#this is me trying to get a feel for how to draw them and i think i got it!

[rafeslvbug]

nfl!rafe and reader when their son breaks his leg and tries to act tough like his daddy, but eventually breaks when rafe has a talk to him that it’s okay to be emotional

your son had refused help the entire time after he broke his leg playing football with his friends. he was almost flailing in your arms when you lifted him up, enough to make you put him back down in fear he’d hurt himself more. he limped as far as he could, at the very most letting you hold his bag, trying to hold back his tears and cries of pain whenever his hand grasped your arm.

he had only done two half steps so far, each time nearly falling to the floor.

“sweetie, just let me carry you to the car, okay?” you kneel in front of him, making him stop his weak attempt at walking. he knits his brows, shaking his head firmly and trying to stand straighter, as if to prove he wasn’t injured.

“i’m fine momma,” he mumbled, trying to get past you, but you held his shoulders firm. hair blew into his face when he huffed, grumbling about how it wasn’t so bad.

but you could see the bone out of place.

it didn’t take long from texting rafe for him to be striding up the path to where you and your son were. he’d been waiting in the car, said it’d be best if you went because you were better at dealing with injuries and whatnot.

now his jaw was set, face steady when he walked up the path and his son groaned. “dad i’m fine,” he began, but rafe was hearing none of it when he scooped him into one arm, hauling the bag you had onto his other shoulder.

“nah little man, we’re not playing that game,” he simply grunted, carrying him all the way to the car, arm wrapped around your waist.

the car ride to the hospital was silent, your son trying to suck in his tears, you throwing him concerned looks and rafe glancing at him through the mirror.

the hospital was quiet too, letting them do their x-rays and put the cast on after aligning his bone. they had given your son painkillers, but you could see how it still hurt, how he refused to admit it or take more medicine later on at home.

it gave you enough grief that while cooking dinner that night you turned to rafe, brows pinched and biting your lip. “rafe, baby, i don’t think he’s okay.”

“no? hm i thought he wasn’t,” he sighed, settling his hands on your waist, drawing you closer to him.

“he won’t tell me..”

“you want me to talk to him, don’t ya sweetheart?” he guesses, nodding gravely when you hum.

-

your son’s tucked in under his blanket, acting like nothing hurts, like the bulky cast isn’t the most uncomfortable thing he’s ever had to deal with.

and rafe reads it all too well.

sitting down next to his bed with a heavy sigh, he gives his son that look. the one his son knows all too well to be the “i’m not stupid” look.

“how’s that leg of yours, little man?” he asks, tilting his head down at him.

face set as indifferent as he can manage, your son declares, “nothin’ big, you’d handle it just fine.”

it clicks in rafe’s mind finally why his son’s been acting like this. floods into him like waves of guilt too. he’s not pretending like it doesn’t hurt for no reason. for appearances. he’s doing it to be like him.

“that’s not true, hurt my leg once, cried on the pitch, let your momma help me around the house for two weeks,” he murmurs, moving off the seat to kneel beside the bed instead. your son perks up, snapping his head to his dad’s direction as if he can’t even believe what he’s saying.

“you..cried?” he focuses on, “and you let momma help you?”

“sure i did, your momma’s like a healer..and crying’s good too,” he reminds him softly.

“good..?” he asks tentatively.

“yeah, it feels better when you cry. ‘cuz it hurts, so you gotta cry, ‘s only normal.” he can see his sons eyes reddening, them glossing over when rafe brushes his hair back.

“d’you wanna cry? does it hurt?” he asks him, softer than usual, a tone he’s failed to use around his son and now regrets doing so.

your son nods tearfully, rafe not hesitating to pull him into his arms, patting his back as he finally releases the sobs he was holding back, giving him words of reassurance throughout.

rafe couldn’t help but feel it was his fault. years of putting up a front of being made of stone, the strong man of the house. now rubbing off on his son in the worst way possible.

he knew, however, it wasn’t too late to fix it.

once his son had ceased crying, settling back into bed, rafe tucking him in properly and kissing his head, he walked back to your room. after slipping through the door, he climbed into bed, turning to you who sat, anxiously awaiting news.

“is he okay?” you ask, worried as rafe pulled you to face him, bringing your head down to his chest.

“he will be,” he mutters against your hair. “i’ll keep talkin’ to him. shoulda been doin’ that a while ago”

taglist: @starkeyjoseph @rafesbabygirlx @slut-4-rafey @lanaslushworld @littlelamy @rain-likes-purple @sunny1616 @csturnioloswifey @silkylovey @mak1777

[flowersforbucky]

you drew stars around my scars

bob reynolds x reader

summary: you show bob that he doesn’t need to be insecure about anything with you.

word count: 1k

warnings/tags: 18+ only, mentions of past drug use, descriptions of scars from drug use, insecurities, hurt/comfort, kissing and suggestiveness, implied smut, no use of y/n, some angst, fluff

author's note: i fully believe the sentry project would have gotten rid of any scars but i couldn't get this idea out of my head so.. just pretend with me.

please do not read this if any of the warnings could be triggering for you. you are responsible for your own media consumption, take care of yourself ♡

“Honey,” you breathe. He plants a trail of kisses from your jaw down to the pulse point of your throat, where he begins to bite and suckle.  

He knows that it's your weakness.  

Normally, you'd melt into it – let him take his time peppering you with love bites.  

But right now, you're seeking something else. He knows it, too. It's the reason he's trying his hardest to distract you.  

The second that your hands crept under his shirt and began easing the fabric up his back, he broke the heated kiss you’d been lost in, moving his lips to your throat, instead.  

And then to your collarbones, and then the peaks of your breasts, and your sternum, and so on – until he’s so far down your body that you have no choice but to let your hands fall away from where they’d been resting under his shirt.  

A blissful distraction, but a distraction nonetheless. 

“Honey,” you repeat when he gets to the waistband of your panties. He pauses before he can pull them down, looking up at you with an expression of hesitation and uncertainty.  

“What’s wrong, baby?” He asks, concern etched in his voice. “Do you want me to stop?”  

“Well, no,” you laugh. “I don’t. I just…”  

You trail off, looking up at the ceiling. You’d been planning how to go about this conversation in your head for days, but now that it’s actually time to string the words together to formulate what should be a relatively straight forward question, your brain is drawing blanks.  

“What is it?” He asks gently. He sits up on his knees, placing a comforting hand on your thigh. “You can talk to me.”  

There's a part of you that wants to drop it entirely. The last thing you want is to be embarrass him, or pressure him, but you also need him to know that you want to touch him, feel him, see him completely and fully.  

Mostly, you want to understand why.  

Why doesn’t he want you to take his shirt off? Why is he insistent on wearing long sleeves when it’s the middle of summer? Why is it that when he does take his shirt off during sex, it’s only at night when all of the lights are turned off? 

It hurts you to think that he may not see himself the way you see him. All you want is to assure him that he never has to hide any part of himself – not from you. 

“You know I love you, right?” You sit up, eye-level with him. His brows crease, in the endearing way they usually do when he’s confused or in deep thought. “All of you?”  

He drops his gaze, as if realizing the direction this conversation is heading. He nods. “Of course I do.”  

You place a handle beneath his chin, gently tilting his head back up so that he's looking you in the eye once more. “Can I see all of you, then?”  

“It’s not that I don’t want you to see me,” he murmurs. “I’m just afraid that you’ll look at me differently once you do.”  

“Bob,” you breathe, stroking the side of his face with your thumb. “There’s nothing in this world that could make me love you less. You’re perfect to me, no matter what.” 

He gives you a small, hesitant smile before he grabs the hem of his Henley and slowly pulls it over his head. At first, your eyes go to the muscles of his chest. You have caught glimpses of them and have felt them from beneath his clothing on many occasions, so you’re not surprised by the defined planes of his abdomen, but you still can’t help but ogle.  

As many times as you’ve tried to picture what he'd look like without the baggy shirts, you're now realizing that your imagination failed you.  

Then, he extends his arms. Your eyes follow his to his inner elbows, and that’s when you realize that his insecurity was never about his physique.  

You know what you’re looking at without him having to explain. Though it isn’t something he talks about often, his history with drug addiction is not a secret. You're still surprised to see the slightly raised, discolored lines in the bends of his arms, however. Mostly because you didn’t think it was possible for him to have scars anymore.  

There’s a couple on each arm, some more noticeable than others.  

“All of the others faded a long time ago,” he says meekly, staring down at the marks. “But these got infected, so they scarred worse. I had hoped that the serum they gave me in Malaysia would take care of them, but I guess it doesn’t really help older scars, ‘cause they’re still here.” 

You scoot closer to him, once again tilting his face to look up at you. He gulps, blinking quickly to keep unshed tears at bay. Leaning forward, you slate your lips over his. He kisses you back, practically sighing against your lips with relief.  

You pull his right arm to you, leaning down to press your lips to the more prominent of the two dark lines in a series of feather-light kisses. Bob’s posture relaxes, and you hear the faintest hum of contentment emanate from his chest. When you've kissed both scars, you move to his left arm and do the same.  

“I love you,” you whisper when you pull away. “I think you’re beautiful, Bob. I don’t want you to ever feel like you have to hide any part of yourself from me.”  

“I love you, too. More than you know.” He smiles, no longer looking ashamed or embarrassed. He maneuvers you back down against the mattress, hovering above you. There’s a playful look on his face as he smirks down at you, eyes roaming down your chest and to where his fingers once again toy with the band of your underwear.  

“Now that we have that conversation out of the way, maybe I could get back to what I was trying to do a few minutes ago? If that’s.. if that’s okay with you?”  

You snort a laugh, pushing away the locks of his hair that fall down over his face. "Of course."

******

thank you so much for reading!! as always, comments and reblogs are very appreciated <3

[tucsonhorse]

Her art is absolutely gorgeous and she is impressively skilled.

As someone who knows how to do a wide variety of arts/crafts and regularly puts them together I have thoughts on how she may have come up with this, and it definitely wasn't all at once. Building the idea step by step makes it much easier to come up with, and when you think about it that way it becomes much simpler to conceptualize.

Rambles about that below the cut

I'll preface this by saying that these specific techniques are not ones I work in, I am assuming that the thought process behind growing into a combination of these techniques is similar to the process of combining the techniques I use (primarily a variety of fiber construction techniques often combined with small electronics, clay/sculptural work, painting, and leather).

Based on the way the skills are combined, I suspect that she started with painting/drawing or the bas-relief, possibly both separately around the same time, and combined those two first.

The way the techniques are combined looks to me like the bas-relief is brought in as a way to complement the painting, so to speak. To me it looks like the color work is the primary focus and the other things are there to accentuate and complement it.

I feel like I'm not making sense, so here's a "dramatic" retelling of how it may have gone (abridged)

My flower paintings are great but I want more dimension than I can get with paint. Hey cool, this bas-relief stuff gives great texture, I wonder if I could make it work with my paintings to give them the pop I've been wanting. *Time passes with much practicing* I really like how that worked out, I would love to get more shine in some places though and these metallic paints just don't do enough/don't act how I want them to. I wonder if I could paint it on a mirror or glass? *Experimenting happens, realizes it would work better to put the mirror on the painting* cool, guess I'm gonna learn to cut mirror now!

And voila!

I'm not trying to say it's easy or not impressive, just like, it's not superhuman, it's not something another person couldn't do if they developed the same skills and played a bit. Art is like any skill set, with enough practice and devotion, anyone can do impressive things. You just have to want to.

But maybe that's just me cause I was raised doing art since before I can remember and it was always "play around, figure it out to make it look how you want, there's no rules in art".

[blank-potato]

You Exist Behind My Eyelids

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x Reader

Summary:

“Bob,” you hiss. “He’s always looking at me.” Yelena raises an eyebrow, as if this is the most obvious thing in the world. “And?” “And smiling at me. Like I just saved a kitten from a burning building or something. He lingers. He watches me eat. He asks how I slept. He walks me to the damn kitchen.” “And is that a problem?” Yelena asks curiously, chewing on her granola bar but clearly hinting at something you can't pick up on. You stop to think. It felt like you had fallen into an alternate reality where Bob didn’t ignore your existence… where he smiled when you walked into the room, where he made you breakfast and stayed close without needing an excuse. Or After getting back your memory, you struggle to come to terms with the life you've returned to. It's one where Bob cooks for you, and smiles at you, and you have no idea why.

Tags/Warnings: 18+ Explicit Content, fluff, implied smut but no smut, sex dreams, angst, abandonment issues, self deprecation, jealousy, memories/flashbacks, acquaintances to friends, friends to lovers, Chekov's diary, the new avengers interfering (a little)

WC: 13.7k

A/N: Title from See You Again by Tyler, The Creator and Kali Uchis. I heard your cries for a part 2 to Loving You Is Easy and I hath delivered. Sorry that this took entirely too long to finish, I hope you like it!

Part 1

***

Losing your memory was a trip. Almost a month of your life where you’re drawing a complete blank. 

Not to mention, everyone is weird now, like more weird than usual.

Especially Bob. 

He’s been at it for ages. Making up all sorts of culinary creations and giving them to you like offerings. They taste good. Not just good, incredible.

The amount of effort and care he’s been putting into waffles, omelettes, pancakes, French toast… it was quite nice. And it was driving you crazy because every bite felt like more than just food. Like affection, like something familiar, like a feeling your brain was trying desperately to name.

One morning, after you’ve sufficiently stuffed yourself with the golden, cinnamon-sweet French toast Bob made for you, you set your plate down and lean over to Yelena.

“What’s going on?” you whisper urgently.

Yelena blinks at you, unfazed. “With what?”

“Bob,” you hiss. “He’s always looking at me.”

Yelena raises an eyebrow, as if this is the most obvious thing in the world. “And?”

“And smiling at me. Like I just saved a kitten from a burning building or something. He cleans my dirty dishes. He asks how I slept. He walks me to the damn kitchen.”

“And is that a problem?” Yelena asks curiously, chewing on her granola bar but clearly hinting at something you can't pick up on.

You stop to think. It felt like you had fallen into an alternate reality where Bob didn’t ignore your existence… where he smiled when you walked into the room, where he made you breakfast and stayed close without needing an excuse.

You supposed it was better than the little tango you’d dance every day, trying to stay away from each other. This was something, at least. But still… it felt strange. Off. Like you’d wandered into the middle of a story you used to know by heart, only to find the pages had been torn out and rewritten in someone else’s handwriting.

Now he was bringing you breakfast, offering to walk you to med checks, lingering a second too long when your fingers touched over a cup of tea, and you didn’t know how to feel.

“Are you sure you can’t tell me what happened during those weeks?”

“The doctors said we can’t. If they come back, they’ll come back on their own, don’t worry,” She says, giving you a reassuring pat on the back. 

It’s a tough pill to swallow, but what else could be done? You settle down with a tired sigh, trying to quiet your thoughts, when Alexei strides in, boots thudding against the floor.

“We’re out of those little frozen pierogies. I need them. For strength,” he announces to the room. 

“Well, I’m sure we could get someone to—” you start, but Yelena cuts in smoothly.

“One of us should go get it, right?” she says, way too innocent to be trusted.

There’s a pause. Like an invisible signal has passed through the room, one that everyone seems to pick up on except you and Bob.

“Maybe…” John adds, barely suppressing a smirk, “You and Bob could do it?” He looks directly at you, voice casual, but his eyes are all mischief.

“Great idea, Walker…” you mutter, audibly sighing in annoyance, arms crossed as you shoot him a look.

Bob shrinks just a little at your tone, shoulders drawing in like he’s trying to disappear.

“For once,” Ava adds with a smirk, not missing a beat.

You glance at Bob, who’s very determinedly not looking at you but is definitely turning a little red.

“Fine, we’ll go. You all seem weirdly insistent on it.”

The rest of the team had been doing stuff like this since you got your memories back, like when you’d mysteriously end up on Bob babysitting duty more often than the rest of them or how you’d always seem to be sitting next to Bob for everything. 

You arrive at the grocery store, donned in caps and sunglasses as if they were good disguises. “Let’s just get in and out as soon as possible.” “Right,” Bob agrees. You nod, looking at the list of things that you need to get.

He drives the trolley slowly and carefully. You look at him, he’s calm, collected, and quite focused, even if it is just a grocery run. You feel a small smile creeping onto your face when suddenly he looks at you. It’s like being struck by lightning, throwing you into complete disarray. You stumble, tripping over your own feet, but he catches you before you fall headfirst into the display of canned tomatoes.

Bob doesn’t usually get this close. Being near you, even touching you, was rare nowadays, but he loved to feel close to you. If it was just for a few seconds, then he’d have to cherish those few seconds. 

“Are you alright? You seem distracted,” Bob comments gently, concern flickering in his voice. And he’d know, he pays more attention to you than you even realise.

“I’m perfect. Just…testing your reflexes,” You lie, he looks sceptical, but for your sake chooses not to push on it.

“Let’s get fruit, I think we’ll be murdered if we get nothing but junk food.” You say, and you go towards the fruit and veg aisle. You look around, still acutely aware of Bob’s presence — the lingering sensation of his arm around you clinging to your skin like a phantom touch. Putting it out of your mind, or at least trying, you go to grab some apples. But of course, Bob reaches for it too, and when your fingers brush against his, everything goes white. 

Suddenly, you’re no longer in the grocery store but somewhere that feels familiar, even though you’re sure you’ve never been there before. 

The smell of fresh coffee and old books fills your senses, warm and nostalgic. Soft light filters in through high windows, dust motes dancing lazily in the air. The quiet hum of a memory presses in around you, gentle and comforting.

“This one’s one of my favourites. You should give it a read,” Bob says, stepping into view and handing you a slim, worn paperback.

You take it slowly, your fingers brushing against the creased spine. The cover is faded, the title barely legible—a collection of poetry, clearly well-loved. You turn it over in your hands, tracing the edge of a dog-eared page, deep in thought.

“What?” Bob grins at your expression. “A guy can’t enjoy poetry?”

You look up at him, surprised by the easy vulnerability in his tone, the way his eyes are both playful and sincere. “You just surprise me,” you reply with a small smile. “Didn’t take you for the type.”

He shrugs, leaning back against the worn wooden bookshelf. “Guess we’ve both got sides we don’t know about each other.”

You glance back down at the book, the scent of aged paper filling your lungs. “What’s your favourite poem in here?”

Bob doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he watches you for a moment, then nods toward the book. “Page 43.”

You flip to it, eyes scanning the lines. It’s quiet. Soft. Something about ache and longing and finding peace in someone else’s silence.

“I found home not in walls or cities, but in the stillness between your breaths.”

“...And in the way your eyes forgive before your words do,” Bob finishes from just behind you, his voice soft, like he knows every line by heart.

You glance over your shoulder at him, lips curved into a small, half-smitten smile. “This is as good as the pizza,” you tease gently.

But your voice falters because your gaze gets caught.

The way the late afternoon sun filters through the window behind him, bathing him in light.  All you could focus on was the hue of his eyes and how the sun made the grey flecks in his eyes dance. This little moment, in the back of this little bookshop—hidden away behind leaning stacks and dusty, time-softened shelves—was captured in your eyes like a photograph. A photograph you wanted to live inside.

The memory fades out as you come to standing holding a bag of apples after you went to god knows where.

“Are you okay?” Bob asks.

He’s tilted his head, that ever-steady presence beside you, and looking at you with that familiar concerned expression, the one you’ve become so accustomed to.

“Yeah, I just…” You trail off, not really knowing how to explain yourself. These little flashes had been happening more often. They were sweet, almost unbearably sweet, always unexpected and more often than not about Bob. You were told there’d be side effects when you woke up, but never in a million years did you think they’d involve Bob-related daydreams. Or memories. Or whatever they were.

You shake it off with a faint smile, eyes drifting to the apples in your cart. “I think I might make something with these apples.”

Bob lights up instantly. “Can I help?”

His enthusiasm is boyish, almost endearing, like he’s been waiting for you to let him in, even if it’s something small.  And in a rare moment of softness, maybe without overthinking it this time, you say, “Yes.”

His grin grows wide, and you swear he stands a little straighter, like your answer meant more than you even realised.

You turn the cart down the next aisle, rattling off the other things you needed to buy, and he walks beside you, a little closer than before.

***

This was hell. Since the grocery store incident, you’ve been going crazy. Bob has been on your mind, and he refused to leave. He’s seemingly dead set on helping you out, whether it was waiting by the elevator until you came back from a mission and walking you to your room without saying a word, or showing up with coffee before you even realised you needed it — Bob was there. 

And since he was always there, the accidental touches and sudden flashes became more frequent. One minute he was handing you a water bottle when you stepped off the treadmill, and the next you were in a haze, frozen in a daydream that made Bob look like the perfect boyfriend.

It was messing with your head.

It was messing with everything.

The lines were blurring, and the more he smiled at you, the more you never wanted him to stop. 

But having a crush on Bob? 

That was impossible, it’s just your mind playing tricks on you. You had to do something, and what else could you do but distract yourself? 

Later that night, you walk out of your room… You’re all dressed up and feeling a little out of place, like you're playing a role you’re not quite used to yet.

The team stops you in your tracks — they’re all looking at you like you’ve grown a new head.

“Where are you going? Hot date?” Ava asks, raising an eyebrow, trying to keep a straight face but clearly intrigued.

“Yes, actually,” you reply, and you’re not expecting their reaction. The entire team lets out a big sigh of relief.

They're barely able to contain their excitement. These little, painful moments of watching Bob chase after you were over. Finally, you and Bob had—

“You look incredible,” Bob says, stepping into the living room in very comfy attire — sweater, sweatpants, and socks that didn’t match. “Where are you headed?”

His hair was a little tousled, like he had just woken up from a nap, but his eyes were locked onto you like you were the only thing in the room. He was definitely awake now.

The whole team freezes. If you weren’t going on a date with Bob, then who?

“On a date.”

“Oh.”

“Some guy asked me out when I was grabbing coffee down the street, so I said yes,” you say, voice light, but there's a nervous edge you can’t quite shake.

“Oh.” The look on Bob’s face is downright painful; he looks like a kicked puppy, stunned and quietly devastated. His jaw tenses, his eyes flicker down for a moment, and then he forces a smile onto his face, one that looks practised, perfect for situations like this. “I hope you have fun.”

He’s trying to sound genuine, but you don’t miss the crack beneath his words, the emotion he’s holding back, just barely. And even though you’re standing right there, it suddenly feels like you’re a million miles away.

“Thanks…” you say softly, with a tight, uncertain smile, making your way past him. Your perfume trails behind you like a memory he’s not ready to let go of, lingering in the air even after you disappear into the elevator.

No one says anything, but Bob can feel their eyes on him. He doesn’t need to look to know what they’re thinking: the tension, the pity.

Bob felt deeply; he always had. He was sensitive in ways he rarely let anyone see. This… this was just another step closer to breaking. Ever since he lost you, he had been pretending it hurt to be without your love. That he didn’t miss holding you in his arms, falling asleep with you next to him. He didn’t have enough time with you, not nearly enough. He was filled with regret for not realising how he felt about you sooner, for every moment wasted. He’d give anything for just one more minute with you, just for you to look at him like you loved him, just one more time.

He missed you so much it hurt in places he couldn’t name.

But now? Now, with you going out with someone else and he was more jealous than he knew what to do with. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing you for good.

His eyes glowed an ominous gold, the power starting to pulse and flow through his body like a rising tide he couldn’t hold back. His jaw clenches as his eyes drop to the floor, lights flickering at the edges of his vision, energy straining to stay in check. Maybe you and he would never get back to the place where things felt simple.Maybe he had just been fooling himself this whole time. 

He was tired and angry, and confused… but mostly just sad. Empty, even.

The glasses on the table start shaking ever so slightly, getting ready to break. He can feel control slipping through his fingers like sand, like it always does when emotions win.

He keeps his eyes downcast, fists clenched tight. By this point, he’s not even pretending to listen; he can hear muffled voices around him, but nothing’s going through.

Just static. Just you, walking away.

Maybe you were done with him. Maybe you’d never want him again—not the way he still wanted you.

Yelena steps in, calm and grounding, taking him gently by the arm to stop him from spiralling. “It’s okay…” she says softly, steadying him with a hand on his shoulder.

He’s surrounded by people who care, and it helps. He’s still shaking, still unravelling inside, but he’s able to get it under control just enough.

The lights above flicker— once, then twice — before it steadies and stops.

He breathes out, slow and bitter. He had to get used to this, didn’t he?

You weren’t in love with him anymore.

“I-I’m sorry… I should just go to bed…” he mutters, voice low and tired.

“You shouldn’t be alone right now,” Yelena says, voice firmer now, no room for argument.

“Let’s just put it out of your mind, hm? Together,” she suggests, gently guiding him toward the group.

Bob nods, silent, and sits down on the couch beside her.

“Who knows, maybe the date will be a disaster,” John offers with a smirk, trying to lighten the mood.

“Thanks, Walker,” Bob replies dryly, managing a ghost of a smile.

***

The date is lacklustre, to say the least. The guy, Brandon, had taken you to some fancy restaurant, and you’re sitting across from him, trying to give things a chance, but it wasn’t looking good. He orders for you without asking, rattling off a dish you’re not sure you’ll even like. And he spends more time talking about the wine list than asking you questions. 

This is why you didn’t go on dates.

Reaching out to take your hand, he says something, but you’re not listening. You become lost in another world again, your vision fading to white.

You’re not in a restaurant but standing beside Bob at the kitchen counter, the two of you surrounded by ingredients as you make milkshakes together. The soft hum of an old record plays in the background, and the air smells like vanilla and chocolate syrup.

“Are you sure we need this much caramel?” you ask, eyeing the generous scoop he’s just dropped into the blender.

Bob nods, he’s in the zone, completely focused, like a master at work. His expression is dead serious, like crafting the perfect milkshake is a mission worthy of national security clearance.

You smirk. “What about this?” you say, dipping a spoon into the ice cream and smearing a stripe across his cheek.

His head jerks toward you, eyes wide with mock outrage. “Oh, it’s like that?”

Before you can react, he lunges, scooping you up effortlessly and lifting you off the ground as you laugh, flailing gently in his arms.

“I surrender! I surrender!” you cry between breathless giggles.

“I’ll let you go… for now,” he says, setting you back down carefully, his hands lingering around your waist just a moment longer than necessary. It sends your heart into a full pitter-patter rhythm you swear he must hear.

He grins at you, eyes sparkling. “You ready for the best milkshake of your life?”

You nod eagerly.

Then he hits the blender.

And instantly regrets it.

A violent whir erupts, followed by a flurry of milk, peanut butter, and ice cream erupting like a dairy volcano, splattering both of you as you recoil in shock. You both fumble to turn it off, and the whirring stops. 

“You forgot the lid?” you ask, wide-eyed and dripping.

“I forgot the lid,” Bob admits, blinking through specks of ice cream, then bursting into laughter.

He grabs a towel, half-heartedly trying to stop the blender with one hand while using the other to gently wipe your face.

“I’m sorry, I messed up.” He’s smiling, but it’s faint; you can tell it’s weighing on him. “Don’t be sorry. It’ll make for a good story,” You say before swiping a bit of the milkshake off his nose and licking it off your finger. “Plus, this is delicious. It’s the perfect milkshake, I meant it!”

Bob chuckles, his nose crinkling a little as he tries to hide it behind his hand, but you see it. That unguarded laugh, the way his eyes soften, the corners of his mouth lifting just a bit too wide.

It’s one of the most beautiful things you’ve ever seen.

“Hello? Are you listening?” your date asks, sounding increasingly more frustrated.

“Yeah, I uh…I’m listening…” You lie, nodding just enough to seem polite.

The next few minutes are a blur—you see his mouth moving, but not a single word registers. All you can think about is Bob.

There’s a story being told, something painfully dull about his job overseas and him bragging about how many people report to him. But it all fades to white noise the second Bob slips into your thoughts. His laugh, the way he wrinkles his nose when he smiles, the milkshake incident… everything else pales in comparison.

“I’m so sorry, but I… I can’t do this,” you say suddenly, standing up and grabbing your coat.

Your date calls after you, confused and annoyed, but you don’t look back. You don’t owe him an explanation.

You just have to get home and figure out what all these strange and not-so-strange feelings about Bob really mean, or at least push them down so far you never have to deal with them. 

***

The elevator beeps, signalling you’ve arrived at the top floor, and you’ve never been more glad to be back at the tower.

As the doors slide open, you kick off your shoes and step into the dim hallway, moving carefully through the darkness. But before you can reach for the light switch, you spot Bob on the couch.

He’s curled up, completely at peace, eyes closed as if the weight of the day finally caught up with him. Peeking into the kitchen, you see a plate of your favourite food sitting untouched, cooling on the counter.

You wonder if he’s been waiting up for you.

You walk over quietly, heart softening at the sight. But then you notice him shivering slightly in his sleep. You can’t believe he fell asleep here, nowhere near as comfortable as his own bed must be. You don’t want him to wake up with a crick in his neck.

You can’t exactly lift him to bed, so instead, you rush to your room and grab your softest, warmest blanket. Returning, you gently lay it over him.

“Much better,” you whisper, feeling a little proud, like you’re doing something right for once.

Just as you’re about to head back to check if he’s fully covered, disaster strikes.

In his sleep, Bob shifts suddenly, pulling you down with him. You find yourself trapped between him and the blanket, heart pounding as you try not to wake him.

“Bob, hey, you have to…” You start softly, your voice barely above a whisper as you look up at him.

You’ve never seen him this close before, only in your daydreams. His eyelashes are longer than you ever imagined, casting delicate shadows on his cheeks. His lips look soft, inviting even in sleep. Each breath he takes now feels impossibly fascinating, like you’re discovering something new about him with every rise and fall of his chest.

“Fine… I’ll sneak out later,” you mumble to yourself, barely audible.

Your body, surprisingly, begins to relax. You stop fighting the closeness and instead lean into his touch, the warmth and quiet presence settling over you like a balm.

It feels right—comforting in a way you didn’t expect—but underneath it all, there’s that familiar, quiet ache. That sense of something unresolved, poking at the edges of your mind.

But that’s a mystery for another day.

And bit by bit, you give in to the comfort and end up falling asleep while breathing in the scent of his shampoo. 

You blink awake, the feeling of kisses peppering your skin holding all of your immediate attention.

It’s soft and light, gentle enough to make you giggle.

There’s warmth, tufts of messy brown hair tickling your collarbone, and the feeling of strong arms wrapped tightly around you…

Realising those arms belong to a certain Bob Reynolds — not just any Bob, a shirtless Bob — your eyes widen as you shoot upright. “What are you…?” you start, glancing around in disbelief. You’re in a bed. His bed.

“What a hyperactive girlfriend I have,” he chuckles, easily laying you back down against the pillows with maddening tenderness.

Your brain can barely compute the fact that he said girlfriend. He smiles down at you like the sun just rose in your eyes, and you’re so easily disarmed, like you’ve been here a thousand times before.

“I don’t think you realise just how beautiful you are,” he coos, brushing his fingers softly across your bottom lip.

Those words…They feel like déjà vu.

They settle somewhere deep in your chest. Familiar. Comforting. Dangerous. It was so easy for him to say, and you didn’t know how to feel.

“Want me to help you relax?” He says, his voice suddenly like music to your ears.

You nod, your body moving on its own like you’ve been possessed, and he starts slowly slipping your clothes off, all the while looking at you like you’re a wonder of the world. His touch is light but teasing. Like he knows exactly how to leave you desperate, on the edge and needing more. 

He kisses his way around your body, treating it like a temple. Every inch of you is on fire with even the smallest of touches. 

His fingers curl in the strands of your hair, anchoring you to him as his lips press gently to your wrist, then trail upward with slow, deliberate care.

His legs are tangled with yours beneath the sheets, warm skin against skin, every brush of contact pulling you deeper into him.

Overtaken by the sensations, you find yourself pulling him in for a kiss you never wanted to end. His mouth meets yours like he’s been waiting for it, like he knows it — his tongue slipping past your lips like it’s second nature, like it’s always belonged there.

“Can I?” He asks, catching his breath, his fingers at the bottom of your shirt, so eager to just rip it off of you. “Yeah,” You reply breathlessly, needing his touch. 

He pulls back slightly, his fingers gently caressing your cheek, and before you know it, you’re naturally leaning into his touch, the warmth of his hand soothing you. There’s a sweet look in his eyes, full of tenderness, and somehow you feel like you can read his mind. An unspoken connection that almost scares you. He opens his mouth to speak, “I love—”

You wake up with a loud gasp. What in the ever living fuck was that? You were convinced that whatever it was couldn’t be real, but the alternative, that you were having sex dreams about Bob, wasn’t that much better. Morning has come, and you’re still in Bob’s arms (a fully clothed Bob thankfully) on the couch; he’s fast asleep. You scramble to get away from him before he wakes up; you don’t feel like explaining anything. But in your attempts, you unintentionally punch him in the stomach.  

“What the—?” Bob groans as he rolls on top of you. Being woken up with a punch couldn’t be pleasant. 

The two of you tumble off the couch in a mess of limbs and laughter, and he lands squarely on top of you. The blanket twists around you both, tangling you in a heap on the floor.

Feeling his body pressed against yours sends your heart into a frenzy. His hands are on either side of you, caging you in as he hovers above, clearly trying not to crush you.

“I’m so sorry, how did we even…?” he stammers, brain still trying to wake up. 

“I–I came home last night and saw you on the couch. You trapped me and I just wanted to give you a blanket and—and…” You stutter, tripping over the words like they’ll somehow save you from the burning embarrassment.

“I’m so sorry,” Bob blurts out again, his cheeks flushed and his voice cracking slightly.

It seems the embarrassment wasn’t one-sided; he’s just as flustered, maybe more. And yet, neither of you is making a move to get up.

Sure, you were mortified beyond belief, but being this close to Bob reminded you of your dream. His warmth came off him in waves, making you feel comfortable despite your racing heart. The soft, stormy blue of his eyes looked down at you with something that made your chest ache.

It felt too good.

You wanted to give in, to dive into this feeling even though you knew you shouldn’t, because if you did, there might be no going back.

Your eyes snap up just in time to see Ava standing a few feet away, one brow raised and a sly smile tugging at her lips.

“I didn’t want to interrupt.”

***

You were avoiding him again. It had been three days, and you hadn’t eaten a single one of his pancakes, and you only responded to him with short one-word answers where possible. Bob knew it wasn’t because of the date. He’d overheard you complaining to Yelena about it in the training room. 

So it was him.

He doesn’t know what he did. And nothing he tries seems to get through, it’s like the walls he’d started to gently tear down were rebuilt overnight… only now, they had defence systems he couldn’t even begin to navigate.

He’s alone in the Tower now. The silence presses in. And it’s on his mind. Your diary.

He knows that the memory-wiped version of you once told him he could read it. But it still feels iffy. Like he’s crossing a line. Still… it feels like he’s out of options. You won’t talk to him anymore. You barely look at him. And the ache of not knowing why is driving him insane.

So he finds himself at your door. The rest of the team is out on a mission, so it’s all quiet, just the sound of his own beating heart ringing in his ears. 

Opening the door quietly, he steps inside. It smells like you. Feels like you. He walks over to the drawer where you once said you kept it, hesitates for just a second… and takes it quickly. 

His chest tightened with frustration as he flipped through the pages of your diary, still unsure if he even should be reading it. But maybe it held something that could explain everything. Maybe it held what your issue was with him and why you were always avoiding him like the plague.

“Bob is avoiding me in the kitchen again. I don’t get why it’s so easy for everyone else but not me… I want to talk to him, but trying too hard is never safe. Why get attached?” he reads aloud softly, the words catching in his throat.

He swallows hard, guilt curling in his stomach. That wasn’t how it was supposed to feel for you. He thought he was giving you space. He thought maybe you needed it. That his presence might be too much.

Bob flips through more pages, the paper whispering as he searches for clarity, for a lifeline, until his eyes land on another entry.

“I can’t be around Bob… We’re too similar. If anyone could see through me, it’d be him. That’s why I avoid him specifically. If he saw me then and I mean really saw me, I don’t know what I’d do.”

He flicks to the next page, and your voice echoes softly in his mind.

“He’s gentle and complex, and sometimes he looks like he’s carrying the weight of the world alone. I just can’t seem to get through. I catch myself staring when he doesn’t notice, and wonder if I’ll ever be able to connect to him. It’s useless anyway, but I can’t help but wonder.”

And then the line that crushes him:

“Everyone leaves, so why give them the opportunity?”

The air feels heavier now.

It hits him, this wasn’t about him being cold or distant. This was you trying to protect yourself. You were trying not to hope, because hoping meant giving someone the power to hurt you. And all this time, he’d been holding back, afraid of messing it up, of overwhelming you… never realising you already cared. Deeply but quietly. 

He shuts the diary slowly, holding it to his chest for a moment like maybe it could absorb some of the emotion threatening to spill out of him.

And now he knows.

Now he understands why you flinched at closeness, why you left before anyone could ask you to stay.

He just had to show you that he’s not going anywhere.

***

Bob couldn’t push — he didn’t want to come on too strong.

He just wanted to spend time with you, to get you to let him in again, even if it was just in small, quiet moments.

Bob pauses in the doorway and sees you sitting in the lounge, your feet curled under you and your attention half-lost in a book. “I don’t mean to bother you, but can you help me with something?” he asks, voice hopeful. 

“Me?” You blink up at him, startled. “I’m sure Yelena could help you instead,” you immediately deflect, the words coming out sharper than you intended. He stiffens slightly, withdrawing into himself almost instantly.

“Oh. Yeah, yeah, that’s okay. Forget I asked,” he mumbles with a sad smile that barely reaches his eyes. He turns, slinking away like he’s used to retreating when he feels unwelcome.

But the moment he’s out of sight, guilt claws its way up your throat. You didn’t mean to make him feel small or dismissed. That wasn’t fair. You slam your book shut and jump up from the couch.

“Wait… I’ll help you,” you call out, your voice apologetic.

He stops in his tracks and turns back to you, surprised. “Really?”

You nod, walking up to him. “Yeah. Sorry… I didn’t mean to sound so cold. What do you need?”

“I know this is weird, but could you help me brush my hair?” He asks quietly, his voice barely above a whisper, before he quickly backs up, almost tripping over his own feet. “Actually, you don’t have to. It’s—”

“I’ll do it.”

Next thing you know, he’s sitting on the floor between your legs and you’re on the couch, brushing his hair gently with a hairbrush, with the TV on. 

“Your hair is really soft,” you murmur absentmindedly, almost as if forgetting who you were talking to.

“You think so?” he replies, tilting his head slightly back to look up at you.

You smile faintly, sorting through any small tangles with your fingers. “Yeah, it’s nice.”

“Oh shit, does that tingle?” you ask suddenly, catching the way he shivered when you touched a certain spot behind his ear.

“Yeah,” he says with a sheepish chuckle, “but it’s not a bad tingle.”

For once, not overthinking it too much, you just sit there, both of you watching TV, catching up on the episode of your favourite show that you’d missed.

“Remind me what’s happening again?” Bob asks, brow furrowing as he points at the screen.

“So basically, earlier on in the season, the girl found out that her real father isn’t the janitor, but actually—”

“The guy who kidnapped her dog,” he interrupts, already confused.

“No, no, sweet innocent Bob. That’s his evil twin,” you say, completely dead serious, grinning as you catch his wide-eyed reaction.

He smiles up at you, charmed by how engrossed you are in this ridiculous show. It was a small thing, but a glimpse into what could be, if you just let go. You were like the sun, and he was content just basking under your light for as long as he could.

“What? Is there something on my face?” you ask, suddenly self-conscious under his gaze.

“No, I, um…” He hesitates, eyes dipping away before flicking back up to you. 

“I’m talking too much, aren’t I?” you mumble, looking even more sheepish as you fidget with the corner of your sleeve.

“No, no… I could listen to you talk for hours,” Bob replies genuinely, with a soft smile. It makes your heart stutter, your breath catch. No words can form; you’re completely lost in him. He clears his throat, feeling his cheeks starting to heat up. 

“Who’s in the love triangle again?” he asks suddenly, tilting his head, saving you from gawking at him like an idiot.

You perk up immediately with a gleam in your eye, ready to unload a full essay’s worth of information. “It’s actually a love pentagon…”

And just like that, you’re talking and laughing and massaging his scalp as you comb through his hair, both of you caught in a rhythm that felt unexpectedly natural. Maybe actually talking to Bob wasn’t so bad.

***

The next day, you traipse back into your room after a gruelling mission. Getting back into the swing of things is harder than it looks, especially with the exhaustion weighing on your shoulders and flashes of Bob being unexpectedly cute popping into your head every time you try to focus on fighting. Not to mention, you actually enjoyed brushing Bob’s hair, feeling his hair beneath your fingertips, watching him react when you’d graze a sensitive spot. This was insanity, and you needed to document it. 

Looking around the dim room, your eyes settle on your dresser. You move over and reach for your diary, something you haven’t written in for far too long.

You yank open your drawer, grabbing your diary with the full intent to emotionally unload every irrational (but valid) feeling bubbling in your chest.

But you notice your diary is sitting on a stack of paper. You take them out and freeze them. 

Pictures.

Your brows knit as you start looking through them. 

They’re all of Bob.

Photo after photo, in different lighting, from different angles, in different places. Him laughing, him holding coffee, him at the bookstore you dreamt of. One of him eating a sandwich with ridiculous focus. In every single one, he looks… happy. Radiant, even. Just Bob, but lighter.

You stare at them, a hollow kind of confusion forming in your chest. You don’t remember taking these. You don’t remember any of this.

Which only means one thing… these were from the weeks you lost your memory.

You rack your brain for a possible explanation. Were you stalking him? 

But then something shifts. You look closer. The angles aren’t distant or hidden. They're up close. Comfortable. Personal.

These were moments. You flip to the next photo, Bob looking right at the camera, smiling, soft and warm like whoever was behind it was someone he cared about. Like he was on a date.

And then more photos, but they were of you.

Walking through New York, holding an ice cream, grinning ear to ear. At a crosswalk, arms thrown out like you were catching the wind. Hair wild. Laughing like you hadn’t felt a single burden in your life.

You hadn’t smiled like that in so long. You were practically glowing. Something inside you cracks wide open. What the hell happened in those missing weeks? And why does it feel like…you were happy?

Like really happy.

With him.

You spring up, heart pounding, knowing you need to get to the bottom of this. Grabbing the pictures, you dash over to his room. Your hand hovers over the door, ready to knock, but then you freeze. What would you even say? What if the answer isn’t what you want to hear? What if it changes everything?

The doubt claws at you, but the questions won’t let you turn away.

But before you could think of what to say, Bob called your name. You turn your head to the side, he’s on his way back to his room. He notices the expression on your face and knows it’s something serious. 

“I… we need to talk,” you say, your voice shaky but determined.

Bob nods silently and walks over, letting you into his room. The moment you enter, you’re hit with a wave of familiarity, like you’ve been here before, like this conversation has already started somewhere deep in your memory.

You take a deep breath and sit down next to each other on the bed.

“I know why you’ve been really friendly recently. In the weeks I lost my memory…” You begin, watching his expression closely.

Bob’s eyes soften, like you’ve finally understood something important. “We became friends, didn’t we?”

He pauses, looking a little sad at the word “friends,” but when you pull out the pictures, his face changes.

“I… I remember,” he says quietly. “But these pictures… I’ve never actually seen them before. I only remember you taking them.”

His mind drifts back, replaying memories of the two of you inseparable, back when love was the only thing on both of your minds.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve looked happy like that,” you admit, flicking through the photos. You notice a flicker of quiet sadness cross his face as he looks at them. He must miss who you were, the version of you that these pictures captured.

“If you’re willing, I’d like to try again. Get to a place where things aren’t so uncomfortable. If you were able to do it with me then, maybe you could do it with me now.”

Bob recognised this was a huge step forward. He knew it wasn’t easy, maybe it never would be, but being your friend sounded like a gift he didn’t want to take for granted.

“I’d love to try,” he said softly, hope shining in his eyes.

***

Being friends is hard. It takes effort, and you don’t quite know what you’re doing, so it’s hard, but good.

It feels good to connect, even if it still scares you to try. There’s a quiet exhilaration in the small moments, like watching a movie together or just sitting side by side without any pressure.

You even made him an omelette the other day, and you swear he almost cried.

“It can’t be that good,” You protested.

“No, no, it really is,” he said, the quiet part he kept in his head being, “Because you made it for me.”

Now, you’re sitting with him again, the comfortable silence wrapping around you. He’s quiet, and you can tell he’s thinking about telling you something. Since this whole “friend thing” began a few days ago, you’ve become something of an expert in Bob’s body language—the way he fiddles with his hands when he’s deep in thought, how his eyes light up when he’s interested in something.

“What do you want to ask?” you interrupt his mid-thought.

He looks at you with a meek smile. “I was just wondering if you wanted to go get coffee? Kinda craving one.”

You pause for a moment, then reply, “Sure, that sounds… fun,” a shy smile working its way onto your face.

You both step out of the tower and onto the street. It’s a grey, overcast day, clouds hanging low, but after everything, just walking beside him, step in step, feels like a kind of quiet relief.

You don’t talk much, but the silence isn’t uncomfortable. If anything, it’s peaceful. Bob seems more at ease now, no longer walking on eggshells around you. It’s subtle, but it means everything.

You watch his back as he walks ahead, the strands of his hair being tousled gently by the wind. Your footsteps slow, then stop entirely as the now-familiar sensation creeps in like a thread tugging at your consciousness. Just like that, you’re being pulled away again. 

You open your eyes to the soft glow of fairy lights and the sight of Bob with his back to you, working meticulously to finish what looks like a little surprise just for you. There are cushions, blankets, and pillows all arranged into a comfy blanket fort in the living room. He’s focused, tongue tucked slightly into his cheek as he ties the last bit of fabric to the back of a chair, glancing over his shoulder.

“Are your eyes still closed?” he calls out.

You quickly squeeze them shut again. “Yeah, still shut.”

You can’t help the smile tugging at your lips as you listen, hear the faint shuffle of him putting on music, the soft groan when he stubs his toe against the coffee table, and the patter of his footsteps approaching until he’s standing right in front of you. You can’t see him, but his presence is warm and unmistakable.

“Take my hand,” he says gently.

“I can’t see your hand,” you reply, trying not to laugh.

“Oh. Right.” You hear the smile in his voice as he reaches for you, carefully guiding your hand into his. His fingers wrap around yours, steady and warm, and he helps you to your feet.

“Eyes still closed?” he checks.

You hum in agreement.

“Open them.”

You blink your eyes open and are immediately greeted by the sight of the blanket fort in all its cosy glory. It’s strung with twinkle lights and layered with soft throws and fluffy pillows. Inside, there are even two mugs of something warm and a plate of pancakes waiting.

“After you,” he says with a quiet pride.

You both crawl inside, and it's everything. A little safe haven carved out of nothing. You settle down next to him, your shoulders brushing.

“This is perfect,” you whisper.

“I’m glad you like it,” he replies, sheepish but glowing with quiet pride. He takes a breath, hesitating just a beat. “I know it must be scary… not knowing who you are. I just wanted to do something to make it a little easier. Is that dumb? It’s dumb, right?”

You reach for his hand, laying yours over his, gently tracing your fingers across his knuckles. “It’s not dumb at all.”

Your eyes meet, and something clicks into place. It’s like exhaling after holding your breath all day, like sinking into a familiar rhythm, like… coming home.

Not to a place, but to a person.

You’re barely out of your daze when you hear the sudden ringing of a bike bell heading straight for you. 

Before you can react, Bob’s arm wraps around you, pulling you out of the way just in time as a bike messenger speeds past. You stumble slightly, but he steadies you, and suddenly your head is resting against his chest.

His shirt is soft beneath your cheek, and the scent of him fills your senses—it’s faint, clean… something warm like vanilla and cinnamon. 

You pull back slightly, just enough to look up at him, and for a moment, you're looking at him the way you do in your daydreams. The world slows. His hand lingers on your arm, his touch reassuring, grounding.

You feel safe. And maybe, for the first time in a long while… hopeful.

“Thank you… You saved me,” you say, the words almost teasing but laced with something softer underneath.

“I’ll always be around to protect you from bikes,” Bob replies gently, smiling like he knows something you don’t. 

You nod, and just as he’s about to start walking again, you reach out and take his hand. You don’t know why you did it. It’s like your body moves on its own. His fingers twitch slightly in surprise, and when he looks over at you, his eyes are wide.

“Just in case,” you murmur, trying to explain it away. 

“Just in case,” he echoes, quieter this time, like the words mean something more to him than he lets on. He smiles, that soft, rare kind of smile he saves for you, and keeps walking, your hands still clasped.

Walking inside, you’re immediately hit with the comforting smell of fresh pastries and ground coffee beans. It’s like a hug for your nose.

You step up to the counter and order your go-to, adding with a smile, “Oh, and can I get extra whipped cream?”

The barista nods. “Yeah, it’s just two dollars more.”

You nod again, already fishing out your card and tapping it without hesitation. Bob steps up behind you in line, casually scanning the pastry case while you wait for your receipt.

Then you see it.

The barista perks way up when it’s Bob’s turn, her voice turning a shade sweeter. “And what can I get started for you?”

He rattles off his order, and before he can finish, she cuts in, eyes shining. “And do you want that with extra whipped cream?”

Bob blinks, caught off guard. “Uh…”

“On the house,” she adds, flashing him a smile that practically sparkles.

“Sure, why not?” he says, still half-confused, then turns to you with a helpless shrug and a smile. You narrow your eyes, watching the barista giggle to herself as she starts prepping the drink. She was so obvious.

“Thanks,” He says before going over to meet you at the side where you’re loading your coffee a little aggressively, your mind still occupied by Bob and that girl.

“Almost ready to go?” Bob asks, ever casual, sipping from his coffee like nothing in the world could possibly be complicated.

But your eyes land on his cup, and immediately, something’s off. There’s too much black ink scrawled across it for it to just be his name. It’s only three letters for goodness' sake.

You lean in slightly, narrowing your eyes.

Numbers.

Your stomach twists. Your jaw tightens. And before you can think twice, the words are out of your mouth. “She gave you her number,” you say flatly, ignoring his question entirely.

He glances at the cup, like he hadn't even noticed. “Oh… huh.”

That’s it? Huh?

The annoyance rolls off you in waves, and you hate that you can’t fully explain why. You cross your arms, shifting your weight, suddenly far too aware of how tight your chest feels.

You catch yourself and try to shake it off, but there’s a weight pressing down on your ribcage, a sharp little ache like something is stepping right on your heart.

Why did you feel so... jealous?

Bob wasn’t yours, there was no reason to be mad at a girl flirting with him, you should be happy for him, even. 

But all that was true, why did this feel like a sucker punch you weren’t prepared for?

Bob’s still looking at the cup, then back at you, head tilted. “You okay?”

You force a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Yeah. Totally. Let’s go.”

***

Since that day, something in you had shifted. You learned you may or may not have a jealous streak, and you had finally started to settle into being friends with Bob. It was nice, and makes you regret the time you spent avoiding him. 

And you had really started to realise just how much effort Bob had been putting into just being your friend, even when you were cold, unreceptive, and distant. It wasn’t fair.

You wanted to make it up to him. And what better way than with a milkshake?

You thought back to that daydream you had, or maybe it was a memory. If the whole milkshake-making thing was real, then he should love this. If it wasn’t… well, hopefully he still did.

Bob’s up early, being knocked out of sleep by the summer heat. He gets up to get water and hears something unexpected. The sound of a blender whirring at 6 am.

He walks into the kitchen, rubbing the back of his neck, only to see you standing at the counter, fiddling with the blender.

There are a few unsuccessful batches of whatever you’re making scattered around, splashes on the counter, a sticky trail leading to the sink. You bite your lip in concentration, brow furrowed, completely absorbed in the task. He thinks you look so cute like this.

Bob says your name, and you freeze like a deer caught in headlights, like you’ve been caught red-handed.

“Bob. You’re here.” You say it like it’s a surprise, like you weren’t hoping he'd find you.

He furrows his brow slightly, a curious smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “What are you doing?”

There’s no point in hiding it now. You sigh and admit, “Making you a milkshake?”

He blinks, surprised, and then he’s smiling. Really smiling. It’s that slow-building kind of joy that lights up his whole face, the kind that makes your heart clench.

“For me?” he asks, almost in disbelief.

You nod, a little sheepish. “I wanted to do a trial run this morning. Just in case it sucks.”

Bob chuckles, stepping closer and leaning on the kitchen island, his eyes warm and fixed on you.

“I doubt it would,” he says softly, and he means it.

“Can I have a taste?”

You answer, “Knock yourself out,” feigning an air of nonchalance when in reality you’re nervous as hell.

You didn’t want him to hate it, especially after you’d loved and eaten your weight in pancakes these past few weeks.

You just wanted to do something nice, to let him know how much you appreciate him.

He grabs a spoonful and lets it dance on his taste buds. At first, his eyebrows furrowed. That couldn’t be good, right?

Then he looks up at you, a slow smile spreading across his face. “How did you know I like salted caramel milkshakes?” he asks, genuinely surprised.

You hesitate, unsure how to explain.

“I…” you start, then take a deep breath. “I saw it in a daydream, which may actually be a memory, but I’m not sure.”

You pause, then add quietly, “Just a feeling.”

“It’s the perfect milkshake,” he says, eyes shining with genuine delight.

“Not quite,” you answer with a playful smile, crossing your arms.

He grins mischievously, taking a little scoop and smudging it gently on his cheek. “Now, it’s perfect.”

You laugh, reaching up to wipe it off, and for a moment, everything feels light and easy.

You spend the rest of the morning together, sharing the milkshake — one glass, two straws, since you’d only made enough for one.

Between sips and smiles, the distance between you shrinks, and for once, you don’t want to push anyone away. 

Later that night, you stand quietly by the window, staring out at the living room. Your eyes land on the now-empty space where the blanket fort from your daydreams had been, still vivid in your mind.

“You’re deep in thought,” Bucky’s voice cuts through the quiet, calm, but knowing, as he settles on the couch across from you.

“I’m deep in thought a lot these days,” you sigh, not bothering to mask the exhaustion in your voice.

You take a deep breath, eyes still fixed on the ghost of that memory. “I know you can’t tell me what happened in those weeks I lost… but ever since then, I’ve been seeing things. Glimpses. I don’t know what’s real and what’s not, but they all revolve around one thing.”

You don’t say it, but you don’t have to. The look Bucky gives you says it all—he knows you’re talking about Bob.

“How does it feel?” he asks gently.

“Hm?”

“The memories. How do they feel?”

You open your mouth, then close it again. How do you explain something like that? It’s more than just an emotion, it’s a moment. Like wrapping your hands around a mug of hot chocolate on a cold day or finding one last cookie you didn’t know you had.

“It feels… good,” you say at last. “It feels right.”

Bucky watches you for a moment, then leans forward slightly, thoughtful. “If it feels right, maybe your subconscious is trying to tell you something.”

You turn to him, your voice quieter now, more unsure. “Should I listen to it?”

Bucky offers the faintest smile, the kind of smile born from experience, from hard lessons learned. “The head lies a lot more than the heart does. If something in you feels at peace when you’re around him… maybe that’s your answer.”

You nod in as you watch him walk away, before something occurs to you, “...wait, I didn’t say anything about any him.”

“You’re not too hard to read, especially when it comes to him.”

You lay your head down on the counter, your skin too hot, your heart twisting in ways you couldn’t explain. Embarrassment flooded through you—whatever this was, this feeling that had been unravelling you from the inside out, it was getting harder to ignore.

But then there was the smile tugging at your lips, soft and involuntary. And that strange flutter in your chest.

You knew. Even if you weren’t ready to say it out loud, you knew.

The floor creaked softly behind you, and you lifted your head to see Bob standing there, that same poetry book you’d seen him with before held carefully in his hands.

“Bob,” you breathe.

Just seeing him makes your heart skip. Was that normal? Or were you sick? Emotionally compromised? Both?

“That book…” You murmur. “Will you read me something from it?”

He’s a little surprised, but he nods. “Of course.”

And then, before you can second-guess yourself, you’re reaching for his hand, guiding him to the couch with you. It’s easy in a way it never used to be, natural like you’ve done it a hundred times before.

You sit next to him, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his side. He flips through the pages, reading from one page and then another.

“I have no idea what this means,” he admits, pointing to one of the lines with a soft chuckle, “but I like the way it sounds.”

“I like the way it sounds too.”

But it wasn’t just the poem. You liked the sound of his voice—smooth and warm, like chocolate on your tongue or honey in tea. Every word he spoke wrapped around you like a spell, one you weren’t sure you ever wanted to break free from.

You slowly, carefully, lean your head onto his shoulder.

“Is this okay?” you ask, voice small and scared of his rejection. 

He freezes for a moment, then nods. His face doesn’t flush, but his ears—bright red. The reaction makes your chest ache most softly.

There’s a quiet, almost shy joy in his expression at how close you are. He clears his throat, trying to regain composure, and begins to read again. Each line, an ode to you. 

***

There’s a soft knock on your door. You get up, waddle out of bed, and suddenly face to face with Bob.

“I missed you,” He breathes out, you don’t even get to respond before he’s lifting you off the floor and carrying you back to your bed.

The entire time, he’s whispering sweet nothings into your ear between his kisses—soft murmurs like, “All mine…” and “Need you so bad.”

His breath warm against your skin, his voice low and urgent, making your heart race.

Then, with a playful grin, he gently tosses you back onto your bed, his eyes locked onto yours.

“Can’t spend another second away from you,” He whines, as he places himself between your thighs.

“So…” You’re forced to pause, distracted by his lips and teeth, marking your neck in desperation, “Insatiable.”

He gets down on his knees suddenly and pulls you to the edge of the bed. Immediately, he pulls off your shorts, or rather tears them off, his strength getting the better of him. But he leaves your panties on, happy to see that you’re already soaking through the fabric. 

“I liked those shorts.”

“Trust me, you’ll like what I do to you a lot more.”

He lays a kiss against your clothed pussy, making you squirm. “Don’t tease me,” You beg, and all he does is smile up at you, as if he’s innocent. He rubs your clit through your panties, working you up then moving away, over and over again. 

“If you want me to do something,” He drawls as he leans in, his breath now against your ear, “You’re gonna have to scream my name.”

“Bob!”

You jolt upright in bed, heart racing, breath uneven. You’re still half-lost in the throes of the dream. You can almost imagine Bob’s lips on your legs, travelling upwards until—No. You wouldn’t finish that thought. 

Thankfully, you're in your own bed. Not curled up against Bob. Not still on the couch where you fell asleep.

You press a hand to your chest, trying to steady the frantic rhythm of your heart. It’s hammering, wild and traitorous. Okay. Deep breath.

The sun's already crept past the blinds, washing your room in soft morning light. Somewhere down the hall, Bob is probably making breakfast. Casual. Unbothered. Probably completely unaware that you just had a dream that could get you both kicked out of the Avengers’ group chat.

You groan and flop back onto your pillows, covering your face with both hands.

You just hoped he carried you to bed before the dream started. Because if he did it afterwards and there was any talking in your sleep involved, then you might actually have to fake your own death and move to a remote cave in the mountains. 

You try to reason with yourself. Telling yourself that it was just a dream. Probably because his voice was the last thing you heard before drifting off. That’s all. A subconscious reaction. Harmless. Totally harmless.

After a shower, you toddle out of your room, hair still damp and wearing the comfiest clothes you own. You peek out from behind a wall—and lo and behold, there he is.

Bob. In the kitchen. Making something that definitely smells like your favourite breakfast. You pause, eyes locked on him.

His back is to you, sleeves pushed up, hands moving with an ease and purpose that feels borderline unfair. You watch the muscles in his forearms flex slightly as he flips something in the pan, and your brain betrays you. You can only imagine how those hands would look even better wrapped around your thighs—

No. No. Nope.

You slap that thought out of your head like it's a mosquito. Not going there again. Not right now. You keep watching, borderline creeping, when suddenly a voice nearly kills you on the spot.

“Spying?” John.

You jump about a foot in the air, clutching your chest like an old Victorian lady. “For fuck’s sake, Walker!”

John leans against the wall next to you, smug and sipping coffee like he didn’t just give you a heart attack. You swear, if you weren’t so mortified, you might’ve actually punched him.

“No. Just… observing,” you breathe out, barely.

“You were definitely spying,” he says, far too amused. “If you drooled any harder, there’d be a puddle at your feet.”

You glare at him, cheeks heating. “I wasn’t– shut up. I wasn’t drooling.”

He lifts an eyebrow and sips again, like he doesn’t believe you for a second. “Sure. Just saying... if you actually talked to him, it might be more effective than… whatever this is.”

You grumble something under your breath and peek back around the corner.

Bob is still there. Still cooking. Still completely unaware of the internal crisis he’s causing.

Maybe John had a point. Unfortunately.

You could watch him all day—had been, actually. Bob’s presence drew your attention like gravity, and the longer you kept your feelings bottled up, the crazier you felt. 

The best way to go about it was the scariest. You had to confront him directly.

You bide your time, waiting until late evening, when most of the tower was quiet and the others were off doing their own thing. Your heart was thudding like it knew what you were about to do.

You found Bob alone in the common area, and you cornered him, explaining your plight to him.

“And basically, I’ve been having these daydreams and actual dreams, which I think are actually memories or something. So I have to ask, or rather confirm, during those weeks when I lost my memory…”

You gulp.

“We had sex, right?” You mumble, looking around the room.

Bob’s eyes widen. His mouth opens and closes once before he finally manages to speak. It feels like it takes forever.

“…No,” he says, gently. “We didn’t.”

Your stomach drops. “Oh. So that was just…?”

Your voice trails off, and all you want is for the Earth to open up and swallow you whole. Someone should pack you in a crate, slap a “fragile” sticker on you, and ship you to a remote island. You’d just admitted to having sex dreams about the man to his face.

Bob shifts, suddenly flustered himself. “Wait, no—I mean—not that I wouldn’t have… I mean, we just didn’t want to rush anything, especially while you were still trying to figure things out. We were… really close. I cared a lot. I still do.”

The twinkle in his eyes when he saw the photos, the way he pulled you out of the way when the bike almost hit you, him smiling at you when you brushed his hair… It all clicked.

“We were…” You clear your throat, willing yourself to speak clearly, “In love?” “We were in love,” Bob admits softly. 

“That’s why the daydreams I’ve been getting… they’ve felt so real. Because they were real, once. They’re pieces of us,” you say softly, your voice trembling with the weight of the truth.

Then, gathering every bit of courage you have, you ask the question that’s been haunting your mind.

“Do you still love me?”

This felt like the edge of something, like one wrong word would break your heart forever. You told yourself you’d accept it if he didn’t. If he only loved the girl who took pictures of him eating sandwiches, and made milkshakes with him and not the girl who had shut him out and avoided him for weeks. But three words from him shut your thoughts up. 

“I never stopped.”

It all goes quiet. He said exactly what you wanted to hear, what you needed to hear. 

You collect your thoughts, standing in front of a man who loved you so deeply.

You’re scared, giving your heart away is no easy thing.

But looking at him, seeing the warmth and honesty in his eyes, you know it’ll be safe with him.

“I think…” You pause, shaking your head slowly as if the words might fall into place with movement alone. “No, I—I know that I love you now.”

His eyes soften, but you can still see the flicker of uncertainty dancing just behind them.

Then, quietly, he asks the question that matters most: “How do you know that you love me?”

You know what he’s really asking.

You step closer so he sees it in your eyes as well as your words. “When I tried to imagine a life without you, I felt sad. Actually, that’s not quite right. I felt… empty. Like if you left, you’d be taking a piece of me with you.”

You reach for his hand, lacing your fingers together.

“When I’m with you, it’s like a world that I never used to understand finally makes sense. Like everything’s… aligned. But when you’re not around?” You breathe in shakily, then smile softly. “I still imagine what it’d be like if you were.”

You pause, smiling just thinking about it. “I just… I love you with everything I have, and I don’t know if I’ll ever remember falling in love with you the first time, but I’ll never forget falling in love with you this time.”

As soon as you say that, Bob wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you close, and kisses you. A kiss full of all the weeks he’s waited for this moment. To hold you, to know that you love him as much as he loves you.

He kisses you again and again, whispering, “I love you,” with every touch of his lips, each word a promise.

***

For the next week, life is all pancakes and stolen kisses. You were buzzing with joy, glowing in a way that made it impossible to hide how happy you were. The team was happy, too, that you and Bob were finally happy. Even if you were nauseatingly cute with the forehead kisses and shared hoodies.

He read to you most nights until you fell asleep, sometimes with the book still in his hand. You’d basically made Bob’s bed your own by now—memorising the dips in his mattress, the way he mumbled in his sleep, the exact rhythm of his heartbeat.

The kitchen had become one of your favourite make-out spots. Something about the early mornings, soft lighting, and the smell of coffee just made it impossible to keep your hands off each other. One day, all he was doing was trying to get his coffee, and next thing you knew, you were grabbing him by the shirt and kissing him like it was the last time.

“Can’t keep my hands off you,” you gasped, breathless between kisses.

Bob turned slightly red, eyes twinkling. “I can tell.”

Then he was lifting you onto the kitchen island with zero hesitation, his hands running over your hips, mouth finding your neck like he’d done it a thousand times before. You were both so wrapped up in each other that you didn’t hear the door until—

“Ahem.”

You froze.

Alexei stood there, arms crossed, and a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Don’t let me stop you,” he said dryly. “It’s… cute.”

You buried your face in Bob’s chest, mortified. “I’m going to die of embarrassment.”

Bob just chuckled, one arm wrapped protectively around you. “Not before I do.”

That night, as you fall asleep next to Bob, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, your head resting on his chest and his fingers lazily drawing patterns along your back… all you could think was: How could this possibly go wrong?

It felt too good, too right, like everything in your life had finally clicked into place. The way he held you, how safe and warm it felt to just exist beside him. The world outside could fall apart, and you’d still feel like you were exactly where you were meant to be.

But somewhere deep in your chest was the smallest flicker of fear. Not loud enough to ruin the moment, but enough to make your fingers clutch his shirt just a little tighter in your sleep.

Because sometimes, when something feels this perfect… it almost doesn’t feel real.

You sit up in your bed, disoriented… but something feels off. It’s cold. Bob’s not there.

“Bob?” you call out softly, but there’s no answer. Just silence.

You scramble off the bed and start searching the Tower, calling out his name as you move through hallway after hallway. But everything feels… off. No trace of leftovers on the kitchen counter, or jackets draped over the back of the couch. No clutter, no noise. It’s been completely scrubbed clean.

Like the team was gone.

Or like they were never even here at all.

Your heart thuds in your chest as you open Bob’s door and finally come face to face with him.

“Bob, where did you—?” You stop dead. Everything in his room is packed up. Boxes. Bags. Drawers empty.

“You’re leaving?”

“No… you’re leaving me,” you say, your voice shaking but resolute. “Please say something. What did I do wrong?”

He doesn’t speak. He looks distant, vacant, like he’s looking right through you.

“Bob, say something!” you cry out.

You step forward, trying to reach out for him… but suddenly, it’s like he’s stretching farther and farther away. Each step feels heavier, your legs like lead, like you’re being dragged through thick marsh. No matter how hard you try, you just can’t get to him. 

“Please just…” your voice cracks, eyes burning, “Please wait for me.”

But he doesn’t turn. He keeps packing, his back to you like a wall.

“Bob, please!” you plead again, desperation flooding your voice. “Please tell me what I did, tell me how I can fix this. Just don’t…”

You fall to your knees, the weight of it all crashing down on you like a tidal wave. Your voice is barely a whisper now.

“Don’t leave.”

But it’s no use. 

It’s like you don’t even exist to him anymore.

When you wake up, it’s still dark out, just the blue-grey blur of dawn slipping through the blinds. Bob is beside you, still asleep, his arm loosely draped across your waist like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

You know—you know he loves you. But you’re scared. That at the drop of a dime, he’s going to leave, and you won’t see it coming. It won’t be loud or dramatic. It’ll be soft. Quiet. The way people drift away when you’re not looking. Every time you look at him, it’s like you’re already preparing to lose him.

The walls went straight up, and Bob noticed immediately. From waking up alone to not seeing you all day. You weren’t gone, but you barely looked at him. Every glance was half-hearted, every smile short-lived. You were slipping. He felt it.

He finds you in your room, sitting on the floor with an old shoebox of memories cracked open. You're looking over pictures of the two of you—early days, sunlight and laughter in your eyes. Your fingers linger on the edges like they burn.

When you see him enter, you pack them away fast, like he’s caught you doing something shameful.

“You’re avoiding me,” Bob says, standing in the doorway.

“I’m not. I’m just busy. Is it a crime to be busy?” you snap, sharper than you meant to. But it’s easier this way. Back to the same old routine of building distance, of pushing before you can be pulled. This felt easier. Safer. Who were you kidding?

Bob doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t step back. He walks in and sits down beside you, close but not crowding.

“I know why you’re pushing me away,” he says, voice low but steady. “I’m not going to leave you.”

You want to believe him. God, you do. But your chest tightens like it’s been waiting for the moment to crack.

“People always say that,” you whisper, not meeting his eyes. “Right before they do. And how do you even know that’s what I was thinking about?”

“I…read your diary—”

“You read my diary?” you in, your breath catching. That was a line—a clear invasion of privacy.

“I know I crossed a line,” he nods, guilt flickering across his face. “But you told me to. Before you lost your memories, you said it might help me understand you, and I feel like I do.”

You teeter on your heels, looking around the room like you might bolt at any second. Your heart is pounding too loudly to think clearly. Bob steps forward, into your space, grounding you.

“You’re not going to lose me,” he says, steady and soft. “I see you. And I love who I see.”

You shake your head, almost laughing, but a step away from crying at the same time.

“Bob, you don’t mean that. You can’t mean that,” you say, voice cracking under the weight of everything spilling out of you.

“I do,” he says firmly. “Every part of you. Every little quirk. I see it, and I love it.”

“You…” Your throat closes. “I’m broken, Bob. People always leave. My own mother left. You don’t understand—I'm a mess. I fall apart, I shut people out, I push them away. It’s why no one sticks around. I’m a complete wreck.”

You suck in a breath, trying to swallow your panic. “Let’s just… cut this off before you see the worst parts of me and realise I’m not worth it.”

He gently turns your face back toward his, fingers warm and sure under your chin. His eyes, those kind ones, are locked on you.

“Loving someone, truly loving someone, isn’t conditional,” he says quietly. “It’s not about perfection. It’s messy and complicated and terrifying sometimes. But when I fell in love with you the first time, I felt something I’ve never felt before. It’s like my whole world opened up,”

He pauses, swallowing hard.

“And then… I got to fall in love with you all over again. It’s been beautiful, every single moment spent with you has been a gift.”

He cups your face in his hands now, and you relax into his touch.

“I’m not going anywhere when things get tough. I won’t run when you break down, or when it gets ugly. I choose you. I love you. And nothing is going to change that.”

The dam breaks.

Tears spill down your face like a waterfall. All the things you’d held in for so long crash out of you like a wave you couldn’t hold back anymore.

“I… I love you too,” you choke out, voice trembling. The words taste like surrender and relief all at once.

He cradles you in his arms, holding you like he means it, like he’s anchoring you to something steady. Something real.

You bury your face in his chest, letting yourself be vulnerable for once, 

You’re safe.

No more pretending. No more running. For the first time in a long time, the future doesn’t feel like a ticking bomb. It feels like something you can face together.

And maybe that’s what being in love really is. Not the absence of fear, but choosing to stay in spite of it.

“Can we get ice cream or something?” You ask.

“Of course.”

***

Now that you were done dealing with your issues alone, both of you felt lighter… like breathing came easier. It’s like the weight of silence had lifted, and suddenly, you couldn’t be away from Bob—not for long. His presence had become your anchor, your gravity.

Your phone didn’t charge, but that’s irrelevant, not when you get to wake up next to Bob, his hair messy and arms around you like the night hadn’t ended.

You stubbed your toe on the edge of the nightstand (another inconvenient thing), but that also doesn’t matter, because Bob loves you, and nothing can ruin your day.

You hear a commotion in the kitchen—raised voices, something clattering—but that shit doesn’t matter either. Not while you’re in love. Not while you're wrapped in this hazy, glowing calm that makes the world feel muted and far away.

You wander into the kitchen, still in a dream, still floating like you have wings... There’s an argument going on. John and Ava’s sharp voices are now muffled, like static through so you barely register it.

The argument only becomes real when you notice something flying toward your face.

A frying pan.

It soars across the room in an elegant, absurd arc—spinning once, twice—and hits you smack dab in the face.

You’re still happy though; you were thinking about Bob as you hit the ground. 

A while later, you wake up in the medbay, which you had become very accustomed to. But this time… this time it was different. It was like everything came rushing back in full colour, flooding your brain all at once.

You look at the empty chair beside your bed, and you remember exactly how Bob looked when you first woke up with amnesia. His messy hair was in front of his eyes as he slept. 

You remember trying to make him pancakes and failing miserably. You remember pretending to be a couple on the subway. You remember your first kiss. You remember everything. 

It’s like your heart snapped back into place.

You tumble out of bed, heart racing. You need to see him. Now.

“Should you be up already? And I’m so sorry about the frying pan—it was all Walker’s fault—” Ava stammers, rushing toward you.

“It’s okay, it happens,” you say, brushing it off with a dazed grin. “Where’s Bob?”

“In the kitchen?” she says, still concerned, watching you wobble toward the door like a drunk moth.

You run—well, hobble—off in search of your Bob, adrenaline and longing pulling you down the hall. Until you find him.

He’s in the kitchen, putting together snacks like a man on a mission. Quiet, focused, gentle.

“Bob!” you call, your voice cracking from emotion and recent concussion.

He looks up instantly, eyes widening in relief. “What are you doing out of bed—?”

You jump into his arms, surprising him — he catches you, confused by the sudden burst of excitement.

“Pancakes.”

“Oh. Do you want me to make some or—?”

“No, pancakes!” you exclaim, unable to contain your joy.

His eyes widen as the realisation hits him. “You remember?”

“Everything,” you say, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, stealing the breath from his lungs.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, and in that moment, you never want to let him go again.

“Really?” he asks, voice full of wonder.

“From our first pancake to our first kiss on the rooftop. I remember it all,” you whisper, your heart full. “You really didn’t give up on me.”

“And I never will,” Bob replies, pulling you back into a tight hug.

Your hearts beat in sync as you hold each other close, and in that moment, you both feel completely whole, finally, together.

“Remember when we said that we’d… y’know, when my memories came back?”

“Right now?” He blinks at you. 

“Now. Take me to your room, or we can do it right here, I don’t care.”

Bob blinked once—just once—before everything in his expression changed. His eyes darkened with intensity, lips twitching up into the beginnings of a grin. He wasn’t complaining one bit.

Bucky, however, was.

From somewhere behind you, Bucky let out a string of protests. “Guys, this is a shared space! Kitchen! Food prep happens here!”

“Fine, we’ll take it elsewhere for your sake.”

You jump and wrap your legs around his waist, arms around his neck, clinging to him like a koala. 

He catches you easily and carries you through the hallway, past the curious eyes of the rest of the team, who were all internally celebrating like their favourite slow-burn finally paid off.

He doesn’t even flinch, doesn’t stop, just keeps walking with a purpose only you can give him.

He pushes open his door, kicking it shut behind him, and lays you down gently on the bed like you’re something rare and delicate. He hovers above you, eyes searching yours with a tenderness that makes your chest ache.

“Are you sure?” he asks, his voice low and steady, though you can see the hope flickering behind his gaze.

You cup his cheek with your hand, thumb brushing lightly under his eye. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

He kisses you, slowly at first, like he’s afraid to break you, but then with more certainty. His hands slide to your waist, pulling you closer, grounding you even as the world starts to tilt.

Except it’s not the world that’s tilting.

It’s you.

You lift your head just enough to meet his eyes, your fingers curled lightly at the nape of his neck. “Is this going to happen every time we kiss?”

He raises an eyebrow, his smile smug but affectionate. “Is that a problem?”

You laugh, a real laugh that bubbles up from somewhere deep in your chest, and press your face into his neck, nose brushing the warm skin there. “No… but it does give me a few ideas.”

Masterlist

[viorel-lette]

More designs and headcanons for the SUGARCOATED AU!

Big credits to these two awesome people who made the Fount of Knowledge and Pre-corrupted Mystic Flour sprites that I used above!! Their original post is linked along with their @ if you wanna check them out :D!

Fount of Knowledge Sprite by @frog-of-the-blog Transcend Flour Cookie by @modcroissant

Similar to Eternal Sugar's post (<- in which you can find a very small breakdown of her outfit design and a few headcanons) Below the cut is a few design details I made for Shmilk (BM) and Mysty (WPF) and a few more ideas for how this crossover AU will go!

The cut may not appear for others so I guess if you're one of them you can try to maybe scroll down really fast if you haven't yet played or watched a playthrough or summary of the game OMORI and don't wanna get spoiled of the game's horrors which for me, is one of its best parts! I would know cuz it took me a week to recover :D. 💯 percent would recommend if you just love to put yourself in undescribable emotional pain ^^💕.

But big chunky trigger warning for those who are sensitive to things like depictions of depression, anxiety, suicide, flashing lights and a bunch of other stuff!— it's pretty expected from a psychological horror game, but please don't be pressured to play or watch it!

Added Eternal Sugar's design thingy along since I wanted to change her weapon. Her U-shaped harp matched her angel form more, so I replaced it with the harp from her legendary costume! Suits her even better since both designs are more fairy like.

Anyways NOTES and HEADCANONS:

Really wanna lean in to the way how Sugar seems to slightly not belong with the rest like how Omori is with his monotone expression and colors. I mentioned before in her own design post how she's the only character in some sort of sleep ware, a few other differences I added here is that shes the only one based on her beast form and also the only one named after it, everyone else's design look more, and are named, like their virtues.

Each of them have fantasy-adventure-group-roles! Blueberry Milk being the wizard or mage and Pastry Flour being the healer. Not sure about everyone else's tho.

I really like the idea of Blueberry, being the "Basil" of this AU and giving everyone insects to represent them!! Mentioned how this has definitely been done before (Omoriposa AU by madnopost :D!) But it just suits so well especially since their beta designs are already based on insects so I'm kinda thinking of really adding it

And on the topic of being "Basil", I hc before that Bspice would be the sporty but actually artsy type— which would be a really fun characteristic to give to him but I feel like giving it to Shmilk instead. He would make doodles of their times together to parallel with the way Sunny remembered the truth through Basil's photographs

And speaking of hobbies, in the real world, Sugar loves to bake! Which is why everyone is named after some sort of ingredient (minus Elder Faerie?) and why her happyspace is almost filled to the brim with desserts and sweets. Keyword 'almost' as it seems that if things are not going so well eyes, teeth, and organs seem to be growing more apparent here and there (just like in Sugar's actual garden in game). Also her weapon irl is a cake slicer.

Other than that, Shmilk likes to read and with the new head canon, draw, and is one of those too-smart-kids-for-their-age, meanwhile Mystic loves to embroider and crochet in her free time! Hence why, other than Shmilk's insect assigning, in Sugar's imaginary happyspace she's portrayed as a spider.

K, that's all for now. *Ascends to a different plane of existence*

[karaaeilish]

★ ride or die; b. eilish

★ military!billie x wife!reader

★ smut `

having a military wife is about being separated. about the constant worry and longing. about wondering when she'll finally come home, and if she'll come home at all. it's hard and it's difficult to always be afraid that your little girl will be left without her mother.

but what's even harder? being close to her. being inches away from her body, not being able to touch her all the time, running your tongue down her neck, leaving a small bite above her collarbone so that all curious eyes could see that the ring on her finger meant only that she was yours. only yours.

you loved going to the gym together. always watching each other's bodies, admiring every curve, every millimeter. running your fingertips over skin hot from the workout, but it was really hard for you to keep your hands to yourself while your wife walked around in an open tank top, completely exposing her arms. her biceps and triceps are on display, drawing the gaze of every single woman and others, clearly too caught up in the movements of her fingers to notice the wedding ring that billie almost never takes off, every muscle that tensed with her every move. it’s just not your fault that a wet spot has started to form between your thighs.

her body is completely soaked in sweat, beads of which run down her forehead, forcing her to wipe them with the back of her hand every few minutes, and you stare. you just can’t stop. and the strange feeling in your tummy aren’t so strong, until she comes up with a great idea: lift her tank top, exposing her hard abs, sparkling with sweat. she calmly wipes her face with it, as if she's not doing anything that drives you and your hormones crazy. not a split second passes before your legs carry you towards her, your fingers wrapping around her wrist, and as you try to pull her towards you, you clearly forget just how big is the difference between your sizes. you swallow.

"darling?" she looks down at you, straight in the eyes. looks so innocent that all you can think about is slapping her, simply because every step she takes makes your mind drift to the most sinful and dirty fantasies, and right now she has no idea.

"billie, please," you whisper, your bubble of patience about to burst. "let's get outta here."

her face instantly clears with realization, lips curling into a sly smirk. she always knows that tone. always knows when you need her like nothing else. she grabs a sports bottle of water, her right hand coming to rest on your lower small as she slowly leads the two of you out of the gym and towards the locker room.

“so what’s wrong, mamas?” she whispers in your ear, leaning down to press a kiss to your temple. “someone needs some cock, hm?”

your mind goes fuzzy, legs go weak, your pussy throbs painfully with the knowledge that before you can have her all to yourself, you’ll need to get home somehow.

“jus' take your damn things and take m'home, o’connell” you hiss, pushing at her, though it doesn’t do much good because no matter how hard you strain your arms, her body won’t budge an inch until she takes a step of her own. and she does. obeys. for now. “yes, ma’am. but don't forget you're mrs. o'connell too"

her teasing makes your stomach do a thing, nervously snapping your fingers and biting your lip until she drives you home. until a familiar building appears on the horizon and you're already unbuckling your seatbelt, eager to get out of this damn car.

you needed her. so bad. so rough. so raw.

and she's all over you. completely. picking you up awith ease, hands on your ass, squeezing and kneading the flesh through the fabric of your sweatpants. "it's so hard to watch you bend over, purposely showing your ass to the world. just fucking begging me to come and take you"

you whine, arms wrapping around her neck, lips pressing to hers in a sloppy kiss that takes your breath away.

"i can't stand watching all these sluts clinging to you like you're a fucking museum piece" you mumble between kisses and billie smirks, lips trailing down your neck, leaving bites and marks for anyone who lays eyes on you to see. she falls to the edge of the bed, letting you straddle her lap. she pats your thigh, silently telling you to get rid of those fucking pants as she fiddles with her tank top, pulling it over her head, revealing her stomach once again, adorned with her well-defined abs. your pussy's dripping. right down your thighs.

billie lies down completely on the bed, beckoning you with her index finger, and you obediently climb on top of her, pussy hovering just above her body as you await further instructions.

"don't be shy, mama. you know what to do" her hand on your hip, pressing down, forcing you down onto her abs. your pussy touching her skin, your eyes instantly rolling to the back of your head, accompanied by a pathetic whine. hands falling on her chest, fingers hooking into her sports bra as you begin to slowly move your hips back and forth, feeling every hard muscle of hers.

"fuck. oh fuck—billie…” your broken whines mix with your quiet pleas as you pick up the pace, trying to hold back the tears in your eyes. your body's shaking, and billie notices it instantly.

“c'mon, baby, don’t tell me you’re already close.” she pushes herself up on her elbows, her abs tensing, your arms go weak and you fall forward slightly, your forehead brushing against her cheek, your hips riding her with relentless speed.

“m'close, so close, billie… i need—” but she doesn’t let you finish, smirking. “shhh, sweet girl. hold it for me.”

she leans back again, both hands on your hips, making you grind against her faster, ignoring your shaking legs and numb limbs. it's only been half a minute, but it feels like forever until you start whining, begging for her permission.

"please. daddy, please" you moan, tears streaming freely down your cheeks. "please what, princess?"

she's such a bitch sometimes.

"please, let me cum. wanna cum f'you" you mumble quickly, body shaking as you try to keep your orgasm on the edge. billie smiles, enjoying your torment. waits before responding.

"such a good girl for me.. cum, mama, wanna hear you" she purrs, and there's no way you can help but scream her name as the pleasure washes over you in high waves. your lips are dry from screaming and moaning, voice hoarse.

you lean over, holding onto her body until the strength completely leaves and you fall backwards next to her, breathing heavily until your heart rate returns to normal.

billie follows suit, kneeling on the bed, her shadow completely covering your body.

“you’re so beautiful from this angle” she whispers, straddling your hips, her hands reaching for her stomach, collecting some of your arousal on her fingertips. she smirks, bringing her fingers to your lips the next second, and you obediently open your mouth, letting them slip inside, putting gentle pressure on your tongue.

“that’s it, that’s my good slut” she shifts position, ending up between your thighs, pushing them apart with her knees until they're as wide as she wants.

her fingers come out of your mouth with a distinctive 'pop' sound, leaving a thin thread of saliva between them.

"now let me take care of my perfect wife" she whispers playfully, fingers slowly tease your folds.

౨ৎ tags; @billiesbabygirll, @amara-eilish, @st0nerlesb0, @bxllxebxtch @mystiquemm, @bilswifee, @dragoneyelashart, @bilssturns, @chrissv4mp, @allyeilishh, @bitchesbrokenpromises, @too-sapphic-to-function, @thefeverburningalive, @peytonglazesbillieeilish, @1nn3rthOughts, @thebluediner, @xiletay, @eilishsfantasy, @ariieeesworld

[reflectingiridescent]

The Side Job: an episode where we come full circle, and full circle has always meant Parker

So so so full of spoilers - read at your own risk.

"I don't feel things the way other people do, so I was using their feelings to look at mine. Everyone kept asking me why I was doing this, but they wouldn't let me answer. They just kept guessing why I was doing it. Always my feelings, through them. And then I thought, 'Do I even know what I want?' So I had to get away. Because I do have feelings. One a lot...anger...Because when I was younger...Anyway, now I'm strong and you're weak. So what am I going to do and why am I going to do it?"

People likely have been doing this to Parker her whole life. But let's focus on this episode. Everyone in this episode tries to understand Parker, but their understanding is informed by who they are as people (and, for those who have known Parker longer, it's informed specifically by common touchstones in their history).

With one notable exception. But before we get there, let's talk about everyone else first. The show sets this up in order of decreasing permeability of boundaries.

Sophie comes first, and while Sophie and Parker's relationship is allowed several lenses in the Leverageverse (I've written about this here), maybe more than anyone else's, I think it's significant that right before their major interaction of the episode, we are presented with Harry's struggle with boundaries with his mother. Sophie's come a long way from last season's "Everything I do is from them" line of thinking, but she's always going to feel a little responsible for Parker, Hardison, and Eliot.

And so Sophie guesses it's because Parker doesn't want to deal with well thought-out plans every once in a while and wants the adrenaline of not having everything planned out. This makes sense because this is Sophie's style of masterminding. The entire first episode of Redemption season 2 deals with this. This is not to say that Sophie has bad boundaries with Parker. Just the boundaries in their relationship are more permeable than anyone else's. This is made clear by the way that Parker ropes Sophie in (or the way that Sophie presents herself to be roped in, intutitively).

Breanna guesses it's because Parker wants to change up the way that they do cons, which is a reflection of how she has new ideas and, like her brother, is drawn towards a slightly different style of work than the rest of the crew. Breanna does bring a new energy to the crew, and it's actually that energy that helps Parker out of her rut in s1. It also challenges her.

Harry guesses it's because Parker wants to use this experience to see if it's possible to change, if change is possible in general. And like, that's Harry's entire arc on the show (he doesn't have as much material to draw from...but like yes if you were to sum it up in a sentence, that'd be it).

I think it's important to note that no one here is completely wrong. They all have pieces of the truth. That's why Parker replies, "Something like that." to each of them. Parker is in fact taking a risk (how calculated the risk is left up for our interpretation, but on Leverage, the best cons are based in truth, and we are told that over and over again), trying something new, and testing herself.

Sophie and Parker have always been able to bond over the adrenaline rush of a job and a plan made up on the fly. Parker's risks tend to be more physical, and Sophie's tend to be more emotional. But their most significant beats involve this concept. (Sophie using a rig to get Parker off the roof in exchange for the David, "Maybe that's why they call it falling in love," Parker willingly stepping back into pure theft on this specific team and letting Sophie call the shots).

The new energy Breanna brings to the team does help Parker rediscover her passion and get in touch with a different side of herself.

The parallel in Harry wondering if change is possible and Parker, Hardison, and Eliot's "we change together" is directly referenced in Harry and Parker's scene.

So who's the exception? It's Eliot. Eliot doesn't offer up anything, even a piece, of what's going on with Parker. He just holds up a mirror and affirms her choice, referencing their shared history but never once deviating from that affirmation. It's not that he isn't worried about her - he clearly is, almost as much as Sophie. He just knows what she needs.

Speaking of Sophie, let's go back to a moment with her, because it speaks volumes, especially on a rewatch.

Harry: You don't trust Parker? Sophie: With my life? Always. With her life? Usually.

It's a lovely statement, right? It speaks to the depth of their relationship and how Sophie really cares for Parker. And it's also not really what Parker needs right now.*

*It's also not something that makes Parker upset. Parker has a very good understanding of the people around her and the way that they relate to each other. As Sophie points out, she doesn't shut them out and actually makes use of this in her plan! And she also knows that this is part of the reason why not everyone can be around when everything comes down to the wire. After a long time with our families, we get used to the way they do things. It's never completely good but it's also never completely bad. It's the way it is.

Eliot, who ran red lights to stop Parker from maybe killing a guy rolling Nanas, knows what Parker needs right now. And that's someone who has her back. And also has some distance between them.

(Hardison isn't in this episode much, but it's significant that Parker's entire self-examination is prompted by him.)

And finally (because I've gone on way too long, but you all indulge me sometimes, so I'm going to keep going until I'm finished), let's talk about Parker's only other significant relationship, which is present in this episode even though the character is no longer on this mortal plane.

Like, it's Nate, right?

Nate, who also had one emotion a lot: anger. Same as Parker! Nate, whose decision to make Parker his heir was made with input from the whole team (whether or not they were aware). Nate, who trusted Parker's judgment but also backed that reasoning up by saying that she didn't get emotional. Nate, who never fully understood Parker but like so many others close to her, understood pieces of her. And that was enough.

In many ways but not all, Parker was raised by and informed by Nate. She is not Nate. She doesn't have his upbringing or his baggage. Eliot makes that crystal clear.

I feel like a broken record, but it bears repeating. Leverage is a story about Nate. It is also a story about Parker.

And Leverage: Redemption is a story about Sophie. It is also a story about Parker.

One common thread: Parker.

What Parker decides to become and do is the most important question of the Leverageverse. Always has been!

Actually, in their respective stories, Nate and Sophie both address this in episodes that are EXTREMELY THEMATICALLY SIMILAR.

Archie: I made her unique. What is she now? Nate: I have no idea what Parker is now. I doubt she knows. (Leverage, The Inside Job, 3x03)

In both episodes, the answer involves them having no idea. However, the vibe is that they're both supportive of her figuring that out for herself.

Sophie: She's been three steps ahead of you the entire time. And you gave her 30 minutes to set it up. Alexandra Bligh: To set what up? Sophie: I honestly don't know.* But it's going to be fun. (Leverage Redemption, The Grand Complication Job, 3x05)

*Okay, Sophie is a professional liar. She sort of kind of knew what Parker was doing in this situation because she was stalling so Parker would have time. It is however on theme. We know Sophie loves a theme.

Leverage ends with Parker repeating Nate's speech from the pilot, which is basically the thesis statement for the show, the explanation for what they do.

The Side Job ends with Parker answering why she does what she does. (It's also why the team does what they do, but for Parker, this is deeply, deeply tied into who she is as a person.) Redemption means being the best version of herself and helping other people, and for Parker, that's intimately linked to her doing crime. And she expresses that - in word and action - in a very Parker way.

This show is famous for treating every season finale like it's the end of the show. I deeply crave more Leverage, but if this was the last episode we ever get, it's a pretty damn good place to end.

[nekonaps0]

Girly pop your writing is immaculate. Don't stress, cause you got that dawg in you. :D

Also can I be known as Idia anon? Cause I ask for him the majority of the time. :>

So my request-

Actually I didn't check if you were accepting any...

I got too overjoyed, sorry :(

So incase you are taking requests--

House wardens dealing with a reader who's from like...the 1900s, so she's really bad with anything technology related.

Um anyway have a good day!!

You from the 1900s !?!?

✦characters: House warden

✦ gn!reader

Thank you so much! I’m trying my best!^^

And yes the requests are open!

And OMFG I LOVED WRITING THIS! I had so much fun writing it!

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle has no patience for breaking rules… unless it’s you.

He watches you poke suspiciously at a tablet, muttering something about how

“this strange mirror-box must be possessed.”

You nearly scream when the screen flickers.

“It’s not a cursed object!” he snaps. “It’s just a MagiTab! Everyone uses them nowadays!”

But when he sees the genuine confusion on your face, he exhales and sits beside you.

“It’s okay. I’ll teach you. Just don’t touch any random buttons. And absolutely don’t try to boil it in a kettle again.”

He ends up patiently writing out a guide for you in fountain pen ink because “it feels more familiar to you.” You keep it folded in your coat pocket like a love letter.

Leona Kingscholar

Leona groans when you stare at the washing machine like it’s going to explode.

“Herbivore, it's not gonna bite you.” You shoot him a dry look.

“We didn’t even have electricity in half the town I grew up in. This thing looks like a metal beast.”

He’s lazy, sure, but he ends up tossing his book aside and swaggering over.

“You put the clothes in, close the lid, hit the button. Boom. Magic. Now stop actin’ like it’s a damn ritual.”

You squint at the buttons. “Which one’s the ‘start’?”

“…You know what, move. I’ll do it. You’re gonna break something.”

But secretly, he likes it. It makes him smirk seeing how wide-eyed you get at the simplest things—like it’s all new magic. He tells Ruggie to record your first time using a microwave “just for the laughs.”

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul is delighted.

You’re from the 1900s? You have no idea how phones, networks, or cameras work? Oh, what a dream client.

“I see… so, if I offered you a little contract that would instantly teach you how to operate all current-day magical tech…”

You raise an eyebrow. “What’s the catch?”

Azul pushes his glasses up. “No catch! Only a… minor magical pledge of servitude—er, assistance! For educational purposes only.”

But you’re stubborn. You refuse. So, instead, he ends up painstakingly drawing diagrams and holding tech history lectures just for you. Floyd laughs at him for it.

“You’re such a nerd for them, Shrimpy’s like a time traveler and you’re still blushing!”

Azul glares, but doesn’t deny it.

Kalim Al-Asim

Kalim thinks you’re amazing. You’re like a walking, talking history book! He once finds you trying to light a candle with flint and steel because “electricity is unreliable.” You flinch when the lights flicker.

“WHOA! You’re like… ancient…cool!” he gasps, stars in his eyes.

He insists on giving you the tour of the century he teaches you how to use smartphones by letting you decorate his with beads and charms. He even buys you a flip phone

“because it’s got buttons! You like buttons, right?!”

When you confuse the intercom with a telephone, he goes along with it and starts calling you over it like it’s a telegram line.

You both get in trouble for yelling into the hallway speaker system. He just laughs it off and offers to help you write your first email like it’s a royal decree.

Vil Schoenheit

You nearly faint the first time you see yourself in a selfie camera. You swat the phone out of your hand and scream.

Vil just blinks. “Dear, that’s not black magic. That’s your reflection. Honestly, you look rather radiant—”

He catches the phone before it hits the floor and sighs dramatically.

“You’re going to give me gray hairs.”

At first, he finds it exasperating until he realizes how refreshingly natural you are. No filters, no tech addiction, no social media dependence.

He starts calling you his “timeless darling,” and he adores how you prefer letters to texts. Vil even plan a classic-style photoshoot: vintage clothes, candlelight. It goes viral.

He won’t admit it, but he’s charmed by your innocence.

Idia Shroud

Oh no.

Oh no no no.

You don’t know what a smartphone is? You don’t have a favorite game? You’ve never even seen an anime?!

Idia short-circuits.

At first, he’s horrified. You stare at his glowing screens like they’re cursed runes. You once asked Ortho if he was a ghost.

“You’re like… a time traveler NPC,” he mutters, nearly spiraling. “No firmware update… no RAM… Y-you don’t even know what a meme is!”

But then…

He starts showing you all his favorite things. One by one. Old-school games, slow-burn anime, classic consoles. He sets up a CRT monitor just so it’s “authentic” to your time. You think the pixel art is “darling.”

It becomes your thing: old meets new. You even help him write a game based on “your era.”

You don’t get half the references, but you love his excited rants.

Malleus Draconia

Malleus… doesn’t think you’re strange at all.

You shyly explain your fear of cell phones, how the “mirror network” feels eerie, how magic-infused technology makes your skin crawl.

He just smiles, serene.

“I can’t agree more, you don’t have to worry about those dear” he says gently.

When you accidentally burn toast in the toaster and start panicking like you’ve summoned a fire demon, Malleus calmly puts it out.

“It’s only toast.”

He takes your hand and teaches you to send letters with magic, introduces you to enchanted paper that writes itself, and listens truly listens when you talk about your old world.

He even arranges a ballroom evening for you, with string quartets and vintage dancing. No phones. No electricity. Just you, stars, and a smile that makes you feel right at home.

..............................................................................................................................

[idkplzhalp]

Hi I love your post, it's worded so poetically. I agree with all of it, so I now feel compelled to write my idea of CEO Caroline with how she could've acted, along with a lot of my headcanons.

Idk if it's in character for her but I think Caroline would've been really depressed as CEO. Like you said- she's doing just enough to keep the company afloat. She's not as erratic and forceful as Cave, she definitely knows how to not get into as quick a trouble- or knows how to keep troubles hidden -from having to deal with fixing Cave's legal messes over the years (such as in PotatOS cut lines about the missing astronauts, and among other weird random jobs that Cave tells her to do in his own cut lines):

GLaDOS is very theatrical but that's more circumstancially shown with Chell (I'm thinking about her boss battle lines in Portal 1 here). Caroline would likely be distressed/angry but it hasn't reached GLaDOS' point of aggression and revenge after her activation. While I don't think Caroline would have her same light heartedness from the 50s, I do think she could have the same conformity from that time, to assist with what she's told to and not do anything irrational. Though I feel she'd be more short tempered with the lab boys.

In scrapped lines, PotatOS is definitely more bitter and judgemental. So that could be Caroline as CEO, too. GLaDOS could be reverting to Caroline's feelings from when she was last alive.

During Cave's lemon rant, PotatOS says "Burning people! He says what we're all thinking!" Maybe Caroline was more like Cave on the inside? She seems very kind and patient in her voice lines on intercom but she could have very different ways of acting off mic (ie, the astronaut lines).

Back to how she ran the facility, LabRats announcements are prerecorded messages from Cave, so maybe she chose to do something like that? Though these were after GLaDOS was initially activated so Caroline was already gone. Either she didn't record any or the employees didn't like her enough to keep her voice playing on the announcements. Maybe keeping Cave's voice on the intercom left an illusion of Aperture still being alive and just as well off as they were in the 50s.

It makes me headcanon that Caroline didn't record any messages at all so that's why we don't hear her in game (and nooot just that she was added as a smaller part really late in development & it wouldve dragged on too long because Cave's speech closed that part of the story).

Like they probably didn't give Caroline a section of testing since she was written as a small role, thus why Ellen Mclain was used in the first place and not Greg. Having a full section of tests run by Caroline may have been too much for the slow and tragic reveal of the GLaDOS twist & how GLaDOS would've reacted to hearing her voice consistently (though maybe someone can email the Portal writers/devs and see if they ever thought about including something like that?)

I headcanon Caroline would stick to herself more and be seen by staff as ominous (if they didn't know her in the early years), or weak (if they did know her in the early years, considering Aperture hired mainly men in the 50s-60s and period typical misogyny). But she doesn't have the energy to actually argue with any of them, they don't matter in the end goal.

I sometimes go between thinking she would try to act like Cave while CEO or just a really deflated version of herself. Maybe she'd have his same anger and reactions at stupidity. Over time I'd like think she took his mannerisms and became more "boyish". I always draw CEO Caroline in one of Cave's suits, like as if that could help her channel him, I guess.

Cave did have a bit cut from his final speech that Caroline should be taken care of and treated just like him, so I assume the employees didn't respect her as much as they respected Cave, and as much as Cave respected Caroline.

"..Now she'll argue. She'll say she can't. She's modest like that. But you make her. Treat her just like you'd treat me. Hell, put her in my computer, I don't care. Just make sure she's taken care of.."

We also know she argued against GLaDOS but couldn't get out of it as CEO, therefore the employees may not have listened to her (if she actually tried to stop it after being appointed).

"Mr Johnson, I don't want this."

"No, listen to me! Sir, I do not want this!"

Maybe it's like Aperture Desk Job? Where no one checks on her and she's left alone in her office forever until GLaDOS is done. She's leaving the facility to be self sufficient or maybe has someone helping to keep things running behind the scenes like Cave had with her (I headcanon Greg. Bring him back).

Idk if this needs to or even can be factored in but we know from the Portal co-op that there was a prototype chassis. Would Caroline have been attempted to be uploaded to that?? It does control parts of the facility when messed with, ie the birds, so maybe there was an alternative where Caroline could've controlled the facility through this chassis instead of being uploaded? This could have been the prototype for Cave, using his computer like he mentioned in his speech. Maybe this is what she used to keep up with such a massive facility by herself until she was uploaded.

I mean she was appointed as CEO for at least 10 years, earliest from 1982/late 1980s when Cave died to 1996/2003, whenever they uploaded her. So her time was significant enough to make a difference and shift over into the modern era. It does make me sad at the lack of decoration and warmth of old Aperture. There is no facade, what you see is what it is. Caroline is TIRED, give her a break.

It's sort of curious how Caroline's (probably quite brief) tenure as Aperture's CEO is never explored or really brought up save for Cave's dying wish for her to take on his mantle. Its likely that Aperture took on the form we see in Portal 1 specifically under her jurisdiction. While she was in charge the building took on this rusted jagged shape, burning with hellish red light. The building at what is probably its most inhospitable state until GLaDOS has a go at rearranging its innards.

The fact that her management of Aperture is so understated makes me think that, unlike her predecessor, Caroline operated quietly and in the background. Didn't bother with the same theatrics that Cave did. Aperture seems to operate in a manner a little more insidious than usual after he's gone. Test subject acquisitions are all hush-hush. Chell's generation of test subjects probably don't even know any of the employees that well, let alone whoever runs the place. No more "Welcome to Aperture! I'm Cave Johnson - I own the place." - you simply wake up in a concrete box with warped faces observing you behind the glass. Clearly, she seems to have figured out a way to keep the company afloat, but the place is still a slowly decaying carcass of its former self. She's just managed to slow, stall the rot that started staining the place ever since the astronauts went missing. Funny it took a piece of her to build the machine that would force this decay into retreat. The place was a slowly settling corpse until life was forced straight into its wires, giving it self-devouring immortality.

[rosenclaws]

Hi! I really, really love your writing, especially these headcanons.

This is gonna sound really weird but could you write Logan with a reader who struggles with friendships and making friends? And general loneliness?

I'm struggling with feeling like I have no one right now and I just would really like to read about Logan loving on me and making me forget that for a bit

HI!! of course I can. we don't really talk and im so ass at responding BUT my dms or inbox is always open if you need someone to talk to <33 I really understand where ur coming from this was literally me all through college. I didn’t make a single friend bc I commuted and I felt so lonely. Also dofp and trilogy logan can be read more platonic so if u arent happy with it i can redo them!

Origins Logan -

I think that Logan isn’t great with making friends either. He’s not super interested in making friends so he’s very content being alone or being with you. But he notices a small sadness in your eyes sometimes. How you never seem to go out with people or the way your voice falls when he tells you he’s going to the bar after work with some work friends. He wasn’t sure what it was at first but then he saw you tucked away with tears in your eyes one night and decided it to get to the bottom of things.

See making friends is hard. You try. You really do. But no matter how nice you are and how much you try to reach out it just never works out. You never told Logan about it. Fearing he’d laugh or think you were lame. But it breaks his heart to see you so sad. He puts you in his lap and assures you that he’s there for you. He’ll be your boyfriend, your best friend, your support system. Hell he’ll even be your enemy if you wanted him to be.

He takes you out to town more in his free time encouraging you to join that book club you see flyers for or maybe that running group. Of course he won’t push anything but he just wants to see you happy. Whatever you need from him he’ll be. Because he loves you and he’ll be by your side through it all.

Trilogy Logan -

It’s stupid. At least it feels stupid. You live in a mansion with people just like you. Yet somehow you just feel lonely. You didn’t grow up here. You came very late in life and your powers didn’t warrant a spot on the team. In fact you swear the only reason Charles let you in is because they needed an art teacher. You’d sit in the kitchen at dinner by yourself while everyone was chatting around the counter. You would take walks when the students and staff played games. You were never invited to go out afterwards. Hell you aren’t even sure anyone else knows your name.

Until Logan came along. You knew him, of course you did he was The Wolverine after all. But you swore he never even gave you a second glance. It was your birthday and you were once again alone. You debated on going to the store and buying a cupcake but before you could make a decision Logan made it for you. A cute pink box sat on your bed with a card in very proper handwriting. The card just read Happy birthday signed by Logan of all people. It was your favorite flavor too. You confronted him and he just shrugged. He had always seen you but he was a lone wolf kind of guy. Still he liked you and in the spirit of…teamwork? He reached out. Logan was more than the grumpy man you thought he was. He was funny and had a sharp tongue. But he was sweet and a big softie. Only you got to see that side. He was your friend and slowly he made you feel seem. Made you feel loved. Now you have someone to exist in silence with and you’ve never been happier.

DOFP Logan -

I think it’s similar to trilogy Logan in the sense that he sees you when you feel like no one else does. He’s observant and the man can see that you don’t talk much to anyone. At a staff event you stayed quiet in the corner. Your face had “get me out” written all over it. A look he knows too well. He doesn’t know what draws him to you exactly. He thinks your smart and the kids love your class so why hasn’t he seen you around more.

The truth is you hated these events because you want to be apart of the fun so badly. To talk and laugh and befriend the people everyone seems to idolize. But no matter how hard you tried you just faded to the back. Making friends isn’t as easy as asking someone if they like ponies or the color purple. So when Logan. The Wolverine of all people walked up to and talked to you. It was bizarre. Not that you were complaining but fuck how did he even know who you were?

You start to overthink everything with Logan. Are you too clingy? Too forward? Should you ask if he wants coffee when you asked him yesterday if he wanted an extra donut? Eventually I think he asks you about it and you confess that making friends isn’t easy for you. Logan doesn’t think you’re weird or a loser for it. He understands shit happens and things aren’t easy for everyone. He is not a people person either and making friends is low on his skill set. But he likes you a lot and he’ll happily be your friend. Maybe more if you’re interested. He’ll be whatever you want him to be.

Old Man Logan -

Logan notices you’re just a little off. That you aren’t as happy as you used to be. A part of him is worried it’s his fault. He’s gone so much working and when he’s home he’s exhausted. He tries to take out on a nice date every other week. Something that you’ll remember for a long time. He’ll by you flowers he thinks are pretty from the store. They aren’t the most expensive but you don’t care. Was he not doing enough? I think he hides his worry until one day he finds you teary eyed laying on your bed and he can’t hold it in any longer.

It feels silly to tell him. He’s got so much on his plate and it’s not his fault he has things to do. He takes such good care of you and loves you. But you’re lonely. You go to work you come home and that’s it. You have Logan but you don’t have any friends and its starting to weigh on you. You try but people can be mean or they already have friends. You feel like theres something wrong with yoj. Logan frowns as he reassures you there’s nothing wrong with you. Absolutely nothing. Making friends ain’t as easy for some people and that’s okay. He would pick you up in his arms and cuddle you. He makes an effort to be the person you can always come to. Texting you things in between his rides. He’ll let you blow up his phone with everything you’re doing. He can’t always respond but he promises he reads it. When he comes home he’ll listen to you talk, ask a few questions and smile when you do. It can be hard but the loneliness isn’t forever and Logan will be your beacon for as long as you need him.

Worst Logan -

Wade has a lot of friends and sometimes it can be overwhelming as hell. So sometimes Logan just fucks off for a little bit. He enjoys the quiet more than the noise of people. That’s where he meets you. You live next door but he’s never met you. Not even Wade really knows who you are. You’re quiet and reserved and seem to stumble on your words. But Logan likes you. You’re much more tolerable than Wade for long periods of time. Sometimes you show up to ask for help or to drop off something but you don’t stay long.

After a while Logan asks why you don’t come to dinner or any of Wade’s parties. That’s when you tell him the truth. You aren’t Wade’s friend and that sometimes your jealousy gets the best of you when it comes to hearing how much joy and life comes from his apartment. Wade is friends with just about everyone but for some reason he never bothered to befriend you. You’re lonely and despite your small attempts to become closer they never went anywhere so you kind of just gave up. Until Logan came along. He was nice and he looked at you and gave you the time of day.

Admitting to him you were lonely was hard but he understands. He was the same way for years. All his friends had died and he had no one for a long time. He never wants to be that lost again and he won’t let you feel that way anymore either. He listens and he tells you that things might feel bad now but it will get better. He can’t tell you when but he’s there and he hopes his company can distract you even just for a little bit. Wade was appalled with himself for not introducing himself sooner once Logan brings you to a Sunday dinner.

He doesn’t force you to talk to anyone or suddenly expect you to be amazing at making friends with these strangers but he is there when you look back. Offering a smile that encourages you to open up just a little more. And if things feel like you’re losing it again, he’s right there to comfort you. He’s just a wall away and there’s no where else he’d rather be than with you.

[bullet-prooflove]

The First One Is Always The Hardest: John Carter x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @anna-bailey @ofsoapsuds @queenslandlover-93 @gemofspace

Summary: You comfort John after the death of a patient.

Companion piece to:

Little John - You try to keep John's mind off the task at hand.

The first death is always the hardest.

For you it was a 35 year old soccer mom, her two kids in the waiting room with their father when Dr Lewis had coached you into delivering the news.

For John it’s a high school kid, still wearing his gym shorts because he was heading to an early morning basketball game when the car hit him.

It’s a tough one to start with and it gets worse when he misidentifies him. It’s an easy mistake, the damage form the car accident distorted some of the facial features. When he shows you the year book afterwards you could barely tell the difference between the two teens.

Still a young death it weighs heavy and you can see that in him as he persists with his shift. He’s quieter, more reserved, his shoulders slumped making his 6’1 frame look smaller as he hunches over his text book, a highlighter in his hand, seeing but not reading.

“Hey.” You say softly, your palm coming to rest on his shoulder, squeezing lightly. You can feel the tension in his muscles as your thumb slowly traces a reassuring circle at the nape of his neck. “The first one is always the hardest.”

He sighs relaxing into your touch before you pull away and take the seat alongside him.

“He was just a kid.” He says helplessly. “One day he was just going about his life and the next…”

“I know.” You say, your hand coming to rest upon his. “It makes it all that more harder because there isn’t really any rhyme or reason to it. It just happens.”

“And how do you reconcile with that? How do you move past it?” He asks squeezing your fingers lightly.

“You do the best you can.” You tell him, dipping your head so that you meet his eyes. They’re darker today, tinged with a sadness that no one in this world can take away. A loss like this, it needs to be felt, to be endured so you know how to handle it the next time. “And sometimes you go out with a friend and get really freaking drunk. I’m talking messy, I don’t remember where that tattoo came from drunk.”

“What tattoo would we even get…” He ponders as he leans in close, your heads bowed together conspiratorially.

“Well if we were going in together we would get one of those best friend necklaces, your know the ones that are split into two pieces. We’d get them right here-” You use your fingertip to trace a heart where his own resides inside his chest underneath his shirt. “-your half would have my name and my half would have your name.”

“That sounds romantic.” He tells you as you sign your name on the fabric of his shirt.

“If you believe in that sort of thing.” You shrug, drawing away.

“You don’t?” He asks, his chin coming to rest on his hand as you pick up his highlighter, toying with it.

“That is not my experience of the opposite sex.” You inform him, leaning back into your seat. “I know it’s different for you with all those society events. The women in your life probably have a lot of expectations, dinner, jewellery, flowers…”

“Noone’s ever bought you flowers?” He asks incredulously.

“My mom.” You say, the edge of your mouth tipping up into a smile. “She’s a real sweetheart.”

“Wow…” He says, sagging in his own seat as he digests that information. “Now I really need that drink.”

“Two hours.” You say as your pager goes off, stealing your attention. “Just two more hours and I’m all yours.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[nyaruelle-designs]

🦄 Mane 6 Redesign! 🦄

Aaaaaa my first redesign post!! I had so much making this and been looking forward to finally share it. (but my hand hurts right now from drawing lolol)

To those new to me: I do this thing where I redesign characters as a challenge (+ have fun being creative with design tweaks (✿◠‿◠)) , I don't dislike any of the OG designs, I just like to give myself something fun to do :'D

Keep reading below for design notes! :D

OK so starting off with species differences:

I make it a point to make each species unique from one another with different tail + ear shape for each kind of pony

in order to explain away how do ponies in this iteration get conveniently matching body markings, I imagine that fillies are born without markings but slowly get them after receiving their cutie mark. the markings slowly leaves changes on the coat/mane as they grow into adulthood :D

also gave all species hoof markings, the shape of the hoof corresponds with the pony's cutie mark

for unicorns– they also have horn markings that correspond with their cutie mark. OH and, horn magic color corresponds with the color of the pony's eyes

for pegasi– the tips of their wings would match with the color of their manes

not mentioned in the images attached but the eye light shape also corresponds with the ponies' cutie mark >_< (fillies just have regular circles until after they get their cutie marks-)

misc feature: ponies may or may not have leg tuffs, like with some ponies you'll see below, some may have fuller leg tuffs that goes all the way around.

Alright now that you know more about the species design notes, I'll get into each ponies' design choices

Pinkie Pie

Starting off with Pinkie, I made her coat fluffy, matching her mane, her mane was shorten a bit and also gave her a white streak in her bangs + added a hair accessory + confetti in her hair from throwing parties (my headcanon is that she doesn't bother to pick them out so she just leaves em there)

she has pebble shaped markings on her face and coat running down her back. In her pink form, those markings are commonly mistaken as large freckles

her desaturated form takes inspo from how she looks as a filly, also her mane shape may or may not have been inspired by the shape of pinata paper strips.

Among all the ponies, Pinkie is also the shortest. I try my best to give each pony a different height, hope that was noticeable haha

Applejack

Next up, Applejack, now for her design (+ most of the mane 6's designs) there isn't too much change. For her, I gave her coat more texture akin to actual patterns from real horses. Similar to pinkie, Applejack's back has pebble-shaped spots (feel free to believe that I intentionally added it there to link AJ + Pinkie as distant relatives haha)

In comparison to pinkie though, I used a lot of sharp lines while drawing AJ, also made her look more muscular / "box" shaped compared to the other ponies. (which fits too as I imagine her farm work made her pretty fit)

As mentioned, AJ's hoof tuffs go all around

Twilight Sparkle

For twilight, I tweaked her colors to be more Purple and included a bit of orange to create a small contrast as I noticed her OG palette was a lot of Purple. (cool colors) + I wanted her palette to resemble more of a twilight color (?)

I also noted that some other people felt that Twilight doesn't match the archetype she was meant to represent so I gave her glasses in an attempt to make her appear more "studious"

Her unicorn form is also shorter compared to her alicorn form. (gave her slightly shorter horn + legs)

Rarity

Okay Rarity's has to be my favourite redesign HAHA. I also have a feeling a lot of you will point out she resembles the last unicorn a lot 🥲 to that, i'm deeply sorryy

Anyway, for Rarity I changed her palette a lot more compared to the others because I wanted her palette to match her name sake 'Rarity', so what better way to set her apart as being a pony with a different mane/tail color!! + heterochromia which means her horn magic is 2 different colors. (that's my headcanon of what might constitute as 'rare' in pony genetics. ALSO off topic but is it just me or has there never been a pony in the show that actually has heterochromia? 🤔 tbh I can't remember)

I also gave her some gem accessories that she wears as a necklace, oh and a matching earring as well

Fluttershy

ah yes, my other favourite design. For Fluttershy, I softened her colors and also added some green

also, among rainbow and twilight, Fluttershy's wings are purposely designed to be fluffier. I imagine as opposed to rainbow who actively trains her wings for athletic flying > sharpens them to become aerodynamic, when fluttershy flies, she takes her time, so they aren't as worn down as RD's.

I imagine Fluttershy uses floral-scented shampoo that she handmakes with flowers from her own garden which attracts the butterflies that rest in her mane

I also purposely designed fluttershy's ears to be down on default, playing into her 'shyness'

Rainbow Dash

last but not least, rainbow underwent a few changes. Firstly you'll notice I shortened her hair + added white streak bangs & side tendrils that cup her face. (now that I'm looking at it, her hair resembles the pony life RD 😭)

Additionally, RD's wings are sharper, more chipped due to active use.

also among the rest of the ponies, Rainbow is also on the shorter side but she's also more lean/fit. I took into consideration her being an athlete (and a flyer at that) would influence her body shape, I feel that in order for her to fly fast, her body shape suited her nicely.

I also gave RD some googles as accessories.

Anyway, congrats on making it to the end! here's a height lineup ref for the mane 6!!

Thanks for reading all my design notes :'D I'll definitely be drawing more. (I definitely wanna draw secondary characters and also the mane 6's families soon)

[mcdonaldsnumberone]

CHOCOLATE!

❤︎‬ touching! (+ prompt list) ❤︎‬ bachira meguru, sendou shuto, noel noa, michael kaiser x gn! reader ‪ ❤︎‬ wc: 2k/~500 words per character

BACHIRA MEGURU!

dancing with each other!

Bachira has learned to embrace his spontaneous nature. He’s aware that others don’t see life the way he does, and while it makes him stand out for better or worse, he’s learned to accept that part of himself and to roll with it. He finds joy in the mundane, color in the monochrome, sparkles in the dull. When he’s learning to love you, he draws you into that wondrous world of his, and you find yourself indulging in his shared sweetness and letting go of your inhibitions. 

Love, seen through your eyes and his, is Bachira sneaking up behind you on a lazy weekend while you’re fighting with some pancake dough. It’s him tickling your sides briefly, and then you letting out an indignant screech out of surprise before melting away into a fit of laughter. It’s you swatting at him with your mixing spoon before he’s drawing you into a little impromptu dance around the kitchen. You’ve seen Bachira dance before; it’s one of the things he picked up more formally after seeing how nicely it’s worked out for him during his training at FC Barcha, but the dances he likes to pull you into are less formal and more fun.

The pancake dough is quickly abandoned as you slip your hands in his. Maybe you stumble over your own feet just a tad, but Bachira’s always there to smile encouragingly at you and help you find your rhythm. There’s no music save for your shared giggles and the mechanical hum of the fridge, but it’s all you need. His hands are warm and tender, squeezing at your own palms. Bachira loves you in a way that’s so tender and heartfelt, almost innocent in the way that he’s so boyishly devoted to you, but it runs so deep in his soul that it’s impossible not to feel as if he’s enveloping you whole in it and letting you freefall within the depths of his psyche.

His stomach growls while you try to memorize whatever complex dance step he’s improvising on the tiled floor. You raise an eyebrow at him before bursting into another fit of loud chuckles.

“Sounds like someone’s hungry,” you teasingly remark. “You know, if you let me go, I can go back to fixing us something to eat.”

Bachira pretends to think for a second before he pouts slightly. His eyes shimmer and shine like that of a cat’s nonetheless, and he doesn’t seem keen on letting you go anytime soon. “But what if I want to keep dancing? I’m having so much fun with you right now.”

“Who says we can’t dance after we’re done eating? We have all the time in the world to ourselves,” you laugh breathlessly when Bachira draws close to you. He has a way of making all the troubles fade away into the distance, like only the two of you exist in your happy little world. He presses a gentle kiss to your cheek before he bites the soft flesh gently, gnawing at it affectionately.

“Choices, choices… Helping you make food or dancing in the kitchen together… I wish we could have clones of ourselves so we can do it all simultaneously,” he sighs happily against the shell of your ear. His hands squeeze lovingly at your sides. “Alright! Back to pancakes! Let me give you a hand, so we can get back to our little dance session faster!”

SENDOU SHUTO!

putting a hand over the other’s mouth to shut them up!

Sendou gets really giggly whenever he’s next to you. For someone who’s determined to come across as this super cool, totally untouchable ace of the Japanese U-20 team, he can’t seem to hold it together when he’s next to you. Even though he’s maturing the best he can as a professional soccer player and has the salary to match, you’re so stunning and such a good partner to him that he always feels as if you’re way out of his league no matter what he does. It doesn’t make him insecure per se, as much as it makes him all chatty and sheepish, like he’s a shy schoolboy approaching his crush for the first time.

And you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t flattering. After all, you’re incredibly lucky to have someone as dedicated and as successful as him as your boyfriend, but to have someone like him wrapped around your little finger? It’s the perfect cherry-on-top. It’s fun to have him compliment your ear off about how cute you look even though you’re dressed in nothing but your raggedy pajamas, and it makes your heart skip a beat when you catch him going on and on about how much he likes you to his poor, fed-up teammates.

But right now, it’s putting you in a bit of a difficult place. The players’ locker rooms are strictly off-limits for anyone that isn’t a part of his team, but you just wanted to see him so badly that Sendou agreed to sneak you in! No one should be around the locker room at this time of day, so it should be a piece of a cake, but leave it to your luck to be shuffling around the locker room trying to hide while Sendou unsuccessfully attempts to gulp down all of his boyish giggles.

“Sendou? You there?” Aiku’s voice rings across the locker room, and you duck behind a set of lockers and hold your breath. Sendou’s turning as red as his hair from holding his laughter back, and he looks like he’s about to burst. 

You hold your finger up in front of your lips. “Shhh…!” “...I’m trying! Swear I am!” He whisper-laughs, hearts practically forming in his eyes. Leave it to him to be lovestruck while doing something as silly as sneaking a visit when you shouldn’t be. His shoulders start shaking, and he doubles over. You can feel a mix of both endearment and panic shoot through your body when you can hear Aiku’s footsteps approaching, and as a last ditch effort, you slide your hand over Sendou’s mouth. You can feel hot puffs of his breath against your palm as he chokes down another wave of laughter, but thanks to your quick thinking, it remains quiet in your corner.

Aiku’s footsteps quickly disappear, and the coast is clear. You finally exhale deeply and let go of your hand, and Sendou basically collapses in your arms, turning into a pile of boneless putty as he giggles out your praise in between short breathless chortles.

“You’re- ha! You’re the best- Haha, did you know that?” He purrs, gazing up at you as if you had strung up all the stars in the night sky. Words can’t seem to express just how much he tugs at your heartstrings, and instead of a verbal answer, you reward him for his efforts with a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. 

How could you not love someone like him? It was simply impossible.

NOEL NOA!

stroking their leg!

“You… are quite the pervert, did you know that?” Noa’s voice is deep and stern, as it always is, and despite what might be implied as disapproval in his words, he doesn’t make any effort to actually discourage your actions. And, honestly speaking, you don’t think you’re doing anything that odd either: you’re simply sprawled out next to him on the couch while one of his match tapes blare on in the background, and while he’s occupied with watching the tape to prepare for an upcoming game, you’ve made yourself busy by running your fingers up and down his bare legs. 

If anything, you would say it would be more egregious for you to not be obsessed with his legs. He’s the world’s best striker and a professional soccer player, and you think it’s your duty as his devoted lover to shower his buff, muscular legs with as much attention as you can muster. And if that makes you a pervert in Noel’s eyes… Well, so be it. You can take the blow to your dignity if it means you can continue squeezing and stroking and smothering yourself in his legs.

Noel tilts his head curiously towards your direction, as if he can’t fathom why you’d be so obsessed with him. “You aren’t going to defend yourself?” “What is there to defend?” You beam cheekily up at him. As if to emphasize your point, you reach over to his calf and give it a tight squeeze. Your heart skips a beat when you can feel the sinew and tendons of his muscle tense up in response. You could spend all day drooling over just how strong he is.

Noel sighs deeply and shakes his head, but he pulls you closer and lets you continue your little actions. He’s gotten used to your ways a long time ago, and his quips are really just his own way of giving you permission and telling you he likes the attention, even if it makes him a bit shy. 

“You’re a strange one,” he hums. He moves his head to press a kiss to the crown of your head, light and loving. “But I don’t dislike it at all.”

MICHAEL KAISER!

tracing the lines on the other’s hand!

Sometimes, as you absentmindedly fiddle with Kaiser’s hand, you think about the countless lifetimes he must have led before he got himself where he is today. There’s his childhood: cold, crushing, and battering. Then there’s the period of time where he was training to be a regular at Bastard Munchen: chaotic, desperate, and lonesome. And then there’s Blue Lock: crushing, revolutionary, and purposeful.

You follow the direction of his veins and draw small circles into his rough fingertips. His palms are rough with callouses and hardened flesh. To think he’s only nineteen. Whenever you think about how far he’s come, your heart squeezes painfully inside of your chest. You wish you could take even a fraction of his pain, anything if it meant he would hurt less.

You sigh and drop his hand, and it falls silently. Kaiser, from his spot by your side, immediately turns his head and frowns deeply. “What did you do that for?” “What did I do what for?” You blink innocently. His frown only deepens slightly, and he raises his hand back to your chest level. 

“You stopped holding my hand.” He says it so plainly and so obviously, as if you letting go of him is the equivalent of you breaking a law in broad daylight. In his mind, it might as well be. You’re his lover, which means you’ve spoiled him by feeding his endless appetite for love day and night. Evidently, he misses your touch, even if it’s something as simple as you messing around with his hands.

He shakes the hand in front of you, as if he’s a treat and you’re the dog that’s supposed to take it. “C’mon. Hold my hand again.”

You bite back a smile. Deep down, he really is just a small little boy chasing after your love, and you’re prepared to give it unconditionally to him. As much as he wants. As often as he wants. However he wants. 

You grab at his hand, and you lose yourself in aimless thought once more. Your fingertips ghost over the pale skin on the back of his hand, and you run your fingers over the outline of his knuckles. Only after every inch of his hand has been lavished with enough attention do you finally intertwine one of your hands with his, fingers interlaced tightly like an unbroken promise holding you firmly to him.

“Happy now?” You remark towards him. Kaiser pretends to think, tapping his chin with his other hand and his gaze swirling somewhere upwards. He taps his foot like a petulant child, but after a few beats, his characteristic smug grin returns to his face.

“Oh yes. Muuuuuuch better. You’re so cute when you’re being obedient,” he answers you. He gives your hand an adoring squeeze, only to then lift both your entwined hands to press his lips to them. A single kiss, lingering and loving.

That, that simple kiss, is his way of returning the favor.

x

[rafedaddy01]

Y/n is rafes older boss (hes about 25shes about 40)

Y/n just caught him taking drug again on the job and well she is about to fire him

He begs" please I cant lose this job I have a family to feed . Isnt there anything I can do?"

So y/n (who has always dreamed about how his massive d she saw in his dress pants would feel inside of her) tells him:f me

So thats how he ends up lying on the table

His pants around his ankels

And his boss riding him

Guys I am so sorry! I got a new phone and lost the password and username to my tumblr 😭 I finally was able to remember it and I am back! I will try to be posting as much as I can and I know I have some requests in my inbox form a while back and I promise I will get to those too! 💕

Power Play

Summary: request

Warnings: explicit context, nsfw, smut

A/n: thank you for this request 🤭

You tangled your fingers in his hair, yanking just enough to make his head tilt back. His red, glossy eyes locked onto yours, dark and unreadable, a silent plea hidden beneath the haze.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Cameron?” you whisper-shouted, gripping his hair and pulling him into your private office. The door clicked shut behind you as you hurried to close the blinds, blocking out any prying eyes. Turning back to him, you gestured sharply to the chair. “Sit. Now.” He swallowed hard, obeying without question, his eyes flickering with something between defiance and anticipation.

He ran a nervous hand through his hair, disheveling it in a way that only added to his charm. “I-I’m so sorry, Miss.—” he began, but you cut him off, raising a finger to your lips, silencing him instantly. His eyes locked onto yours, unsure of what would come next, the tension hanging thick in the air.

“Don’t speak,” you said, your voice low but firm. “Listen.” The command hung in the air, sharp and undeniable, as his gaze remained fixed on you, waiting for whatever came next.

You eyed him carefully, your gaze unwavering as you leaned against your desk, arms crossed over your chest. The movement accentuated your posture, drawing his attention in a way that Rafe couldn’t help but notice. The air between you thickened with unspoken tension, a challenge hanging in the silence.

“What am I going to do with you?” you asked, your gaze unwavering, the intensity in your eyes enough to send a shiver through him. The weight of your words hung heavy in the air, an unspoken warning laced with authority.

“Please, you can’t fire me. I—I have kids at home to feed,” he stammered, desperation lacing his words. “It won’t happen again, I swear. I’ll do anything. Please…”His plea was so pitiful that a part of you almost felt a twinge of sympathy. Almost.

“Don’t worry, I won’t fire you,” you said coolly, stepping closer until you loomed above him. You couldn’t help but admire the pathetic look in his eyes as he gazed up at you, the mix of fear and pleading evident in every glance.

“Thank you—” he began, but you cut him off with a sharp look, silencing him before he could finish.

“Don’t thank me yet. There is something I need you to do if you wish to be forgiven Mr. Cameron” a sly smirk spread your lips. “Anything” he said desperately. Your smile widened, “undress and lie on the desk.”

Rafes eyes widened. But when he saw that you were serious his expression dropped and his throat bulged as he gulped. He slowly stood up and started following your instructions, unzipping his pants and letting them fall to the floor with the clink of his belt echoing in his ears he sat atop your desk. You licked your lips as you took him in. Imagining what it would be like to taste him. But that would have to be set aside for another day. You have other plans in mind for tonight.

“It’s simple really” you say nonchalantly as you unzip your dress and shimmy out of it. Leaving you in your matching black panties and bra. “I’m gonna fuck you, and you’re gonna take it” you slipped your panties off and climbed on top of him.

You couldn’t help the smirk that glazed your face as you saw his soft cock start to harden. You gripped the base of it and held it straight as you positioned your already dripping pussy on top of it and slipped down.

Both of your groans filled your office, you sat there for a moment getting used to his size before you placed both your palms onto his chest and began bouncing.

“Ah, shit” Rafe clenched his teeth as he basked in the glory of your pussy fluttering around him, he hated to admit it but in this moment he forgot about his wife, he forgot why he was even in your office in the first place, he just cared about you and your tight pussy, clenching around him and milking him for everything he’s got.

You locked eyes either him as you panted. Moving up and down, rocking back and forth. “We both know this won’t be the last time, Cameron”

Taglist

@f4ll-for-you @rafeysworldim19 @baby19sthings @sevenwivesofrafecameron @rxfecameronsslut @findapenny @r1vrsefx @spencerreidsrealgf @rafescokenostril @thievin-stealing @rafemotherfuckingcameron @starkeysheart @wearemadeofstardust0 @theoraekenslover @mema10 @writingroom21 @wtfdudesblog @akobx @obxrafeandjj @romantasyreader2024

[ottocre]

˚✶ * first date w/ atsumu

m.list / wc: 770

    he shoves his hand into his back pocket, fishing for his keys. they clang together as he pulls them out. reaching up to the door's handle, it struggles to properly get into the keyhole. "sorry, this thing is always fidgety," atsumu looks back at you, a goofy smile gracing his lips, hair flopping to the side.

  "mine's probably worst," shrugging your shoulders, you lean against the narrow hallway's wall, attempting a reassuring smile.

  the apartment building looks unassuming from the outside. old bricks are covered in moss and vining plants, the landscaping needing some attention for the spring season. however, the inside was beautiful. old trinkets fill the main floor, welcoming and nostalgic. as you walk down his floor's hallways, you can see the care given to the interior.

  the wood floor is miraculously clean, the walls a simple beige, yet still spotless. "your apartment building is lovely," you comment, watching as he finally turns the key, unlocking the door.

  "thank you, if it wasn't i would've felt even worse for dragging you in here," he says as he pushes open the door, pushing a pair of shoes aside that he accidentally left in the way.

  biting your lip, you begin to expect the worst. a pair of socks draped across the countertops, food left on the coffee table with a can of some kind of soda. and yet he surprises you again, leading you into a clean and fresh living room. decor is placed seamlessly, serious thought put into every piece of furniture he has. 

  looking back at you, he reaches his hand up to scratch the back his neck, clearly feeling nervous. "bathroom is right there, i think my wallet's in my bedroom, so it might be a second.. just uh make yourself at home," atsumu purses his lips, turning on his heels to walk down the short corridor to his room.

  watching as he leaves, you hope that the tension will dissipate. he seems nice, respectful in his actions. and you know your friend wouldn't steer you wrong, but she also never told you much about him. other than his history with different sports, you opted to not look him up, give him a chance at a great first impression. 

  finally taking a moment to breath, you turn to look around his living room. his tv is propped up on an old fireplace, clearly not being used for the season. bookshelves sit off to the side, filled with many featuring volleyball themes. trinkets are filling any empty spaces within, a highlighted one being what looks like an old pair of running shoes. 

  biting the inside of your cheek, you start to wonder if this could err on the side of snooping. nearly about to stop as you hear him close what sounds like the last drawer, you see a short wall filled with surfing posters. all framed, some featuring newspaper clipping. his name in bold letters draws your attention, "atsumu miya heading to the olympics". 

  it didn't take long for you to realize that by 'past experience with sports' was an understatement. leaning towards them, you read some of the body of the content. they preach his innovative surfing style, filled with techniques you had never heard of. "i'm sure you're curious about that," he walks into the room, wallet shoved in his front pocket.

  "oh- sorry, i didn't mean to snoop. i just saw this and kiyoko never mentioned you surfed," you look back at him, hands clasped behind your back, thumbs fidgeting.

  atsumu shrugs, looking up to the posters. "yeah, I really got into it between volleyball seasons, helped keep me prepped. haven't been back to the beach for a little bit now," you try not to pry too much, but you couldn't help but grow even more curious.

  "really? do you plan on going back someday?" you question, finally noticing how kind his eyes are.

  the skin crinkles beside his eyes as he smiles, clearly holding some passion for surfing still. his lips turn upwards, a brightness radiating off of him. "yeah, i'd like to. even if not professionally i'd love to go surfing again."

  "well maybe you can teach me then," you don’t quite realize what you’ve said, walking beside him as he starts walking towards the door.

  pausing for a second, you close your eyes, cursing yourself for even suggesting that. “sorry, i didn’t mean to insinuate anything,” you look over to him, catching up with his pace. 

  walking back with him towards his apartment's front door, he chuckles at your added comment. "no, it's alright, i like the idea of it."

gen taglist: @nnnyxie @sippn-the-tae @silkloom @megapteraurelia @dazqa @lale-txt @solzscribblez @bluemailhiot @hyunteru @kameyyy

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Locked Out of Heaven 9

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, power imbalance, age gap, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your father invites a work friend to the neighbourhood barbecue.

Characters: Nick Fowler (Dad’s friend trope)

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

Abruptly, you still your hand. You close your eyes and temper out a breath through your nose. Your insides twist around the vibrating toy as it sends ripples through your muscles.

You shudder and bite your lip as it stops. You blink between the lines of the notebook and the columns of text in the textbook. You haven't got much done in the last hour.

"Got a lab review coming up." Your dad strides in behind you.

You nearly yelp. You swallow down the surprise and clench. You nod as you make yourself copy the words without truly understanding them.

"Mid-semester eval," your voice is thin. You wait for him to comment on it. He doesn't.

"Good you're studying." He says.

"Yeah, er..." your phone lights up and your eyes wander to the screen. It's Nick; 'how ya feeling, baby?' You resist the urge to hit the side button to hide it, not wanting to draw attention to it.

"In the way though." He leans on the table and squints at the textbook. "Shouldn't have your phone out for studying."

"Sorry, dad. I... I set a timer. That's all." You lie. "I'll move my stuff."

"Good." He taps the table and marches away.

You push your lips out in muted confusion. Why would you be in the way? You never eat dinner at the table. Not like a family. If anything, Austin and your dad will eat outside when they barbecue but you eat alone most days. If you remember to do so.

You close up the textbook and recoil. You grab the arms of the chair as the toy quakes again. That's a big one. He's torturing you. You didn't answer him!

You snatch up your phone and unlock it. Your hands shake and it takes several tries to type your response. 'Good. Studying.'

You hit send. His message isn't too far behind. 'You feeling me?'

Your eyes round. You stack your books and your laptop and balance your phone on top. You quickly retreat to your room as your core boils.

You snap your door shut and hurry to your bed. You put your stuff on the end and grab the cell. You answer him.

'Yes. I feel it.'

'Good girl.'

You don't know how to reply so you send a heart emoji. You wait but don't see those three dots. You grab your books and bring them to the desk. You'll hide in here. Your dad must have some plans. He never really warns you.

The doorbell chimes as if to confirm your suspicions. You sit and the toy surges inside you. You squeak and keel forward. You squeeze your thighs together and murmur senselessly as the pulse throbs inside you. You put your head to the desk and whine. It's just enough to put you on the edge, but not over.

Your father bellows from below, jerking you up from your rather literal internal struggle. You hiss and grip your skull. You're dizzy as the toy stops. You check your phone as you stand to meet your father's demand. It's hard to balance both.

Your legs are unstable as you force them to move. You pull open the door and stumble. Get yourself together. You take another big breath. At the top of the stairs, you find a semblance of normalcy. Your father's typical apathy will for once work in your favour.

You descend and slow as you get midway. You recognise the voice droning through the entryway. Sure enough, Nick is right there, chatting with your dad. You blink dumbly as his blue eyes meet yours over your father's shoulder. You gulp.

"There she is," Nick chirps. "Where's that other brat?"

"You're too nice, Fowler. How'd you ever get in at the Agency?" Your dad challenges.

"Only nice when I need to be." Nick chuckles and turns his attention back to your dad. "Figure I'd pay you back for the barbecue."

"Uh huh," your father's skeptical tone can't pierce his guest's sauve veneer. Your dad turns to you. "Nick brought dinner." He nods sideways to the console table. There's two large paper bags with handles; from TiTi's. "Set the table."

"Oh okay," you continue down to the bottom of the stairs and go to grab the bags.

"I got it," Nick scoops up the bags before you can. "Got lots so... bit heavy."

"I'm sure she can manage." Your dad sniffs.

"I know they don't give etiquette lessons down at the Agency, Chuck, but I know mine," Nick retorts. He gets a derisive snort from your father.

"I'll find the boy," your dad mutters.

You snake around the banister and head for the kitchen. Nick is like your shadow. The bags crinkle as you go to the cupboard. You pull the doors open and suddenly, your legs are jelly. You smother your mouth as you lean into the counter heavily. You turn to Nick as he rests one elbow on the island, right by the paper bags, and thumbs at his phone. The vibration is so intense it makes your teeth rattle.

"Look at you. Being a good girl." He hums.

You drop your hand. "Nick, I... what are you doing here?"

He presses his thumb down and you nearly collapse. You whimper. He chuckles.

"Asking me questions?" He tuts.

"N-no. I... I didn't expect--" he flicks his fingertip and the pulse mellows out but doesn't stop completely. "Can ya blame me, princess? I wanted to see you. Last night's got my head all fucked up over you."

You stare at him. You didn't expect him, worse you're not sure how to deal with him right now. Your father, schoolwork, the toy.

"I'm... sorry." You utter.

"Don't be sorry. Be a good girl," he winks. "Maybe you'll get a treat."

You shake your head in confusion. You force a smile and rock on your feet. "Okay, I'll...be good."

You turn to take down four plates. You focus on the task if only to keep from melting into the tile. The bags crinkle loudly.

"Should I take this out to the table?" He asks.

"Sure, er, please," you glance over your shoulder.

"Whatever you want, princess."

He lifts the bags and struts out. You stare after him. He's wearing a short-sleeved collar shirt; faint blue lines on white, and powder blue slacks. Everything about him is always cut to a tee. His ring matches his watch and the chain around his neck.

You nearly drop a fork. Stop. Just get through this. You eke out another tight breath. Isn't this awkward for him too?

You go out with the plates and cutlery. Nick unpacks the togo containers calmly, grinning at your appearance. You set down the stack and retreat.

Glasses, napkins... you put those out with the rest and make a third trip. You grab the jug of filtered water with lemon slices and return to the dining room. Your dad sits across from Nick as Austin yawns and pulls put a chair.

"Got a nice family, Chuck," Nick comments as he rests his hand on the back of the empty chair next to him. You hesitate. If you sit further down, it might draw more attention. You near and Nick stands. "I'll get it."

He pulls out the chair as you set down the water pitcher. You thank him, staring at the table as you do, and lower yourself onto the seat. You swallow down a yipe at the reminder of the humming fullness inside.

"Thanks for letting me intrude on it," Nick says.

"Your choice," your dad grabs the container of steaks and claims the biggest one. "Not very exciting."

"Nice to have someone. Figured you more the loner type," Nick rebuffs your father's indifference.

"I guess. What about you? Bit overdue to settle down?"

"Thought about it," Nick offers you some salad and you nod. Then he serves himself. You watch your dad. He is entirely disinterested what's going on. Austin is on his phone. "Who knows. Not too late."

"Get a wife, skip the kids," your dad scoffs.

Nick laughs, "right."

You stay silent. Your father's resent is well-known. You've always been keenly aware of it. It's embarrassing when he announces it in front of others.

Nick sits back and shifts. You peek over. His phone rests on his thigh as he drops his hand under the table and taps. You feel the jolt inside you.

You reach for the seasoned potatoes and cough. You nearly drop the container. You steady it and scoop out a serving.

You don't fill your plate. You know better. Your dad is an expert at finding something to hate you for. He'd as soon accuse you of being greedy.

You wait until everyone else is settled innbefore you touch your food. Austin isn't so patient or modest. His noisy chewing distracts you from the stirngent small talk between the men. That and the contant buzzing in your guts.

"Excuse me a moment. I need your restroom," Nick sets down his fork.

"Sure," your dad sits back.

Nick stands and swiftly skips his phone in his pocket. You feel the vibration speed up. You bite down on a moan. You squirm, unconfortable and wet, as he steps around your chair. The smell of his cologne suffocates you.

You cross your legs and immediately regret that. You sit flat again and struggle not to rock. The tempo slowly builds and builds only to relent and start again.

Theres another buzz. Not from inside. You take out your phone and bow your head. You open the message waiting and nearly squeal. You bat your lashes and hold your breath.

It's a picture of Nick. You recognize the backdrop of the bathroom. He has his shirt off, the gold chain just above his chest, muscles flexed, a devilish sparkle in his eyes. Not fair.

Your name darts over the table. You flinch as you look at your dad. "Phone."

He snaps his fingers at you. You pout and quickly lock the screen. You stare at him.

"It's rude to have it out at the table," he reprimands.

You grimace and look at Austin. Your dad wiggles his fingers expectantly as he holds out his hand. You sigh and hand it over, praying he doesn't find a way to unlock it.

"Sorry."

"When we have company, try not to be dumb." He growls.

You wince. Between his anger and the constant buzzing in your walls, you can barely keep from wilting away. You nod and pick up your fork again.

Nick returns with a sigh. He sits heavily behind you and rests his hand on the back of your chair. He makes it seem thoughtless but it's all that's on your mind.

"So, Chuck. I'm a nice guy, you know, but I did come here with a reason," Nick lays his other hand on his thigh casually. You just keep thinking about how thick his fingers are. His thigh too. "Got a favour. Sorta."

"Of course you do. I'm not new to the game." Your dad gives a wry look.

"Well, you know, I've been running myself ragged and Chuck, you been sitting on a desk..." he clucks and huffs. "You wanna go to Havana?"

"Havana?" Your dad chortles.

"Sure. You must miss the field work. I really don't wanna drag my ass out again. I'll bring ya another bottle of scotch," Nick barters.

His hand grips the back of your chair. You make yourself small and chew on a morsel of steak.

"Bottle of scotch?"

"Did I not mention? I bought a new boat. You can have it for a weekend... or a week. Hell, make it two." Nick counters.

"Something happen in Havana?" Your dad wonders.

Nick laughs, "nothing I should put on record. Come on, Chucky. You really wanna keep sitting in meetings wearing a noose around your neck."

Your dad clicks his tongue. He crosses his arms as he thinks. "Is it a nice boat?"

"Cozy. I'll throw in a pretty lady if you want."

Austin glance up and makes a face. You twitch.

Your dad guffaws. "Any woman hanging off of you, Fowler, I want nothing to do with."

"Fair enough but you're missing out. You could loosen up, ya know?"

Your father glowers, "you're lucky I like you."

"I'm easy to like," Nick's hand slides into his pocket. You brace yourself and the vibrations throb until you can barely sit still. You suspect there's more to this than just work.