grabbed one another, Bob practically pulling you on top of him as if that would hide you both any more than you were exposed now.

“I told you not to do anything stupid Alexei! Next time you’ll have to get yourself out of your own mess,” Yelena complained.

“Hey guys we’re home!” John called out. “Y/N? Bob?”

You and Bob remained hidden behind the back of the couch, hoping that they wouldn’t spot either of you. “Hey Y/N? We’re back!” You heard Bucky called.

“Maybe there are sleeping?” Ava said “It’s pretty early though, but they could be in their rooms?”

“Whatever, it’s royal rumble tonight! The sofa is mine!” Alexei called out and ran towards the sofa before you called out.

“Stop! No I’m here!” You peeked your head over the back of the sofa. “Hi guys, how was the mission?”

Everyone raised a brow at the same time with a stunned silent look on their faces. “Um…yeah it was good. Are you okay?” John asked and you nodded your head yes with a tight, nervous smile. “Are you…” he looked at your exposed shoulders “Uh…are you…” Bucky snapped his head to John and glared at him, ensuring he chose his next words carefully. “Are you wearing…anything?” With the same tight smile you shook your head no.

Bucky groaned and held his head in his hands. “You’re shitting me. You didn’t. Not there.”

“Uh…well.”

“Where is he?” Bucky clutched his hands into a fist, everyone still completely dumbfounded to what was happening.

“Would you kill us if I told you he’s underneath me?” Bob slowly raised his head and turned to look at everyone.

“Hi guys, how’s it going?” He waved and you were trying to look anywhere beside the wide gawking mouths and even wider eyes staring back at you both. “We did the dishes.”

“Yeah and then did each other…” Yelena smirked and everyone, aside from your brother, stifled a laugh.

You groaned, trying to shield yourself with a pillow and a throw “You guys we, we love each other very much and we’ve never had a moment alone!” Ava and Yelena ‘aww’ed’ while John and Alexei were silently shooting Bob a thumbs up. “I’ll buy a new sofa!”

“Please god do it in a bed next time.” Bucky grumbled while walking away. “I’m getting a drink. A large drink.”

“Don’t worry there will be a next time and we will probably do it in a bed at some point.” Bob shouted out and you cupped his hand with your mouth, nervously laughing. The team had the decency to vacate while you both threw on your now dry clothes.

It was only when walking hand in hand with Bob back to your room did you notice your shredded underwear peaking out of his front pocket. You tapped his chest with a dropped jaw and pointed at it. Bob winked and held his finger over his lips, telling you to not let on.

“Gotta keep a memory of you and our first time together, my sunshine.”

—————

Tags are open! ✨