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brninghouse · 10 hours ago

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Let me help you | Robert Reynolds

Pairing. Robert ‘Bob’ Reynolds x Fem!Reader

Summary. A year after the events in New York City, the memories of that dreadful day come back to haunt you. Luckily, this time you have Bob with you and he will not let your pain drag you down, the same way you won’t let him blame himself for it.

Word Count. 3.8k

Tags/Warnings. Hurt to comfort, slight angst, SMUT, mention of Bob’s father and trauma, female receiving penetration, use of pet names such as honey, sweetheart and baby. Reader calls him Bobby during sex.

EXPLICIT CONTENT AHEAD, MUST BE 18+ TO READ, I WILL BE CHECKING. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

Notes. My comeback to being a fic writer since I abandoned my writing blog back in 2023. Shoutout to Mr. Bob and his pathetically charming self for dragging me back to my writing ways. Also… I created and pushed the Inexperienced!Bob agenda in this fic. Hope you enjoy! Feedback is always welcomed.

You could feel the darkness trying to consume you. It worked slowly, yet it felt as if it was rapidly trying to drown you, robbing the air straight out of your lungs and leaving you without any air left to breathe. It was an all-consuming feeling of dread — except this wasn't a feeling, it was a person. He had a face and a name. The exact same face of the man you would eventually come to fall in love with, but it wasn't him, not really.

It was the silhouette of the darkest parts of him. The dark side of him that wanted you to feel the exact same type of pain he was feeling. All of the abuse and suffering. He wanted you to feel it, too. He wanted every living person to feel it.

He was nothing more than a void — and he wanted you to drown in it. He wanted you to understand that there was nothing more in this world than the neverending feeling of numbness and agony.

His darkness was consuming you and there was nothing you could do about it.

“Honey, you have to wake up,” a worried sleepy voice urged you while a warm hand wiped the sweat off your forehead, carefully brushing and putting away the strands of hair that were stuck to it.

You opened your eyes so fast it felt like your heart was about to give out. Your breathing came out in quick, unsteady gasps that made it hard to figure out where you were. Your heart was beating just as hard as last year, back when the man next to you wasn’t the one he is right now.

“Bob?” you asked, trying to catch your breath and reaching out to him with a shaky hand.

“Hey, it was just a nightmare. Can you, uh.. can you take a deep breath for me?” he asked, sitting up in your shared bed and turning on the bedside lamp next to him before taking your hand in his, rubbing your knuckles with his thumb. You didn't reply, all you could do was close your eyes and sit up next to him, bringing your free hand to your racing heart.

Your lack of an answer didn’t help soothe the worry he was feeling. “C’mon, sweetheart. Please,” Bob begged you, squeezing your hand two times.

I’m here. He’s gone.

You nodded once and opened your eyes, turning your head to the right and meeting the soft brown eyes of your boyfriend who was sitting next to you. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice raspy and strained. He shook his head. “It’s okay. We can do it together,” he answered with a small smile.

Bob took a deep breath, held it in for a few seconds, and then exhaled. You copied his movements, keeping your hand in his. “Again,” he said before taking another deep inhale and then letting it out, never taking his eyes away from you.

You weren’t able to count the number of times you breathed in and out with Bob, but he stayed with you through it all. Holding your hand until you were finally able to breathe normally.

You stayed silent for a while, but Bob didn’t seem to mind. All of his focus was on you, and he would wait for you for eternity if that was the time you needed to get a word out. “I’m sorry,” you croaked.

“None of that, honey,” he answered, not missing a beat. “Does it hurt to speak?” He thought of things he could do to help, rummaging through his head for any useful advice when his eyes lit up as he remembered something from his childhood.

“Do you want me to get you a glass of water?” He asked, his eyes shining as if he had finally gotten the right answer to an unsolvable paradox.

“Please,” you whispered. Bob took hold of the covers that were discarded away to the bottom of the bed and brought them up to your chest, standing up with a small groan as his feet met the cold floor and he stretched his arms above his head, giving you a clear view of his toned shirtless figure.

“I’ll be right back,” he replied, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your forehead before moving to your bedroom door and walking out.

Bob didn’t take long walking to the kitchen and grabbing you a cold glass of water, yet every second he spent outside of your shared room made you remember your awful nightmare, which you wouldn’t even describe as a nightmare — it was a terrible fucking memory.

You anxiously chewed on your bottom lip as you stared at your door, impatiently waiting for your boyfriend to come back. The door eventually opened after a few minutes and Bob walked in with a glass of water in his right hand, you took notice of the metallic straw inside of it.

“It’s, uh… so it’s easier for you to drink,” he explained.

“That’s nice, thank you,” you replied before taking the glass from him and taking a small sip. The coldness that seeped through your body and the feeling of the condensation on the glass helping you ground yourself back to reality.

“Better?” He asked, climbing back onto the bed and placing a hand on your thigh, giving it a light squeeze. You hummed and leaned your body closer to him, leaning your head against his toned shoulder.

“I’m sorry for waking you up.”

“You really need to stop apologizing, sweetheart. It’s alright,” he replied, turning his head to the left and kissing your temple.

You stayed silent for a while, taking small sips of your water. Finding comfort in each other’s presence and the sound of his steady breathing next to you. “Do you want to talk about it?” He asked.

“It was—,” you started.

“I mean, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. But my mom used to tell me that talking about these types of things could help make you feel better,” Bob rambled, moving his free hand as he spoke to try and make his statement seem casual.

Bob had once shared with you that his mother used to help him out whenever he’d wake up terrified from nightmares about his father. She would give him a glass of water — with a straw to make it easier to drink — and comfort him through it all. He mentioned those moments were what eased his mind whenever he had one of his Low Days.

You let out a soft sigh, setting the empty glass on the bedside table next to you. “It was about last year,” you said softly.

“Oh,” Bob whispered, his shoulder going tense beneath your head. You didn’t have to look up at him to know there was a look of worry in his eyes.

You placed your hand over his on your thigh. “It’s not your fault,” you tried to comfort him, only to be quickly cut off by him.

“But it was me who did that,” he stated, his head hanging low.

“You weren’t in control, Bob. God, you didn’t even remember what happened once we got you out,” you said, slightly turning your head to press a kiss against his shoulder blade, causing Bob to let out a shaky breath.

“That doesn’t change the fact that I.. he,” Bob corrected himself, “He hurt you. He hurt every civilian in the city,”

“It wasn’t you, baby. I mean, now you're considered a hero. A goddamned Avenger, for fuck’s sake.”

“A pretty useless one. All I do is clean up after everyone and be Walker’s gym buddy,” he said, a self-deprecating chuckle escaping his lips.

“Hey, don’t sell yourself short. You also helped Alexei get that Red Bull sponsor for his ugly New Avengerz merch,” you replied, trying to lighten the mood.

That caused Bob to let out a genuine smile and it was enough to make you feel like you had single-handedly caused world peace. It felt like the sun had shone straight through your heart. An infinite sunbathe.

“You’re a good person, Bob,” you lifted your head from his shoulder, sitting up to meet his gaze and bringing a hand to caress his cheek. Bob closed his eyes at the feeling, a soft sigh leaving his lips as he felt your touch on his skin. “Once you learn how to control your powers — how to control him.. you’ll be the most powerful member of this team.”

“I thought I was supposed to be the one comforting you, honey” he replied, opening his eyes and turning his head to give the palm of your hand a kiss, his eyes not leaving yours as he did it.

“Knowing you’re next to me is enough to make me feel better.”

A bright blush took over Bob’s cheeks. He wasn’t fully used to all of this, to the way you seemed to love him despite his darkest moments. Two months into your relationship he had shyly confessed to you that he had no romantic experiences due to his addiction and Low Days. That didn’t change the fact that he was eager to learn and make you feel just as loved as you made him feel.

He was about to open his mouth to say something along the lines of you being too sweet for a messed up man like him when he was distracted by the yawn that escaped you. A soft smile adorned Bob’s features.

“Oh, honey. You must be tired,” he said in the softest voice he could muster. “Do you want to go back to sleep?”

“Is it that obvious?” You joked, another yawn leaving your lips, causing Bob’s smile to get even bigger. “Nope, not at all, sweetheart.”

Bob extended his arm to turn off your bedside lamp with a small sigh and moved to lay down facing you, you followed his movements, laying on your side and pressing your back to his strong chest. He wrapped his arms around your waist and gently pressed a kiss to the back of your head.

You closed your eyes and tried to focus on the feeling of his beating heart against your back to lull you to sleep. It didn’t take long for you to notice that your attempt to slip back into dreamland was futile. You had no idea how long you spent trying to go back to sleep, it could’ve easily been fifteen minutes or an hour, but that didn’t matter. You just couldn’t.

You were so fucking exhausted, your body knew that but your brain wasn’t cooperating. You couldn’t fall back asleep. You tried to switch positions and move around, but it was useless. Nothing was working. Maybe your nightmare shook you up more than you thought.

“You okay over there?” You heard Bob’s tired voice behind you.

“Yeah… No. I don’t know why I can’t fall back asleep,” you answered, frustration lacing your tone.

Bob’s right arm that was gently wrapped around your waist moved down as his warm hand traveled beneath the sleeping shirt you were wearing — his sleeping shirt to be exact. His hand rubbed slow circles on your skin.

He used his free hand to move away the hair that was covering your neck and began to trail sweet kisses up your throat, moving slowly until he reached your jaw. “Is this alright?” He asked. You hummed and closed your eyes as he continued scattering soft wet kisses against your jawline until reaching your earlobe, causing a shiver to run down your spine.

“Let me help you, honey,” he whispered in your ear, his warm breath and wandering hand under your shirt causing a heat to build up in your core. A whimper escaped your lips as your hips involuntarily pressed back against his. The feeling of his hardening member against your ass and his toned, strong chest right behind your back making you feel dizzy.

“Bobby,” you gasped, slightly turning your head to meet his eyes. “Tell me what you need,” he replied, licking his lips and pulling his hand away from under your shirt to use it to lift himself up and hover above you. You weren’t able to get any words out so you did what your body was begging you to do.

You pressed your lips against his and kissed him. Bob eagerly kissed you back, using his free hand to hold your face and lift it up towards him, a small moan leaving his lips. You two had been in this position several times, yet it always felt like the first time for him, because due to his inexperience: every feeling was new to him. Moans and whimpers would always escape him whenever he found himself making out with you.

His hand moved from your cheek to your hair, tangling his fingers in it and pressing himself closer to you. The kiss was heated but still soft — still so Bob. He pulled away to take a breather before saying, “Wait, I, uh.. I think I know of something that could help.”

He shifted his position to lay on his back, spreading his legs and manhandling your body, moving you to sit between his thighs. “Is this.. Is this alright, sweetheart?”

“Yeah,” you answered, letting out a sigh of comfort as you laid your head on his chest, your back pressed against his shirtless figure, his head above yours and his legs keeping you in place, spread next to yours.

“You tell me if you want me to stop.. or if it’s too much,” he rambled “Oh! And also if I do something wrong—“

“It’s fine, Bobby,” you replied with a small smile. “You’re pretty good at what you do, don’t worry too much about it.”

Your statement brought a bright blush to his cheeks, the second of the night — which wasn’t strange because he always got shy whenever you praised him during your intimate moments. He still wasn’t used to being praised, especially not on times like this.

He lets out a nervous laugh as he uses his left arm to hold your waist, pulling you closer to his chest and his right hand smoothes over your covered abdomen, the tips of his warm fingers making you shiver and internally beg for more.

“Can I.. Is it okay if I take this off?” he asks, slightly pulling your shirt up, your eyes close as you feel his lips against your ear.

“Please,” you exhale. Bob slowly pulls your shirt over your figure, causing the cold air of your shared room to hit the soft skin of your bare chest, making your nipples harden. Leaving you almost completely naked, the only thing covering your body being your panties that were getting wetter by the second.

“Jesus,” Bob whispers, bringing his hand up to softly trace the outline of your right breast. Taking his time as he trails the tips of his fingers through its underside, leaving goosebumps in his wake. He slowly brings his fingers up to play with your hardened nipple, pinching it slightly before using his whole hand to grope your breast.

“Stop teasing.”

“I wasn’t trying to tease,” he replies. You didn’t have to see his face to know there was a huge smile adorning it. “I’m just admiring my beautiful girlfriend.”

You try to move closer to him, wanting to feel something — anything that could help ease the burning in between your legs. You dropped your hand over his left arm that held your waist in place and pushed your hips back against his, a moan escaping you as you grind your ass against his hard cock.

Bob’s self-esteem boosted at the sweet sound you let out, giving your breast a last squeeze before trailing his fingers downwards to where you wanted it the most.

“Please, Bobby,” you pathetically whimpered, your hips involuntarily jutting upwards towards his hand as your body begged for more of his touch.

“Shh, I know, honey,” he hushed your pleas. He trailed his fingers through the plush of your thighs before letting them linger along the hem of your drenched panties. He slowly brings his hand down to cup your covered pussy over the fabric of your underwear, causing another moan to escape you.

You threw your head back against him, your breathing coming out in unsteady pants. You could feel and hear his heavy breathing, too. Feel him getting worked up over the sight of your begging body. He slowly pressed his fingertips down to touch you through the drenched fabric of your underwear, the pressure of his fingers against your covered folds feeling just right.

“God, look at that,” Bob panted. Quickly taking his hand off of your needy core to stare at his fingers, watching them glisten with your slick wetness. “Can’t believe all of this is because of me, sweetheart.” You whimpered at the loss of his hot touch, your hips bucking towards him in a desperate way of trying to get closer.

“Only for you, Bob. Fuck.”

Bob’s chest swelled with pride at your reaction. “Lift your hips, honey,” he ordered, his breath fanning against your cheek as you swiftly lifted your hips and watched him slowly bring your underwear down, finally letting you completely spread your legs as your naked pussy met the cold air of the room.

Bob’s entire world stopped spinning the second he saw your bare body laying against him. He could see your wet pussy glisten with arousal due to the dim light that entered your room through the small crack underneath the door. He had seen you naked a bunch of times already, but it still felt new to him to see a woman’s body be this needy for his touch. It still surprised him that he could be the cause of the wetness that dripped on your bedsheets. He was nothing more than a recovered addict with a shit ton of mental issues and yet… he could cause this. He could somehow make you trust and love him completely.

“Touch me, Bobby,” you begged.

Your boyfriend happily obliged, swiping his long middle finger in between your folds and spreading your wetness through your pleading pussy. “Bob,” you warned.

He let out a shaky laugh, “Sorry, I got you.”

He slowly eased his middle finger in you, feeling the way your walls clenched against it, begging for more. Both of you moaned at the sensation. “You’re so warm, honey,” he moaned.

“More, please.”

Bob used his thumb to press your clit and give it slow circles, feeling the way it pulsated under his finger. Making his blood flow straight to his hard member. You mewled at the feeling of his middle finger pumping in and out of you as his thumb worked on your clit. Your wetness covering his hand.

He took his time pumping into you in an easy rhythm, waiting for your begging body to be ready for him to add a second one. Remembering everything you taught him about pleasing your body. Bob’s free hand came up to grope your tits as he began to drop wet kisses on your neck, sucking on your skin, forgetting that you’d wake up in a few hours to a purple bruise sitting there.

“So good, Bobby,” you whimpered, closing your eyes and letting the pleasure he was causing you take all over your body. His strong hand groping your breasts and his other one working on your pussy making you feel drunk on him. The length of his finger pumping against your soft walls made your body melt against him.

Bob slowly entered his thick ring finger inside your wet heat, causing a moan of his name to escape you. He began to push it in and out, matching the rhythm he had created with his middle finger. Your body shook against him. He added more pressure to his thumb on your clit, circling it faster as he felt your breathing hitch and saw a blissful expression take over your face.

“Just like that, sweetheart. You’re doing so good for me, you always do,” he praised.

Your body kept shaking and your breathing came out in short gasps. “Relax, honey. Breathe,” Bob reminded you, but it was useless. You could feel him all over your body. Only him. Not The Void. Not your suffering. Only Bob and the love he felt for you.

You could smell your arousal and hear the lewd sounds of his fingers moving in and out your pussy, it all felt too much and too right. The fire you felt in your belly got bigger, causing your hips to buck against Bob’s fingers, wanting more. “I think I’m gonna—” you exhaled.

“I know. I got you,” Bob whispered in your ear. Bob put more pressure on your clit the moment he felt your walls clench and shake against his fingers. You closed your eyes and let the pleasure you were feeling wash all over you.

“Oh my God. Oh my God,” you whined. A hot feeling taking all over you as Bob continued to ease his fingers in you, helping you ride your orgasm. Seconds later, you come all over his fingers, your wet and hot fluids soaking his hand and spilling over your sheets. It was all so hot, Bob couldn’t help but moan at the sight.

Your body shuddered and your legs shook as you kept your eyes closed and came down from your high. Trying to catch your breath and focus on the whispered praises you were getting from Bob that seemed light-years away.

“Are you with me?” Bob asked. You hummed and buried your head on his chest, making him chuckle. Bob slowly pulled his fingers out, making you whine at the overstimulation you were feeling. “I’m sorry, honey,” he apologized before raising his soaked fingers to his lips and groaning as he tasted your hot juices.

You could feel a wave of exhaustion lulling you to sleep. “It’s okay if you fall asleep, I’ll just run to the bathroom real quick for a towel to clean you up. I’ll be right back,” he spoke softly, remembering how you taught him about the importance of aftercare.

Just as he was about to leave for the bathroom you said, “Hey, Bob?” stopping him on his tracks.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“I love you. I’m thankful that Valentina almost killing me brought us together,” you replied in your sleepy state.

“I love you, too. You have no idea,” and you really didn’t. Because he would never let the darkness consume you. He wasn’t going to let you drown in it, the same way you wouldn’t let him drown either.

Bob admired your naked body for a bit more before walking to the bathroom for a towel. He wondered if life had always been this beautiful.

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helen-with-an-a · 2 days ago

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Hot Mess

This was a request I got ages ago but I've lost the ask. The anon wanted more Captain Kimmy so here's some sister!Kim.

AWFC x Reader ; Kim Little x sister!Reader

Description: R is fed up with constantly being told she needs to be more like Kim

TW: brief talks of alcohol consumption; implied bad mental health (just vibes, nothing specific)

Arsenal was the dream. The goal. The be-all and end-all. A chance to play alongside Kim again, sharing the pitch with her just like the good ole days. It was supposed to be everything you ever wanted.

But now you found yourself stuck in a four-year contract with a team that you hated. Well, that was a bit harsh. They had certain … expectations … expectations that you just didn’t meet. They wanted a carbon copy of Kim; calm, poised, patient, a leader.

Except, you weren’t. You weren’t a hothead, not really … but you didn’t exactly have her easy-going nature either. You didn’t shy away from confrontation – if someone was in your way, you weren’t above getting in their face. You held your ground, pushing back just as hard as you were shoved. You’d fight for every inch, throw yourself into every challenge, and if that made you seem a little rough around the edges, so be it. The team admired that, that was for sure. You could feel the respect they gave you. But they were always telling you to ‘cool it’, ‘be more like your sister’, ‘relax, take a leaf out of Kim’s book’.

Maybe that was why you felt like a stranger in the changing rooms. You were good. You were nice enough. But you were never Kim. To make matters worse, you weren’t even a regular starter. Most games saw you stuck on the bench, only brought on in the final ten minutes when Arsenal needed to either hold the line or add a bit of bite. You took every second you got with grit and determination, but it was hard not to feel like a side note. Kim’s little sister. The Other Little. A no one.

Beth always said things happen for a reason. And maybe that was true. The day had been a rough one, training had been upped in preparation for the final push of the season. You were tired, running off of little sleep and mentally drained.

Twist. Pop. Snap.

You didn’t even feel the pain. Not at first. It was like you were so tired, so ready for a break, that your body was numb. It wasn’t until you took another step that the icy hot tendrils of fire wrapped itself around your knee.

“Don’t worry, kiddo.” Katie smiled down at you, crouching by your head, a head resting on your hair. “We’ve got ya,” Steph winked, although concern flooded her features. “Kim will help with everything.” Leah added.

Of course she would. Perfect Captain Kimmy. Ready to help another member of her team. Another ACL for Arsenal to work through. You didn’t want Kim. You had seen how hard the recovery process was. The last thing you wanted was Kim, smiling with too much kindness as she laid out your training schedule, your recovery programme, you diet, your appointments, which exercises you weren’t doing quite right, which weights you were allowed to you and when.

Turning to partying wasn’t the best idea you ever had. And deep down you knew it. The injury had sidelined you in more ways than one; unable to play, you could barely walk without wincing, yet each night you found yourself in a dimly lit bar, a drink in hand, the haze of alcohol blurring the frustration that had taken root in you. Kim had, without even asking, taken the reins of your recovery. She’d moved you into her place with a gentle firmness, her kind, understanding smiles only reminding you just how far you were from what you wanted – or needed.

You knew it was only because she cared. You knew it was her way of showing you love. But to you, it felt like a prison. Your every move was tracked. What time you went to bed, what time you woke up, how much water you drank, how much you ate, what you ate, when you ate, what your schedule was, when you were expected at Colney, when you were at the gym, when you were in the medical room. You were ready to scream.

A couple of friends from back home had finally made the move to London and they were more than willing to help drown your sorrows. It started out small, sneaking out your front door like you were 16 again. But soon, the occasional nights out turned into an almost nightly adventure. Yes, you were still on crutches. Yes, you could hardly move without being in some kind of pain. But there you were, sitting in one of the many London bars, downing another drink.

Drinks took the edge off; they numbed the ache in your knee and the pain in your heart. They quietened the voices in your head, ones that sounded far too similar to your sister. You couldn’t pinpoint when football had gone from the best thing in your life, the only thing you wanted to do, the thing that made your heart so full of joy, to the thing you despised most in the world. It once was your everything, your reason for being. There was nothing that could match the feeling you had when a ball was at your feet. You weren’t sure what hurt more, your knee, your head or your heart.

Now, you felt nothing but resentment. Hungover, exhausted, weighed down by the clunky crutches, everything was just too much. You hated it, you hated everything about it. The rehab, the repetitive exercises with very little to show for it, the hovering, the phone calls, the media, the fake smiles, the feeling of being an outsider.

You hated the cold, sterile physio room, the fluorescent lights and weird smell. You hated the gym that always blasted music too loudly and was slightly too cold. You hated the football pitches with their perfectly manicured grass and clean white lines. You hated it. You hated yourself.

You wanted nothing more than to leave it all behind – to walk out of Colney, of North London, of England and disappear for good. Maybe you would become a goat farmer in the remote regions of South America. Kim wouldn’t be able to micromanage you from all the way out there. Maybe … leaving it behind wasn’t a bad thing. You knew football was the cause. It had been since well before your injury. Maybe just disappearing would be best for everyone. Kim wouldn’t have to stress about you, the team wouldn’t have to deal with an angry defender who spent more time as a bench warmer than on the pitch. Sure, Arsenal Management might be angry, but they would get over it. They wouldn’t have to pay you, so they weren’t losing out financially.

You felt the tears roll down your cheek.

“And what time do you call this?” The voice was unmistakable – Kim, standing by the doorway with her arms crossed and that familiar look of disapproval etched across her face. Of course, it was her. She’d made your schedule, down to every exercise, every physio appointment, and every check-in. She knew the exact minute you were supposed to be here, and she knew you were late.

"Fuck off," you muttered, not even bothering to look her way as you rolled your eyes, limping slowly toward the medical office at the back of the room. You couldn’t handle her lectures today, not with your head pounding and your knee screaming with every step.

"Don't talk to me like that," Kim said, her voice steely.

"Whatever," you huffed, pushing forward, the sound of your crutches on the floor echoing loudly.

Kim’s eyes narrowed, and you could feel her studying you, taking in the bleary eyes, the tired face, and the way you swayed slightly. "Are you drunk?" she asked, her tone blunt as ever, arms folded tight against her chest, her disappointment radiating from every pore.

"No." The word came out more defensively than you’d intended, and you hated how it only made you sound guiltier.

"So just hungover, then," she said, her lips pressed into a thin line. "This isn’t what you’re here to do, you know. You think you’re helping yourself by wasting the night away at some bar?”

You wanted to fire back, to tell her she didn’t understand, but the words seemed trapped in your throat. You stood there, feeling small and exposed, like every flaw and frustration was laid out under Kim’s scrutiny. She looked at you as if you were nothing more than a project, a mess she had to put back together, whether you wanted it or not. And the worst part? A tiny part of you couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe she was right.

“Well, we can’t all be St. Kim now, can we?” you muttered bitterly under your breath.

“What?” She straightened, her eyes narrowing, daring you to repeat it.

“Nothing,” you dismissed, turning away, hoping she’d let it slide.

But she wasn’t one to back down. “No, what did you say?”

You felt your frustration bubbling over, unable to hold it back any longer. “I said we can’t all be St. Kim,” you exploded. “The perfect one with all the answers and the flawless game, the one everyone thinks I should be more like.”

Kim took a sharp breath, her expression unreadable. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“That I’m not you!” you spat out, feeling a strange relief in finally saying it aloud. “I know that, okay? But apparently no one else does. All anyone ever says to me is that I need to be more like perfect Captain Kimmy who has everything under control and knows exactly what to do, as if that’s so easy!”

“No one expects you–”

“Oh really?” You cut her off, the words flying out of you. “What was it Jonas said before he left? Oh, right, if I just played more like Kim, maybe we wouldn’t be losing. What did Renee say when I asked about her plan for me? Hmm, our back line is stacked, but if I wanted to try and play more like Kim, I might get more minutes. Or what about the girls, every single day with her little comments? ‘Keep going, Y/N, or I’ll tell Kim you’re slacking off’, ‘What would Kim say?’, ‘Don’t make me get Kim’. And the girls back at Scotland? They all say the same damn thing: be more like Kim, or I’ll never make captain. Like being more like you is the only way to be anything in this game. So yeah, I’m sorry if drowning my sorrows in a bit of alcohol isn’t up to the perfect Kim Little standard!”

Silence filled the room. Tears streamed down your face as you looked at your sister. For once, she didn’t look composed. For once, she wasn’t the perfect Kim Little, calm under pressure. Kim stood there, momentarily stunned, her mouth opening and closing as if she were struggling to form a response. The silence stretched between you, heavy and charged, as you braced yourself for the inevitable flood of disappointment or anger.

You were breathing like you just ran a marathon. You were in pain and terrified. Terrified that you had just fucked up the best relationship you ever had.

"You really think that’s what I want for you?” she asked quietly,

“What else would you want?” you shot back, though the sharpness in your tone had faded. "You’ve always been the standard, Kim. You’re what everyone wants me to be. Hell, even you’ve hinted at it.” She blinked, taking a slight step towards you. “Look, I know it feels like…like everyone’s comparing you to me. And maybe that’s true. Maybe it’s unfair. But it’s not what I want, okay? I just want you to be you.”

You shook your head, the bitterness still lingering. "Then why are you always pushing me, always hovering, always making sure I’m on top of every little thing? It’s like…it’s like you don’t think I’m enough on my own.”

Kim’s shoulders slumped slightly. "Because I know how hard this is for you, honey. And I know that pushing yourself to heal, to come back stronger, isn’t easy. I thought…I thought if I could help make it a little easier, then maybe you wouldn’t feel so lost.”

“I don’t need you to fix me, Kim,” you replied, feeling your voice crack. “I need…I need to figure things out on my own, in my own way. And right now, I don’t even know if this is what I want anymore.”

Her eyes widened, a flash of panic crossing her face. “You’re saying you don’t want to play?”

Did you want to play?

“I don’t know. I thought this is what I wanted. I thought Arsenal was going to be…I thought it would be us, working together, playing like we used to. But now, everything just feels…wrong. And I don’t know if it’s worth it anymore.”

For a long moment, Kim didn’t respond. You’d just said out loud what you hadn’t even allowed yourself to think fully: that maybe football, the thing that had once been your life, no longer had a place in it. You heart hammered in your chest.

“Oh, honey.” Kim sighed, moving to come at stand in front of you, her hands outstretched. You blinked, another tear rolling down your cheek. Without hesitation, she pulled you to her, your head falling onto her shoulder as you let the tears fall again. “If you need to step made, then that’s what you’ll do, yeah? Everyone goes through rough patches, especially after an injury.”

“But, what if it’s not just a rough patch.” You blubbered. “What if I don’t want to come back?”

“Then you don’t,” she said with certainty.

You swallowed. “You really think I can just…step back? That I won’t be letting everyone down?”

You felt Kim press a kiss to your temple. “It’s your life. You’re the only one who gets to decide. And if that means taking a step back, then take it. If it means hanging up your boots for good. Then do it. You aren’t letting anyone down, I promise.” You squeezed your eyes shut.

“Can we go home?” You mumbled, voice tired.

“Of course we can, I want sister cuddles anyways. I haven’t had them in a long time.”

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inlovewithfionaapple · 1 day ago

Text

the shift

warnings: none

wc: 887

the next few days at smosh were a whirlwind of brainstorming sessions, chaotic improv rehearsals, and last-minute coffee runs. the usual. but for y/n, everything felt slightly off-kilter — like someone had turned up the saturation on the world, and all she could see was spencer.

spencer making everyone laugh during the pitch meeting. spencer helping carry lights when the crew was short-handed. spencer spinning around in a rolling chair like a child until he got dizzy and crashed into a desk.

he was... everywhere.

and y/n’s heart wouldn’t shut up about it.

they were wrapping a long thursday night shoot when it happened — the kind of night where everything ran late, the energy got weird, and people started getting honest.

most of the cast had gone home, but y/n and spencer were still around, helping the crew reset gear for the next day. she was coiling extension cords. he was stacking props with alarming disorganization.

“you ever think about leaving?” y/n asked suddenly, not even sure where the question came from.

spencer looked up. “like... smosh?”

she nodded. “i don’t know. not because i want to. just — sometimes i think about what life would be like if i hadn’t come here.”

he tilted his head, studying her with that intense, thoughtful look he got when he actually stopped joking. “i think i’d be way less happy.”

y/n blinked. “really?”

he walked over, propping an arm against the wall beside her — not intentionally flirty, but close enough to make her pulse spike.

“yeah,” he said. “this job’s fun, sure. but it’s the people that make it something more. you make it something more.”

silence bloomed between them. it was soft. charged. dangerous.

y/n’s breath caught in her throat.

there was something in spencer’s eyes she hadn’t seen before — or maybe she’d just been too scared to name it.

something warm.

something careful.

something that looked a lot like want.

and then — as if the universe had a sick sense of humor — the moment cracked.

“hey guys!” noah’s voice echoed from down the hall. “anyone seen the tripod bag?”

spencer immediately stepped back, clearing his throat, the spell broken.

y/n forced a smile. “uh — yeah, think it’s by the editing bay!”

noah vanished again. but the air between her and spencer never quite went back to normal.

he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “anyway... i’ll, uh, finish those props.”

“right,” y/n said, heart still galloping. “cool. yeah.”

but nothing felt cool.

everything felt like it was on fire.

the next night, y/n sat alone on the roof of the smosh building, sipping warm tea from a thermos and trying to sort through the knot in her chest.

spencer joined her ten minutes later without saying a word. just sat beside her, quiet.

she didn’t ask how he knew she was there.

he always just... knew.

for a while, they didn’t speak. the city stretched out around them, humming and alive. streetlights blinked in the distance. somewhere, a dog barked. a breeze tangled through y/n’s hair.

finally, spencer broke the silence.

“do you think we messed it up?”

she looked at him sharply. “what do you mean?”

“this.” he gestured vaguely between them. “us. this weird in-between thing we’ve been stuck in.”

her mouth went dry. “we’re not stuck.”

“aren’t we?”

he turned to face her fully now, and for once, there was no joking in his eyes. just raw honesty. a rare kind of vulnerability that made y/n feel like her heart was cracking open.

“i like you, y/n,” he said. “more than i’ve been saying. more than i’ve known what to do with.”

the words hit her like a thunderclap.

she stared at him, stunned.

“i didn’t want to ruin anything,” he continued, voice softer now. “working together, being friends — i didn’t want to screw it up. but lately, i feel like not saying anything is screwing it up worse.”

y/n’s chest ached. “spencer…”

“i get it if you don’t feel the same,” he said quickly, misreading her silence. “or if it’s too complicated. i just — i had to say it.”

she reached out then, grabbing his hand.

his words may have shattered her, but his hand — warm, familiar, a little sweaty — grounded her.

“i feel the same,” she said quietly. “i’ve just been scared too.”

a breath of relief rushed out of him, almost a laugh. he squeezed her hand gently, like he couldn’t believe this was real.

“you have no idea how long i’ve wanted to hear you say that,” he murmured.

they sat like that — hands laced, hearts thundering, the night folding around them like a secret.

spencer leaned in then, just a little, eyes flicking to her mouth.

it would’ve been perfect.

the kiss.

the moment.

but y/n’s phone buzzed loudly between them.

she jumped, groaning. “damn it — sorry.”

spencer chuckled, leaning back with a half-smile. “you always have the worst timing.”

“or maybe we just need better luck,” she said.

he looked at her for a long, slow moment. “or maybe we just try again tomorrow.”

and y/n smiled.

because tomorrow had never sounded so promising.

#spencer agnew #spencer agnew x reader #smosh #smosh x reader

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grapejuice32 · 2 days ago

Note

Hey I just wanna say I love ur writing🫶🏽 for the angel reader wanting to try new things could i request Rafe initiating smut while driving? Like maybe touching her or they have car sex 💕

Car Sex

Rafe x angel!reader

more angel!reader here main masterlist here

warnings: unprotected sex, semi public sex, overstimulation Rafe is kinda mean at the start, MIMA DONT READ THIS

word count: 2.2k + a/n: I got a bit carried away...tysm for the ask, angel ily 💕 send an ask here with this🥀 for the experimentation series!

The two of you were driving home from the mainland, you’d wanted to this antique shop and had insisted Rafe take you, you hadn’t shut up about it until he told you to get in the car. You’d been there for hours, one of Rafe’s hands had been holding various shopping bags, his other entwined with yours as you led him around the shop, not that he’d minded. What he did mind was what you were wearing, it’d been driving him insane all day. Your skirt was shorter than you normally wore, and it kept riding up, and did you know that your top was kind of see through? Were you doing this on purpose, trying to taunt him?

Much to his dismay, on the way home there’d been a lot of traffic, so much so that he’d turned the engine off, the car not having moved for at least half an hour. You were getting restless, constantly fidgeting in your seat ad you tried to get more comfortable while you continued to wait. His breath caught in his throat as you flashed him the crotch of your underwear in the midst of all your moving about. Trying not to stare, he cleared his throat and looked back up at the jammed road.

Still, you continued to shift, getting far too hot, even with the windows open. You huffed as time ticked on and kneeled on your seat, sticking your head out the window to try and see what was causing all the traffic. You leant further forward and in doing so flashed him your underwear, yet again. His jaw clenched, wishing nothing more that the two of you were at home right now. Growing increasingly frustrated, in more ways than one, Rafe took his hand off the gear stick and grabbed the bottom of your skit, harshly pulling it down and tugging you slightly back inside of the car too.

“What’s wrong?” You asked softly, genuine innocence about the situation in your eyes.

His chest ached at the look on your face, you were just so goddamn pretty that it hurt. But his voice came out firm, his frustration beginning to spill over. “Flashing the whole goddamn road y’panties like some fuckin’ slut.”

“Oh,” you whispered, tears pricking at your eyes at the tone he was using. “I’m sorry, Rafe. Just wanted to see what was going on, can tell you want to go home.” You bit the inside of your cheek, trying not to cry as you picked at fabric of your skirt. When he spoke to you in the bedroom like that, you loved it, but right now? Not so much.

“Shit, ‘m sorry. Okay?” Instant regret washed over him, he hated making you cry and yet couldn’t deny that even while crying you looked so fucking beautiful. “Just don’t want everyone t’ see you like that.” You nodded, trying and failing to conceal the few tears that had managed to slip down your cheeks. He felt like a terrible person as the sight that should’ve hurt him made him strain against his pants more than he already had been.

Just as he finished speaking, the traffic began to finally move and Rafe got out of it as soon as possible and when he did, he drove off the main road and used some other narrow back roads so there was no possibility of getting stuck in another traffic jam as he wasn’t sure he’d be able to bear it. As he carried on driving, he kept stealing glances of you sat silently in the passenger seat. It didn’t take long before he’d finally had enough of the silent treatment, quickly growing tired of you not answering when he spoke to you. He pulled over and parked the car on one of the empty roads and turned to face you.

“What?” you mumbled, still not looking up at him. “Why’d you stop, thought you wanted to go home so I don’t embarrass you in front of everyone.

He inhaled sharply trying to keep calm, but you were really testing him. “I didn’t say that. Don’t put words in my mouth jus’ cause y’havin’ a sulk.”

“You’re being mean,” you mumbled sadly, gaze fixed on your skirt. “Wore this for you, I thought you’d like it.”

“I do like it, angel.” He softened. “Jus’ been driving me crazy all day, ‘m sorry, know I’ve been mean.” You were quiet, a pout on your face. He couldn’t help but sigh, he didn’t mean to upset you further than he already had. “C’mere,” he said as he moved his seat back to make space for you.

A moment of reluctance passed you, but you couldn’t deny that you wanted the comfort as you crawled over the console and placed your legs either side of him and lay your face in the crook of his neck. His arms were fast to wrap around you, one of his hands rubbing up and down your back. The skirt bunched up at your hips and as you shifted, you caught your clit on the large tent in his pants. He stiffened, his cock so hard that every slight movement from you was unbearable. You bit your lip in contemplation before shifting again, trying to be subtle and act innocent about what you were doing.

To be completely honest, you wore the skirt for a reason, you knew it would rile him up and you’d wanted that. But the traffic hadn’t been anticipated, so when he lost his temper with you, you’d been completely caught off guard. “Rafe,” you whispered, lips brushing against his neck.

“Hm?” His fingers slowly starting to dig into your hips with every small move you made. But you didn’t say anything more, instead your hands wandered down between the two of you and you began to undo his jeans. He said your name in confusion, but you still said nothing and just worked his trousers off of him, freeing him from the confines of his boxers. He hissed as your hand wrapped around his length, your glassy eyes meeting his, but he just leant down to kiss you.

You hummed into it before sitting up, hovering over his bare lap. He knew what you wanted and helped you to pull your underwear to the side, both of you moaning as you sank down on him. A shaky breath left your lips as you accommodated to his size, always catching you off guard. Slowly, you began to move up and down, his hands remained on your hips, but he didn’t do anything to help you. After a few minutes of your slow pace, the both of you wanted more and you looked to him for help, your cheeks flushed. “Need help,” the words were so soft that he could’ve missed them.

“Need help, what?” He wanted to get a reaction out of you.

You whined, “Rafe.” Not in the mood to be teased, you just wanted to feel good, “Help me.”

“You’re a big girl, y’can do it yourself, c’mon.” He instructed, removing his hands from your waist and letting them drop to his sides as he watched your pitiful attempt.

You tried to do as he said, but you couldn’t do it right and it caused tears of frustration to well in your eyes. “Rafe,” you cried again.

But he shook his head, not giving you the sympathy you wanted. “This is what y’wanted, so y’can do it yourself.” You opened your mouth to disagree, confusion written across your face. He just breathed a laugh, “What, y’think I don’t know ‘s why you wore this fuckin’ skirt, hm?” Your silence was all he needed, “ ‘s what I thought. So y’can do it yourself.”

“Please,” you practically sobbed, your walls clenching around him desperately.

A small smirk pulled at his lips, “What was that?”

You repeated yourself, whining pathetically as you did. “Need you so bad, please Rafe. Jus’ need you to help me.”

“There we go, ‘s all I wanted to hear.” He finally placed his hands on your hips, lifting you up before slamming you back down on his cock all the while bucking his hips up, meeting your movements. Your head fell forwards onto his chest, your walls squeezing him and sucking him in. “Want y’to cum.”

“Can’t,” you shook your head, moans slipping out between your words, “not close yet.”

“No? Not close yet?” He said in mock offense, “ ‘s it not good enough for you? I’ll just stop then, shall I?” Pausing his movements, his cock stilled inside of you.

“No, don’t stop, don’t stop. Please.” You protested wildly, your make up an absolute state.

He hummed, one of his hands leaving your hips to pinch your clit, a yelp leaving you. “Then do what I fuckin’ say.” He left you seated in his lap and started to thrust up into you, his fingers relentlessly rubbing and tugging on your clit. You were a shaking mess on top of him, your knuckles white as you gripped his shirt in your fists. A long and loud moan left your lips, just as you were about to cum, a car pulled up behind you both.

The two of you froze, Rafe looking at the side view mirrors to see someone getting out the car. He grabbed his discarded jacket from the back seat and threw it over his lap, covering the point where the two of you met. Clearing his throat, he rolled down his window, his other hand still putting pressure on your clit. You buried your face in his chest as a man came up to the open window.

“Car trouble?” He asked, surveying the two of you.

Rafe shook his head, “Nah, she’s just havin’ a hard day. Jus’ needed a sec.” The man hummed, him and Rafe starting to converse. Much to your dismay, Rafe and the man just kept talking, you weren’t sure how Rafe was acting so normal. Just as you thought the guy would leave, Rafe said something that prolonged their talk and as he did, he began to start rubbing firm circles on your clit. Your teeth dug into your lip, your grip on his shirt becoming impossibly tighter. You did your best to keep quiet but couldn’t help the whimper that slipped out as he pressed down and started making harder circles on your clit, occasionally pinching the swollen bundle of nerves. “Y’okay, baby?” He asked as if he wasn’t the reason for your cry.

You nodded and tried to play it off, only for him to adjust the way he was sat slightly, his tip pressing against the spongy spot inside of you, pulling yet another whimper from you. “You sure, you’re okay?” He asked again, you could hear the smug tone of his voice, his words lined with amusement. After what felt like years, Rafe stopped speaking to the man who then got back in his car and drove off, leaving the two of you alone once again.

He increased the speed he was rubbing your clit and bucked his hips up into you, your cunt so wet that it squelched as he began his thrusts again. “Think y’can cum f’me now?” Instantly, you nodded, one more thrust from him sending you over the edge, your body consumed by sheer ecstasy. “Fuck,” he groaned, his cock twitching inside of you, not relenting from his quick thrusts.

He didn’t stop, his hand on your hip wound around your waist, holding you down on his lap, his other continuing it’s incessant circles around your clit. You whined from overstimulation but didn’t protest, too fucked out and desperate for more. He didn’t have to keep his pace going for long before you were cumming around him again, and this time he followed after you. Letting out a loud moan of his own as he spilled his warm cum inside of you, thrusting gently to work you both through your climaxes and unintentionally fucking it further into your womb.

“Too much,” you whispered as his gentle thrust continued. He stopped not long after that, taking your face in his hands, his thumbs wiping the tears that had collected under your eyes. After the two of you had caught your breath, he helped you settle back in your seat, handing you his jacket to wrap around yourself as he drove back home. As your eyes fell shut, you couldn’t help but feel victorious, having gotten what you wanted.

Sighing, you reached your hand out to Rafe, wanting to hold onto him in any way you could. A smile pulled at his lips at your gesture, you always wanted to be able to touch him when you got like this and to him it was undeniably one of the sweetest things about you. He intertwined his fingers with yours, keeping one hand on the wheel, and let you bring your connected hands into your lap. He drove slowly, no longer in a rush to get home. For now, he’d forget about the fact you wore the skirt to tease him on purpose, something he hadn’t expect from you. But next time? Oh, next time you pulled something like that, he’d be sure to teach you a lesson for messing with him like that.

a/n: requests are open

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holyblonded · 6 hours ago

Text

untitled | something blue

pairings: alexia putellas x teen!reader, Olga rios x teen!reader, barcelona femeni x teen!reader

summary: you can barely breath and for the first time in your life, people notice.

warnings: depersonalization, hate comments

notes: pls send requests!! i am running out of ideas

You weren’t even supposed to be on the app. You’d opened it to watch a highlight, just one clip someone tagged you in. The nutmeg, the assist, the way the crowd gasped. It had been a long week, flights, games, sore muscles, sleepless nights. You just wanted that thirty seconds of reassurance, something to make the grind feel like it mattered.

But you scrolled. You shouldn’t have. You knew better. Everyone always said not to. But your thumb moved on its own, and the comment popped up like it had been waiting for you.

“Alexia and Olga's charity case."

It didn’t even hit right away. You stared at it, blank, the words not quite sinking in. Then they did. And your whole chest went hollow.

It wasn’t that it was the worst thing anyone had said about you. You’d been called worse. You’d survived worse. But something about it… this one felt personal. Close. Too close. Like someone had peeled open your ribcage and found the one quiet place you never let anyone touch.

And then, you kept scrolling. You couldn’t stop.

"Why did Barça even pick her up?"

"She's a liability."

"Does she even start on merit or just 'cause of who she's living with?"

"Another case of talent wasted on a broken kid."

"She's gonna ruin that team."

"Nothing but trouble."

You stop breathing for a second.

You blink, but the comments don’t blur the way you wish they would. They just sit there, sharp and clear. And they echo. They get louder the more you read. Until they’re not just comments anymore, they’re truths. Ones you’d buried deep. Ones that have always hovered under the surface.

Because you know what? Maybe they’re right.

You don’t close the app. You lock your phone, but you don’t throw it away. You just sit with it. The silence in the room grows teeth. The hum of traffic outside doesn’t ground you like it used to. And for some reason, your bed, this soft, expensive mattress in this warm, clean home, feels like a place you don’t belong.

Isn’t that what they’re all saying? That you don’t belong here. That you never did.

You’re not crying. It’s worse than that. You’re stuck. Frozen. Like you’re watching yourself from outside your own body. You can feel your thoughts spiraling, dragging you down with them, and you just let it happen. Because what are you supposed to do? Argue with people who are only saying what you already fear?

You think about how you got here. Not the goals or the contract or the jerseys.

No.

You think about the cold nights sleeping with your hoodie tucked over your face. You think about sneaking into 24-hour diners just to sit and feel heat. You think about how you always wore your backpack while sleeping because it had everything you owned. You think about the jobs you worked, the lies you told, the way you learned to run before you learned to trust.

You think about how no one was there. Not your mom. Not your dad. No system. No safety net. You built yourself out of broken glass and concrete and the sound of police sirens in the distance.

And now? Now you’re in Barcelona, living in an house with two people who love you, who really love you, but you still flinch when you hear footsteps outside your door. You still expect it to all disappear.

Because somewhere inside, you believe you’re temporary. That no one knows who you truly are.

You open your phone again. Not to check the comments. Just to feel the weight of it in your hand.

Not the part of you that starts to believe all the things people say. Not the part that thinks Alexia and Olga are wasting their love. Not the part that thinks even football can’t save you if you’re already lost.

You lie down, eyes wide open. You can’t sleep. You don’t eat the next morning.

You’ve always been good at disappearing. It was survival.

But this time it feels like vanishing from a place you were finally starting to think might be home. And you hate that one stupid comment was all it took to make you doubt that. But here you are. Vanishing anyway.

You showed up to training fifteen minutes early. Not because you were feeling extra focused or anything motivational like that, but because you didn’t want anyone waiting on you. You didn’t want the questions.

You’d already dodged enough of those from Olga. You mumbled something about being tired and sore, then went into the bathroom and stayed there until she stopped hovering by the door. Alexia didn’t push, just met your silence with her own quiet kind, but you saw the way she looked at you over breakfast. The way she kept glancing up every few seconds, as if willing you to talk.

And nkw, training. You thought maybe you could just run it off. Breathe it out. Be the version of yourself that made everyone shut up when you stepped on the pitch. But from the first warm-up, everything felt wrong.

Your legs were heavy. Your timing was off. You couldn’t connect a pass to save your life. Every touch felt like it came a beat too late or too early, and it made your stomach twist. You knew everyone was watching. You knew.

Alexia tried to talk to you on the walk out to the pitch, something soft and careful like, “Maybe after training, we can go to the beach?”—but you just nodded, eyes forward, pretending you didn’t hear the weight behind her voice.

You saw Sydney waiting by the cones, laughing at something Vicky said. Normally, that would’ve made your chest unclench, would’ve pulled a smile out of you without effort. You waited for it to hit.

It didn’t.

Vicky nudged you during rondos, joking about how she was about to nutmeg you again, and you just gave her a tired, half-hearted smirk.

Sydney touched your back, low and comforting, asking quietly, “You okay?”

You just said, “Yeah,” without even meeting her eyes.

And they knew. Everyone knew.

Even Pere noticed. About halfway through drills, he blew the whistle and called you over. His tone wasn’t angry, but it wasn’t casual either.

“You good?” he asked, frowning. “Anything hurting? You look off.”

You shook your head quickly, too quickly. “Nah, I’m fine. Just… tired. Long week.”

He watched you for a second too long, then nodded and let it go. But you could feel his eyes on you even after you jogged back.

You messed up your next three passes. Lost your marker twice. You knew you were playing like shit, and there was nothing you could do to stop it.

Alexia pulled Frido aside during the water break.

“She’s been like this since last night,” she said, arms crossed tight. “Olga’s worried sick. She barely said a word this morning.”

Frido glanced toward where you were sitting on the grass, hunched over your cleats, barely touching your water bottle. “Want me to try?”

Alexia hesitated, then nodded.

So Fridolina came over, crouched beside you like she always did when she was about to say something kind. “Hey, flicka. You don’t seem like yourself. Want to talk?”

You didn’t even look at her. “I’m good.”

“Are you sure?”

You tied your shoelaces slower, pretending it took all your focus. “I said I’m good.”

She didn’t push. Just gave you a small nod and walked back, but you felt it in your stomach, the disappointment. The quiet kind. The kind that made you feel guilty for not being able to be okay.

Then Sydney sat next to you, legs stretched out. She didn’t say anything at first. Just sat there, letting the silence build.

Eventually, she asked, “Is it me?”

That made you glance at her, finally.

“No,” you said. Quiet. Honest.

She nodded, biting her lip, then offered, “Do you want me to sit here, or leave you alone?”

You didn’t know the answer. You didn’t want to be alone, but you didn’t want anyone near you either. You just stared at the ground and said, “I don’t know.”

She stayed anyway.

Vicky tried too, after drills, when you were walking off, dragging your feet behind the group. She bumped her shoulder against yours and said, “Come on, you always yell at me when I mope.”

You gave her a small smile, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “Maybe I’m tired of yelling.”

“You don’t have to be okay all the time,” she whispered.

You didn’t answer. Because the truth was, you weren’t okay. And you didn’t know how to say that out loud without breaking something inside you. So you stayed quiet.

Even when practice ended and Alexia’s arm brushed yours gently in the locker room. Even when Olga texted again:

Tell me if I need to come get you.

Even when you saw your name in another headline online later that night and your whole chest ached. You just kept spiraling. Quietly. Completely.

It had been days, but you still didn’t feel like yourself.

Everything you did, every step, every blink, every word, it all felt like watching someone else do it. Like you were floating behind your own eyes, watching your body move through the world on autopilot. You brushed your teeth because that’s what you did every morning. You got dressed because that’s what came next. You stood in front of the mirror, tied your hair back, stared into your reflection… and didn’t really see anything.

You weren’t tired. Or maybe you were, but it felt deeper than that. It wasn’t exhaustion, it was detachment. Like you were living your life underwater. People talked to you, the team, Olga, Alexia, but it felt like their voices came through layers of fog. You responded when you had to, short clipped answers. Enough to keep everyone from pushing harder.

Today felt no different. You stood by your closet, already in training gear, lacing your cleats when the door creaked open behind you.

“Don’t bother,” Olga said softly.

You turned to look at her.

She was already dressed. Not fancy, but normal. Jeans. A hoodie. No makeup.

“You’re not going to training today,” she said, stepping in further. “We’re going out instead.”

You didn’t say anything. You just sat on the bed and began taking your cleats off.

She didn’t explain where you were going. You didn’t ask. You just followed her, got into the car, and stared out the window. The city disappeared behind you, and the roads thinned, the traffic faded, the sky stretched wider.

Eventually, she turned down a dirt path and parked beside an open field.

It was beautiful.

Not the curated kind of beauty, like the manicured parks in the city or the postcard beaches. This was messy and real. Wildflowers grew in uneven patches. Cows roamed lazily through the tall grass, and there was a soft murmur of water in the distance.

“Come on,” she said.

You followed her down toward the stream, to a flat spot shaded by a few crooked trees. She sat down in the grass, patting the spot next to her.

“This is where I come when I feel like everything’s too much,” she said, voice quiet. “When the noise in my head gets loud. When I feel like I can’t breathe.”

You didn’t respond. Just looked out at the cows. One stared back, disinterested.

“I don’t come here to fix anything,” Olga continued. “Just to remember I’m still part of something. Nature doesn’t expect anything from me. It just lets me exist.”

There was a silence. Long. Heavy. Then you heard her sniffle. When you looked over, her eyes were wet.

“What’s going on with you?” she asked, voice shaking. “The way you’ve been acting… It’s scaring everyone. You’ve shut us all out. You don’t even look like you anymore.”

That’s what finally broke through the haze. That voice. That crack in it. The fear underneath. You blinked hard. The weight in your chest loosened just enough to let words out.

“There was this comment,” you said slowly, your voice sounding foreign in your own ears. “Someone called me ‘Alexia and Olga’s charity case.’”

Olga’s face hardened.

“And I know… I know it’s just a comment. But I kept scrolling. And there were more. People saying I don’t belong at Barça. That I’m a liability. That I shouldn’t have been taken in. And I just—” You swallowed, chest heaving. “I couldn’t stop reading. I couldn’t stop hearing it.” Your voice cracked. “I started wondering if they were right. If I’m just… a problem you two decided to fix. A project. I started thinking maybe you didn’t really want me. Maybe I was just—convenient. Like you took me in because you felt guilty.”

At that, Olga broke completely. “No,” she choked out. “Hell no.”

She reached for you, and before you could stop her, she was pulling you into her lap like you were a little kid. You were taller than her, but it didn’t matter. She held you like she used to when you had night terrors, when you’d cry yourself hoarse from fear and hunger, back in LA. Like she knew how to ground you even when you couldn’t find your own hands.

“Listen to me,” she said, holding the back of your head, her voice thick with tears. “You are not a charity case. Don’t you ever think that again. You are my little sister. You’re blood. I don’t care what anyone says. You’re mine. You’re ours.”

You felt your body sink into her. The first real thing you’d felt in days.

“I love you,” she whispered fiercely. “We love you. Alexia. Me. All of us. You don’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to earn it. Just be. That’s enough. That’s always been enough.”

You didn’t realize you were crying until you felt the wetness soak into her hoodie.

“Thank you,” you murmured. “Thank you for not leaving.”

She kissed the top of your head.

“You’re stuck with me, kid.”

When you got home that night, the world still felt a little off. The colors weren’t quite sharp. The air still didn’t sit right in your lungs.

But when you sat on your bed with your notebook, you wrote something down.

THE PEOPLE WHO STAYED

- Olga

- Alexia

- Sydney

- Vicky

- Frido

- The Team

- Yourself (eventually)

You looked at that last one for a long time. And for the first time in a while, you believed it might be true.

#woso x platonic!reader #woso fic #woso x teen!reader #woso x reader #woso community #woso fanfics #woso #barca femeni x teen!reader #barca femeni x reader #barcelona femeni x reader #barcelona x reader #barca x reader #barcelona femeni #barcelona femeni x teen!reader #alexia putellas x teen!reader #alexia putellas x reader #olga rios x teen!reader #·˚ ༘ something blue

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c4tluver02 · 3 days ago

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full machine

wc: 1.3k

summary: Steve is finding it hard to make it up to you, seemingly making things worse. What could he do to make it up to you?

warnings: none! angst , hurt , slow burn ;)

a/n: eee i am so glad u guys liked the first fic !!!! i am also doing a tag list so pls lmk if u want to be tagged for the third part :D

part 1, part 2, part 3

I'll heal eventually, but faster if you're next to me. ♫

Two weeks have come and gone since Steve had last seen you. Normally you take a week and a half to two weeks to return the film… Not that Steve kept track or anything. But he was waiting for you. He needed to talk to you about your last visit and hopefully explain himself.

A few days after it all happened Robin was back with Steve at Family Video and he told her everything that had happened. The way you so graciously offered to help him, to the way you left like there was some bomb that Steve didn’t know about. It was just another thing he had to deal with, one more dent in his beat up armor. Which when he really took time to think about it maybe he was saving you. It felt like a waste of a charity case for you to spend all this time to get to know him when there's nothing to stay for. You were worth more than that– you deserve more than having to deal with all the trauma he has or listening to how hard it is putting on a brave face for the kids.

So a rehearsed speech is what felt safe. A simple way of telling you to run and don't look back but in a way that wouldn't hurt you any further. It was killing two birds with one stone really, you wouldn't be stuck with him and he wouldn't feel devastated when you left. A full proof plan.

–

Although Steve would have appreciated a day or two more to think over his plan but here you were the next day. Waiting at the counter in the prettiest sundress Steve thinks he's ever seen. Your hair is curled perfectly and the closer he gets to the counter the more he can smell your perfume– so sweet and warm.

“Hi, you're back!” It comes out casual but Steve's heart is thumping so loud he worries if you could hear it.

“Yeah I have a movie to return.” You say sliding it across the counter to him. The barely there smile you gave did nothing to heal him.

Steve wants to blame the lack of time he had to prepare for how he stands there just looking at you. The day he normally waits for is now here and it isn't going how it's supposed to. Your big smile is nowhere to be found and the laugh that makes his dreaded thoughts go away isn't heard.

“Y’look real pretty.” He's typing the movie into the system, not even looking at you as he says it but you know it's sincere. Everything about Steve is sincere, you've never known him to think too little about someone.

You’re unable to stop your cheeks flushing at the complement. “Thanks, I’m about to go on a date.”

Steve thinks he could have gotten whiplash at how fast he just turned his head to look at you. Here you are in his store all dolled up for someone else. He must have done something dreadfully awful in his past life to deserve this.

“A date huh? With who?” The tape is long forgotten and Steve has his arms holding himself up on the counter in case the answer wipes him out completely.

“A guy I met at the pool.” You feel like you're in the police station with a bright light on you. The interrogation feeling completely uncalled for after he was the one who turned you down.

Steves thankful he was holding himself up, the thought of you in a bathing suit and some guy snatching you up was good enough to make him feel sick. He knows how men work. He's a man for crying out loud. He’ll use you for a hook up and you’ll feel even worse and because of Steve's stupid screw up you won't come to him for help.

“Y’sure that he's not some douche that wants a hookup?” Steve asks, tilting his head to the side. He just wants you to rethink this, maybe stay with him and talk things through. You’ll leave happier and Steve will feel better.

But if looks could kill he’d be dead on spot. “Thanks for your concern Steve but despite what you may think, guys actually like me and want to go out with me. So if I'm all good I've gotta go.” You grab your bag and head towards the door before he even has time to respond. It's quick and painful like someone shot him, the wound would be felt for weeks.

–

And Steve was right. He had gotten no sleep, his nightmares were long and horrific. Nothing was helping him and there was no one he could turn to. The dark bags under his eyes were matching evidence of it. Robin came over one day to try to help but nothing came of it. If he could talk to you now he’d explain everything. That the kids come crying to him 6 out of 7 days of the week, Jonathan and Nancy use him as a dating advice counselor more than a friend, Robin needs reassurance that she's not messing Vickie up with her night terrors. It's all too much and Steve doesn't know where you’d fit into it. Why’d you even want to fit into it? He’s been doing it for years and still doesn't have a hang of it, the notion of you leaving from the first sight of wreckage would be the thing that ends Steve.

An idea Robin had was to take all the kids to get ice cream to ‘get his mind right’ as she put it. So he made it happen, sure it was 11pm on a Saturday night but if anyone knows that no one sleeps it’s Steve. All the kids were down to come out and enjoy a nice free ice cream night. It was getting hotter and even though the sun was long gone the ice cream still melted fast.

“You look awful.” Mike says licking his ice cream from the cone. Steve asked for them all to get cups in hopes his car isn't ruined but none of them did so they are finishing it outside.

“I know. I haven't left my place in days.” Normally Steve wouldn't let the kids even see him like this let alone tell them how depressed he's been.

“You ever think about just going to her place and saying you're sorry?” Now it’s Dustin asking but the ice cream is leaking through the bottom of the cone getting all over his shoes.

“Where do you think between all this I just got her address?” Steve asks, rolling his eyes. Maybe children wasn't the best to bring this up to.

“Well you have her address in your system, you have it for anyone who rents movies.” Max adds.

“That sounds very stalkerish.” Okay yeah this definitely isn't something he should be talking about with the kids.

“What you need is a big gesture to show her you care. Going out of your way to her is the type of thing that will at the very least get you a conversation with her.” Dustin says. He’s not wrong. Unless you pretend to not hear the doorbell ring or the knock on the door a conversation would definitely be in order.

The conversion ends there and Steve drops each kid off at their house. Not wanting them to be out too late, there's still hope to save their sleep schedule.

He wants to call Rob to see if this is just a case of Steve being around kids too much or if she thinks this could actually work. Either way he knows she won't judge him for it but it's too late to ask now. Just something that will have to be held off for tomorrow when she finally sees him at work. Maybe, hopefully, tonight instead of seeing the Creel house in his dreams, he'll see you.

tag list: @ahead-fullofdreams

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x you #stranger things au #writing #stranger things #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x y/n #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things x reader

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lemotmo · 17 hours ago

Note

I'm starting to think that Ravi being in the middle of Buddie is the same thing they did with BT by putting Eddie in every scene to stop it from happening. In the last episode we didn't see anything from Buddie and I think it's going to be like that now. I wanted to know what Ali thinks about this and her opinion is also important to me.

😂Well Nonny, you're in luck!

I was just talking about this topic with Ali and our thoughts are quite the opposite from yours.

First of all, Eddie wasn't in every BT scene just to stop it from happening, because BT did happen, remember? No, he was there to constantly remind the audience that, while Buck might be with T now, there was always someone else there who he relied on and trusted so much more than he ever did T. T was a stand in for Eddie in so many ways. They showed us time and again that Eddie was a better fit for Buck in every single way.

Second, there is absolutely no sign whatsoever they would want to stop Buddie from happening now. They have been setting up the storyline throughout season 8 (especially 8b) and all of it is leading somewhere.

Ali and I both think that Ravi is there for a reason yes, but not the reason you think.

Ravi has been there for a few seasons now. He has seen Buddie interacting since his first day on the job. More recently he was partnered up with Buck and got to know him better. He was there in 8x11 when Buck could talk about nothing else but Eddie. Then he was there to witness Buck and Eddie's silent communication in 8x16.

Buck has gotten to know Ravi better over the last few months and he obviously feels more comfortable around him these days. He seems to trust him in and outside of the field.

Now, in 17 and 18 there will be an earthquake. We have seen tons of bts where Anirudh, Oliver and Eddie are walking in and out of a building in varying degrees of dustiness. Yesterday we got that picture Anirudh made of the same underground space we saw in an earlier photograph of Oliver. He made a beautiful picture of Ryan there.

We don't think that Eddie will be back with the LAFD yet, since he was only back for the funeral and Chris is still in El Paso. He will want to go back to his son asap. But he will also realise that he wants to eventually move back to LA, because we all know that Ryan isn't going anywhere, so it's logical Eddie will move back at one point.

So walk with me for a minute... if Buck and Ravi end up getting stuck and/or pinned in a tight space underneath a building, without any way out, Eddie will most certainly come running unoffically to help them get out. It would explain his plain white henley under his turnouts.

Personally, I think that Gerrard will let him help out and even give him his turnouts back (Gerrard discovered that Bobby had hold on to them somewhere in the hope that Eddie would return someday, just like Bobby promised. 😭) because we've all seen that he has become a much softer version of himself ever since Bobby helped him out and ever since he died. (I know I know... Gerrard redemption is something we didn't want or need 🙄, but we are here now, so... let's roll with it.)

In the mean time Buck and Ravi are stuck underground somewhere with nothing to do but talk and hope they'll get rescued. Now, Ravi was always there in 8x11 and 8x16 when Buck was either talking about Eddie or just being around Eddie. So there is the possibility that Ravi already figured out how Buck feels about Eddie and he'll ask the question again: Are you in love with Eddie?

And Buck? He might just think that he doesn't want to leave the world with anything left unsaid, like he never got to tell Bobby that he loved him. So this time his answer will be different and he'll just blurt it out: 'yes, I do.'

It would give us a reason why Ravi was the one who was always there when Eddie popped up in Buck's narrative. So as you can see Nonny, our opinion here is very different from yours.

It's up to you what you want to believe of course. We are only speculating as well and there is always the possibility that we are wrong. But for us? Right now? This is a very likely scenario. 🤷‍♀️

#nonnies galore #buddie #buddie speculation #evan buckley #eddie diaz #ravi panikkar #911 8b speculation #911 8x17 speculation #911 8x18 speculation #911 spoilers #t mention

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marinette-the-clarinet · 15 hours ago

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Okay, I wasn't originally gonna post this because it's just a demo right now, but then I decided fuck it, I wanna show people my WIP because I'm really proud of it and I figured a lot of y'all would enjoy it, even if it's just me banging on the piano for 4 minutes. But uh, yeah! I wrote a Ragatha song a few months ago, and I finally was able to record myself singing and playing it a couple of weeks ago. I'm working on getting it actually produced into something, so hopefully you'll all see its progress as it goes!

Context is pretty simple: Ragatha is trying to comfort Pomni, but in doing so, realizes she's singing to herself more than she's singing to the jester. It's supposed to be a happy-toned song that covers up an impending sense of dread, just like Ragatha would have wanted :). Lyrics are below the cut if y'all are interested!

LYRICS

Hey there new stuff, watcha thinking about?

I'm sure you're overwhelmed, and still freaking out

Well I'm here to help you, and guide you through these halls

Don't worry about the pain and death that's scattered through the walls

I know you're wondering, is there a way to leave?

There is no exit, but you don't have to grieve

This is your new life, and we're all your new friends!

And we'll always be by your side, until our nonexistent end!!!!

I know right now you might think that your life is over

But I'm here to help!

(Chorus)

So when you feel a little down

And start to wear a little frown

Just think of all the things that make you happy, it'll brighten up your day

And when you feel like you are stuck

Or like you're all out of luck

Just remember to breathe and trust your way, everything is gonna be okay

(Doo doo doo)

Everything is gonna be okay

(Doo doo doo)

(Verse 2)

How you doing? You look a bit rough

I know today's adventure was a bit tough

But when you look past all the knives and all the tears

You'll have a lot more fun, and realize the circus really cares

You say it's a nightmare? I understand why

Some things get scary, but remember, we can't die!

There are some perks to this new digital life!

And if you look on the bright side, it makes all the bad parts way less right

I know you might still think that your life is over

But I'm still here to help!

(To Chorus)

(Bridge)

I was once in your shoes, I wanted to find a way out

I used to panic all the time, I thought I'd be heard if I'd just shout

But after years and years I figured I would get accustomed to

Suck things in and battle through

Cause what's the point of finding answers if nothing can save you?

And it's easy for me to think my life is over

But

Whenever I feel down

And start to wear a little frown

I think of all the things that make me happy, Oh, enough about me!

(CHORUS)

#tadc #the amazing digital circus #tadc ragatha #tadc music #music #original song #voice acting #tadc encore

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wrenxpalmer · 2 days ago

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Her pleading had in fact, fallen on deaf ears. An unwilling and unrelenting wall she must be talking to now, he seemed unfazed and even more than that, amused. Nothing like stripping the sexual tension from the interaction to swiftly place how easily he irritated her at the forefront. It had been there most of the time, even when they’d met, but it was glaringly obvious now that he was taunting her. Of course the worst part of it wasn’t that she’d given herself to him so willingly, she wasn’t much for regrets in her bouts of lust, but in the regret that she was helpless. Wren wrestled between astonishment of a creature she’d only heard about in stories and in the revelation of her imprisonment. Most of the anger returned to her face when he smiled, the only fear lingering behind it when he showed his teeth. Like canine teeth they’d file down when you’d go to the dentist, except much sharper. She didn’t get too long of a look, but they looked real. It wasn’t some joke or fictitious thing, validated by the coupling of his movements and strength. Wren couldn’t allow herself to fully believe it, even as her brain and body fought to find logic in the myth.

He sauntered over to the dresses that she’d been so captivated by and ran his fingers through the fabric while he went on about how unique she was, some bullshit ramblings that she’d heard all before. There was nothing particularly special about her, to him at least, he hadn’t known her all that long. He knew nothing of what could make her special or of value, only beauty and flesh and the compatibility of their bodies. It furthered the aggravation she was building up against him, that he might think she was so dumb to believe everything he was saying about her, that she would even be so dumb as to follow him up here because she might actually be that naïve. But what could she possibly say for herself now, being a prisoner to some beast that only existed in books and movies.

“I don’t want anything from you.” Wren’s lip curled as he did a once over, annoyed he even had the pleasure of looking. “I’d say I’d rather starve to death but then I might really have to be stuck with you forever.” She moved away from him but not from the fear. “Whatever maid you have around here, have them do it.” She waved her hand. “Leave it at the door, I don’t care.” Wren was not unaccustomed to the luxuries of the wealthy, so it wasn’t something she would deprive herself of, especially since it sounded like she didn’t have a choice and that she wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon. “I don’t want to see you.” Already in her mind she’d begun to scan the room for things she may use to escape come morning - when she assumed he may not be able to stop her. “Go to your fucking coffin or wherever it is that you sleep in.” She spat at his feet, so hot with anger she could feel it in her cheeks. “Have a nice, long rest and throw another party and find another otherworldly special girl to fuck and shuffle away in a room when you wake up. And then maybe when you realize that we’re all the same, you’ll figure out you don’t need me and you’ll let me go or kill me, I don’t care. Just don’t fucking come back unless you’re letting me leave this room.”

What made her confusion worse was the ridicule she was faced in the unknown. He was making fun of her, indulging in the fact that she was out of her element and even worse, scared. It felt like digging the knife in deeper, a blunt and painful blade. It made her bitter with anger and she became mad at herself for not knowing the answer as if she had the means. There was nothing worse than being caught off guard or so she thought, until now when met with the twisted delight he got from her uncertainty. A harsh breath came from her nose in contempt. Trained, marked, memorized - all of these words felt like watching him build the walls of an invisible prison. The very things she hated all spouted from his lips, a new and suffocating fear rising to the surface. Ownership and possession were some of her greatest fears, and some of the words he liked using the most.

She especially resented being mocked amongst many other things, now missing the opportunity to counter for lack of better words. In the conception of the idea, it felt utterly stupid. Denial was the first emotion to set in, perhaps disbelief. Stuff for the movies, it wasn’t real. Certain memories trickled in now, like the cut on her lip and the sounds he made as he tasted it, calling her human. They’d been enthralled in each other for some time, it felt, long enough not to notice a single sound - where now none existed. There were no sounds of feet, heightened conversations or laughter, no sounds of bustling drinks and silver plates and platters. Just silence. Maybe the fear of the unknown mixed with her thoughts now because it only seemed to encourage his pleasure. “You’re lying.” She hissed, very aware of the closing space he put between the two. “You’re making up stupid shit to scare me, that’s not a real thing - let me go.”

Her eyebrows pressed together in frustration. It all felt like a rush to her nervous system, and not being able to verbalize disorganized her breathing. His hand gripped her wrist and she suddenly became aware of the resistance behind it, even if the strength was not enforced. Her short movements against the action did nothing, not even his body moved from how much her arm wiggled, an immovable force. “I don’t want to.” Her words felt muddled, reduced to a less clever response than before. “Don’t keep me here, just kill me.”

Something infinitely worse than the idea of dying was the thought that she no longer belonged to herself. To be in possession of someone else was making her stomach turn, as if it were marinating inside of her alongside the disbelief of this discovery. “I’d rather die than stay here. You want to make shit up and fantasize and role play, do it with someone else. Don’t leave me here.” It almost sounded immature, she didn’t want to believe him. “Don’t do it.” Her arm wriggled against the stone of his grasp. “I wont give you what you want. If you come back here and touch me I’ll be lifeless. There’ll be no joy in it and you’ll wish you would’ve just killed me.” Her nose was flaring but her eyes stung with fear. “I’m not scared to die. Just do it now. Don’t make me wait. Please.”

#should we end it here and do a new thread?#only took me half a fucking year to respond LMAO

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stabbingandorbeingstabbed · 1 year ago

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sleeping in my childhood bedroom for the first time since i moved out is it supposed to feel this bad and fucked up or is this just a me thing lmaooo

#it's been 6 months my mom has completely redecorated the room and low key it makes me want to cry !!#when i was stuck here i wanted nothing more than to get out and now im out and like #miss how uncomplicated it was #now i have to look for a place of my own when my lease is up and it's like. i don't want to do that im terrified of living on my own !!!#i'm turning 32 and i still feel like i need my parents within arms reach like when will it end when will i feel like a capable grown upppppp #anyways. easter ruminations <3

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painsandconfusion · 19 days ago

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Writers, here’s your reminder that you should be doing warm-ups!

Athletes need to warm up. Musicians need to warm up. Artists need to warm up. Heck, I even have to play a few matches in video games before I get into a groove every day.

Warm-ups help you get into the right headspace, give you more control of your actions and word choice, get you comfortable in your physical setting (eg: with your keyboard, notebook, tablet, or whatever you're writing with), and spark creativity.

Even if you don’t think you have spoons to write, sit down and do a couple warm-ups. If you still don’t want to, that’s alright. But. I think you’ll be surprised how often they help break that ice.

5-15 minutes is all you need. I personally set a timer for ten minutes each time and do not stop writing until the time is up. Your warm-up can be anything at all so long as it gets you writing and starts nudging those creative juices.

Here's some common warm-ups:

Journaling. Just jot down some notes about your day. Feel free to really lean into something that you noticed. We're going for description and details -- try to avoid settling into a spiral or focusing on something negative that will upset your creativity.

Short story prompts. Type that into Pinterest and pick the most ridiculous, cliche thing you can. Write a little scene, story summary, or even a rant about why you do or don't like the prompt. Just write.

Vocab challenge. If you like a bit more critical thinking to get you in the zone, have a random vocabulary word generator spit out five or so words. Check their meanings and jot down a little story or thought that includes all five. You get more familiar with beautiful and descriptive language, and it gives you a much narrowed prompt (which is lovely if you're like me and suffer each time there's an open-ended task assigned).

Character moments. Try putting your character into a generic setting and write down almost meticulously what their thought process would be. Follow them realizing they've just stepped in mud or dreading the start of the day. Pick a mundane thing and describe them working through it. This will not only get your writing going, but it will wake up the character's voice in your head.

Ongoing storytelling. Did you know that Whinnie the Poo was A.A. Milne's warm up story? He would jot down a quick little story with those very basic characters and did so every day. Whatever came to mind. He kept writing little tidbits on the same characters and eventually it turned into a series. Having that ongoing plot with isolated scenes and simple characters can help you feel more motivated to sit down and write.

Get-to-know-you-questions. Google a list of basic first-date questions (there are a million out there) and answer one yourself. Go into specifics. Where do you most want to travel and why? Let yourself ramble until the question is fully answered.

Writer's block blues. This is a favorite of mine. If you're truly stuck, write about being stuck. Eg: 'I'm supposed to write for ten minutse, but that feels so stupid and impossible. No one is goign to read this anyway. I have no ideas and the page is so overwhelming when its blank. I used to be able to write on and on and nothing could stop me. it was like breathing. but now I have nothign and do nothing and I can't even do a stupid prompt-' Even the rambling and ranting got me writing. It made things easier. It made writing this post easier. Also -- notice the typos? Yeah, don't fix those. You're in writing mode, not editing mode when you're doing this. If you edit while you write, you're forcing yourself to stay in your executive and calculating headspace rather than falling fully into creativity and dream. Ignore the mistakes. That's for future you to handle.

I've officially rambled far too much, but I hope that helps even a little bit. Live well and write often, my friends. Best of luck to you <3

#sand speaks #writeblr #writing advice #writing warm up #writing #writers #on writing

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lostalioth · 7 months ago

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𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐰𝐞𝐛𝐬

→ premise: peter needed to test how strong the new formula for his web shooters is so why not get his gf’s help, and have a little fun with it. its not like he had millions of other more scientific ways to test its strength.

→ pairing: tasm!peter x fem!reader

→ warnings: smut | 18+, bondage [with peters webs], fingering, small edging, peter possibly ooc, nicknames [baby, princess]

→ a/n: kinktober 04

Sure Peter had plenty of other ways he could test out the strength of his newly formulated web fluid. But you were just so eager to help your boyfriend out, always asking him if there was something you could do. Sewing up gashes and holes in his spider suit, patching him up after a fight, etc. So why not enlist the help of his pretty girlfriend instead of testing it out the same old boring way he always did. Of course being unaware of his little scheme you innocently and sweetly said yes when he asked if you'd help him out with an experiment. That was how you ended up in Peter's bed, hands restrained together and stuck to the headboard with his webs.

His body was currently nestled between your spread legs, eyes roaming your body before fixing on your face. Your lower half is entirely exposed, the breeze from his open window nipping at your skin making you squirm. “This wasn't what I thought you meant when you asked for help, and I said yes Peter” you whine and buck your hips into his touch as his hands roam up your sides, rubbing and caressing your body. You can feel the cool metal of the singular web shooter strapped to his left wrist. “Oh this is fully what I intended when I asked baby, tug all you want, squirm all you want” he coos as he uncovers your breasts by pushing your shirt up to reveal them. “Need to test how strong the new formula is” he explains softly as his right hand falls between your open thighs, middle and ring fingers nudging open your slit and rubbing through your folds. Slick immediately collecting on the tips of his slender fingers.

With a sharp intake of breath you twist your body and try shifting your hips away from his hands. His free hand that has the web shooter aims towards your writhing leg and shoots webs that wrap your ankle tethering it to his foot board. “You sure this wasn’t what you intended, princess? You're so wet for me” he emphasizes his tease with a tilt of his head, smirking softly as his two fingers push at your hole.

You whine and push your hips back on his hand trying to get them inside you, your hole clenching at the small intrusion. “I missed you Pete, you've been so busy” you explain and look through your lashes at your boyfriend hovering over you, your eyes full of longing and love. “Awww well i'm here now baby” he leans down and presses his lips to yours just as his two fingers push knuckle deep inside you. You let out a short surprised moan against his lips as you kiss back greedily. You tug at the webs around your wrists, hands desperate and itching to touch Peter. “Keep tugging baby, try your hardest, you can do it” he mumbles into your mouth, his words both encouraging and mocking before humming when you whine in response. Goosebumps rise on your skin from the pleasure, his free hand coming to pin your hips down holding them still.

Pumping his fingers in and out of your leaking cunt, a sloppy squelching sound filling the room along with your muffled whimpers and moans. “Fuck!~” you let out a plaintive cry and pull away from peters mouth when his thumb is added in, stimulating your clit. Rubbing small circles on your bundle of nerves as his fingers speed up their movement, making your mouth fall open and your head fall back against his pillows. Your hands tug as well as your leg at his webbing, the action doing nothing to tear or unstick it. A heat spreading through your body, you liked this idea of him tying you up with his webs more than you could’ve guessed, the heat settling and growing in the pit of your stomach.

“Come on baby, i don't think your tryin’ hard enough to break out” he taunts as his long fingers find that spongy spot deep inside you and start abusing it, the rough pad of his tongue speeding up its circles. “Gonna have you cumming before you break the webs princess” he chuckles softly and leans down to kiss along the exposed column of your neck. Your head goes fuzzy from his mouth on you, his fingers ruthlessly thrusting inside you, the feeling of him all over you. “Can’t- I can’t do it Pete, i cant break em’ fuck- please baby im gonna cum!” you whine and cry out, your eyes squeezed shut as you teeter on the edge of your climax.

He grabs ahold of your chin and moves your head up the movement forces your eyes open, you stare into his deep brown eyes, his pupils blown.

“Not yet baby, the experiment hasn't gone on long enough, need to see if they break” his voice comes out sweet yet concedesing as he crashes his lips against yours to muffle your wanton moan.

Truthfully Peter had gotten enough information from all your squirming and pulling that he figured it was strong enough, he was just having far too much fun playing with his pretty girlfriend.

→ a/n: i havent written for tasm!peter in a bit so I feel like he’s possibly out of character ? Idk I felt rusty when writing him

3K notes · View notes

stillwatervoid · 17 days ago

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Invincible’s special healing treatment | Mark Grayson x Male!Reader

Summary: Your healing powers—marketed as “Revitalizers”—made you a vital asset to both heroes and civilians. They erased fatigue, sealed wounds, boosted strength, and mended broken bodies like magic. Everyone loved them. Especially Mark Grayson.

That is, until he found out the secret ingredient behind your power was… your spit.

Pairing: Mark Grayson x Male!Reader

Warnings: Suggestive Content, Heavy Making Out, sort of Spit Kink? (subtle), there’s some grinding at the end but nothing explicit.

Tags: Reader Has Healing Powers, humor?, Fluff, mutual pining, and Mark being totally whipped.

w.c: 7k | a/n: English isn’t my first language, so there may be some mistakes here and there. This was a draft I started ages ago and finally decided to finish. It was supposed to be kinkier than it turned out—I have no idea what I was thinking when I wrote the first draft back in January... I was probably just horny or something. I guess I couldn’t live up to the expectations of past me. I don’t even like it that much but I wanted to get rid of it already!!! (And yes, I still owe you pt. 2 of ‘Now nothing’s the same’, but please accept this as compensation.) Hope you enjoy it!

It starts when Mark’s nose scrunches in disgust as he stares at the small plastic cup in his hand, the truth of its contents finally dawning on him.

“Oh my god, stop being such a baby,” you groan, rolling your eyes as you monitor his vitals on the med-bay screen. “You’ve been drinking this for months and never complained before.”

“Yeah—when I didn’t know it had your spit in it!” he snaps, pushing the cup away like it personally offended him. His face twists into a grimace, torn between horror and betrayal. “This is disgusting. Someone should’ve told me! I have a right to know what I’m putting in my body!”

You cross your arms, irritation prickling under your skin. “It’s just a bit of saliva, Mark. And it’s mixed with, like, 80% water. You literally can’t taste it.”

He pouts, eyebrows knitting together stubbornly. “Still…”

“You know what?” you snap, cheeks flushing—partly from anger, partly from embarrassment. It isn’t your fault your healing powers work this way. “Fine. Don’t drink it. Enjoy waiting a month for your ribs to heal naturally. I’ll let Cecil know you’re benched until further notice.”

Before he can protest, you snatch the cup from his hand and down it yourself, locking eyes with him in a silent challenge. It tastes exactly like water. No big deal. Mark is being ridiculous. When you finish, you set the cup down with a shrug, feeling refreshed and perfectly fine.

“There,” you say curtly, grabbing your things along with the report of his vitals. “Now suffer alone.”

“Wait, wait—!” Mark jerks forward, wincing as his injuries protest the sudden movement. “You can’t just leave! I—I need to heal fast! I can’t be sidelined for a month!”

“Oooh,” you drawl, mocking. “Well, that was the last one left. Too bad, Invincible—oh, wait. Guess you’re not so invincible right now, huh? Stuck in a hospital bed, bruised up, with broken bones…”

You shrug, a teasing smile tugging at your lips as you turn for the door again.

Mark’s face falls. “Wait. You’re joking. There’s no more?”

“Nope,” you say, popping the p, watching as his eyes widen in panic. “I came here to make more stock for Cecil. Felt bad for you, so I whipped up one on the spot—but hey, you didn’t even want it, Grayson.”

“Wait, Y/N—” he scrambles, voice turning desperate. “C’mon, I’m sorry, okay? I need that Revitalizer! I need to keep training! Please? Please?”

You pause at the door, glancing over your shoulder with a slow, unimpressed stare.

“So now you want my spit—the one that was ‘disgusting’ literally ten seconds ago?” You arch a brow. “Yeah, no. Have fun with the crutches. Later, Grayson.”

Mark’s desperation instantly shifts to irritation. “Hey! You can’t just leave! This is your job! So do your job, Y/N, or—or else!”

You stop again, a brow twitching. “Or else… what, exactly?”

Mark fumbles, his bravado faltering. “Or else I… I dunno—I’ll tell Cecil to fire you or something?”

You let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Oh, sure. Because firing me, the guy who keeps all his damn heroes—including you—on the field, is such a brilliant idea.”

Mark crosses his arms, smirking like he’s found a loophole. “Well, you’re not exactly keeping me on the field now, are you? And by the way, I’m his best guy. Cecil’s not gonna be happy you’re refusing to heal his best guy.”

You press your lips into a thin line, irritation bubbling in your chest as Mark’s cocky, self-assured smirk grates on your last nerve. He was already pushing it, eating up time you didn’t have, and now he was really pissing you off.

But there was no more stock left. Making a new batch would take at least ten more minutes—minutes you couldn’t spare. What could you do?

Then a dark, petty idea slithers into your mind.

“Fine,” you mutter, shutting the door and stepping back into the room. “If you insist.”

With swift strides, you move toward him, grabbing his face between your hands, fingers pressing into his cheeks just enough to squish them together. His smug expression falters, confusion flickering across his face—just as you lean in and kiss him. Full on the mouth. Tongue and all.

Mark makes a startled noise in the back of his throat, his whole body jerking as your tongue slips past his parted lips, brushing against his demandingly. You don’t give him a chance to react, to pull away, to breathe—you just press in deeper, holding him still, making sure he gets a direct dose of your healing power.

Because, yes, your saliva contains the ability to heal. That’s why you dilute it in water—so heroes can take it without things getting… weird. It works. It’s enough, and really, Cecil would never ask for more from you.

But this—this direct contact, exchanging spit with Mark, making sure he’s drinking it straight from your mouth instead of a diluted version—is the raw, unfiltered version of your power. The kind that knits bone and flesh back together in seconds.

And if Mark was that desperate for it, then here. Take it.

His breath hitches, throat bobbing as he instinctively swallows the saliva between your entwined tongues. Under your fingers, you feel the swollen bruises on his face smooth out, the lingering pain vanishing in an instant. Only then do you finally break the kiss, a faint line of spit still connecting you both before it snaps.

“There. Happy?” you pull away completely, scowling as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. “You’re dismissed. Go home.”

“W-what?” Mark’s mouth opens, then closes. A flush creeps up his neck. “I—you—what the…?”

You look away, your own face heating up. “This is the last time I’m doing this. Don’t tell anyone—” your voice drops to a dangerous whisper “—or I’ll kill you.”

And with that, you turn on your heel and walk out, leaving a spluttering, red-faced Mark behind.

The second time it happens is while you’re both on the field.

Mark is in the air, fighting off the bad guys. You’re on the ground, checking on injured civilians and offering help.

You’re not really paying attention to what Invincible or the other heroes are doing. Your focus is entirely on offering assistance, stabilizing wounds, and evacuating as many people as you can from the area. You don’t worry. You never worry. Not when it comes to them—and especially not when it comes to Mark Grayson.

The boy’s basically a force of nature wrapped in a spandex suit. Inexperienced, sure. A little reckless at times, yeah. But strong, strong. The kind of strength that makes his skin impenetrable, his body durable, and his raw power overwhelming. The kind of strength that makes you believe, really believe, in corny hero names like invincible.

That’s why you’re so surprised when he suddenly comes crashing down from the sky, his body slamming into the asphalt like a meteor, carving a trail of shattered pavement before slamming through the side of a building. Concrete buckles. Steel bends. The whole structure groans under the impact.

One second passes. Then two. Three. Ten.

And he doesn’t get up.

Panic grips you, and you’re already sprinting before you realize it.

“Invincible?!” you call, voice cutting through the air as you swipe the dust from your face and enter through the whole he made. “Shit—Invincible?”

The building creaks ominously around you, but you push forward until—

A low groan echoes from the rubble.

There, buried in a mess of rubble and twisted metal, lies Mark.

Your eyes narrow, instincts kicking in as you assess his condition with clinical precision while carefully making your way over. He’s in bad shape—bruises swelling across his face, blood smearing his skin, breaths ragged and uneven, and one of his arms is bent at an angle it definitely shouldn’t be.

The sight twists something sharp and awful in your chest, but you bury the feeling beneath your professional mask. You can’t afford to panic.

“Invincible?” you mutter, kneeling beside him and brushing debris off his chest and shoulders. No answer. Just a weak, pained sound—barely more than a groan. “Mark?” you try again, softer now, a hand slipping behind his head to lift it gently. He lets out another weak noise, eyes fluttering, but there’s no real awareness behind them.

No, you realize quickly, the Revitalizer won’t cut it. Not for this. Not fast enough. Mark’s breathing is shallow and quickening—too quick, too sharp. Collapsed lung, maybe. Add that to the concussion and the internal injuries you’re certain he’s hiding under the surface. The diluted solution of your power works on minor injuries and fractures, but this is beyond that.

You pause, weighing your options, the conflict mounting in your chest. Outside, the battle still rages—the heroes definitely need Mark’s help if the panic and screams are anything to go by.

Which means this calls for a direct transfer. Maximum potency. And you know exactly what that means.

Your jaw clenches.

“Goddammit, Grayson,” you whisper to his barely-conscious form, already making the decision. “People need you out there.”

The building groans and creaks ominously above you, dust raining from the ceiling. But you pay no mind, heart hammering.

One hand slides behind his neck, the other tilts his chin up. “Sorry for this,” you mutter, even though you doubt he can hear you. Your gaze flickers briefly to his lips, the sudden thought making your stomach churn. “Trust me, man, I don’t want this more than you do. So when you wake up… no hard feelings, okay?”

And then, without another second of hesitation, you’re sealing your mouth over his. Your tongue pushes past his lips, shoving the raw, undiluted potency of your power straight into him. It’s messy, desperate, laced with the taste of blood and grit. Mark jolts under you, a weak groan trapped between your mouths—but you don’t stop. You count the seconds in your head, focusing on the transfer, making sure he gets enough. Enough to mend everything.

Then you feel it—the sharp, deep breath he takes as his lung reinflates. His ribs shifting under your palm, bones snapping back into place. His arm realigning itself with a sickening crack.

Then, the soft gasp you swallow when his consciousness starts to return.

Mark makes a confused noise, his tongue brushing against yours, clumsy and startled. You freeze, heat rushing to your cheeks in a mix of embarrassment and shock, and pull back immediately.

“Y/N...?” Mark’s voice is hoarse, and it makes your skin burn. “What... did you just—?”

You glance away, quickly wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, trying to hide the flush creeping up your neck. “Can you stand?”

Mark blinks, still dazed but healed, already flexing his newly-mended arm. “I… yeah. Yeah, I think—”

“Good,” you snap, grabbing his arm and hauling him upright. “Then move.”

But Mark just stands there, staring down at himself—then at you—then back at himself. And then, with a breathless laugh, he beams.

“Oh-ho-ho, I feel amazing!” he exclaims. “I feel great! Like, better than great!”

To prove it, he hovers a foot off the ground, spinning in a gleeful pirouette like a complete idiot. You fold your arms, glaring at him as he flexes his muscles and stretches, putting on a ridiculous display of his newfound energy.

Then the building groans again—a low, warning sound that cracks through the air.

Mark halts mid-spin, looking up at the ceiling. “That... doesn’t sound good.”

“Yeah, no shit,” you mutter, eyeing the unstable column just behind him. “We better go before—”

You don’t get to finish.

The ceiling gives out with a thunderous crack, and before your brain can catch up, Mark’s arms are around your waist, yanking you off the ground. Your eyes squeeze shut instinctively, arms wrapping tight around his neck as he blasts up through the collapsing hole he made when he crashed through earlier.

The world whips past you in a blur, and when you blink again, you’re outside. The building is falling behind you, collapsing in on itself, sending up a cloud of dust and debris that engulfs the area.

You both land a safe distance away, unscathed, while the building continues its dramatic descent.

“Aw, shit,” Mark mutters, pouting as he stares at the wreckage. “I did that?”

You hum, shooting him a side glance. “You’re lucky I evacuated that thing before it came down.”

Mark turns to look at you, his pout deepening like a sulky kid. But this time there’s a shift. He’s... uncomfortably close. Closer than you realized. You can feel his breath against your cheek, the rise and fall of his chest syncing with yours. That’s when you realize—his hands are still curled loosely around your waist. And your arms are still looped around his shoulders.

Both of you seem to notice at the same time.

Mark drops his arms like he’s been burned, quickly turning away to scratch the back of his neck and coughing into his hand. You shift your weight, eyes darting anywhere but him.

“Well—” his voice cracks, avoiding eye contact. “Thanks for, uh. The whole. You know. The thing with the—” he makes a vague gesture toward his mouth.

“Sure,” you reply, keeping your tone as neutral as possible. “Anytime.”

A mutual, full-body cringe.

The moment is mercifully shattered by Immortal calling out to Mark, urging him to get back in the fight.

Mark jolts like he’s been electrocuted. “Right! Yeah. Duty calls. Gotta—” he gestures weakly toward the fight, already floating backward. “So, uh. Thanks. Again. For the—”

“Go,” you interrupt, already turning toward a group of civilians still trapped in the area.

He throws you a final awkward half-wave, then rockets away—but not fast enough to hide the way his ears burn crimson. You watch him fly away, cheeks heating up, too.

The third time it happens, Mark isn’t bleeding, broken, or even remotely in danger.

No—he’s bored, crashing into your workspace at the GDA’s hospital wing, apparently done with his hero duties for the day—and, shockingly, with catching up with his college classes too. How he manages both, you have no clue. But here he is, picking up and poking around your things like a kid in a candy store.

“What does—”

“I swear to god,” you cut in sharply, patience already fraying, “if you ask one more time what anything in this lab does, I’ll gut you, Grayson.”

Mark pouts, carefully placing a large syringe back where he found it. “You’re no fun.”

“This isn’t a damn playground,” you mutter, returning your focus to the screen in front of you. “Now, unless you’ve got a severed limb or third-degree burns, get out.”

Mark flops into the nearest chair with a groan, legs sprawling like a petulant teenager. “Okay, fine. I’m here for, uh… a headache.”

“Oh no, how tragic,” you don’t even glance at him. “Take a pill.”

There’s silence.

An unnaturally long silence.

Long enough that you sigh and finally drag your gaze from the screen to find Mark staring at you with the most pathetic puppy-dog eyes you’ve ever seen.

“What,” you ask flatly.

Mark fidgets under your stare. “I just—” he sighs. “They take forever to kick in, okay?”

“So?” you arch a brow. “Suck it up, Invinci-boy. I’ve seen you take a hell of a lot more and never flinch once.”

“Yeah, but—” he glances away, wincing while pressing his fingers to his temple exaggeratedly. “This is a migraine. Like, brain-melting pain. Totally screwing with my focus.”

You narrow your eyes at him, suspicion flickering in your gaze. But as he keeps avoiding your eyes, fidgeting awkwardly, wincing every time he shifts—one hand pressed to his temple—you finally sigh and lean back in your chair.

“Fine,” you mutter.

Mark straightens up immediately, his eyes wide with surprise, cheeks flushing a faint pink. “Really?”

You blink at the sudden change in energy, head tilting. “Yeah…?” you say slowly, reaching into your desk drawer. Inside are several little Revitalizer cups—80% water, 20% your saliva. You grab one and set it in front of him with a soft thud. “Here. Thank me later. Cecil’s weirdly strict about the inventory—he hates wasting these on stupid things like a damn headache.”

Without waiting for a response, you turn back to your computer, resuming the work you’d been organizing before Mark decided to drop in unannounced.

Silence falls again—long, lingering, and just awkward enough to pull your attention back.

You turn to him, exhausted. “What now.”

Mark’s expression sours into a pout, his shoulders slumping as he stares down at the little cup, as if it’s the most disappointing thing he’s ever seen.

He sighs, closing his eyes before weakly reaching for the cup. “Nothing. It’s—nothing.”

Mark pops the lid off, staring at the clear liquid with exaggerated contemplation before drinking it all in one gulp. You watch silently, noting the way his throat moves as he swallows. Finally, Mark exhales, setting the empty cup on the desk.

Then he blinks, licking his lips with a curious hum. “Huh. Now that I’m really paying attention... it really does taste like nothing.”

“It tastes like water,” you point out distractedly, returning to your task.

“And water tastes like nothing,” Mark grumbles. He puts a hand to his chin, like he’s suddenly contemplating life’s biggest mysteries. “But it’s weird… did you know your spit has a taste?”

Your fingers freeze on the keyboard. Slowly, you turn your chair to face him fully. “Huh?”

“Yeah!” Mark springs up, suddenly animated, twirling the empty cup between his fingers. “It’s got this...I dunno, this flavor. Kinda—I can’t describe it.”

In all your years working with the GDA, through countless medical exams and power analyses, never—not once—has anyone mentioned your saliva having a flavor.

Your brows knit together in confusion. “You mean... like how everyone’s spit tastes?”

“No, no way,” Mark insists, shaking his head vigorously. “This is different. It’s like—” he waves his hands around, struggling to articulate. “Sort of... sweet? But not too much. More like—a feeling. But also a taste? And it lingers. You really can’t tell? It’s your spit after all.”

You tilt your head, gaze drifting in thought. “Not really.” Then your eyes narrow. “Can you taste your own spit? I don’t think so.”

“Yeah, fair,” he admits with a shrug, though his cheeks are now dusted with a light flush. He glances back at you, this time with a different kind of glint in his eye. “Hey—so. This thing—” he shakes the empty cup, “—hasn’t really worked yet.”

“It’s been, like, fifteen seconds—”

“The other method was instant.”

You glare. He looks away like he finds the ceiling lights particularly fascinating.

“The other method?” you repeat slowly, raising an eyebrow. “You want me to kiss your migraine goodbye or something?”

Mark chokes on air, spluttering. “No, no, I didn't say that! I just want, uh, I want—I just want to know what your spit tastes like!”

A long beat.

“For science!” he rushes to add, flustered beyond salvation. “I wouldn’t want to kiss you! I mean, ew, eugh, no, I—that’s—I don’t—”

You hum thoughtfully, tuning out the rest of his babbling. The scientific implications are intriguing. Flavor? In your saliva? That’s a whole new variable. Could you isolate whatever this is? If there’s something in the taste that links to your power’s effectiveness, maybe you can concentrate it, increase the strength of each Revitalizer beyond the current 20% dilution. If Mark’s being honest about all this… it could be groundbreaking.

“—and kissing dudes? Not my thing! Not that there’s anything wrong with that! I just—”

“Alright,” you cut in sharply, standing up from your side of the desk. “C’mere.”

Mark’s mouth snaps shut with an audible click. “Hmm?”

“Come here,” you repeat, already grabbing a notepad. “You’re going to describe this supposed ‘flavor’ in exact detail.”

Mark’s mouth hangs open, eyes wide in disbelief, and for the first time in the last five minutes—he’s finally silent.

“Wait—so you’re saying—does this mean we’re…?”

You roll your eyes. “What do you think, Grayson? Unless you’ve suddenly changed your mind.”

Mark scrambles to his feet so fast he almost knocks over his chair. “No! I mean—yeah, I want to,” he says, and you catch the subtle bob of his Adam’s apple as he adds, weaker, “for science.”

“For science,” you echo with a slow nod, watching him as he rounds the desk with nervous, rigid movements. “Then I need you to be very attentive, okay, Mark?”

“Sure,” he says quickly, voice lower now, eyes flicking over your face before landing—and staying—on your lips. “Super. Attentive. So... how exactly do we—”

You reach for his chin, thumb pressing lightly on his lower lip. “Shh.”

He goes still, sucking in a sharp breath.

Then you guide him in, sliding your hand to the back of his head as you draw him into a kiss. Mark comes willingly, lips already parted. The moment your mouths meet—warm, tentative, tongues brushing in a slick, electric glide—it sends a jolt through you both. A quiet groan rumbles from deep in his throat as his body melts into yours, tension giving way to something softer, needier. You take a single step back from the force of it, your breath catching, but neither of you pulls away.

You move slowly, letting your tongue sweep languidly against his, the taste of him mingling with your own as saliva slicks between your mouths. As the seconds pass, Mark’s movements grow more eager, his confidence rising with the heat between you. Then, without warning, he licks and sucks on your tongue in a way that makes your whole body shiver, goosebumps scattering across your skin.

“Mmh,” you groan softly into the kiss, one hand drifting to his chest—his firm, toned, distractingly solid chest—and you try to pull back just enough to catch your breath.

But Mark whines, his grip tightening, pulling you back in.

“Mmph?!” you mutter, muffled and breathless.

His hands, which had been awkwardly hanging by his sides, finally move, fingers sliding up to your hips. His touch is hesitant at first, then turns urgent, twitching with anticipation. Your heart pounds in your chest, lungs burning from the lack of air, as his lips move hungrily against yours. His grip tightens, drawing you impossibly closer, until you feel every inch of him pressed against you—the steady beat of his heart syncing with your own.

Hell, you can even feel the bob of his throat as he drinks from you.

When you finally wrench your mouth free, a glistening thread of saliva connects you for one obscene second before it snaps. Mark chases after your lips like a man starved, but you press a cautious hand against his mouth.

“Grayson,” you pant, “that’s enough. I need—data.”

Mark blinks, dazed. “Huh?”

“The flavor,” you remind him, voice rougher than you’d intended. “The point was to, y’know, describe it.”

His pupils are blown wide, lips parted and panting. He looks confused for a second—then realization dawns across his face.

“Right! Right. It’s, uh—” his tongue darts out, licking his swollen lips. “Definitely... sweet. But like, honey-sweet? Only—more subtle. I think—” he clears his throat, voice rough, “I think I might need... further testing. For accuracy.”

“Accuracy,” you repeat flatly, raising a brow.

At this point, you seriously doubt he came here out of curiosity about the taste of your spit, or that he gave a damn about the ‘science’, or that he ever had a migraine to begin with. That realization makes your cheeks burn hot, your heart thudding harder.

Still, you pull him closer, noses brushing. “Well,” you murmur, “it can’t be helped, then. We do need to be extra accurate. So pay attention, yeah?”

His breath hitches, forehead resting against yours as his fingers flex on your hips. “Yeah…” he breathes. “I’ll be super attent—”

You cut him off with another kiss.

Science demands repeat trials, after all.

It keeps happening as the weeks go by, for reasons you can’t quite understand.

If Mark’s seriously injured, it’s become your go-to method—because, really, the world can’t afford to have its strongest hero benched for weeks just waiting to heal. If he’s just feeling sore or tired, it’s your method too—because otherwise, he’ll whine and mope and follow you around all day. And if he says he just needs an energy boost, claiming your powers make him feel like he could fly to another universe and back, then yeah, it’s your method again—because he won’t stop asking until you finally snap and kiss him just to shut him up.

But this time, it’s not Mark who’s critically injured.

It’s Rex.

Somehow, he survived a bullet to the head, severe blood loss, and an amputated hand. And even now, after all the surgeries and treatments, still confined to a hospital bed, he has the nerve to act cocky and cheerful.

“C’moooon,” Rex groans the second you step into his room to check his vitals. “You’re my only hope here, Y/N. I can’t take another day in this prison—I’ve read every magazine Eve brought me twice, and I’m dying of boredom.”

“No,” you reply, not even glancing up from his chart. “You know Cecil—”

“Cecil doesn’t let you waste your powers like this because it’s ‘pointless,’ because he’s got it all covered, blah blah blah,” Rex mocks, rolling his bloodshot eyes. “I just don’t get why we have a healer hero who’s not actually healing me, y’know?”

“You are healed,” you mutter, irritation seeping into your voice. “You just need to stay in bed, rest, and let it be.”

Rex glares. “That’s not being healed. That’s the boring process of healing!” Then he squints at you, brows scrunched. “Why are you even here if you’re not gonna do your job?”

You scoff and drop the clipboard onto the end of the bed with a thud, fully turning to glare at him. “For your information, the only reason you’re still alive is because my Revitalizers kept your dumbass brain together while they rebuilt your skull.”

“Oh, those little cups?” Rex shrugs, unimpressed. “Yeah, they’re fine, but we both know there’s a way faster method to get me out of here.”

You press your lips into a tight line, brow twitching as he gives you a pointed look, waggling his eyebrows obnoxiously.

“No.”

He sighs dramatically. “C’moooon, Y/N. It’s not like I want to do it either, but if—”

You don’t hear the door slide open as you continue glaring at him.

“—a kiss is all it takes to fix me up, then get over here, baby,” Rex puckers his lips, closes his eyes, and starts making exaggerated smooching noises. “One little magical mouth-to-mouth and we’re both outta here. C’mon, lemme taste some of that miracle spit, mmh?”

You open your mouth to go off on Rex, but another voice cuts in, sharp and disbelieving.

“What.”

You whip your head around, glare softening instantly as your eyes land on Mark. He’s standing at the doorway in his civilian clothes, wide-eyed and frozen.

“Oh, hey Mark!” you say quickly, snatching the clipboard from Rex’s bed as you move to leave. “Came to visit Rex? Good luck—he’s extra insufferable today.”

“Hey!” Rex shouts, trying to prop himself up, waving his good arm like a flag of protest. “Don’t bail yet! What about our special healing session?”

You scoff, eyes still fixed forward. “Didn’t promise anything, asshole. Bye now.”

Mark doesn’t move. He stares at you, then at Rex, then back at you again with a look of wide-eyed panic and something suspiciously like betrayal. Just as you reach for the door, he suddenly jumps forward, blocking your path.

“Wait—!” his voice cracks, just slightly. “Do you—do you do that a lot?”

You blink, thrown. “Do what?”

Mark pouts, hesitating for a second before glancing over at Rex, who’s watching the scene unfold with curious eyes. Mark scowls, jaw tense, then puts both hands on your shoulders and pulls you close, not taking his eyes off Rex.

“You know…” he mutters, voice low and pointed, “that.”

Your still confused, baffled expression only makes Mark deflate. He sighs, looking away shyly, his cheeks turning pink, though his face is still tinged with a touch of disappointment.

“You know…” he mumbles again, quieter this time. “The ‘special treatment.’ I didn’t know it was… Rex, too. I thought I was the only one you kisse—mmph!?”

Mark is swiftly silenced when you slap a hand over his mouth with an echoing clap, panic rising in your chest as it hits you halfway through what he’s talking about. But by then, it’s too late. You know it’s too late.

Five seconds of pure silence drag on.

Then, behind you, Rex gasps dramatically. “No way…” he whispers, eyes widening with dawning comprehension. And then, louder, “No way!”

You bury your face in your hands. “Oh my god…”

“Dr. Y/N!” Rex clutches his chest in mock outrage, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Kissing your patients? That’s highly unprofessional! What would Cecil say if he knew? You know he hates wasting your power like that.”

“Oh my god,” you groan again, dragging your hands down your face, trying to hide from the embarrassment.

You whip around to glare at Mark, who shrinks under the intensity of your glare. But whatever you were about to say dies in your throat as Rex’s obnoxious cackling rings through the room, making your last nerve snap.

“So you are into special treatment, huh?” Rex laughs, eyes squeezed shut in amusement. “You were all high and mighty, denying it to me earlier. Well, look at you now!” Then he pauses, blinking in confusion, tilting his head. “Wait wait wait—so why does Invincible get the premium package, but I’m stuck with the watered-down version? That’s some bullshit favoritism! I don’t wanna be stuck here any longer! Hey! Do your job!”

Your jaw clenches. In one fluid motion, you throw the door open, grab Mark by the collar, and turn back to Rex with your most dangerous glare.

“Your treatment is called shutting the hell up.”

And with that, you drag Mark out of the room, slamming the door behind you with a resounding bang.

It’s silent at first—just the pounding of your heart and the flush burning across your cheeks. Embarrassment, dread, and the terrifying thought of Cecil ever finding out. You flinch just imagining the long, agonizing lecture he’d have locked and loaded if Rex opened his mouth. You have to make sure he doesn’t. And oh, you can think of several ways to ensure Rex’s silence—each more creatively painful than the last, all of them tempting—

“I’m sorry,” Mark says softly, cutting through your dark thoughts. “I didn’t—I didn’t realize there were... others.”

His voice cracks on the last word, and damn it all, when he looks up with those wounded puppy-dog eyes, your anger dissolves into mist.

You cup his face, forcing him to meet your gaze. “Mark. There are no ‘others.’” Your thumb brushes his cheekbone. “You seriously think I go around swapping spit with every hero who gets a paper cut?”

He winces. “No...”

“You think I’d kiss Rex of all people?”

His nose scrunches. “No.”

“Think that—” you pause, suddenly aware of the barely-there space between you. Of how your breaths mingle, how he’s leaning in without realizing it. Drawn to you like instinct. Like gravity. The next words come out softer than you mean them to. “That I’d do this with anyone but you?”

Mark’s eyes widen. His lips part—whether to answer or ask for clarification, you’ll never know, because you choose that moment to shut him up the only way that ever really works.

Closing the distance and kissing him.

Your lips crash together, deep and intense and hungry. His tongue meets yours halfway, practiced and eager, moving against your mouth in the way he’s learned you like. His arms wrap around you, hands slipping down your back, pulling you in closer, pressing you tight until there’s nothing left between you—not air, not space, not thought.

Your heart stutters and then races, excitement surging through your veins, raw and electric, leaving you lightheaded and weightless.

You hum into his mouth, slow and content, before finally pulling away—only to place one last, lingering peck to his lips.

Mark grins at you, cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling, that familiar giddiness and energy radiating from him—just like always when he feels the effect of your power. You can’t help but grin back, your chest warming at his boyish enthusiasm, before letting your forehead drop against his shoulder with a dramatic groan.

“Cecil’s gonna skin me alive if Rex blabs about this,” you mumble into the crook of Mark’s neck, feeling him shiver at your breath against his skin. “That little bastard’s definitely gonna hold this over me...”

Mark stays quiet for a long moment, his hands rubbing comforting circles on your back. His warmth and steady presence grounds you, but you can feel the slight tension in him—the guilt he’s trying to hide, stretching the silence longer than it should.

Then—

“What if...” he starts, hesitates, then tries again, voice low and unsure. “What if we just... dated?”

You blink, pulling back just enough to study his face. He’s red. Like, really red. Avoiding your gaze like it physically hurts him to meet your eyes. His throat bobs as he swallows, clearly nervous.

“I mean,” he rushes to explain, “Cecil can’t exactly lecture you about healing kisses if they’re just... regular boyfriend kisses, right?” He nods to himself, clearly pleased with this flawless logic. “Totally normal couple behavior. He can’t be mad if your power just happens to work that way…”

You stare at him for a few seconds, the weight of his words slowly sinking in. You notice the way his lips pout slightly, the hopeful look in his eyes, and how his fingers twitch lightly where they rest on your waist.

“Is this your subtle way of asking me out by pretending it’s not a big deal?” you ask, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Mark Grayson—oh, my hero, swooping in to do the favor of dating me so my boss doesn’t scold me for kissing one of his heroes an unnecessary number of times, just because he whines and cries like a total baby when I don’t?”

“Hey!” he protests, though there’s a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “It was justified! I was—y’know, in severe pain and everything…”

“Oh yeah?” you tease, tilting your head. “Like that time you said you needed extra energy and a good luck kiss before your Mars mission? Was that also you being in pain?”

“Well—that—I did get lucky from that, okay?” he stammers, cheeks flaring red. “And we succeeded, didn’t we? Thanks to your power enhancing my power.”

You can’t help but laugh, and soon he’s joining in, the sound warm and bright as you stay wrapped in each other’s arms. His laughter does funny things to your heartbeat, sends warmth blooming across your cheeks.

Then he sobers, his expression turning uncharacteristically shy. “So... is that a yes? To the... dating thing? Or…”

You smile softens, fingers brushing along his cheekbone with tenderness. “Well,” you murmur, eyes flickering to his lips, “we did skip a couple of steps, didn’t we?”

He huffs a breath of laughter, relaxing a bit. “Yeah… I guess we did.”

“Then why are you even asking, Grayson?” you murmur, lips brushing just barely against his as you lean in. His breath catches. “Of course I’ll date you.”

The kiss that follows is sweeter than any before it—slow and certain, filled with promises rather than excuses. Mark sighs into it, his arms tightening around you as if to say mine, finally mine.

You smile into the kiss, kissing him back with just as much eagerness, heart full, lips willing. You weren’t going anywhere.

It happens late at night, when Mark’s bruised, battered, and still trembling after a draining fight with Angstrom. The man hurt his mother, his little brother, and left him stranded in some godforsaken alternate universe. Mark’s body is shaky, yet he’s profoundly grateful to be back, grateful that your healing powers pulled his family together in minutes as soon as you learned of it. Grateful that you’re here now, with him tonight, wrapped in his arms, sharing a bed, and sharing kisses, because there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

His kisses are desperate things—raw, needy, equal parts gratitude and desire, as if he’s trying to imprint the feel of you beneath his hands into his memory in case the universe decides to be cruel again.

“You know,” you murmur against his mouth when he pauses to breathe, “sometimes I think you like my powers more than me.”

Mark nips at your lower lip hard enough to draw a gasp, his hands sliding down your sides with possessive certainty.

“Course not,” he growls against your skin, his voice a low rumble that sends a shiver through you. His knee slots between yours as he rolls you gently onto your back. “I like you because it’s you.” His teeth graze your jaw, sending a shudder down your spine. “Because you’re stubborn.” A soft kiss to your pulse point. “And brilliant,” he adds, as his hands mold to the curve of your waist, fingers slipping beneath your shirt like he’s desperate for more contact. “And you taste like warmth.”

You hum, rolling your tongue against his in a slow, deliberate movement, a tease that leaves his breath hitched and ragged. The slick slide of your mouths against each other fills the quiet room, punctuated by Mark’s low, guttural groan when you suck gently on his tongue. His hips buck instinctively, pinning you deeper into the mattress. His body is warm and heavy and grounding. His hands roam, bolder now—urgent with the need to feel you, have you, anchor himself to you after almost losing everything.

And you let him.

Because you need it too.

“It wouldn’t matter anyway,” you whisper, breath hitching as you rock your hips up, seeking the delicious friction of his body against yours. A soft moan escapes his lips in response. “Even if you didn’t… like me back or whatever. I’d still let you have me. Give you anything you needed.”

Mark’s head snaps up.

“But I do like you,” he says, like it physically hurts him to think you’d believe otherwise. His hand slides down, purposeful and shaking just slightly, squeezing the growing bulge in your jeans. He swallows your gasp in a hungry kiss, lips messy and desperate. “Shit—I love you. I love you so much.”

The second the words escape him, Mark freezes. His whole body stiffens, eyes going wide with panic, like he hadn’t meant to say it at all. Like the confession yanked itself out of him before he could stop it. He pulls back, breath catching, lips parted like he’s about to take it back or apologize—

But you just laugh softly, even as your heart slams against your ribs.

“I love you too, Grayson,” you murmur, pulling him back down by his collar, lips brushing lightly against his. “So don’t go getting yourself trapped in some alternate wasteland again, okay? You scared the shit out of me.”

Mark’s entire body sags with relief, the tension melting from his shoulders as he nuzzles into your touch like a starved man.

“Okay,” he says with a breathless laugh. “I’ll try. I mean—I’d really rather not be stuck in a version of reality where I’m not with you. Or where you don’t exist. That’d suck.”

You huff, amused and affectionate. “Then be more careful next time.” And before he gets a chance to reply, you seal your lips over his.

Mark groans against your mouth, his forehead pressing to yours as you tug him flush against you.

“Yeah,” he breathes between kisses, his voice rough with longing, his hips rolling against yours in a way that makes your vision blur. “Yeah, I’ll—mmph—be real careful next—”

The rest of his promise dissolves into the hungry press of lips and the slick slide of tongues—but the way his fingers lace through yours, squeezing like he’s afraid to let go, says everything he can’t put into words.

Then, of course, Mark ruins the moment.

He pulls back with a breathless chuckle, eyes locking with yours—dark, dilated, cheeks flushed, forehead damp with sweat, and chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Hey so—” he rolls his hips deliberately against yours, drawing twin groans as denim strains between you. “The way you keep kissing me like that?” Another teasing grind. “Think I might have enough energy to last all night and morning.” His lips brush your earlobe. “What d’you say, baby?”

You stare at him, heat blooming across your cheeks like fire—but you can’t help the smirk that creeps in.

“Well,” you say, playing along easily, “I don’t exactly have anything better to do the next couple days… Might as well give the world’s strongest hero all the healing treatment he needs.”

Mark’s answering kiss is filthy—all tongue and teeth and saliva, like he’s trying to drink every last drop of your power straight from the source.

Then he pulls back just enough to pant, “God, I love your powers.”

You grin cheekily. “Yeah, yeah. Just remember who they belong to.”

He huffs a laugh—and before you can say anything else, he steals another kiss. There’s nothing patient about the way Mark moves—like he’s got something to prove, and you’re the only one he wants to prove it to.

No matter—you’re happy to let him.

A/N: Oof, I know... I didn’t really know where I was going with this either. I swear this was supposed to be worse—like, a lot kinkier, definitely 18+—but here we are. Thank you for reading!

#mark grayson x male reader #invincible x male reader #male reader #x male reader #mark grayson x reader #mark grayson #invincible #gay #male!reader

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