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harbours-lighthouse · 5 months ago

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YOU GIVE JASON TODD A SCARE

(inspired by this post).

— PAIRING: Jason Todd x F!Reader

— SUMMARY: You're running behind schedule, which means Jason's pushing through the traffic and rain to get to you.

cw: none wc: 1.2K

YOU SHOULD HAVE been home three hours ago.

Jason’s hands tighten around the handlebars of his motorcycle. The leather fabric of his gloves crease, slick with rain and pinching around his fingers. It’s not often that you hang back for so long afterhours, though Jason is well aware that you offer your help without second thought, often forgetting about everything else in favour of assisting where you can.

But it’s been three hours since your usual closing time, and you haven’t sent him a text yet. You always send him a text.

Clenching his jaw, Jason wipes his arm across his face harshly, brushing away the rain that lingers on his lashes. It’s not the vibrations of the engine beneath him that’s sending his thighs subtly shaking—no, it’s the adrenaline slowly inching into his system, the panic he can feel twisting inside his chest.

What if you’re alone in the pouring rain? Soaked to the bone?

The traffic light blinks green, and Jason squints through the sheets of rain while kicking back the stand. The line of cars jolt forward, brake lights dimming as tires roll across rain-soaked asphalt.

Exhaling sharply, Jason’s eyes constantly search around him, feeling as if he’s some sort of cop looking for the slightest infraction. None of Gotham’s cops do that here, but it’s what he’s seen in the few movies you’ve made him watch.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” Jason murmurs beneath his breath, body leant forward as rain pricks against his skin, tapping violently against his leather jacket.

“Where? Tell me where…”

The traffic lights ahead glow a bright red, blurred by the onslaught of water, and Jason holds down several curses and a groan. He can feel the dread in his stomach, wrapping around his intestines as he slowly comes to a stop behind a white KIA.

He needs to reach your workplace—he has to see if you’re still there, and that, maybe, your phone is just dead. It must be, because he tried to track down the location of your mobile, but nothing had come up. No blinking blue dot on his screen revealed your location to him, and nothing on Earth would get him to ask Oracle to step in. He has this under control. He’s not going to panic. Not yet.

As cars rumble around him and the bike’s engine rattles beneath him, Jason silently berates himself for not having some sort of conversation about things like this with you. He should have given you instructions on what to do if your phone dies, or if you can’t get home for some reason—he could have prevented all of this if he had just given you the right steps to take. And what if you’re in more danger than he thinks? Wouldn’t it be his fault if you weren’t prepared at all or trained to some small degree in order to defend yourself? If anything bad has happened to you, that would fall on him. Without a doubt.

A horn blares behind Jason, echoing painfully in his ears. The lights have flashed green, the neon colour reflecting off the cars as they lumber forward again. He would have sent the guy a rude gesture over his shoulder, but you’re running through his head—bright eyes made gentle when they lock with his, and your words quiet and low like always. He’s sure that you speak quietly for him personally, like it’s your mission in life to never speak abruptly around him, and he’s never been able to explain to you why that matters to him.

But you’ve never needed him to explain anything. You’re too intuitive for your own good. Too understanding. Too good.

“Jason!”

His heart stops. Beats once. Skips a beat. Beats erratically again. That couldn’t have been…was that…you?

Swivelling his head around frantically, Jason pays no mind to the driver behind him angrily blaring his horn, the sound filling up the street. He knows he just heard you, however faint it was over the rain.

“(Name)! Baby!” Jason calls out, voice thick with worry.

“Jason!”

Yes, that’s you—that’s you.

And you’re flailing your arms above your head, jumping up and down on the side of the curb.With his pulse drumming inside his ears, Jason barely gives it a second thought as he floors it, weaving through the moving cars and crossing lanes to reach you.

People surrounding you glance at him wearily as the engine roars, but you don’t pay them any mind as Jason screeches to a halt directly in front of you.

You barely blink and Jason’s kicking the stand and hopping off his bike. For a moment, you think he’s angry as he strides up to you, with his brows pinched together and his jaw clenched.

Your mouth opens pitifully as you prepare to stumble out your rehearsed apology, but your words die on your tongue as strong hands wrap around your biceps, and Jason grapples you to him. A huff of air escapes you as you’re shoved against his chest, but the shock instantly melts away, and you grab fistfuls of his jacket in your hands.

“I’m so sorry,” you say into his shoulder. Guilt gnaws at your stomach, and you let him tighten his grip around you, even if it feels like your ribcage might snap.

“My phone died.” Your voice shakes, and you squeeze your eyes shut as rain taps against your scalp. “And Meggie wanted me to help her with something after closing, and then her ride ditched her so we were trying to figure out an uber for her cause the taxis are terrible and—”

“Stop talking.”

You inhale sharply. “Okay.”

The silence feels tense, and the rain pricks into your skin like needles, sharp and relentless. But it’s nothing compared to the turmoil you feel on the inside, the guilt that’s threatening to send you into tears—but you can’t cry. No, this isn’t about how you feel, this is about Jason.

“Sweetheart,” Jason murmurs against your scalp, and you catch the tremor in his voice.

“Yeah?”

“I—baby, don’t do that again.” Jason pulls away, and he brings his large hands to cradle your face. You’re reminiscent of a wet alley cat, your hair sticking to your skin and your coat hanging from your frame, heavy with water. But he’s never seen you look as remorseful as you do right now. Any anger or frustration lingering in the back of his mind vanishes within an instant, as if it weren’t even there to begin with.

Purple and pink light from the overhead billboards reflect off your face, haloing your hair. You look beautiful, but more importantly, you’re okay. You’re safe, and he’s holding you in his arms. Despite the rain, despite the chill that clings to the air, your skin is still warm with life.

And that’s more than enough for Jason.

Shaking his head, he brings a hand to gently push against the back of your head and press you closer to him again. He presses a firm kiss to your temple, as if to hammer into your skin the relief surging through him.

Bystanders glance your way, eyeing what simply looks like two people embracing each other with an overwhelming amount of emotion. Feeling the panic in his chest slowly start to ebb away, Jason lets his lips fall to your cheek where he presses featherlight kisses.

You hum softly, fingers tightening around the creases in his jacket.

“I love you, Jay,” you say quietly, because you know he needs to hear it.

Jason’s heart rampages against his ribcage.

“Let’s go home, sweetheart.”

Thank you for reading, God bless <3

top divider credit: @/saradika-graphics

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd/reader #jason todd/you #redhood x reader #red hood x you #red hood/reader #red hood/you #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd #red hood #★ harbour's writing !

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g-k444 · 5 months ago

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okayy so what about free-use trains? free-use Ubers? free-use transport?

You order your uber and it comes to you with a freshly needy slut on her knees with a collar around her neck and chain binding her to the backseat where you can do as you please to her as you commute from place to place.

Perfect, right?

Well, perfect for you at least - not for me. I'm a working woman. I have a job I need to get to and when it just so happens to be an early 7am morning, so what if I accidentally type the last number of the cab service wrong?

the line should go dead, i should look down and reread the number and realise that ive typed it out wrong and correct it and properly order my transport.

what shouldn't happen, is for an uber to be placed regardless - and for when i enter the vehicle, there to be a chain and collar snapped open on the floor of the uber.

i realise my mistake as soon as i step in - i accidentally ordered one of those horny fuck-taxis instead of my normal cab to work - but it's too late to back out and reorder my cab as the driver speeds off without asking for my destination. S'pose he just remembered it from the phone call.

but no.

instead he pulled up outside a block of flats, and the door i sat besides was opened as a man entered and frowned.

why's she sat on the seat? that's not very obedient - is your quality dropping? And why is she not collared up?

my own look of confusion was slowly replaced with horror as i realised that both the driver and passenger thought that i was a... worker.

i stuttered to correct the man's misinterpretation, but before i could get the words out, he had slapped me around my face, shocking the words out of my mouth as i was dropped to the larger-than-average footwell.

and then all control was out of my hands as the man's hand wrapped around my neck and forced me onto the ground, struggling against my wriggling and helpless body that screamed for help as he snapped the collar around my neck - binding me to the godforsaken taxi as a slut for his helping

my breaths came out fragmented and i could feel tears pooling in my eyes in horror at what was happening - what he was doing.

His arms wrestled with my blouse, not caring to undo the buttons of my delicate white dress shirt - instead ripping them open like a box of biscuits, pulling my decency away from me and leaving my heaving breasts in nothing but a bra that swayed to accustom my bust as the car turned a corner.

his cock came out then, as he used my neck to push me and hold me on my back, his fingers pushing against my clit through a pair of tights and panties - pulling the both of them off and to the side before plunging his cock into my pussy without any lube - forcing a scream from my throat as me began shagging me against the car floor, nudging my nipple into view from behind my bra before his cold breath enveloped the bud and began playing with it

he leaves almost perfectly in time for him to reach his release - cumming inside my pussy whilst i still cried and covered my face with hands - however i felt no relief as another man entered the back of the car, with his cock already released and swinging like a weapon between his two legs as he shut the door behind him with a wide grin at the "office worker themed wear" i seemed to kinkily sport.

and this man seemed to think that my cries and pleads for helps and screams and weak pushes to get him off me were-

Wow! You really like cnc huh, more of your sluts should do this gig!

After multiple men - multiple rounds - multiple cumshots that left my skirt wet and stomach twisted, the car stopped and no man entered the car... and even the collar unlatched from around my neck!

i couldn't believe it... was i free?

i didn't give myself a chance to second doubt myself.

i pushed myself out of the car despite my weakness, my eyes adjusting to the brightness of the world i was thrust into outside of the cab- realising i was outside my work building!

a shiver ran through my body as the cool wind seemed to illuminate the hot trickle of liquid down my leg, and as i looked down i realised that there was cum leaking from my pussy.

blushing and realising i was in public like a wreck, i hurried into the building just as i heard the bell going off - indicating the midday break...

i ran to find the nearest toilet as the rumble of feet comign down stairs became louder - finally finding a WC sign on a door and launching myself through it - breathing a sigh of relief as i found a safeplace to open my eyes and look into the mirror to see....

fuck. i looked like a fucked out mess. my bra had been flipped on one side so that teh cup was squashed beneath my tit that was free and lay like a pillow against my chest, free of its material constraints - my stomach with white stripes of cum that lead to a wet skirt and more cumstreaks that fell down my thighs and tights.

the door squeaked and i whipped my head around, freezing in shock as i made eye contact with a...

a man. multiple men. coming to use the toilet during their break and freezing in shock at the cum-soaked girl stook half-naked in the middle of the men's toilets

their eyes raked up adn down me and i felt myself turn fearful once more as i noticed their expressions of... hunger.

A squeak left my mouth in shock and pain as both of my tits were grabbed in handfuls by a pair of hands from behind me, pressing up my tits and squeezing them, presenting them to the men that stood in the doorway before i heart a-

"i think we got our lunchtime treat right here, huh?"

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mira0000000-blog · 1 year ago

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**puts ong GG rev ost** WHAT A HEAVY DAY

#the mornin started normal u know go to school take class eat lunch later clean stuff yada yada #and then i was going back to my house that is in another city and most times i usually take the train #but this time my dad wanted to pick me up cos he does that sometimes #then the sky started to darken a lot #and then a very very fucking strong rain started pouring down #car broke #the car could still move but not too much or it overheats and the control was inaccurate #and we got stranded on a place that u cant park #and we couldnt look beyond the windshield glass cos it was all foggy from the internal heat in the car from our breathing vs the cold outsid #so we did sometpretty risk while i used my hand to scrub at the glass to temporarily clear view #he took the car in a rush and parked in a random ice cream place #and then we ate some ice cream while we waited for the truck car picker thing to come #it took a while #and thats because #it got lost #because whoever told the driver where we were thought it was another place that #phonetically sounds the same #BUT IT IS WRITTEN DIFFERENTLY #anyways the driver got to the wrong place and then after sending the coordinates from phone hr got it #i wanted to sleep and to pee so bad and it was like rush hour in a truck going very slow in heavy traffic #and the. while we chatted with the driver on the way back he told us he actually wasn't brazilian #and at first we thought he was talking about the portuguese guy he helped in the past that had thick accent #and then he pulled out his id and yeah he wasnt born here #and we were like ohh you are portuga #and he was like uhh yeah and no cos when i came here i didnt know portuguese #cos i was born in portugal but i grew up in south africa #we were like dayum this story could be in a book #and he was like yeahhh #he was really nice #anyways only now i got home

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sl-ut · 1 month ago

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i like it better

was gonna wait to post this but i decided to go ahead with it in honour of me graduating with my bachelor’s degree (first gen. university grad!!!) yesterday and starting my new job today!!! i watched thunderbolts* last week and i loved it and i love bob even more.

pairing: robert “bob” reynolds x fem!enhanced!reader

description: every member of the thunderbolts* are struggling with having friends for the first time in… ever, for the most part. the team is shocked to find out that, for some reason, bob is having the easiest time with it. aka, four times the team notices a budding romance, and one time they all realize they’re late to the conclusion.

warnings: SLIGHT SPOILERS FOR THUNDERBOLTS* but not crazy so read at your own risk, reader DOES have a backstory but it’s not detailed in this (i’m considering making this a non-chronological or plot-based series about this pairing i love them smmmm pls lmk if i would be wasting my time or not lol), golden retriever x black cat vibes, slight age gap (r is early-mid 20s, i assume bob is supposed to be late 20s maybe early 30s?), reader has similar powers to wanda–lightly detailed in this fic, swearing, mentions of past addictions and substance use, reader has BEEF w john walker and everyone loves it, READER REFERRED TO BY CODENAME PANDORA

words: 6.4K

date posted: 16/5/25

Despite all of their differences, the Avengers had been able to establish a certain level of respect and friendliness amongst one another–Bucky wasn’t sure of how they had been able to do it. From what he’d heard and experienced, Steve and Tony had butt heads with one another more times than they could count, and that’s saying a lot considering that one of them was a self-proclaimed genius, billionaire, playboy, and philanthropist. Clint seemed to be a wild card, not often around enough to be on anyone’s permanent bad side, while Natasha was notoriously good at playing both sides with every member of the team. Bucky Barnes was certain that he would not have lasted more than a week with that crew before they were tearing each other apart, which was quite evident in the way that the team quite literally tore themselves apart when he came into the picture, but somehow, some way, a group of assassins, super soldiers, and gods were able to find some sort of commonality for the sake of team morale, so why couldn’t he do the same with this team?

He inarguably had more in common with this group than Steve had with the others. He, Yelena, and Alexei were highly trained assassins; he and John both super soldiers who, at one point, worked for the U.S. government; he and Ava were both the results of some lab experiments thanks to SHIELD aka HYDRA and both had a tendency to stick to themselves; he and Bob–well, he wasn’t sure that he had anything in common with Bob aside from the crippling mental illness that accompanied a not entirely consensual superhero lifestyle. However, there was one final member of the team that he had more in common with than any of the rest, and she was the one he found the most difficult to break through to.

The girl had been saved from a HYDRA base not too long after the Battle of Sokovia, where she’d been held hostage and used as a lab experiment for the vast majority of her life. She was only a kid then, barely old enough to have a valid driver's license, but Steve had taken her under his protection just as he had done with Bucky. Her powers had been unstable, a failed attempt to recreate the exact abilities of Wanda Maximoff without the use of the mind stone, but when Steve, Nat, and Bucky had been forced to go on the run, Shuri was able to create some sort of blockers for her mind, to isolate her abilities from use so she no longer had to fear losing control. Now, here he was over five years later, compact onto a superhero team with her, though she no longer the tortured child he had once promised his best friend that he would protect, and he wasn’t entirely certain as to how she had regained her powers, but she had grown to have a steely wall between herself and the other New Avengers, as they had been deemed, especially with him.

On one hand, he could understand that the girl had been traumatized, much like he had, but instead having no fond childhood memories to look back on except for the few months that she had been able to stay at the Avengers Compound with Steve. But on the other hand, he was growing increasingly frustrated with the attitude that she had developed–snarky, bratty, and bold; the teenage phase that she’d been denied of now surfacing during her twenties. She could be unpredictable, either making her presence known through witty comments or ignoring any of their existences, which made it especially stange to Bucky when he began to pick up on certain tendencies she had when it came to Bob.

If Bucky were asked to describe Bob in three words, they would be um, uh, and nice. Bob was the nicest of the group, though that was no great feat when you considered exactly what sort of people had been assembled into the team, but Bucky knew relatively little about him. He was the most dangerous of them all without question, but still for whatever reason had settled into the role as a walking punching bag with little fight. He was awkward, easily embarrassed, an easy target for the others to pick at when he did something wrong. When they had all initially moved into the tower, he was the only one who had made much of an effort to befriend anyone, but he could never seem to hold eye contact with the fiery young woman in fear of taking a verbal lashing, like the others often did, and yet he never did.

In fact, while he made an effort to avoid being in her path, she more often than not diverted it so that he was her final destination. On an empty floor of the tower where she could isolate herself just about anywhere, as she normally would choose to do, she would seek out wherever he was and silently join him in whatever he was doing.

The first time Bucky noticed it, he was returning from the gym. He’d sent a nod in Bob’s direction as he stepped out of the elevator, then halted in his tracks as his gaze shot back to the scene before him; she was curled up on one end of the couch, legs tucked beneath her as her eyes scanned the pages of the novel in her lap, meanwhile Bob had taken up the space at the other end of the couch, sitting so stiff that Bucky wondered if the girl had held him at gunpoint just before Bucky entered the room. She didn’t even spare the super soldier a glance, only turning the page as he sent a questioning look to the shaggy-haired man, whose eyes widened even further in an effort to convey his own uncertainty with her presence.

Bucky moved on, stepping into the kitchen just across the room to find himself something to snack on, making sure to keep a close eye on the girl–he wasn’t sure whether or not he should start planning Bob’s funeral.

Bob finally broke the awkward silence, stunning the man in the kitchen. Bob had relatively stuck to the practice of speaking when spoken to, but Bucky was certain that he’d never seen Bob speak to her since moving into the tower.

“I can put something else on, if you want,” he smiled awkwardly at her, eyes flickering between her and the screen, “I’m not really watching it anyways.”

“Don’t be stupid, Bob,” she said as she glanced up at him, and Bucky was certain he saw the slightest curve of her lips as she met Bob’s gaze, “you’re like halfway through. I like this one, anyway.”

Bucky’s eyes moved to the flatscreen on the wall, across from where they were seated, brow furrowing in confusion as his thoughts tumbled through his lips before he could truly process them, “You told me you hated this movie when I watched it last week.”

Her gaze turned to him, sharpening as she narrowed her eyes, “Maybe I just hate when you watch it.”

Bob’s face flushed red as she turned back to her book without another word, awkwardly sipping on his glass of pop as Bucky frowned. He shook his head at the young woman, having learned to let her words roll off his back rather than letting them fester, snatching the first thing he found in the fridge and fleeing the scene, praying that Bob did not ruin whatever sort of good mood he’d put her in so that this wouldn’t be the last time he saw him.

***

Alexei was the kind of guy that people either loved or hated. He could be loud, obnoxious, sometimes even straight up belligerent, and had possibly the worst ability to read the room that anyone had ever seen. However, he was the most outwardly friendly member of the team, oftentimes being the leading force behind any group activities. He was still a target of the young woman, of course, but rather than taking it as a personal offense, as he mocked Bucky and John for doing, he found some enjoyment in the girl’s taunting. Any time one of her digs was sent his way, she was met with boisterous laughter and usually some sort of unnecessary physical contact.

He understood very little when it came to the lives of young women, but he was a girl dad at heart. She somewhat reminded him of his Natasha when she was a young girl–which made more sense to him when he discovered that she had been taken in by the late Black Widow and her teammates before the blip. He found himself flocking to her more than any of the others–save for Yelena, of course, claiming that he had no interest in training with anyone but the strongest of the New Avengers.

He came to understand the regular routines of the others who lived in the tower, especially when it came to who was going to be in the training facility and when. He liked that she tended to go later in the morning, allowing him to sleep in later than if he were looking to spar with any of the others, usually sauntering in with a loud greeting, jokingly challenging her to a spar that he would inevitably lose. The Red Guardian was a force to be reckoned with, but no amount of serum could fight off this sort of power. Truthfully, he would have hoped to take on Sentry again, but Bob and the others had been very adamant that Sentry was not to be brought back until they found a way for Bob to better control his abilities, and the young woman was the next best thing.

Sparring usually ended with the large Russian knocked on his ass, barely having landed a single swing at his opponent as she stood on the opposite end of the mat, barely a drop of sweat on her brow and the only sign of fatigue having been a result of using her powers. Though, as they returned to the main common area afterwards, Alexei would always announce to the others that he had been bested, but it had been a well-fought match.

“I almost had her,” He grinned as he took a long drink out of the liquor bottle he’d conjured up out of seemingly nowhere, “next time I win, you will see.”

“I’m sure,” the girl droned, turning to where Ava sat at the dining table, “where’s Bob?”

Ava shrugged, raising a brow curiously, “Haven’t seen him. Why?”

“I told him we would go get bagels.”

“I would love to get bagels,” Alexei rose back up to his feet, “I will join.”

“No you won’t,” The girl turned sharply on her heel, “I think you could have better things to do than bother me all day.”

The Guardian, undeterred by her words, chuckled joyously, “Of course, of course. Bring me blueberry.”

As if he had sensed that she had been looking for him, Bob appeared in the doorway of the common area, eyes flickering between Alexei and Ava with a breathy hi before he turned his attention to the woman standing with her arms crossed. His face flushed under her intimidating stare as he began to wring his fingers in front of him nervously.

“Hi,” he breathed.

“Hi,” she echoed back to him, “I was just looking for you.”

If possible, he blushed even more, the pink tint of his cheeks deepening into a burnt shade of red, “Oh, uh, you were?”

Ava tilted her head curiously at his reaction, not entirely sure if Bob was nervous or petrified at her words, though she wouldn’t blame him for either.

“Yeah,” she rolled her eyes, “You still want a bagel or what?”

Relief streaked across his face as he realized why the girl had been looking for him, “Oh, yeah, yeah. Whenever you’re ready.”

She nodded, pushing past his figure in the doorway, “Good, I’m starving. Let me grab my coat.”

The moment she was out of earshot, or so he assumed, Alexei called out to Bob to grab his attention, “Psst, Bob. Bring me bagel. Blueberry.”

Bob smiled awkwardly before he nodded, jumping as the girl appeared beside him once more, now bundled in a soft brown coat, taking his hand in her own as she all but dragged him towards the elevator without another glance to the others. Bob turned quickly to offer a bashful wave to his teammates before they disappeared around the corner.

Ava huffed as they left her sight, “Now what was that about?”

Alexei looked at her with his brow furrowed, crossing his thick arms over his chest, “What? I wanted bagel.”

***

Contrary to Bucky’s belief, the young woman actually did consider some of her teammates to be her friends. While her words were often interpreted as nasty insults that were better left ignored, something that she was more apt to respect was the way that Yelena and Ava were able to give it back to her. It was a respect that they earned from her, and she them, leading to a friendship based on past traumatic experiences and forced proximity. When she wasn’t revelling in her loneliness, she was usually in the company of one of the two older women–or her most recent choice of companion, but even then, it did not mean she had given up her frequent enjoyment of alone time.

Yelena was an early riser, often having slept barely two hours the night before. The three women had spent the last week on an assignment, only returning an hour earlier. The plane made for a rough sleep, though the black eye that Yelena was sporting certainly didn’t help.

She entered the kitchen, finding Ava already seated at the dining table as she dug into a plate heaped with an assortment of breakfast foods. The counter was decorated with a few larger plates piled with eggs, bacon, sausages, and toast served up buffet-style. Behind the counter, Bob was muttering to himself as he messed with the new espresso machine that Bucky had ordered.

“Morning,” the Russian sighed, wasting no time in piling her own plate with food. She’d survived on granola bars and beef jerky for the last week, so a hot, home-cooked breakfast was a vision akin to heaven in her eyes, even if it had been made by Bob–he was getting better, but he was no Gordon Ramsay.

He turned to glance over his shoulder, smiling softly at the sight of the blonde, “Oh, hi Yelena. How was the mission?”

“It was okay, boring. Way too easy,” she eyed him curiously as he turned back to the machine, “I thought you didn’t drink coffee, Bob.”

Ava smirked as she spoke through a mouthful of eggs, “It’s for his girlfriend.”

He whirled around at this, eyes wide as a familiar red flush crept up his neck and crawled across his cheeks. His mouth gaped at the two women, seemingly unable to string together the words to defend himself from their taunting stares.

“She’s not–I’m–We–”

“Oh my god,” Yelena laughed, “I had no idea you had it in you, Bob.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

“No, but you want her to be,” Ava added. “You love her.”

“Who loves who?” Alexei appeared in the kitchen as well, eyes lighting up at the sight of the prepared spread of food, clapping Bob on the shoulder before loading up his own plate, “Bob, I could kiss you.”

“No one loves no one,” Bob frowned, stammering over his words, “I mean, we–”

“Bob loves Pandora,” Ava said again to Alexei, who made a noise of approval through his mouthful of food.

“Oh, this?” Alexei asked, “This I already know.”

The other third all turned to him in bewilderment, exclamations of surprise leaving their mouths.

“You knew and didn’t tell me?” Yelena asked, a look of betrayal on her face as she launched a piece of toast at her father.

“He doesn’t know anything,” Bob demanded, looking like he could faint at any moment, “she’s not my girlfriend.”

“Whatever you say, Bob,” Yelena chuckled, finally tucking into her food with the exact excitement of someone who hadn’t eaten a hot meal in a week.

Then came the woman in question, floating in through the kitchen like a spirit with her hair wet from the long, hot bath she’d taken upon their return. The others froze, unsure of whether she had heard what they had been talking about prior to her entry. She wore a pair of black leggings, tucked into a pair of long wool socks beneath her favourite pair of slippers, torso hidden beneath a worn grey sweatshirt–one that Bob was able to recognize all too well.

“Morning,” he beamed at her, her presence seemingly soothing the embarrassment he’d been faced with as a result of their acknowledgment of his feelings for her, “I, uh, I made breakfast. And coffee, how you like it.”

The girl peered up at him before reaching for the mug that he had offered in her direction, taking a slow sip before a small smile crawled onto her lips as she thanked him. The others watched as she turned to put together her own breakfast, but their eyes were all trained on the shaggy-haired man, following his own gaze as he observed her silently, mulling over her wet hair, down the slopes of her cheeks while they glistened in the soft morning light from her hydrating skin care routine. Her shoulders, covered in the heavy sweatshirt that he wasn’t even sure of how or when she had taken it out of his closet.

To Bob, she was always the most gorgeous woman on earth, whether she wore her fitted suit or bundled up to combat the bitter nature of New York City, but he always found her the most beautiful when she was home, dressed comfortably and considerably less guarded, where he got to really know her for more than her own trust issues. When she made herself malleable to love, where she allowed him past her guarded walls. Everything that they’d each experienced in the past, all of the trauma that they’d been forced to endure–it was all out in the open and safe, both learning to rely on one another’s presence to feel fully at ease. The only bit his team members were wrong about was about her being his girlfriend–they’d never gotten quite that far, so they had never even made their feelings clear to one another. He wanted more, but he was happy to take things as slow as she needed.

Ava and Yelena exchanged a glance across the table, flickering between the pair as they joined them at the table, Bob finally picking at his own breakfast as he settled into the seat next to her. He seemed content as they both tucked into their food, silently sharing a few glances as the others finally changed the topic of conversation.

Though none of them were ready to let Bob away with this for much longer.

***

John Walker was inarguably the least liked member of the New Avengers, not that he did very much to help with that. He was rude to his teammates, often quite selfish, and quite possibly the most arrogant man in New York City. For someone who boasted about his achievements in the military and as team captain of his high school football team, you might think that he might put some more effort behind his ability to work as a team. After taking on the role of Captain America, however, John quickly learned that he didn’t tend to play well with others.

When he’d first moved into the tower, he had assumed that, having once already housed the former team of Avengers, there would be ample space for the entire team without encroaching on his personal space. While that was generally true, one thing that John couldn’t help but notice was that, particularly at night, his enhanced hearing often picked up any sounds on his floor, mainly from the neighbouring bedroom, which belonged to Bob. This meant that he was subjected to Bob’s insistent pacing, humming, and occasional snoring when he finally fell asleep, but more recently he had noticed a particular increase in talking. He wasn’t able to make out any words or phrases being said, but the muffled sound of his voice was enough to keep him up at night. He had even brought it up to Bob with a lingering concern of him speaking to Sentry at night, as he’d been known to do before, only to be met with a sputtering, blushing mess, claiming to just be sleeptalking.

One night, though, John had had enough. The talking, the giggling, John could not figure out what the hell Bob could possibly have going on to sound so happy at two in the morning, but he was going to put an end to it.

His fist met the door with force, not caring about whether or not he might be waking up any of the others as he impatiently waited for Bob to answer the door, though his anger quickly dissipated into utter confusion as the door swung open to reveal the one person in the world who he actively avoided interacting with.

“Can I help you, Walker?”

He squinted his eyes at her, taking in her appearance as she stood before him in her pyjamas, hair pushed out of her face by a fluffy leopard print headband and her face coated in some slimy green substance, “Uh, yeah. Where’s Bob?”

The door creaked open a little further to reveal the man in question, appearing at her side with a matching green sludge on his face with his own shaggy brown hair pushed away with a similar fluffy blue headband.

He smiled bashfully at the supersoldier at the door, “Oh, hi John. What’s up?”

Walker’s eyes flickered between the pair, brow furrowed in surprise, “If I cared a little more I might ask the same thing. It’s two a.m., can this not wait?”

The girl narrowed her eyes at him, “It can’t actually.”

Bob’s eyes widened in shock at her defiance, “I mean, we’re almost done–”

“No we’re not,” she interrupted him, “we’ve still got five steps left in our skincare routine.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” John asked, his patience wearing impossibly thin, “Could you two just finish braiding each other’s hair and shut up already?”

“And why don’t you go take a nap on the freeway?”

“Woah–hey,” Bob bit back his own laugh at the girl’s words, wanting to both deescalate the building tension and stay on her good side; altercations between these two usually only ended one way, which was John a beating without the young woman having to so much as lift a finger. “We’re almost done, Walker. Hell, we’d probably be done by now if it weren’t for this conversation.”

John looked at Bob in surprise as the girl let out a sharp laugh, equally shocked at his words. Bob could be quite snarky when he wanted to be, but he was also somewhat of a peacemaker among his teammates; these weren’t the type of people where fighting would result in bad blood and arguments, it could end in the destruction of the building and a funeral or two. But, that didn’t mean he was unable to have his own issues with his teammates, and one thing he was truly tired of was taking so much shit from the man who was Captain America for all of two minutes.

“You heard him, Walker,” she smirked up at him victoriously, “beat it. We’ll keep it down, wouldn’t want you to miss out on your precious beauty sleep. Lord knows you need it.”

The door slammed shut, rattling with the force of it as it narrowly missed the tip of his nose. The trek back down the hall felt fuzzy to John as he pondered the interaction he’d just had with the pair, even as he laid in the darkness of his room.

What was she doing in his room at this hour? Since when are they so close? Was Bob wearing a face mask? Why–

What in God’s name are those noises?

***

Valentina had always been a nuisance to the members of the New Avengers, even long before the team even existed. Sure, her involvement in their lives was what had brought them together and helped form a certain bond between them, and had she not done so then there would not have been anyone there to defend New York City from Sentry–though there also wouldn’t be a Sentry if it weren’t for Valentina either. But now that she wasn’t even truly in control of the New Avengers, she still seemed to be keeping one hand on the wheel at all times.

The personalities of the team didn’t match up very well. Most of them were explosive, manipulative, and deeply traumatized, but one thing that Valentina seemed to put extra importance behind was the idea of team bonding time to promote better unity. In truth, she didn’t really care whether the team got along or not, she just wanted to ensure that they were perceived as unified by the public and by potential threats.

Thus brought the team to be sitting in the living room, arranged in a circle around the wooden coffee table with a deck of cards arrayed across the surface. Nothing brought a group of individuals together like a game of Uno, right? Well, when the individuals were specially trained to conspire and betray one another, perhaps that wasn’t the case.

“You’ve gotta be shitting me,” Bucky groaned as the young woman dropped yet another plus four into the centre pile, “there’s no way you’re not cheating. Where are you getting all of these cards?”

“Magic,” she said, shrugging as she took the last swig from her can of Diet Coke.

The Winter Soldier let out a sharp exhale through his nose before reaching out to pluck four more cards from the quickly dwindling deck. Next to him, Yelena barely paid attention to the game as she tossed her own card down, eyes trained on the man across from her as he shifted nervously under her stare. Bob wasn’t entirely sure of why Yelena and Ava had been so aggressively staring him down all evening, but he had a feeling that it had something to do with his feelings for the younger woman sitting next to him, he was only hoping that they wouldn’t be bold enough to bring it up in front of the rest of the team–especially her.

Pandora pushed herself back onto her haunches, fingers curling around the empty can as she glanced over at him, nodding at his nearly empty glass of water, “Want another?”

A small, bashful smile curved onto his lips, nodding graciously as she grabbed his glass and stood to her full height, turning to head towards the kitchen.

“I could use another beer,” John called after her, shaking his empty bottle in her direction.

“Great, the fridge is full of them whenever you’re ready,” she didn’t even spare him a glance over her shoulder as she turned the corner and disappeared out of sight.

Without missing a beat, Yelena leaned forward. For a moment, Bob thought she was about to reach across the table to peek at the missing girl’s abandoned cards that she had set on the table, so he quickly reached out and pressed his hand against the cards to keep them firmly in their place.

Yelena looked at him in confusion for a moment, which quickly developed into an expression of betrayal, “Bob! You thought I was going to cheat? Who do you think I am?”

His eyes widened as he registered the offense in her voice, quickly moving his hand away, “Oh, sorry. It just, I don’t know, looked like you were.”

“I can’t believe you don’t trust me.”

“You told me not to,” he stared blankly at her.

She scowled at him, but waved it off, “Have you done anything yet?”

“Done what?” John inserts himself.

“None of your business,” Ava scolded him before turning back to Bob, “well?”

A bloom of red pinched at Bob’s cheeks as he shook his head, “N-no I haven’t. There’s nothing to do.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Bucky asked, glancing between the two women and Bob.

Bob watched Bucky nervously as Yelena vaguely described the investigation that she and Ava had taken upon themselves to conduct. Regardless of the current state of their relationship, Bucky had known the girl since she was a teenager, and had promised his “late” best friend that he would watch out for her, so he was still considerably protective over her (though anytime he tried to show any sign of this he would have a near encounter with the nearest and heaviest object she could hurl his way).

Bucky’s eyebrows rose in surprise as he turned his gaze to Bob, “You and her? No way.”

Bob furrowed his brow in concern, “I mean, is–I don’t think it’s that outrageous.”

“I wouldn’t believe it either if I hadn’t been hearing them in his room at all hours of the night,” John chimed in, resting his chin on his closed fist as he portrayed his sudden interest in the topic.

“What?” The others all exclaimed in unison, turning frantically from John to Bob, who’s entire face and neck were now burning.

“We were just doing skincare!”

Yelena barked out a laugh while Bucky furrowed his brow impossibly further, lips curling in confusion.

“Come on now, Bobby,” John grinned condescendingly, “you and I both know that’s not true.”

“It is,” Bob demanded, “look, I don’t know what you want me to say but–”

“What’re you guys talking about?” the girl in question asked as she rounded the corner again, resuming her seat on the floor as she placed two fresh glasses of water on the table, one in front of Bob and one for herself.

The New Avengers all shared an uncertain glance. Sure, they could out Bob right then and there, and the deed would be done. They would become a couple and the team could be spared the next however many weeks before Bob finally explodes from infatuation. Or, of course, they could out him and then have to deal with the aftermath of the young woman not reciprocating his feelings, destroying the strongest relationship that both of them had been able to make since joining the team, and taking away the only calming factor that either of them were able to find to subdue their powers. It was a gamble, and for most of them, it probably wasn’t worth–

“We’re talking about Bob’s love for you, of course!” Alexei roared, joining the conversation for the first time since she’d left–he, of course, had chosen straight vodka for his drink of choice, and while it was nearly impossible for him to get drunk off of it, he’d been able to get his hands on just enough to make him tipsy.

The entire team stared at the large Russian man in disbelief. He’d been half asleep for the last hour, having spent a large majority of the afternoon convincing every member of the team to come spar with him. A cobalt blue shimmer surrounded the young woman for only a second, disappearing just as quickly as it had appeared–a reaction of her shock and slight embarrassment, akin to Bob’s beet red cheeks.

“Dad!” Yelena hissed, “you weren’t supposed to tell her.”

Bob stuttered a slow response, a few jumbled words that truly didn’t make any sense whatsoever. The others sat quietly, soaking in the suddenly chokingly awkward air in the room while Alexei argued to defend himself.

“What?” he asked, then turned back to the girl, “I tell truth, he talks about you all the time.”

She was silent for a moment, narrowed eyes scanning her teammates so closely that they were a little concerned that she was about to snap on them.

“Well, I would hope so. We’ve been together for months.”

“What?” Bucky barked.

Yelena scoffed out a weak, “Since when?”

“You have?” Ava jolted forward in shock, while John choked on his last swig of beer.

“We have?”

She turned to meet the wide, teary eyes of Bob. Her expression softened as she took in his appearance, lips appearing dry from his insistent chewing, the colour of his cheeks softening into a dark pink shade rather than the red that had formed out of embarrassment. She reached across, taking his hand in her own and stroking the back of it with her thumb.

“You didn’t know?” She tilted her head in amusement, “Bob, I’ve been sleeping in your bed every night for months.”

Bucky lurched forward, “Okay, a little less info please, some of us don’t need to know the details.”

She squinted at him, “Cram it, Tin-Tin. I’m not talking to you.”

“I mean,” Bob coughed, lowering his voice to feign some privacy as if he weren’t in a room with highly trained and enhanced individuals, “I never asked–not that I don’t want to–it’s just, I never got to ask you.”

She raised her brows at him, “Yes you did.”

“He did?” John gasped, finding himself much more intrigued by the situation than he ever could have expected.

She ignored him, “Yeah, right after the fourth of July, remember? You told me you liked being with me.”

“Oh, that’s not what I meant–” Bob stammered, blood draining from his face as he noticed the slight recoil of rejection in her body language, her grip on his hand loosening as if she meant to pull away. He tightened his own hold, “I do like being with you, I just didn’t know that’s how you took that. But I would like to. Be with you, I mean.”

A small smile curved onto her lips, and perhaps if she wasn’t sitting in front of an audience, she may have granted him a full grin as she squeezed his hand, “Good. In that case, I’m telling people that I’m the one who asked you.”

Bob nodded, turning to glance at his teammates bashfully, all of whom seemed to be in utter disbelief of what they were witnessing, “Yeah, me too.”

“Ahh, young love,” Alexei sighed, settling into the couch cushions as he slung an arm over Yelena and John’s shoulders on either side of him, “go on, Bob, kiss her.”

“Alright,” Bucky stood up, tossing his cards onto the table, “that’s enough of all the mushy-gushy. I’m going to bed.” he paused hesitantly as he turned to head down the hall, glancing down at the young woman, “I’m happy for you, kid. But let’s keep it PG, yeah?”

She rolled her eyes, “You better hurry up, wouldn’t want the geriatric unit putting out a search party.”

BONUS

This was, without a doubt, the most comfortable Bob had felt since he’d first moved into the tower. Laying in his bed, freshly showered, ceiling fan on, and the woman he hadn’t even known he was dating curled into his side with her head on his chest and wearing clothes entirely from his closet. She wasn’t asleep yet, he knew by the way that her fingertips were slightly twitching against the fabric of his shirt. She liked to fall asleep to the sound of his heartbeat; she'd told him many times that she found it soothing and helped her drift off to a slumber that wasn’t entirely plagued by nightmares. In turn, her weight on his chest seemed to help with his anxiety, like a weighted blanket that was suspiciously girlfriend-shaped.

He spoke her name into the darkness of the room, waiting to hear her soft hum of recognition to continue, “I can’t believe we’ve been dating this whole time.”

She let out a quiet giggle, “I can’t believe you didn’t know we were dating this whole time. I literally sleep on top of you every night.”

He let out a breathy laugh, “Yeah, well…”

“And I let you make out with me all the time.”

“I know–wait, you let me? You haven’t been enjoying it?”

She turned her head to stare up at him, chin settling into the groove of his pec comfortably as she smirked at him, “Well I did at the time, when I thought you were making out with your girlfriend, but now that I know you were actually just making out with some random chick?”

“It wasn’t just some random chick,” he argued, “it was some neighbour chick. I’d seen her around.”

She pinched his side through his t-shirt, causing him to squirm underneath her, “Oh really? I guess that means I was just making out with some nerd I’ve seen around then, huh?”

He smirked, glad for the darkness of the room and it’s ability to conceal his blush from her, “I think I like it better when you call me your boyfriend.”

She turned her head again, returning to her original position as her cheek nestled against his chest, lips gently pressing against the white cotton.

“Yeah, I like it better, too.”

#x reader #reader insert #imagines #bob reynolds x reader #bob reynolds #bob thunderbolts #robert reynolds x reader #robert reynolds #thunderbolts x reader #thunderbolts #thunderbolts*#new avengers

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harrysfolklore · 1 year ago

Note

Can you please do an Instagram blurb with Isabelle Mathers?! 🤍

haters gonna hate - cl16

summary: charles’ new girlfriend gets tons of hate online because she’s a model. their answer? pissing them off even more

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

liked by bellahadid, charles_leclerc and 1,278,544 others

yourinstagram my bf took this 🥵

view all 12,755 comments

ynfan1 SUCH A SLAYYYYYY

ynfan2 girlie when are you going to reveal who the bf is

dualipa MY WIFE 🤤 ♥︎ by author

anokyai Stunning girl ♥︎ by author

ynfan3 i would be absolutely insufferable if i had that face card

ynfan4 she has been soft launching this relationship for months now ughh i need to know who he is

↳ ynfan1 my guess is that it’s something reaaaallyyyyy really famous or like a billionaire lol

zendaya 😍😍 ♥︎ by author

charlesfan1 excuse me why did charles like this pic? 😭

↳ charlesfan2 idk but she needs to stay away we don’t want him near models

↳ charlesfan3 agreed

liked by yourinstagram, landonorris and 2,147,224 others

charles_leclerc Train, Rest, Eat, Repeat. 🤍

view all 22,462 comments

charlesfan1 OMFGGGGG

charlesfan2 im foaming at the mouth

scuderiaferrari 🙌🌊

charlesfan3 he can’t just post this and dip charles im salivating now

pierregasly can i come?

↳ charles_leclerc No

↳ charlesfan1 HEEELP 😭

charlesfan4 can you believe this man is single ?? like he’s looking like THAT and no one is jumping on his bones

↳ charlesfan2 i would gladly jump on his bones

yourinstagram 🤤🤤🤤 ♥︎ by author

↳ ynfan1 GIRL WE CAN ALL SEE YOU

↳ ynfan2 you have a boyfriend girlie control it

↳ charlesfan1 NO NO GO AWAY

↳ charlesfan2 ew can charles block her ?? we don’t need models seeking attention and thirsting over him

↳ charlesfan3 YIKESSSSS

liked by gigihadid, charles_leclerc and 1,307,466 others

yourinstagram life lately 🌺

view all 13,109 comments

ynfan1 that’s not a face card that’s a face ECONOMY

ynfan2 GIIIRRRRL WHAT DOES ALL THIS MEAN

bellahadid ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

troyesivan mother is mothering ♥︎ by author

ynfan3 JUST SHOW THE GUY’S FACE FFS

ynfan4 since when is she into f1 😭

ynfan5 THE PUPPY ADORABLE??

charlesfan1 why did charles like her post again why did she get a dog that looks like leo and why does she pretend to watch f1?? WEIRD

↳ charlesfan2 for me it looks like she wants to grab his attention (or the attention of anyone from the grid) typical model behavior 🤢

charlesfan3 guys not what to speak anything into existence bc her dating charles is literally the last thing i want but,, what if?

↳ charlesfan1 nah there’s no way

↳ charlesfan2 literally the last thing we need is charles dating a model just NO

ynfan6 why are motorsport fans so annoying and why are they crying in this comment section about a scenario they created in their heads 😭 ♥︎ by author

liked by yourinstagram, alex_albon and 1,487,012 others

charles_leclerc Miami, feeling at home already

view all 18,426 comments

charlesfan1 BABYYYY

charlesfan2 he should quit racing and just become a model

instagram blessing miami with his presence

charlesfan3 THE HAIR 😩

yourinstagram 😍😍 ♥︎ by author

↳ ynfan1 she’s begging to be dragged by his fans help

↳ charlesfan1 you again ?? annoying

↳ charlesfan2 CHARLES PLEASE BLOCK HER ALREADY

↳ charlesfan3 this is getting embarrassing like charles will never ever notice her and he even has a gf now

↳ charlesfan4 ATTENTION SEEKING BITCH

↳ ynfan2 i can’t wait for them to confirm that they’re dating so his fans can cry even more

liked by charles_leclerc, adrianalima and 1,544,937 others

yourinstagram miami here we go 🏁

view all 16,388 comments

ynfan1 SLAYYYY

ynfan2 SHES GOING TO THE F1 GP OMG

sabrinacarpenter google search how to be you ♥︎ by author

madisonbeer damn 😍😍😍 ♥︎ by author

charlesfan1 stay away !!! no one wants you near charles

charlesfan2 the second picture.. she’s making a fool of herself atp YIKES

charlesfan3 this is why i hate the miami gp influencers are all over the paddock trying to get to the drivers and ruin everything

↳ charlesfan1 and this girlie has been trying to get charles’ attention through her insta posts 💀

ynfan3 i love to see f1 fans cry

scuderiaferrari We can’t wait to see you 👏 ♥︎ by author

↳ charlesfan1 NO GUYS DONT ENCOURAGE THIS

charlesfan4 y’all i think it’s time to face the fact that she’s probably dating charles (which i absolutely hate)

↳ charlesfan2 nope i refuse. charles deserves better than a dumb model who just flexes her looks and seeks attention from the media

↳ ynfan1 girl wtf 😭 a model’s job is literally that and that’s okay, and yn doesn’t need to “seek attention” she’s an A list celebrity already

charlesfan4 CHARLES IS NOT GOING TO FCK YOU !!!

↳ yourbff oh boy do i have a story for you ♥︎ by author, charles_leclerc

↳ ynfan2 CLOCK THEM CLOCK THEM

↳ ynfan3 THIS IS SO MESSY ALSJAI

charles_leclerc I can’t wait 😍 ♥︎ by author

↳ charlesfan1 NO

↳ charlesfan2 CHARLES LOOK AT ME THIS ISNT YOU

↳ ynfan1 im once again showering in motorsport’s fans tears

↳ ynfan2 YALL LOOK EMBARRASSING RIGHT NOW

↳ charlesfan3 charles dating a model… literally worst case scenario

liked by charles_leclerc, kaiagerber and 1,876,503 others

yourinstagram ❤️ @charles_leclerc

view all 23,590 comments

ynfan1 SUCH A FLEXXX

ynfan2 she knows what she's doing i love her

francisca.cgomes 💕 ♥︎ by author

↳ ynfan1 the other WAGs love her charles fans are miserable right now

charlesfan1 GO THE HELL AWAY

charlesfan2 when i'm talentless and want fame so i have to pretend to care about f1

scuderiaferrari We love to see it 👏

↳ charlesfan1 wbk this is a pr strategy FREE CHARL

charlesfan3 the way no one likes her YIKES

↳ ynfan3 your fave driver does !! cry about it !!

iamrebeccad Best company 👯‍♂️ ♥︎ by author

charlesfan4 charles deserves so so so much better than you

charlesfan5 jesus some of you are sooo toxic it's embarrassing

charles_leclerc 😍😍😍 ♥︎ by author

↳ charlesfan1 NO

↳ charlesfan2 BLINK TWICE IF YOU NEED HELP

charles_leclerc Mon cœur ❤️ ♥︎ by author

↳ ynfan1 his fans can keep whining and bitching, she still wins

↳ charlesfan3 i refuse to believe this is real

liked by georgerussell63, yourinstagram and 1,987,548 others

charles_leclerc Feels good to be back home 🤍

view all 21,720 comments

charlesfan1 NO CHARLES WHY

charlesfan2 i didn’t need or want to see the second and third pic thank you

ynfan1 AHHH HE POSTED HER

arthur_leclerc ❤️

charlesfan3 how are we going to get rid of that bitch i’m so serious

↳ charlesfan1 i hope he cheats on her

charlesfan4 ugly, talentless, money hungry, attention seeker, i could go on @yourinstagram

charlesfan5 can we ignore the bitch and focus on adorable little leo

pierregasly Lovely to see you happy, mate. All the hate comments are just dumb ♥︎ by author, yourinstagram

↳ ynfan2 CLOCK THEM

↳ ynfan3 man his friends are pointing out how stupid his fans look aren’t they embarrased 💀

fracisca.cgomes YN defense squad is here 🫡 ♥︎ by author, yourinstagram, pierregasly

↳ lilymhe I’ve arrived ♥︎ by author, yourinstagram

↳ ynfan1 pretty girls love yn ugly bitches hate her

charlesfan6 why are you so harsh to yn???? it’s getting out of hand

↳ charlesfan1 because shes a model and all models are bitches

↳ ynfan1 are you for real??? just bc her career is modeling doesn’t mean that she’s a bad person or anything, this is such a 2013 mentality

↳ charlesfan2 she’s just not ideal for charles and she’s probably just leeching off his fame and money

↳ ynfan2 news flash: you don’t get to decide what’s ideal for him or not ♥︎ yourinstagram

leclerc_pascale Je vous aime tous les deux ❤️ @charles_leclerc @yourinstagram ♥︎ by author, yourinstagtam

↳ ynfan1 HIS MUMMA SUPPORTS HELP HIS FANS REALLY DO LOOK STUPID

↳ charlesfan1 ffs why can’t anybody see that this “relationship” is a mess

ynfan2 charles’ friends, his friends’ girlfriends and his family are in this comment section defending yn and saying that their relationship is adorable but his fans think that they know better than all of them and charles should break up with yn 😭 peak deluluness ♥︎ by author, yourinstagram

charlesfan7 we will never ever like you btw @yourinstagram

yourinstagram Wow this post really caused some commotion 😂 we’re those bitches, aren’t we baby? @charles_leclerc ♥︎ by author, pierregasly, francisca.cgomes, georgerussell63, lewishamilton, iamrebeccad

↳ ynfan1 HEEEEELPPP

↳ charlesfan1 this bitch and mean girl attitude is exactly why we don’t like her

↳ ynfan2 this is the first time she even reacts to the millions of hate comments yall send her !

↳ charles_leclerc We are 😘

↳ charlesfan6 CLOCK THE WEIRDOS CHARLES

charles_leclerc has added to their stories

TWEETS LIKED BY CHARLES

liked by charles_leclerc, arianagrande and 2,096,118 others

yourinstagram he’s so pretty when he goes down on me

view comments

charles_leclerc I love you ❤️

COMMENTS ON THIS POST HAVE BEEN LIMITED

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yazmarina · 10 months ago

Text

walk me through it

for the love circuit series

—you're used to being flirted with in front of the camera. but something about franco is really doing you in.

franco colapinto (f1) x fem!reporter reader

warnings/notes: smut, unprotected sex (no condom, yes birth control), guided masturbation, lewd photography, lots of flirting, franco is shameless (naturally), some Spanish sentences and phrases

a/n: will resume hit play for a bit after this one! enjoy franco girlies mwa

Your job was simple enough. Well, for today, at least.

Stand in the media pen, gather statements, and piece together a couple of stories later that evening for publishing first thing tomorrow morning. All in a day's work, like all the other days before.

You've grown immune to the charms of rich, adrenaline-seeking men. Didn't take you too long, the illusion breaking as soon as any one of them opened their mouths. Some you tolerate more than others, but some you'd rather steer clear of completely.

This isn't to say that you've brushed all of them off. You might have agreed to a date here and there but nothing ever stuck, the nature of your jobs a bit too similar and all too different at the same time. You've given up on the prospect that you'll somehow end up with one of the many Formula 1 drivers you've interviewed and spoken to. And you've spoken to a lot. You've had this gig since you were shipped off fresh from uni and one too many 'What happened there?'s and 'Tell me about qualifying's can put a damper on the romantic side of things.

But someone new's in town. Well, er, new in the paddock. And you'd be lying if you said you weren't even a little bit excited.

He's charming, that much you can already tell. He walks into the media pen like he's done it thousands of times before and you have to actively suppress a smile as he walks over. Confidence is always a plus. For the interview, of course.

"Hola, Franco. Antes que nada, enhorabuena," you greet warmly, extending your arm over the barrier to place the microphone nearer to him. Hi, Franco. First of all, congratulations.

Franc's eyebrows shoot up, a wolfish grin settling on his face. "Oh. I thought this was an English interview?"

You smile back. "It is, but I know my way around Spanish, as well."

"Ah," Franco nods. "Gracias, _______."

"You know my name?" You ask, momentarily forgetting that you're being taped and recorded. You clear your throat, ignoring the quiet snicker from your cameraman.

"Yeah, I've seen you around and watched some of your other interviews," Franco confirms, a hand settling on his hip as he leans against the barrier, closer to you.

You can smell his perfume from where you stand.

"Thank you, I've heard and seen a lot about you as well," you respond, trying to return to your original train of thought.

"Which is why I want to ask you how it feels on your first day as a Formula 1 driver," you quickly follow. "Have you done anything special to prepare for this weekend? Other than the obvious, of course."

Another easy smile spreads across Franco's lips. "I've definitely added to my training and done some new things to prepare. I haven't done a full F1 weekend before so everything will be new."

"We definitely don't have reporters like you in the lower Formulas," he adds.

You feel a violent blush rip up through your neck all the way to your cheeks. As if the Monza heat wasn't enough.

"Well, I'm glad you could meet me here," you manage to get out.

The thing is, Franco isn't even the most attractive driver you've met. He's definitely up there, but not the most.

That's a discussion you have with yourself semi-weekly: ranking the drivers in terms of attractiveness, factoring in personalities and general attitudes towards the people around them, specifically the media.

Look, people love to shit on the media and press, calling journalism all sorts of derogatory words, but you're just here to do your job, like anyone else. And it gets pretty fucking hard when your boss is ringing your phone every five minutes demanding four stories by tomorrow and drivers are sassing you out as if you asked them if they've murdered their whole family.

So, naturally, the way they treat you determines a big chunk of how you think your day is going to pan out.

And right now, Franco seems to be lifting your spirits just fine.

"What are your goals for this weekend? Are points on the horizon for you at your first F1 race?" You continue, trying not to stare at the way Franco starts to rub at the back of his neck, bashful all of a sudden.

"We'll try," Franco begins. He plants both his hands on the barrier and leans even closer. You have to physically take a step back.

You gulp. Franco smiles.

"Anything is possible this weekend."

"You broke the internet last night."

You scoff, sending your cameraman a vicious side-eye. It's crowded in the paddock today, everyone wanting to get a glimpse of the new rookie, it seems. Such is the eagerness for this young driver that even that 30-second clip of your interview with him blew right up in your face. Your inboxes at capacity, your own voice speaking back to you with every other swipe on your TikTok.

It's not all bad, though. A tweet with one of your Instagram photos attached to it captioned 'TE ENTIENDO MUCHO FRANCO ES MUY LINDA PERIODISTA' did weasel out a chuckle from you.

Your cameraman shrugs, gesturing with a jerk of his head in front of you.

"There he is. I'm sure he knows all about it."

You look over to where he's pointing and lo and behold, Franco is right there, chatting with a few Williams team members, his race suit hanging undone around his waist. He turns to you even before you can fully register that it's him you're looking at.

But your training kicks in even faster. A megawatt smile appears on your lips and you wave enthusiastically at Franco.

"Hi."

"_______," Franco says, face lighting up at the sight of you. Your name seems to fall even more effortlessly off his lips.

You reach over and pull him into a half-hug with one arm, but both his arms wind around you and you have no choice but to squeeze back.

"You saw?" Franco asks, a gleam in his eye as he pulls away. His hand remains casually on the small of your back.

"Saw what?" You know what it is he's asking but you'd like to hear it from him.

"We went viral, no?" Franco says with a laugh, reaching further around you and squeezing your waist. You lean into his touch, heart jumping as his fingers graze just underneath your cropped top.

"That's all because of you," you reason, pointing an accusatory finger at Franco. "I bet you say that to all the other reporters."

The Williams team members standing nearby burst out laughing and even your cameraman affords a snicker. A deep blush spreads across Franco's face as he rubs your side reassuringly.

"No, no, I don't. Just you," Franco admits with another lighthearted laugh.

"Sure," you say with exaggerated skepticism. You pull away from his touch, catching his hand before he slips it fully off of you.

"I'll talk to you later," you say. And it's fully intentional, the words you choose to say. I'll talk to you later. Not 'I'll catch you later' or 'I'll see you later'.

I will talk to you later.

Franco understands, giving your hand a squeeze.

Later that day, you pray that no one catches you grinning behind your hand as Franco takes the chequered flag at qualifying.

P11.

Almost there.

"Hi. Come in."

Franco beams at you from across the threshold, stepping into your room with slow, measured steps.

"Great qualifying," you compliment, eyes traveling down Franco's body, noting the way his team kit hugs his frame just right, his hands shoved into his pockets, exposing just his arms, veins and all.

Your eyes snap back up to his face when you hear the door shut in place.

"Q2 on your debut. Not bad," you go on, taking a step back. Franco takes one toward you.

"You're just repeating what you said at the media pen earlier," Franco points out. He reaches out and gently circles an arm around your waist.

Always straight to the point.

Like this morning.

You tried not to make it so obvious when you ran into Franco earlier, but all you could think about was The Message.

You were doing your cursory social media checks a few minutes after you had woken up, still snug in your bed and unwilling to get up just yet. A message in your Instagram inbox caught your attention, sitting at the very top of your 'verified followers' tab.

Franco Colapinto: hola, hermosa 😉

It took a minute for your motor functions to return, your fingers hovering over the keyboard as you pored over what to reply. You settled on a nonchalant greeting, asking if Franco needed anything.

You realized rather belatedly that this was looking a little familiar. You wished he wouldn't say the dreaded answer, the more-than-predictable response that every man liked to use.

Franco Colapinto: you, maybe?

You groaned into your pillow, not because you were repulsed by his answer, but because you liked it. If you were easy, then so was he.

You: i finish work at 9 pm tonight...? 👀

It's 9 PM now. Franco's in the room and your hand is running up his chest.

Easy.

"It's such an honor," Franco teases, backing you up further into the room. His hands feel heavy on your waist and your heart hammers against your chest.

"I get to work with people like you now," Franco continues, stopping right in front of the bed.

The kiss comes as a shock more so because of how good Franco kisses. One of his hands is now cradling the back of your head, keeping you in place while he licks into your mouth, groaning with every pucker of your lips.

You pull away for barely a second to get both of your tops off before you dive back in, seemingly too desperate and too starved for each other's mouths. Franco's hands are everywhere; they run down your arms, paw at your waist, tugging at the belt loops of your jeans.

You giggle as he pulls you even closer, your bare chests pressed against each other. Franco pulls back and peers down at you, reaching behind to unclasp your bra. You let it fall, already guiding one of his hands to your tits.

"Couldn't stop staring at them?" You ask, your voice rising with an innocent lilt.

Franco kneads at the mound beneath his hand, eliciting a moan from you. He grins.

"I wanted you to notice," Franco admits simply, kissing you again.

"Perv," you mumble against his lips. Franco laughs, already undoing his trousers.

You wiggle your own way out of your jeans, letting Franco get the shortest of glimpses at your baby pink underwear before you discard them off to the side.

"Mierda, you're so sexy," Franco compliments as you crawl backward onto the bed, laying back and letting your hair splay out beneath you.

Franco pounces on you like a man starved, bare atop your own naked body, his arms caging you in.

"Big moves from somebody so new," you whisper, carding your fingers through Franco's soft locks.

"I like to make a statement," Franco says with a shrug. He glances up momentarily, something piquing his interest off to the side.

"Is that your camera?"

You crane your neck to see where he's looking and sure enough, your personal DSLR is right there on the bedside drawer. You look back at Franco, an eyebrow raised.

"You wanna use it?" You ask, not expecting him to actually say yes. But a mischievous grin settles on Franco's face and you feel your heart skip several beats.

"Knock yourself out," you say.

Franco reaches for the camera and fiddles with it for a few seconds. His eyes scan over your body and you suddenly feel the urge to hide away with how hard he's looking.

"May I?" Franco asks, brandishing the camera. Your mouth falls open as you realize what he's asking.

"You can keep them for yourself. For your eyes only," Franco hurriedly adds, planting his knees firmly on either side of you.

You stare up at him, a million thoughts running through your mind.

"Just...touch yourself."

You gasp, stunned at his proposal. Franco watches through the LCD monitor, glancing up at you through his lashes. Your bottom lip slips between your teeth, and as if on instinct, your hand inches down slowly between your legs.

"You're in front of cameras all the time," Franco reminds with a smirk. "This should be easy for you."

You suppress a whimper at his words, your fingertips swiping through your slick folds. You're already soaked and you start to wonder if it started even before Franco got here.

The shutter clicks and the lens whirs, sharp against the soft breaths you're letting out. Franco is concentrated, snapping photo after photo as you rub yourself closer to release. But it's not enough. You need more.

"Franco...," you implore, peering up with bright, begging eyes.

"Slowly, mi amor," Franco coos. "Just where you like it. Right there."

Click.

"Harder now, but still slow. Yes? Feels good?"

You whine, eyes fluttering shut as your pleasure picks up again. Several clicks. You're panting now, the tendrils of release wrapping themselves around you.

"Faster, yes, like that," Franco eggs on. Your fingers speed up against your sensitive clit and a litany of Franco's name spills from your lips. Before you know it, he's putting the camera away. You reach for him, gripping the back of his neck as he smashes his lips into yours.

Franco bites down on your lip and you cry out, your orgasm washing over you like a tide. You arch against Franco, feeling his own stiffness heavy on your thigh.

You blink, Franco's face coming into focus, barely an inch from yours. He watches you closely, pupils blown wide and plump lips even redder. You hook your legs around his waist, letting him know that you're not done yet.

Franco is quick to pick up, smiling as lines himself up with you. The groan that escapes him is nothing short of delicious as he pushes himself in. You gasp along, the stretch a welcome sensation.

Franco wastes no time and pounds right into you, catching you by surprise. You let your head fall back against the mattress, a long, drawn-out whine erupting from deep within your chest as Franco licks a stripe up your neck.

Your whole body quakes with how hard he's thrusting into you but you're clearly enjoying it if your wanton moans are anything to go by. Franco meets your eyes and you pull him down, wanting nothing more than to drown in those lips of his.

It's feral and it's unrestrained, spurred on by the knowledge that this is more than unprofessional in your line of work. Not illegal by any means, but risky enough to warrant warnings from your coworkers. Never sleep with a driver unless you're committed.

Oh, well.

Franco groans loudly in your ear, movements losing their rhythm as he speeds up. You're clinging to him as if he'd disappear if you let go, your own belly tightening once more with that familiar feeling.

Franco. Franco. Franco.

He kisses you just as he finishes. Passionate, eager, heady. You feel him inside you, a different kind of elation filling you as you release all over him.

Franco pulls away to allow yourselves to breathe. He pulls out, rolling over to your side. You hug your folded knees to your chest, too lazy to get up and find something to deal with the mess.

"No hagas eso. Eso es demasiado doméstico," Franco jokes, moving closer and planting a kiss to your shoulder. Don't do that. That's too domestic.

"Relájate, estoy usando anticonceptiva," you reassure with a lighthearted roll of your eyes. Relax, I'm on birth control.

Franco hums, laying an arm over you. He pulls you close and you face him, reaching up to brush away some of his unruly hair.

He plants a gentle kiss on your forehead.

"Happy that you're a Formula 1 driver?" You ask, grinning.

Franco chuckles. "Very."

#f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 smut #f2 x reader #f2 fanfic #f2 smut #fc43 #franco colapinto x reader

3K notes · View notes

yandere-daydreams · 7 months ago

Text

Title: Daytrip.

Pairing: Yandere!Illumi x Reader (Hunter x Hunter).

Word Count: 5.6k.

TW: Fem!Reader, Non/Con, Prolonged Captivity, Mentions of Kidnapping, Mentions of Animal Death, Semi-Public Sex, Controlling Behavior, Deliberate Isolation, and Stalking.

The first thing you saw when you opened your eyes was, per usual, Illumi’s face.

His dark eyes wide and unblinking, his skin bloodlessly pale, his lips pulled into a thin, neutral line – and all of it no more than three inches away. You were too numb to his off-putting proximity to scream, but you flinched back into your pillow on instinct, and Illumi took the hint, lingering for another half second longer before drawing back. A few months ago, you might’ve scrambled away, barricaded yourself in the smallest corner of your lavish bedroom, but now, you only rolled onto your side, regarding him with the same exhausted resignation that you used to pay to your cat, when she woke you up three hours early for no other reason than her own selfish desire not to spend the small hours of the morning alone.

“What’s up?”

It might’ve been a little too casual of a greeting for your kidnapper, but he didn’t seem to mind. “There are clothes waiting for you on your vanity. The butlers will help you dress as soon as possible.”

So this was going to be an out-of-bed thing, after all. Reluctantly, you started pushing yourself up. “Are we in a hurry for a reason, or…?”

There was a brief moment of consideration, then a resolute nod from Illumi. You let out an inward sigh. “Okay, whatever, that’s my fault. Why are we in a rush, ‘lumi?”

“I have something planned for the two of us.” If you hadn’t known better, you might’ve thought you saw his expression light up. “A daytrip, I believe.” And then, as if as an afterthought, “I’m very excited.”

Illumi’s excitement was normally something you tried to avoid, but your mind seemed to glaze over that and settle on the word ‘daytrip’ instead. Daytrips meant traveling. Daytrips meant activities.

Most pressingly, daytrips meant getting to leave the empty, lifeless, murderer-infested wasteland that was his family’s estate for the first time since he carried you through its gates. You knew better than to say that in as many words, though.

“And for this daytrip, we’ll be going…” You trailed off, gesturing in the direction you felt most strongly would lead back to civilization. “…out there?”

“We’ll be leaving the mountain, yes.”

“And we’ll be going place where other people are?”

“I suppose so, if it can’t be avoided.”

“And your family wasn’t involved with this at all?”

“They don’t think it’s right for you to be given so much freedom so quickly,” he explained. “I disagree. Even well-trained dogs have to be walked.”

For the first time ever, you had to resist the urge to kiss him.

Instead, you only let yourself smile, casting your sheets aside and settling for a brief but bone-crushing hug. “Thank you thank you thank you!” You pulled away abruptly, sliding off of the mattress. “I—I’ll get dressed!”

Illumi didn’t move, didn’t react, but his eyes followed you as you stumbled across the room – happier than you’d been in months.

A little less than an hour later, you were spread across Illumi’s lap in the back of a surprisingly conspicuous black car, the divider raised to block a faceless driver from view. It took a concerted amount of effort to keep your attention on anything but the window, but you managed, only sparing the occasional glance towards the passing scenery.

You watched the mountainside spiral downward as Illumi’s hands settled around your waist, measuring the widening gaps between dense patches of forestry as his mouth ghosted over the side of your neck. It’d always surprised you – how tactile he was, how someone so cold could be so fond of peppering feather-light kisses into your collarbones and groping at your thighs. It’d been weeks since the last time you tried to brush off his affection. As far as you were concerned, there were worse things he could do to you than mimic the behavior of a more conventional boyfriend.

(At some point, you’d come to think of Illumi as the unclimbable, unmovable, twenty-foot-tall wall that separated you from freedom. You didn’t like him, sure, but you had to recognize that on your own, you had no chance of getting past, over, or around him. If something happened to render him a little weaker, a little less tall, a little more susceptible to opening his gates, then things might change, but you couldn’t rely on elusive possibilities. The way you saw it, you could either waste your time trying to overcome an insurmountable obstacle, or you could save your energy and try to make things as pleasant on this side of the wall as was humanly possible, given your below-standard working conditions. Until you met someone willing to offer you a ladder, at least.)

He buried his face in the crook of your neck, and your eyes flitted back to the window. You were passing buildings, now – houses and apartments, people dotted in front of them blurred mannequins. “Can you tell me where we’re going, or am I not supposed to know?”

He seemed to think for a second, but answered quickly enough. “Brunch, first,” he said, not bothering to pull away from you. “The rest is a surprise.”

You pursed your lips. You used to like surprises, but Illumi had managed to change a lot of things about you. “Is ‘the rest’ something I’ll like?”

“It’s something you’ve been known to enjoy.”

It took everything you had not to roll your eyes. You’d been ‘known to enjoy’ a lot of things, most of which Illumi had taken away from you.

There was one more open-mouthed kiss pressed into your collarbone, one more stolen glance of the outside world, and then, the vehicle was easing to a steady halt in front of a rustic, almost quaint building. A café, you realized, as Illumi stepped out in front of you, holding the door open while you stared wide-eyed at the perfectly idyllic, perfectly normal restaurant. The cute type, with a triangular roof and a greenery-laden front porch and chipped paint on either side of the front door.

Subconsciously, some part of you must’ve decided that you’d never see anything more charming or more homey than the lifeless grounds of Illumi’s estate again. You opted not to linger on that, as you stepped out of the car.

The interior was similarly fairytale-esque. There weren’t any other customers or wait-staff, which you’d expected, but string lights hung from the rafters, fresh wildflowers sitting in pitchers on each table. Illumi let you choose where to sit, and you shot for a spot closest to the front windows – bay-style and freshly cleaned, the kind of thing you might’ve stared longingly out of while nursing an overpriced latte for the better part of an hour. Suit-clad butlers stood guard on either side of the door, but if you were lucky, you’d still be able to catch the occasional pedestrian walking by. You would’ve given anything to sit in a room filled to bursting with other people, but since you couldn’t have that, you’d settle for being able to watch a handful from a distance.

“You’re staring.”

“So?” You responded to Illumi without looking away. “You stare at me all the time.”

“That’s different. I have a reason to look at you.”

“Which is?”

“I love you.”

It might’ve been easier to believe if he hadn’t said it with all the warmth and all the affection of a corpse, already given time to cool.

You changed the topic swiftly.

“It’s a little nostalgic, honestly. I used to come to places like this all the time, especially before I made any friends in the city. It was nice to feel lonely in a aloof-and-mysterious kind of way, instead of an anti-social-and-depressed sort of way.”

“Oh, you were never really alone.” You didn’t say anything, but you made the mistake of shifting your gaze onto him, of spurring him forward with the reward of your attention. “It was a guilty pleasure of mine – spending time with you before we met. I preferred it when you sat outside. It was easier to smell your perfume, in the open air.”

You grit your teeth. It wasn’t the most disturbing thing he’d ever admitted, but it definitely made the list. “…I think I would’ve remembered sitting next to someone like you.”

If he’d been more expressive, you could’ve imagined him smirking. “You would think so, wouldn’t you?”

There was a brief lapse, a moment of uncertainty on your part. Finally, you asked, “Did I smell… nice?”

“Very.” Illumi didn’t share your sense of trepidation. “Like cinnamon.”

You hummed, and as if by magic, a waitress appeared from the door to an unseen kitchen – white knuckling her pen with one hand and driving her nails into her notepad with the other. She took your orders with a terrified sort of professionalism, and before you left, you convinced Illumi to give you all the cash he was carrying at the moment (a sum that easily added up to half a year’s worth of rent, handed over without so much as a passing question) and left it on the table for her to find.

Your second stop was as surprising as Illumi had promised. If anything, he’d undersold it.

If the quaintness of the café had been enough to throw you into a stupor, then the sheer scale of the building in front of you could’ve sent you to an early grave. A mall – a nice mall, either recently built or nestled so far into the upper-class shopping district that you never would’ve come across it organically, the type with glass where there should’ve been walls and a fountain without any coins at the bottom. You were tempted to try and pester loose change off of one of the butlers flanking you, but decided against it. The café, you could’ve stumbled into on your own, without Illumi’s intervention. It just didn’t feel right to leave a mark where you so obviously didn’t belong.

More similarly to the café, though, the inside of the shopping complex was startlingly empty. Butlers and hired security were posed in front of exits, but other than that, it wasn’t hard to believe that you and Illumi were the only people on the property. As soon as you were past the initial entryway, you ducked into the closest store – a high-end cosmetics retailer. The door was unlocked, but there was no cashier at the register. Like someone had already come through and cleared it out.

“This is some backrooms shit,” you mumbled to yourself, and then, to Illumi, ever-hovering just over your shoulder. “You didn’t… you know, do what you normally do to people you don’t like, right?”

“Are you asking me if I killed everyone in this shopping complex prior to our arrival?”

“Well, not everyone,” you clarified. “Maybe just the employees?”

He didn’t laugh, but the corner of his mouth turned ever-so-slightly upward, as if you’d said something funny. “No, that would’ve taken far too much time.” The unnecessary loss of life went unacknowledged. “The building’s rented out, and the stock’s been purchased in advance. You’re only deciding what you’d like to keep.”

Huh.

One day, you were going to sit him down and have a long, long talk about class privilege and resource waste. If you were feeling generous, you might even throw generational wealth onto the lecture, just to make sure he got the full picture.

One day, but not today.

“The third floor always has the best stores,” you said, turning on your heel and grabbing Illumi’s hand, too distracted to think anything of the gesture. “Let’s start there.”

You weaved in and out of stores with reckless abandon, hyper-aware that you had no one’s time to waste but your own. Essentials were overlooked entirely, makeup and self-care supplies limited to eyeshadow pallets with no less than several dozen eye bleeding colors and bath-bombs that were more glitter than pigment, and clothes made up the bulk of your adoration. Everything that wasn’t in your size had already been removed – something as worrying as it was convenient. The only thing you refused to try on was loungewear. It would’ve been practical, sure, but you didn’t need to be reminded that this was likely the last time you’d ever leave Illumi’s sprawling home.

“You know,” you called from a dressing room, pulling a gingham dress over your head. You couldn’t see Illumi, but you were sure he wasn’t far. He didn’t seem to have much of an interest in shopping, but his favorite hobby was looming over your shoulder like some blank-eyed, haphazardly domesticated bird of prey, so it balanced out. “If this had been our first date, I probably would’ve married you.

You heard him hum as a weight settled against the dressing room door. “I enjoyed our first date. It was endearing – how long you rested your head in my lap.”

“Well, yeah. The paralytics you used were so strong, I couldn’t move for three days.” You’d still lose feeling in your left arm, if you held it at the wrong angle. It reminded you a little of your cat, after she first came around to the idea of sitting in your lap. You’d been so afraid of scaring her off, you’d let your legs fall asleep before you so much as thought about moving her. “I just meant that the whole ‘kidnapping’ thing probably wouldn’t have been necessary, y’know? I wasn’t exactly in a place to be picky when it came to creepy rich men.”

There was a brief lapse of silence, and you finally managed to drag the bodice of the dress into place. “I never considered that.”

It shouldn’t have surprised you to hear that Illumi wasn’t the dating type, and yet, you let out a breath of a laugh. “You never thought about asking me out? Not even once?”

“…no, I didn’t.” If you hadn’t known better, you would’ve thought he sounded shy. “It was hard to be practical. I was distracted. You were perfect, and contained, and I thought touching you would be—” For the first time, his voice seemed to dip, to grow just a little quieter. “—vulgar. It would’ve changed you, to know I was there.”

The skirt was layered, and you bit back the urge to curse as you smoothed over the layers of cotton and lace. “I think being abducted might’ve changed me, too.”

“It was the better option. Something would’ve fallen out of place eventually, but like this, I could save you. Only your environment had to be altered.”

He made it sound like he’d sealed you behind glass, rather than underneath a mansion occupied by the world’s most dangerous killers. You’d known better than to hope he’d be able to come up with a selfless reason for your prolonged captivity, but still. Hearing that you were miserable because he needed a ballerina to decorate his music box with stung more than you would’ve liked to admit.

“…it’s unlocked. You can come in, if you want.” Immediately, you heard the dressing room door creak open, and turned your attention towards your reflection. Out of the countless you’d tried on, there was a reason you’d saved this dress for last. You used to fantasize about being able to afford something so wonderfully needless, something you wouldn’t have had to justify with things as joyless as ‘function’ and ‘practicality’. Even now, the puffiness of the sleeves and the lace detailing around the collar and the tiny, almost impossible-to-see hearts printed onto the checked pattern felt exorbitant – borderline garish. You still didn’t have any reason to wear it, any place you could’ve gone to show it off, but then again, you didn’t have much of a reason to do much of anything when you were with Illumi. You guessed, in a roundabout kind of way, that meant you got to do whatever you wanted to.

Illumi came to stand behind you, and you leaned back, kissing his cheek gingerly. “I’ll add it to the pile. Thanks for this, ‘lumi.”

His hands found their way to your hips, settling there as he rested his chin on your shoulder. “Keep it on. It suits you.”

You tried to laugh, but fell short – your smile falling into something more strained. You really shouldn’t have said anything, but you were talking before you could stop yourself, before you could think better of it. “The cinnamon,” you started, speaking against the dryness in your throat. “When I first moved to the city, the only apartment I could afford was flat above a bakery. The ventilation was awful, and the landlord was impossible to get a hold of, and everything I owned smelled like sugar and cinnamon and bread. I couldn’t touch anything sweet for months, after I moved out.”

It was all you could do to bite down on your tongue and force yourself to stop, to shut up, to remember who you were talking to. Illumi’s response was less dramatic – as instantaneous as it was muted.

“How fitting,” he said, with a chime of a laugh. “Sweet things belong in sweet places.”

…

You could only be mad at yourself, really. What else were expecting? It wasn’t like he was going to get down on his knees and apologize, for fuck’s sake.

You sighed, melting into Illumi’s chest. Of course, he welcomed you with open arms.

You didn’t end up keeping any other dresses. A few other articles of clothing, a couple pairs of shoes, a small fortune’s worth of little luxuries that’d help you pass the time when you were returned, kicking and screaming, to solitary confinement, but no dresses. Well, aside from the one you were wearing, of course.

It wasn’t long before Illumi started gently ushering you to the nearest exit, and already thoroughly defeated, you didn’t try to resist. You only got distracted once on your way out, and not for very long. Illumi made sure of that.

It was kiosk-type stand – the glass cabinets filled with high-end pet toys and animal-themed tchotchkes. You couldn’t stop yourself, gasping as you broke away from Illumi and darted to the first thing that caught your eye: a bright pink collar with silver spikes, adorable and cliché and so, so cute. It was clearly meant for a dog, but it could’ve fit a cat. Or, you probably would’ve tried to make it fit a cat, rather.

Illumi appeared at your side, as always, and you started talking without looking up. “I’m sorry, I know we’re in a rush, but it just—” You paused, trying and failing to bite back a smile. “I had this cat before you took me – her name was Ghost. She used to be the neighborhood stray, but she was getting pretty old, and I think other cats were picking on her. Eventually, I just started letting her in, and after a while, she stopped leaving. She would’ve hated something like this.” You held up the collar, gesturing dismissively before forcing yourself to set it back down. “She never really liked me. Whoever took her in shouldn’t have had too much trouble winning her over, after I disappeared.”

“Ghost,” he repeated. “Was she a black cat?”

“Yeah, that’s where her name came from. I couldn’t see her at all at night, and she could knock over anything that wasn’t nailed down. It was like living with a poltergeist.”

“She’s dead.”

You felt something small and vital tear open and start to bleed. “…excuse me?”

“You two were quite close. Had she been given the time, she would’ve woken you up the night I came to get you. I didn’t want that.” It took an embarrassing amount of time for you to make the connection, to form the link, to realize why the pain in your chest was quickly becoming so unbearable. “We can get another, if you’re upset. As a couple.”

The shock was numb, if there was any shock to be had at all. “It’s fine,” you managed, eventually, and despite the strain behind your voice, Illumi didn’t argue.

Instead, he glanced towards the nearest glass wall, to where the sun was just beginning to set over the horizon. “We should go.”

“I didn’t realize we were on a schedule.”

“You weren’t supposed to. I told you earlier – the last stop is a surprise.” This time, he was the one to take your hand, squeezing gently as he laced his fingers with yours.

It might’ve been a nice gesture, if his touch hadn’t been cold enough to burn.

You weren’t really sure what the third and final stop was supposed to be, at first.

An old sort of a dream knotted and coiled in your chest as his driver ferried you out of the city, metropolis shuttering into mountain backwoods. You’d never really been afraid of Illumi killing you (not when there were so many things that were so, so much worse than death), but as the car eased to a stop on the side of single-lane road, it was hard to imagine why else he would’ve taken you so far from the nearest scrap of civilization, another reason for him to wear such a bright expression as he ushered you outside - the most impatient he’d been all day. It wasn’t until you saw the trailhead – unmarked save for a wooden post and break in the foliage – that you started to relax.

“Oh,” you mumbled, your relief audible. “I’m not really dressed for hiking, ‘lumi.”

“It isn’t far.” And then, taking your hand in his, “I can carry you.”

It sounded more like a matter-of-fact statement than an offer, but you shook your head, edging forward. He was right, in the end. It couldn’t have been more than half a mile of level ground, Illumi holding your hand all the while. It wasn’t like you weren’t allowed outside on Illumi’s estate, but you spent so much time in the woods that surrounded his mansion and his mother’s gardens – it would’ve been impossible not to go numb to the absence of bird song, the treacherous slope of his mountain, how little sunlight managed to break through the dense canopy of tangled branches and leaves that seemed to lie a little closer to black than green. It was nice to be somewhere else, somewhere with humming insects and a gentleness to the landscape and just enough dappled sunlight to make you forget who you were with. You kept your head on a swivel, quietly eager to soak in as much of it as you could. If you were lucky, you’d actually get to see some life – a deer, or a wildcat, or—

Something caught in your throat, and your head lulled forward, eyes dropping to your feet. You stared at the ground for the rest of the walk.

Your destination was, similarly, storybook levels of idyllic. The forest thinned and fell away entirely, breaking into a lake that stretched on as far as the eye could see and glittered pink in the light of the setting sun. Stretched over the lake’s shore was a blanket piled with platters of chocolate-covered fruit, breads and cheese, bottles of wine with a matching pair of glasses for each option – everything you might’ve once drunkenly listed off to a friend while fantasizing about your perfect, fairytale date. You glanced around you, looking for the butlers who must’ve only just finished setting up, but Illumi was quick to call your attention back to him. You felt him let go of your hand, your body shift before you could process why you were moving, and then, you were no longer on the ground; one of Illumi’s arms hooked under your knees and the other behind your back, your side pulled against his chest in an effortless bridal carry. You made a passing attempt to squirm, but Illumi didn’t seem to mind – keeping you tucked against him as he made his way to the only unoccupied corner of the blanket and all-but dropped to the ground, leaving you splayed across his lap and safely caged within his arms. It was hard to tell if he was trying to be romantic in his own, blank, heartless sort of way, or if he’d simply decided you weren’t moving quickly enough. For your own sake, you leaned towards the former.

“It’s awful,” you muttered, and then, correcting yourself, “Not the picnic, I mean – that’s perfect. It’s just, I can never tell what you’re thinking.”

He seemed to consider that, for a moment. A chocolate-covered strawberry was plucked out of the nearest bowl and held to your lips, and to appease him, you bit into it. Your throat still felt too knotted for you to actually enjoy eating, but it was good to keep Illumi happy. “Most of the time, I think about you,” he admitted, any hint of shame absent from his voice. “It’s an issue. It doesn’t affect my work, but it’ll start to if left unchecked.”

He thought about you while cutting down innocent civilians. Great. “And you’re not going to fix that by drowning me in a lake, right?”

“No, I’m not.” Like your question, his answer was too sincere for comfort. The way his free hand toyed with the hem of your skirt did little to ease your nerves, either. “I’ve tried keeping an amount of distance between you and I, but that hasn’t yielded much progress either.”

If he’d ever tried to keep himself away from you, you hadn’t been able to tell. His hand slipped under your skirt properly, and you twisted, reaching for the neared wine bottle. “There’s so much food here, we should really—”

“It can wait.”

It was awful, just how even his voice was. For the first time, you were tempted to give him a reason to raise it.

You’d never resisted Illumi, but he’d never tried to—tried to do this, either. There’d always been an unspoken barrier when it came to sex – your resounding horror shadowed comfortable within his apparent disinterest. Now, though, he didn’t seem very disinterested, and your lingering terror was brushed neatly to the side as his fingers grazed over your thighs, your hip, before slipping underneath the thin, silken fabric. You wanted to thrash, to bolt, but you were suddenly unable to move; paralyzed save for the reflex to clench your legs shut and sink that much deeper into Illumi’s chest. The former was undone with only as much effort as it took him to ease your thighs apart with his knee, though, and the latter only seemed to bring a soft smile to his lips – just barely prominent enough to feel as he nuzzled into the crook of your neck. If you’d been in your right mind, you might’ve thought to look for his butlers, to worry about passing hikers or concerned locals he wouldn’t think not to hurt, but Illumi had done his job well. It was impossible not to consider yourself wholly and entirely alone in the world, when you were with him.

He was less clinical than you would’ve expected. Illumi did most things with surgical precision, but touching you seemed to call for a more experimental skillset. His chin came to rest on your shoulder as his long fingers spread and explored underneath your panties, the tautness of the fabric ensuring that he always moved against you, rather than over or around. Undressing you never seemed to cross his mind; instead, his attention was trained on dragging the pad of his thumb over your clit, on using his ring and middle fingers to trace the slit of your cunt. You weren’t turned on – who could be, with their stoic kidnapper fondling them like a child learning to handle their first doll? – but your body and your mind were on two different tracks, one eager to make the best of a bad situation and the other too distraught to stop it. It wasn’t long before you could feel yourself dripping around him, your arousal adding a damp heat to your already claustrophobic point of connection. Illumi hummed. “You’re sensitive.”

You opened your mouth, but anything you might’ve said was drowned out by a hitched gasp as he thrust two digits inside of you with a wet click. “Tight, too,” he muttered, almost absentmindedly, immediately falling into a pattern of pumping and scissoring; spreading you open and pulling back only to fuck his fingers that much deeper. When he paused, it was only to curl against something particularly sensitive inside of you, to leave you shrinking that much further into his chest. “Is this uncomfortable?”

The practicality of the question caught you off-guard. You couldn’t call it considerate, but it was more than you’d expected, more than you ever would’ve hoped for. Unable to speak, you nodded furiously, and Illumi clicked his tongue. “You’ll be alright,” And then, slightly softer, “It couldn’t be any worse than what I had to deal with, waiting for you.”

There was no bitterness, no remorse, no pity; just Illumi’s cold rationality and the feeling of his palm grinding into your clit. The only warmth you could feel was the ghost of his breath on the side of your throat, the dip of your shoulder – not quite panting, but a world apart from his usual absence of expression. You tried to steel yourself, to think about anything aside from Illumi’s presence where it draped across you like a funeral shroud, but it’d been months since the last time you so much as thought about touching yourself, and for all his apathy, you could feel heat pooling in your core and recognize that your attempts to stave off the inevitable were only prolonging the insufferable. Still, it would’ve been impossible not to try and choke back your whimpers as that heat brewed and solidified into something more tense, something more breakable; as Illumi’s cheek pressed into the curve of your neck and his fingers curled against something soft and unprotected inside of you. Your climax was drawn out of you slowly, painfully, with a ragged whine in place of a moan. You kept your face buried in Illumi’s chest, your hands balled around the bodice of your dress. It felt like an eternity passed before it was over, before Illumi’s hand drew back, but no relief accompanied the distance.

You couldn’t even bring yourself to hate Illumi for it, not really. You couldn’t bring yourself to feel much of anything. The only thing you could think, as hard as you tried not to think at all, was that you missed your dead cat.

It was pathetic, honestly. A sob tore past your lips as he pulled you away from his chest and lowered you onto your back, tears burning twin tracks down your face. You couldn’t remember the last time he’d made you cry, and this shouldn’t have been your tipping point – not Ghost, not your awful shoebox apartment, not the fact that you could hear fabric tearing as he pulled your dress apart, too impatient to so much as consider a less destructive solution. You were in hysterics by the time he glanced up, the faintest possible frown coaxing the corners of his lips downward. “You’re crying.” And then, when your only response was another jagged cry, “Why?”

You opened your mouth, but only managed to force out another incoherent sob. Illumi softened, leaning over you, his dark hair forming a curtain that seemed to replace the rest of the world with unending void. Eventually, you managed to scrap up the only thing you could, even if it wasn’t what you really meant. “I—I want to go home, Illumi.”

He cocked his head to the side, staring down at you with a sort of blank focus. A moment passed, then another, before his expression brightened. “Oh.”

He leaned down, and you felt his lips brush over your forehead. His smile bit into your skin like a blade.

“We will, love.” He pulled back. You heard fabric shift, felt something hot and terrible slot against your cunt. “Just not yet.”

You moved to respond, but gave up quickly. His mouth crashed into yours as he thrust into you and your blood ran cold.

Later on, in the dark, things became bearable again. Illumi was cruel, psychotic, delusional, but he was dutiful, too, and with the most beautiful dress you’d ever seen reduced to scraps, he wrapped you in his jacket and gathered you in his arms. The picnic was untouched, the breath-taking view painted over by night. None of it mattered, of course. You were too exhausted to keep your eyes open, and a bottomless pit occupied the space your stomach used to. You wouldn’t mind going the rest of your life without taking anything of the filthy, unfeeling outside world inside of you ever again, but you knew better than to swear off eating because of Illumi. Or, at least, you hoped you’d know better in the morning.

You were only half-conscious of him pulling you against his chest and starting back into the forest, following the same path you had an eternity ago. It was a stupid question, but you found yourself asking anyway, your voice low and hoarse. “Are we… Are we going somewhere?”

“Of course.” Illumi bowed his head, kissing the top of yours. “We’re going home.”

He didn’t know he was lying, but he was. He might’ve been, but you weren’t.

Slowly and with no small amount of effort, you managed to nod, slumping against his chest. No sooner had you went slack in his arms than the final tether to consciousness thinned and fell away, leaving you to be consumed by the darkness.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere x you #yandere hunter x hunter #hunter x hunter #hunter x hunter imagines #yandere hxh #hxh x reader #hxh imagines #yandere illumi #illumi x reader #yandere illumi zoldyck #illumi zoldyck x reader

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bunny-jpeg · 3 months ago

Text

work for it

jenson button

tags: smut/pwp, pornstar au, filming & photographing, teasing, bimbo!reader, daddy dom!jenson, reverse cowgirl, dirty talk/degrading language, pet names, daddy kink (+ daddy issues), age gap (22/45), breast play, filthy (!!!)

a/n: i hope you enjoy this, this came about at 12am when i should have been asleep... love you all!

"gimme a smile, baby." jenson's voice cooed as the camera was put in your face. he chuckled when you opened your eyes slowly to the sight of the phone camera in your face.

you licked your bottom lip and opened your mouth a little to show that you had swallowed all his cum from earlier. he chuckled lightly and ran his thumb across your bottom lip.

"messy girl." he said, there was almost praise in his tone. he dipped his thumb into your mouth and watched your eyes close once more, "trained you well, huh? you get off to daddy filming you and posting it online, right? you just have to be the center of attention don't you? greedy. maybe we should take another holiday soon, teach you some manners."

you said once his thumb was out of your mouth, you sounded needy and out of breath, "anything for you."

jenson loved how you behaved for the camera. you were just a solo cam girl when you two met. now you were on your way to world class star. and jenson was more than happy to let you put the work in.

cute, painfully submissive, he could smell the daddy issues off of you like the peach perfume you used. when it was you two in his studio apartment, dressed down to nothing, you were the star of the show. jenson was simply a cock for you to fuck, but he loved how rough you liked it. it made him feel young in a way, he was double your age but yet he knew how to make you scream.

he set up the camera close to the bed, he got up behind you and pulled you so your back was to his chest. a whorish display for the camera. he played with your nipples while he made eye contact with the camera. he pulled on them and bit at your shoulder, leaving dark marks for later.

"baby." he cooed, "tell the nice people at home how you feel right now." he pinched your nipple a little harder and it made you moan louder. when you didn't say anything he said, "use your words, princess. i'd hate for this to be a punishment video. your ass is still purple from last time."

your stomach was in knots and your cunt ached for him. you never knew you could need someone so badly. he had total control over you. you whined, "it feels good, daddy." your voice was so sweet.

you came over that afternoon in a tight little t-shirt and a short little pink skirt. jenson wondered how many men stared at you on the bus ride over. maybe he should have called you an uber but he was certain that the driver would crash for staring at your pretty tits for so long.

"only good, guess i'm losing my touch, huh? what happened to be near tears when i played with you." he said as he rubbed his hard erection against your behind, "i guess i've bee spoiling you." he pulled your tits harder and you whined.

he knew you'd be pretty and bruised by morning. maybe he'll make it up to you with some eggs benedict from the local diner. you whined a little louder.

"it feels amazing, daddy. fuck, i need you." your face felt hot and your back arched a little. jenson left another heavy bite on you and you moaned louder. you were such a slut sometimes, you liked the pain that was the best part. you enjoyed when jenson fucked you just right, just as you liked it. the aches and the pains, everything.

"then work for it, baby. are you just going to watch, or are you going to actually work for something for once in your life?" he asked before he pulled away and laid against the pillows.

you looked over your shoulder and asked, "what do you mean, daddy?"

he said, "reverse cowgirl, give our customers a show." and then laced his fingers behind his head. he licked his lips when you easily sank down on his cock. maybe it wasn't the safest to be doing it without a condom, but you two had a mutual sexual relationship without other partners.

you seated yourself onto his cock and held onto your thighs as you felt his cock hit against all the right places. you moaned a little bit at the feeling between your thighs.

"beautiful, always a star for the cameras." jenson laughed.

you looked to the camera and your mouth remained a little open while you rode him up and down. you felt his cock near bruise your pussy from the force that you took him. if you wanted to cum, you needed to work for it.

your breasts bounced with each heavy movement, the bruises were on display. you looked like a debauched whore who took cock like a champ. the idea that men would get off to this excited you. it made you cunt clench at the thought which only made jenson moan.

"pulling me in like a vice, princess." he drawled.

your eyes fluttered shit for a moment while you whined, "it feels so good, daddy." you whined as he continued to fuck you with strong strokes. you felt the pleasure course through you as you arched your back in response to the stimulation in your body.

jenson knew exactly how to work your body for the camera. the older daddy dom fucking the daylights out of a pretty (younger) thing, quite a popular trope. and you and jenson did it so well.

you continued to move against him. your arms were pulled back behind you and held by jenson as you worked yourself onto his cock. your eyes closed, your mouth open as filthy noises left your mouth.

this video was going to be a hit.

"you get off to this don't you?" he asked, "oh you love the camera on you, you love being used by daddy. what a bad, bad girl." he groaned, "you wanted to be a little starlet, but now you're just a fucktoy for me on camera. i love to see angels get their wings ripped off and fall to hell. that's where i am, ready to pick you up and fuck you until you can't form a coherent thought in that little empty head of yours." his words made you run hot.

you bounced on his cock while he kept your arms in his hands. he watched your ass move with each of your thrusts. fuck, you looked amazing. he could only imagine the faces you were making for the camera. maybe next round he's shove your cheeks into the pillows and fuck you with all the strength he had until your mind went blank and all you could think about was how much of a hungry slut you were.

he licked his lips and held onto you tighter. the pleasure was like heavy waves against rocks, it could feel it in his body. he admired you from behind as you worked your pussy around his cock. you were so good at what you did. so eager to please him.

"daddy likes it when you act like a whore for the camera. you know that right, princess? you act like such a slut for all of your viewers, let me fucking ruin you. i bet those pretty breasts of yours are bouncing right right. giving them quite a show." he felt the pleasure course through him, it was erotic and it made jenson feel flushed with lust.

jenson considered himself lucky, you would have easily fallen into another's bed. he snatched you right up before the likes of kimi or fernando could fuck your sweet pussy. you and your love for dirty old men you could call daddy, jenson fucking loved it.

"how's it feeling, princess? you're being awfully quiet."

"it just feels so good, daddy." you mewled as you continued to move up and down his cock even as your entire body body both with the stretch of how you were being moved, but also the intensity of lust in your body.

"close, baby?" he asked.

you nodded, "yes, sir." then whined a little louder when the pleasure started to become too much. when you pace started to falter, jenson man-handled you onto your stomach with your hips raised and fucked you rapidly.

he fucked you like he hated you and it only made you cum around his cock. he watched you come apart and your pussy clench around his thick cock. he cooed, "there's it, that's a good slut." he only continued his hard pace, fucking you right through your climax. he wiped the sweat off his brow and continued to thrust up inside of you.

you whimpered and whined, mixed with heavy panting and your attempts to form words. jenson thought it was cute, he pressed his hand on the center of your back and kept your pinned while he rutted up against you.

he gave a look to the camera and winked as he pulled another orgasm out of you. your noises only sounded more pathetic. he then finished inside of you and felt you clench around him a little tighter. he panted heavily and pulled you by your hair to look at the camera.

"tell how it feels, princess? who fucks you the best?"

you whined, "daddy does."

jenson chuckled and gave another hazy link to the camera before he looked down at you and said, "on your back, beautiful. we're not done here."

by the time jenson was done with you, the video was close to an hour long. and it was the top viewed video for a month afterwards <3

#bunny writes #formula 1 #reader insert #formula one imagine #f1 smut #formula one fanfiction #f1 x reader #formula one smut #formula one #jenson button x you #jenson button x reader #jenson button smut #jenson button #jb22 smut #jb22 x reader #jb22

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cookies-after-dark · 4 months ago

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okay but Shmilk would be such a back seat driver if he let black sapphire cookie fuck reader

“Move ur hand lower”

“They like being pinched there”

kiss em like u mean it cmooon”

and whoes to say he won’t get strings involved and fix their position himself if they keep messing up :3c

okay no wait 💡 you dropped this because that is one hell of a good idea.

(additional tags because I went loopy here: explicit content, unhealthy power dynamics, possessiveness, humiliation, exhibitionism, degradation)

See, my lame ass was just thinking of Shadow Milk Cookie using this as powerplay, you know? Like a, 'my pets are playing with each other!' scenario where Shadow Milk Cookie actually lets one of his minions knock you around a bit in his stead. Let's be honest, Black Sapphire Cookie's been eyeing you up and down since the moment Shadow Milk brought you here! He's such an eager, helpful, obedient little servant! You could learn to be more like him, Shadow Milk Cookie thinks.

And Black Sapphire Cookie is more than willing to show you just where you stand, riiiiight at the bottom of the hierarchy! No one can tell me that little purple ball of lint isn't secretly a dominant control freak who needs to have everything go his........- I mean, master Shadow Milk Cookie's way. You're adorable and endearing enough, but you need to be taught a lesson or two before you go strutting around the Spire, thinking you're all that just because your the master's newest pet.

Hence, this situation. Shadow Milk Cookie sees the most perfect opportunity to humble you and get his rocks off at the same time! Well, he has many ways to do that, but plan in partocular has him hardening in his tights already. Passing you off to an underling really paints the whole picture for you - you belong to the Spire now! You belong here, this is your new home, you won't be going anywhere, and the first thing we'll do to make sure of that is to fuck you on every piece of furniture in sight! Lovely, ain't it?

Shadow Milk Cookie also loves giving you yhe illusion that you can choose - would you rather have your legs be folded over your head whilst Black Sapphire Cookie mercilessly fucks you while recording your moans and squeals through his beloved microphone, spreading rumors all over Earthbread how you're just some hungry, poorly trained slut? Ooooor~ you could play with Shadow Milk Cookie instead! Those are the only two choices by the way, so choose carefully.

So that was my lame ass. But this ask is hysterical because this also makes Shadow Milk Cookie sharing you with anyone else an absolute godawful nightmare. Black Sapphire Cookie would never talk back to his beloved master, but even he must admit it's getting difficult continuing when Shadow Milk stops him every few seconds with some kind of criticism.

"Pfft! Well, of course, only one Cookie on all of Earthbread could handle this task correctly! Even still, you could at least *attempt* to have a bit more tact than that~!"

Because the Reader, his darling little popper, isn't just some common whore. No, they're just a speeeeecial whore, deserving of only the best treatment! Shadow Milk's words (he cannot help but through a dirty little nickname for you in there).

Honestly, the fact that Shadow Milk Cookie loves you just so, so, so, so much should be obvious! So what if his love is a little rough? Sooner or later, he'll have Black Sapphire Cookie show you the pleasure you deserve, as Shadow Milk Cookie's beautiful, lovely little pet!

#thank you anon you got me to kill two birds with one stone - answer an ask and write what i said i was going to 💖#cookie run kingdom smut #crk smut #crk x reader #shadow milk cookie x reader #black sapphire cookie x reader #shadow milk cookie #black sapphire cookie #asks #anon #does this count as full on yandere? might as well tag it jic JELSNSJSOA #yandere shadow milk cookie #crk yandere #i fall further into hell the more of this i write

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uyinq · 15 days ago

Text

THE CONTAINMENT INITIATIVE ☆ B.R

chapter 1 — incomprehensible

[bob reynolds x AFAB! reader, psychic!reader, empath?reader,slow burn,fluff,angst,slow burn,eventual smut, messy co-dependent relationships]

❱❱ WORD COUNT ﹕4,652

❱❱ SUMMARY﹕

The Thunderbolts need the Sentry, but they can’t have him without the Void. No matter how hard Bob Reynolds tries to hold himself together, he comes apart again and again, like a runaway train on decaying tracks. Unstable. Unstoppable. Dangerous. They decide he needs an anchor. Valentina finds you by accident, a psychic empath barely holding yourself together, broken in all the right ways to be useful. Your job is simple on paper: connect with Bob before and after each mission. Keep him calm. Keep him grounded. Keep the Void at bay. But the deeper you go, the more blurred the lines become– between Sentry and Void, between duty and feeling, between who’s saving who.

❱❱ WARNINGS ﹕ profanity, violence, trauma, eventual smut, psychological horror, mentions of: needles, injections, torture, and human testing

❱❱ NOTES ﹕ this is such an amalgamation of ideas lord help me

(divider from uzmacchiato)

★ chapters ﹒﹒ masterlist

★ tags - empty for now (ask to be tagged!)

CONTAINMENT INITIATIVE : SENTRY PROJECT — SUBJECT FILE 08L

Designation: [REDACTED]

Classification: Psychic Empath

Status: Operational

Assignment: Psychological support for Sentry [Reynolds, Robert]

Notes:

Subject displays high neural receptivity with touch and proximity to others. Side effects on the Subject have not yet been quantified.

Directive: Maintain controlled contact. Under no circumstances is Subject to engage the Void directly.

— END LOG —

You were lost when Valentina found you.

Living above a dingy laundromat in a 500-square-foot apartment that was far too small to count as a home. She let herself in, turning her nose up at the… quaintness of it all. She plastered on her deceptive little smirk when you poked your head out of the bathroom, furrowing your brows.

“Am I getting evicted or something?”

You remember saying, watching the way her eyes widened as she burst into condescending laughter.

“No, no. Not really. Something much better than that.”

Then she handed you the file. A plain manila folder, “CLASSIFIED” stamped across the front in red. You flicked it open as she spoke, scanning military jargon and vague test logs– impersonal language meant to describe you.

You remember glancing up at her, downright terrified, with a worried crease on your forehead. You thought you kept your head down once you were free from captivity, after Prometheon Labs was outed for genetically tampering with humans and their minds. You thought you could stay unnoticed.

You thought she’d come to kill you. Or blackmail you. Or worse– send you back.

But she gave you that fake motherly smile and touched your shoulder gently.

“We need someone emotionally resilient,” she said. “Someone who can handle the weight.”

You didn’t say yes.

You just didn’t say no.

The more you read, the worse it gets.

His file is thick. Heavy. Dense with information you’re not sure you want, even if you need it.

“A victim of domestic abuse throughout his childhood… was addicted to orally-administered morphine during middle school… history of drug-related arrests for nonviolent crimes…”

You groan at the fine print, even though you’re in the back of a moving cab. The whole thing reads like a warning sign duct-taped over a power plant.

No wonder he went full nightmare-mode and turned New York into a psychic hellscape. You’ll never forget that day– because for a solid hour, you were right back where you started. Clawing at restraints. Crying in silence. Begging for it to end.

When the driver lurches to a stop, you gasp and slap the file shut. The driver gives you a look in the rearview. You mutter a quick apology and pass crumpled bills through the divider before stepping out into sunlight and steel.

The newly renovated Avengers Tower looms overhead — bigger, sleeker, colder than you'd imagined. It feels less like a monument and more like judgment. It’s bustling with activity, analysts and interns buzzing around like bees in a hive.

You scan your temporary keycard– the one Valentina gave you a few days ago – and the elevator dings open. Warm light. Brushed chrome. Sterile peace.

You hesitate.

But your feet don’t.

You step in.

You press the button for the top floor.

Whatever's waiting for you up there, bright future or dark end, you’ll meet it head-on.

When the doors slide open again, your breath catches in your chest. A quiet hallway stretches out ahead. You take one cautious step, then another, until your gut takes over and you start walking with more purpose.

A sharp left turn, and there it is.

A massive steel door, sealed with a gleaming “A,” stands between you and whatever this job actually is.

You scan your card. The center twists counterclockwise with a mechanical groan, and the door yawns open to reveal the newly renovated penthouse.

You know you’re in the right place the moment you feel it– that crushing weight that settles into your bones. The weight of being at the top of the food chain. At the top of the Tower.

You move quietly, footsteps soft as you enter, peeking around corners, instinctively cautious. A few steps down into the sunken center of the room, and you’re already planning your retreat.

You're halfway to turning around when–

“Look who made it!”

Valentina’s voice cracks through the silence like a gunshot.

You jolt, whip around. Her heels clack across the floor as she emerges from a hallway you hadn’t noticed before, all polished smiles and cruel charm.

She’s beaming, arms wide, practically glowing with smug satisfaction, and she’s not alone.

Behind her, the new team follows in her wake.

The Thunderbolts.

It’s not as grand as you expected. They all look vaguely uncomfortable, like Valentina just dragged her children into the living room to show them off to her guests.

You offer a polite smile. A nod. Valentina sweeps through introductions with a breezy indifference, rattling off names and blurting some oversimplified version of their abilities and feats.

Then she grabs someone lurking near the back by the arm.

You hadn’t seen him at first.

He looks… different than he did in the file. Still emotionally wrecked, still carrying that buried-glass kind of tension– but not quite the same. His hair is a sun-warmed shade of gold-brown, catching the light that spills through the penthouse windows.

And there’s something distant in his eyes. Like he’s here, but not really.

Valentina gives his arm a little tug and announces, all cheer:

“And this ball of anxiety is Bob.”

You’d chuckle at his introduction if he didn’t look so confused and uncomfortable.

Matter of fact… they all look confused.

Finally, someone says it.

“And who the hell is this?”

The voice belongs to the petite blonde with a thick accent, Yelena. She’s waving a dismissive hand in your direction like you’re someone’s plus-one at a funeral.

Honestly, it tracks. Very on-brand for Valentina Allegra de Fontaine to make secret plans, to neglect filling anyone in, especially at someone else’s expense.

She just laughs it off, breezy as ever, letting go of Bob only to drape an arm awkwardly around you instead.

“Oh, did I not tell you? Seriously?”

She grins. You brace yourself.

“This is your new team member.”

The groan that echoes around the room is unanimous. A blond man throws his head back dramatically, while someone with a mop of dark hair just shakes his head in defeat. Yelena scoffs in disbelief– and you’re really starting to wish Valentina had maybe run this whole idea past someone before now.

“Team member?” the blonde snaps. “Look at her, Val. She’s dressed like a secretary. What’s she gonna do, ask our enemies for their coffee orders?”

Ouch.

You weren’t going for a secretary look. You were going for the ‘young-but-intelligent therapist’ look.

“I think personal assistants take coffee orders, not secretaries.”

The words are out before you can stop them. Crisp. Clipped. Not exactly friendly.

The room goes dead silent.

Then Bob laughs.

It’s an awkward little chuckle that breaks the tension, and everyone suddenly remembers why they were annoyed in the first place.

Valentina steps behind you, squeezing your shoulders in a way that’s meant to be reassuring, but just feels like control.

“She doesn’t look like much, I get it,” she says, all syrup and smirk. “But she’s got powers. Real ones. She can touch one of you and render you completely useless with a little poke.”

The blond man– John Walker, if you remember right– crosses his arms.

“Do it, then.”

You glance back at Valentina, searching for reassurance.

She just gives you an overly friendly shove and a wide, sharp smile.

“Go on.”

Something about that smile says don’t fuck this up. Or you’ll regret it.

You step forward slowly. Hands loose at your sides. Not threatening– but not exactly sure what you are, either.

He doesn’t flinch. Just watches you with that steely, judgmental stare.

You barely touch him– fingertips brushing the fabric of his uniform– and he hits the ground like a sack of bricks.

Everyone takes a half-step back, one girl laughs, and the big man, Alexei, beams from ear to ear.

“I like her!” The russian bear chimes, already pushing past everyone else to wrap you up in an abrupt, bone-crushing hug. You barely get to wheeze out a breath as he whisks you off your feet, squeezing you like he’s trying to kill you.

“Welcome to the team, zaika!”

Yelena hits him on the arm, her steely gaze fixed on Valentina.

“Put her down, Dad.”

The man pouts before releasing you, making sure you’re stable before he crosses his arms, suddenly remembering that he’s supposed to be angry with the woman standing across from him.

“Fine, she has powers. But why do we need some sort of touch-starved psychic?” The Russian woman gestures wildly as she speaks, her words sharp enough to draw blood. You’d laugh if the target wasn’t you.

Valentina is suddenly beside you again. Too close. Her voice honeyed. Her smile pure performance.

She presses her head against yours, mock-affectionate.

“You don’t need her,” she says. “Bob does.

You get settled into your room without many issues. It’s barren, nothing like your cluttered apartment in Brooklyn. It feels like a hospital room, empty save for the essentials. The bed, the desk, the closet, the bathroom, the nightstand.

You make a point of sorting out the few things you had delivered a few days prior, making sure your clothes are neat and sorted in your closet. That everything on your desk is square or touching a corner.

You plop down on the edge of your bed once you get settled, opening Bob’s file again while you gnaw on your lip.

You flip through the pages, trying to figure out exactly what you can do or say to bring him back to Earth when he starts slipping without having to use your powers.

It feels… wrong. The whole idea of using your ability to pacify his sadistic counterpart.

You flip another page. Then another.

Psych evals. Mission transcripts. Eyewitness reports that were written with trembling handwriting.

There’s a pattern in all of it– not just chaos, not just destruction. It’s pain. Repetition. A man who wants so badly to stay good, and a force inside him that keeps pulling him apart molecule by molecule.

You stare down at one phrase, underlined three times in red.

“Sometimes I feel like I'm watching myself rot from the inside.”

You close the file.

It does feel wrong. To be someone’s leash. Someone’s handler. To reach into someone’s head and force quiet when the storm rises. You didn’t sign up to be a human tranquilizer.

But it’s not like anyone asked him if he wanted to be the Sentry, either.

You’re still chewing that thought when there’s a knock at the door.

Not urgent. Not hesitant. Just… there.

You stand and cross to it, unsure who you’re expecting. When you open it, your heart stutters a little.

Bob Reynolds stands in the hall, hands in the pockets of a faded hoodie, like he just woke up from a nap.

His eyes flick past you, toward the bare room, then back.

He doesn’t say anything right away.

Then;

“Is she making you do this?” You shift, leaning against the doorframe with furrowed brows and a soft laugh.

“Define ‘this.’”

Bob shrugs a little, eyes flicking to the side like he’s embarrassed to ask.

“This… ‘anchoring’ thing. The… psychic babysitting.”

You tilt your head, studying him. He looks awkward, not afraid. Uncomfortable in his own skin.

“No. She didn’t make me.”

He nods, slowly, like that answer just raises more questions. You don’t blame him. You’ve got your own.

“Did she tell you what happens...?” he asks, voice quieter now. Like he’s afraid of the answer.

“She gave me a file,” you say. “But I don’t think that counts.”

A beat. Then another.

Then Bob murmurs:

“She thinks I’m a bomb.”

You frown. “Are you?”

He doesn’t smile. Just meets your eyes and says, plain and honest:

“Yeah.”

You don’t flinch. That feels important.

You cross your arms over your chest, considering him, then you give him a soft smile.

“Just tell me which wire to cut.”

The room is white. Or grey. Or something in between. It's hard to tell under the LED lights that hum like bees in your skull.

No windows. One door. A camera in the corner pretending not to be watching.

Bob sits across from you, hands clasped, thumb digging into the edge of his opposite palm like he’s trying not to fly apart. You’re seated opposite him, a tablet on the desk between you. No notes yet. You’ve been sitting in silence for awhile now.

“So,” you start, voice light. “This is the part where we ‘establish baseline compatibility.’”

He looks at you. Then down at his hands.

“Right. Sure. That.”

You tap the tablet. Still not writing.

“I’m supposed to take readings. Monitor your stress levels. Track fluctuations in your–”

You pause and don’t even hold back a grimace. “–psychospiritual field.”

Bob snorts. You roll your eyes.

“Where do they come up with this shit?” You grumble under your breath, scrolling to another blank space that you’ll eventually have to fill out.

The tablet isn’t helping. The room isn’t helping. The silence isn’t helping.

So you just shut the screen off and sink back in your chair, crossing your arms.

“If you could be any animal, what would you be?” The childish question catches Bob off guard, and he glances up to meet your gaze with a perplexed look.

He raises a brow, suspicious. “Seriously?”

You shrug, legs crossed now, thumb tapping lightly on your upper arm. “We’ve been sitting in silence for ten minutes. Gotta start somewhere.”

He hesitates, thinking with a little grunt. “I don’t know. A crow?”

You blink. That’s honestly one of the last answers you expected. You watch him for a moment, the way he stares at you expectantly. You just give him a look that encourages him to continue.

“Well,” he says, sitting forward, elbows on his knees. “They’re scavengers. Messy. Smart. They remember people’s faces.”

There’s a pause. Then he adds, a little softer:

“They carry grief. Like a… like a flock.”

You study him, that quiet weight of something unspoken curling at the edges of his words.

“That’s actually kind of poetic.”

He snorts again, but there’s less edge to it now.

“What about you?” he asks. “What’s your animal?”

You grin. “Opossum.”

That draws an actual laugh from him–brief, involuntary, almost like it surprises him.

You sit up straighter, proud of yourself. “They fake their death when things get stressful. Wish I could do that.”

Bob shakes his head, still smiling faintly. “God help us.”

You don’t answer that. Just let the moment settle. Let the silence fill with something that isn’t heavy.

Eventually, you turn the tablet back on, slowly this time.

“I’ll mark this down as a ‘moderately successful initial sync,’” you say lightly.

Bob raises an eyebrow. “Moderate?”

“Well,” you glance at him sideways, “you haven’t stormed out or vaporized me yet, so I’m counting it as a win.”

There’s a beat of quiet. And then, surprisingly, a murmur:

“Thanks for not… Treating me like a bomb.”

You look at him for a long moment.

“I won’t,” you say. “Unless you start ticking.”

Your sessions with Bob start to feel like therapy. Not just for him, but for you. You’re nowhere near being a licensed psychologist, just because you can feel the way people think and alter the way they think doesn’t mean you know how to fix them naturally.

You haven’t used your powers on him. Not a single time. It feels like a violation. Like you’re reaching into someone’s head and forcing their cells to collide and neurons to fire a certain way– the way you want them to.

Bob doesn’t deserve that. Not when he smiles so sweetly every time you make a joke under your breath or snap back at John like you’ve been on the team as long as everyone else. Not when he finds you in those awkward moments when you feel like a stranger in the Watchtower– like you somehow don’t belong just because you came in later.

Valentina’s been trying to ease him back into missions, letting him monitor the team from the tower while they’re working. You’re with him the whole time, trying to keep his emotions and worries at bay when someone narrowly dodges a bullet or takes a kick the wrong way.

It’s one of those casual afternoons, where the world is quiet and the Thunderbolts can actually unwind. It feels… odd, to say the least. As much as they’d fight tooth and nail to deny it, they like each other. Their banter is effortless, and their smiles and laughter are contagious.

You’re curled up on your corner of the couch, sinking into the cushions and your hoodie, when Bob plops down beside you. He’s fully immersed in the movie from the moment he enters the common area, a bowl of popcorn in his lap as he leans back against the couch.

You watch him longer than you’d like to admit– the way his eyes twinkle in the dim lighting of the room when the scene gets a little brighter. The way the corners of his lips turn up at a poorly written joke or emotionally charged scene.

You turn back to the screen, reaching over for a handful of popcorn, when it happens.

You touch him.

Just a graze of your fingers against his own.

The lights flicker, and a sharp jolt of electricity shoots up your arm and down your spine.

You jump, yelp, and meet Bob’s gaze.

It’s flickering, blue, gold, black.

Gold wins.

And you’re on your back in half a second.

You hit the rug with a thud, the breath knocked clean out of you. Bob is hovering over you, jaw twitching and eyes narrowed.

But it’s not quite Bob, is it?

You had read enough to know it wasn’t him.

It’s Sentry.

He had seen you plenty of times before. Felt your presence like a buzzing fly that wouldn’t quite go away. He didn’t think much of you–you were nothing to him. He didn’t see you as a threat or something that could reel him back in. Not until you touched Bob for the first time.

Then he felt you. Felt what kind of power was lingering in your touch.

Right before he can get his hands on you– the blue comes back.

Your chest heaves. The room spins. Your head is still echoing with static and a thousand half-formed thoughts that aren’t your own. Heavy boots pound the floor. A hand grips the back of Bob’s hoodie and yanks, hard, dragging him off you.

Bob slams into the far wall with a grunt, more startled than hurt. He blinks rapidly, like he’s trying to blink the world back into place.

You flinch at the sound but don’t move, too dazed to do anything but stare up at the ceiling lights–still flickering.

A gentler hand finds your arm.

“Hey. Hey. You with me?”

Yelena’s voice. Grounding. Sharp but not unkind.

You nod, or try to.

“Jesus,” someone mutters. Probably Walker. “That was not normal.”

You sit up slowly, ribs aching. The rug is rough under your palms.

Your eyes find Bob across the room, where Bucky is crouched down talking to him. Probably trying to keep him calm.

He’s sitting with his back against the wall, hands in his hair, curled in on himself. Mute. Shaking.

It wasn’t his fault.

But no one else in the room looks convinced.

Valentina bursts in not two seconds later, and the look she gives you is less concerned and more… calculating. Like she’s doing the math. Wondering just how useful you’re going to be after this.

Now, more than ever, you’re certain.

You have to be his anchor.

The buzzing of the LEDs seems louder than usual.

Bob hasn’t looked at you once. He’s staring down at his lap, hands fidgeting as you type on your tablet nervously.

“It wasn’t your fault.” Your voice cuts through the silence, breaking him out of the invisible box he’s been trapped in for days. He still won’t look at you.

He shifts, fingers curling tighter around the hem of his hoodie. The fabric is worn thin from how often he picks at it. You pretend not to notice.

“Bob,” You whisper his name, hand sliding halfway across the table. You don’t touch him, though.

“It wasn’t you. It was me.”

He swallows hard. His voice is a scrape of gravel when it finally comes.

“It was him.”

You blink. “What?”

“You touched me,” he says. “He noticed. He felt you. That’s why he lashed out.”

His hands tremble. He presses them flat against his knees like he can still feel the leftover electricity there.

“You grounded me,” he adds, and finally, he looks at you. “And Sentry didn’t like it.”

A beat passes. Then another.

Bob takes a shaky breath, reaching out to find your hand. Your fingers touch– but sparks don’t go flying this time. It still feels a little unsteady, like a warped battery waiting to explode.

“He thought he was invincible until you touched me.”

Your fingers twitch beneath his, but you don’t pull away.

You can feel it, even without trying. The echo of something immense. Coiled just beneath his skin like a dormant storm.

But he’s trying. Grounded. Human.

You meet his eyes, your voice barely above a whisper. “And what do you think?”

He hesitates. That flicker of gold threatens to rise again in his eyes, but it doesn’t. He keeps it at bay. For you.

“I think…” He whispers, jaw ticking as he glances off again. “I’m scared he’ll hurt you. Because, as far as I’m aware, you’re his only weakness.”

And that, somehow, doesn’t terrify you.

His words settle over you like smoke, thick and lingering.

You don’t know what to say at first. Weakness isn’t the word you’d use. But maybe it is, to something like him. To something that sees compassion as a fracture. Humanity as a flaw.

“I’m not afraid of him,” you say softly. “I don’t want to lose you to him, though.”

That gets his attention. His eyes snap back to yours, something like surprise flickering there– followed by something gentler. Sadder.

“I lose myself to him all the time,” he says, his voice thick. “I just… don’t want to take anyone else with me.”

“You won’t,” you say, with more certainty than you feel. “Not if we keep doing this. Together.”

His hand tightens around yours again. Firmer this time. Like he’s trying to anchor himself to the words, to you.

“I don’t need a leash,” he murmurs.

“I don’t want to be your leash,” you say, brushing your thumb over his knuckles. “I’d rather be your tether.”

That word sits between you for a long moment.

And then he nods.

“Okay.”

The next day, you’re in one of the Watchtower’s reinforced training rooms.

Everything is steel and sterile white. No windows. No warmth. Just flickering fluorescent lights, a two-way mirror, and the quiet hum of surveillance.

Bob stands across from you, arms loose at his sides. His hoodie’s gone. Replaced with standard issue training gear. You hate how clinical it all feels — how observed.

Valentina’s watching behind the glass. So is Bucky. You can feel him.

Your voice is soft, meant just for Bob. “You okay?”

He doesn’t answer at first. Just nods once. Tight. Nervous.

You take one step forward, slowly, like you’re trying to keep a cornered animal calm.

“Hold your hand out.”

He listens after a half-second of hesitation, holding his hand out, palm up, low enough for you to reach without struggling. You take a deep breath, your gaze scanning his face as you take another step closer.

“Relax.” You murmur, and he tries his best to. But he’s failing.

“Just… tell me if it’s too much, okay?” You whisper, and he nods once. You realize he’s ready when his gentle features turn a little harsher, brows furrowing and jaw clenching.

You place your hand in his slowly, fingers gliding over his palm before they rest at the edge of his wrist.

This time, the world doesn’t crack. But you can feel it wanting to. Something is simmering beneath his skin like lightning behind cloud cover. His palm twitches beneath yours, but you don’t pull away. You can feel it now– not just the storm, but the fear buried underneath. Not fear of you. Fear for you.

“What are you feeling?”

His throat works as he swallows.

“I don’t know how to let it out without…” he trails off, blinking hard, “...without giving him the reins.”

You nod once. “Then don’t let it out. Just tell me where it lives.”

His eyes meet yours. That gold shimmer is there, flickering again, barely restrained.

And slowly, he lifts your joined hands to rest against the center of his chest.

“Right here.”

Your breath catches. You feel it– all of it. Not just the power. The panic. The pain. The constant hum of restraint.

Behind the glass, Valentina shifts. You feel the sudden spike of her interest.

But you don’t look. You keep your eyes on him.

“You’re doing fine,” you whisper.

And he starts to believe you.

Your fingers are still pressed to his wrist when it happens.

One breath, you’re there– in the sterile training room, the chill of steel underfoot, Valentina watching behind the glass.

The next?

Black.

Not just darkness– absence. The hum of the lights is gone. The air is gone. The room is gone. You're gone.

You're standing somewhere else now, barefoot on damp concrete. The air is thick. Heavy. Pressed against your chest like a weighted blanket soaked through. You see yourself in the corner of the dim room, curled into a ball as you chew at the sleeve of your hospital gown.

Your younger self is a mess. Red-faced, eyes bloodshot, skin worn and covered in angry red marks. She sniffles softly, eyes wide and unfocused as they dart around the room. The door behind you shifts, and it opens with a loud, familiar creak.

You turn around, watching the man who plagues your nightmares saunter into the room. Standing in the hallway is Bob, eyes wide as he steps forward, trying to find your gaze.

This isn’t his void. It’s yours.

“I didn’t mean to–” He croaks.

You don’t look when the memory starts to play out. You– screaming as he holds you down and injects you with whatever he feels like injecting you with that day. The way you try to fight him off is hard to ignore, and Bob is torn between stopping it and trying to distract you.

"Where are we?" he asks, and his voice sounds wrong here. Softer. Distorted, like it's passing through water.

You can't answer. You can't breathe.

But then, something changes.

The pressure begins to ease, not because the void is gone, but because he’s grounding you this time.

Bob lifts a hand, slow and deliberate, he takes your hand. A mirror of what you once did for him.

"I'm here," he says, and the room begins to dissolve.

The voice fades. The shadows recede. The void doesn’t vanish, but it retreats. Yielding.

When you blink again, you're back on the cold training room floor, on your knees. You're gasping. Shaking.

Bob is right in front of you, shaking as he struggles in his mind. He’s scared to touch you again.

Scared to take you right back to that awful place in your head.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I didn’t mean to see.”

You want to believe him. But it’s hard to when there’s a golden twinkle in his eye.

#bob reynolds #bob reynolds x reader #bob reynolds x you #reader insert #afab reader #the thunderbolts #thunderbolts fanfic

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vampireimiko · 4 months ago

Text

a little help

warnings, none!

note, y'all i cannot make up titles for nothing omfg 😭

"So basically all I'm saying is please help me!" Mark says on his knees, his hands in a praying motion.

You couldn't help but burst out laughing at the site,

"Mark where is all of this coming from?"

Mark groans, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I thought I had everything under control! But then I tried to stop a runaway bus, and, uh… let’s just say property damage might’ve been worse than the actual crash.”

You raise an eyebrow. “How bad?”

He hesitates. “...The bus ended up on top of a donut shop.”

You blink. “How—?”

“I don’t know!” Mark throws his hands up. “But people were screaming, and I kinda panicked, and now there’s a giant tire mark on the roof, and I think the owner wants to kill me.”

You shake your head, crossing your arms. “Alright, so you need help not causing more destruction than the bad guys?”

“Exactly! You’ve been doing this way longer than me,” he says, standing back up. “And I know you’re, like, super good at this hero stuff! So… mentor me? And before you say no-”

"Sure."

"—huh?"

"Yes Mark, I can help you, now get up before I laugh even more at you."

Mark quickly scrambles to his feet, looking both relieved and still a little sheepish. “Alright, awesome! I won’t let you down, promise!”

You can’t help but laugh a little at how earnest he is. “We’ll see about that. First things first—let’s get you some training before you cause a nationwide crisis, alright?”

He nods enthusiastically, but then hesitates. “Uh, so, what exactly are we doing? I mean, do I just... go save people and hope for the best?”

You shake your head, motioning for him to follow. “Not quite. You need to learn how to stay in control of the situation. First, we’re going to patrol the city—get you used to keeping an eye on everything, staying aware of threats, and not destroying the surroundings while you save the day.”

Mark seems a bit more nervous now. “Right, okay. I’ll try to be careful.”

You start walking, glancing over at him. “You don’t have to try, Mark. You have to be careful. The goal is to minimize damage while still getting the job done. You’re powerful, but that’s what makes things tricky. The more control you have, the fewer problems you’ll cause.”

Mark looks like he’s soaking it in, but you can tell he’s still feeling overwhelmed. “Alright, no blowing up anything. Got it.”

You give him a half-smile. “No promises on not blowing up bad guys, though.”

As you walk through the city, you hear a faint siren in the distance—a perfect opportunity to test Mark’s skills. “Looks like we’ve got a situation. Ready for your first trial run?”

Mark’s eyes light up, and he straightens up. “Born ready.”

You both take off in the air toward the sound, the wind rushing past as you soar above the streets. Mark keeps up easily, but you can tell he’s itching to just zoom ahead.

“Patience,” you remind him, scanning the scene below. “Assess first, act second.”

As you both hover over an intersection, you spot the problem—a car chase. A sleek black getaway car speeds down the road, weaving recklessly between traffic, sirens wailing behind it as police struggle to keep up.

Mark grins. “Alright, this looks easy! Just stop the car, right?”

You shoot him a sharp look. “Without flipping it into a building, duh.”

Mark huffs. “Okay, okay, I got this.”

Before you can say another word, he zips downward, aiming straight for the speeding vehicle. You follow close behind, ready to step in if needed.

Mark lands in front of the car, arms outstretched, bracing himself. The driver’s eyes widen, and tires screech as they try to swerve around him. At the last second, Mark panics and moves too fast—grabbing the front bumper and accidentally yeeting the entire car into the air.

“INVINCIBLE!” you yell, watching as the car spins midair, the criminals inside screaming.

“I didn’t mean to do that!” he shouts, already flying up after it.

You race past him, calculating the trajectory. You reach out, grabbing hold of the car’s undercarriage and slowing it down before it can crash. With a grunt, you carefully lower it to the ground, right side up, just as Mark lands beside you.

The crooks inside groan, dizzy and disoriented.

Mark rubs the back of his neck. “Sooo… not my best work. But at least we got em!"

You sigh, shaking your head with a small smirk. “We’ll work on it.”

After the criminals are detained, you tell Mark it's time for you to leave and that you can continue helping him tomorrow if he'd like.

“Hey! Uhm before you go..” he says, softer this time. “That was... really cool. You were really cool.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Did you just realize that?”

Mark chuckles, cheeks a little red. “I mean, I knew, but... I dunno. It just hit me all at once.”

You shake your head, amused. “Come on, rookie. Let’s try again—this time, with less aerial car tossing.”

Mark laughs as he follows after you, already eager for the next lesson.

additional note ! i kinda hate this 🧍🏾‍♀️ anon if you see this let me know if you want a rewrite 💔

𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧

#spirits works 🤍#invincible #invincible x reader #mark grayson #mark grayson x reader #x reader #x gn reader #x fem!reader #x male reader #invincible x male reader

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chiasaaa · 5 months ago

Text

— jealousy, jealousy

itoshi sae x f! reader

summary: as cool-headed as he may seem, even itoshi sae isn't immune to jealousy.

warning: english is not my first language. apologies for any grammatical or spelling errors.

— itoshi sae is anything but a jealous man. how, you may ask? simply because he’s with a partner he feels secure with. your love has always proven that he will always be the only one for you. he knows that very well, and he doesn’t need any convincing.

normally, that’s the case.

but what if itoshi sae isn’t as invincible as he seems?

there’s not one person in the world who doesn’t have an insecurity they wish to bury deep within the darkness of their heart—the one thing they never want to be reminded of again. and much like every other human being that walks on earth, itoshi sae possesses one insecurity that will easily shatter the facade he created for himself. if it were up to him, he would rather encase it in a jar with a rock to sink it down the mariana trench. alas, he cannot sink what he cannot touch.

it was after a late night practice in the re al facility when it happened. you, his ever loving and supportive girlfriend, decided to pick him up after training. he would usually take the train home, or call up a taxi straight to you. however, one thing he noticed is that whenever you have the car with you, there is not one instance where he commutes home.

you always pick him up, no matter what.

he loves it—the feeling of reciprocity. sae loves that you freely do what you want to do for him the same way he does to you. but tonight, as he watches you from a distance engaging in a short conversation with leonardo luna, he wished you weren't as perfect as you already are. couldn't the traffic hold you up a bit longer just so he's already waiting out for you? maybe he shouldn't have taken his time in the shower to have you waiting outside instead. whatever it is that he could have done, sae surely regrets ever leaving time for you to bump into one of his teammates, even more so with leonardo.

"querido!" you spotted him as soon as he walked out the door, a twinkle in your eyes somehow relieving him from the thorns that wrapped around his heart. that's right. you were there for him, and you were happy to see him. not leonardo or anyone else for that matter.

"ahh, so you're sae's girlfriend." leonardo pieced two jigsaws together, snapping his fingers in realization. he then looked back at sae with those typical deceiving eyes of his. his smile was sickening, sae could hurl right then and there. there is no one else as despicable as leonardo luna himself.

it was because of him that he lost hope in becoming the world's number one striker in the world.

seeing him with his girlfriend, as if it were a reminder that he can easily take her away too, might as well be his last straw.

without a word, sae opens the door to the passenger seat and gently pushed you inside—much to your protest. he turns back to leonardo with a sigh. "we'll go ahead. see you tomorrow."

then he rounded the car to get to the driver's seat. as he was about to reach for the handle, leonardo calls out to him and had him pause. sae looks back up reluctantly, seemingly drained from the scenario at hand.

"you're really lucky, aren't you?" leonardo grinned. "fuck it up and just know i'm right around the corner."

it was clearly a threat, one that made his blood boil. grunting, he climbed in his seat and drove away before he loses control of himself. the car ride was quiet, with you still confused why he chose to drive tonight when he was clearly exhauted from practice, and him still trying to process how he's currently feeling.

it isn't like him to feel hostile towards other men who linger around you. if anything, he enjoys it more with the way you happily slap the fact that you're his right at their faces. yet, with leonardo, he doesn't even want you to bat an eyelash at his direction. there's this uneasy feeling that maybe at some point, you won't hit him with the usual 'i love my boyfriend and he's the absolute best' speeches.

that maybe, you'll realize then and there that itoshi sae is nothing compared to leonardo luna.

that you deserve someone better—someone you can proudly call yours as you cheer for him when he scores the heroic goal of the game. someone whom you can dedicate your designs to—a better model for your brand.

god, he wants to hurl so bad just thinking about such gruesome what ifs. he wants to stop thinking about it already, yet every time his mind comes to a pause, the depths of his mind has already cooked up a new scenario to overthink once again.

why did you have to bump into leonardo himself? it could have been any other of their forwards, like kaiser! you get along pretty well with that damn blue rose and he never felt a hint of malice towards him! god, you might as well be best friends with the guy and sae was completely fine with it.

why the fuck did it have to be leonardo?

"sae,"

the sound of his name slipping past your lips had finally pulled him out of the poisonous den named his thoughts. he shakes his head a little, snapping out of his daze as his eyes cleared back on the road. then, the rest of his senses came back to life. the first thing he noticed?

your hand atop his as he guides the steering wheel.

for a moment, sae glanced at your direction and found your concerned expression directed his way. his heart churns at the sight, for him. why are you looking at him like that?

why do you have to be so loving?

he doesn't deserve you.

"pull over, querido." it wasn't a request, and he wasn't about to disobey you. the moment he saw the nearest gas station, he parked by the convenience store and let out a breath he had unknowingly been holding in.

you shifted, taking your seat belt off. without a word, you opened the door and got out.

god, did you finally realize it? you're about to leave and dump his ass right now. he doesn't even want to follow you out—fearing for the news that might hit him hard on the face if he does. he'd rather stay in the car and bask in the scent of your perfume a little longer. he will sure miss—

"come on," you opened his door, reaching a hand out with a gentle smile. "i'm hungry."

that's how you both ended up at the second floor of said convenience store, with you serving two cups of ramen and microwaved skewers. he watches you stiffly as you stuffed your mouth full with msg bomb, a little conflicted on how he should feel about the situation right about now. had he been reading too much into things?

when you noticed that he wasn't eating, you snap his chopsticks in half for him and mixed his ramen. it was easier to reach him given that you're seated beside each other, thus he had no excuse not to eat the portion you just fished out.

he had no choice.

"i'm not hungry." he mutters.

"aha!" you pointed at him with an accusing finger, as if you finally caught him for something even he didn't know he was doing. "about time you start talking."

"what?"

"you think i didn't notice?"

"..." he looks at you, eyes pleading for you to stop whatever it is you're about to tell him. "please, amor. i know i—"

"i love you."

and so, he paused, stunned by your surprise attack. you took it as a chance to finally cup his cheeks with both hands, giving him not a bit of a chance to cower away from your declaration.

"and i have every intention of marrying you, so don't go around thinking that i'll leave you for someone else." you said it so confidently, as if you were a hundred percent sure that he was already doubting and overthinking in the midst of things. how you knew? he had no idea, but hearing your assurance had him melting right into your arms.

sae rested his chin on your shoulder, pulling you close as his arms wrapped around you in a loose embrace. then, he was able to release the biggest sigh of relief—washing out the little bit of insecurity left in his system. you had him scared for a moment, but damn was he a fool to think you'd ever leave him.

it was you for god's sake.

you would scourge through both heaven and hell if it meant being with him again. you'd gladly die a soldier of war if he were the one holding the sword. by the gods, you would drop even your biggest fashion show if he called for you at any given time. you, whose love is so big that it swallows him whole, and itoshi sae basks in the warmth you bring into his life.

"i'm yours." he whispered. "and i'll always be, right?"

you chuckle, leaning back a little to capture his lips with your own. "you have no choice, querido." he could feel your breath gently fan against his lips. "you're stuck with me whether you like it or not."

god knows how lucky he is to have you, and itoshi sae will spend more than one lifetime to prove that you were never wrong to choose him time and time again.

#sae itoshi x reader #itoshi sae #x reader #blue lock #bllk #bllk fanfic #leonardo luna #angst #fluff

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quinnsdesk · 7 days ago

Text

praise

tim bradford x rookie!reader

source of my filthy thoughts: @sleepymissy

cw: mdni, age gap, hand jobs, fingering, car sex, sir kink if you squeeze your eyes, masturbation (f), no use of y/n, praise kink

wc: 5.2k

You never really planned for it to go this way. Joining the LAPD felt like the next logical step, structured, demanding, noble. You weren’t naive; you expected the long nights, the stress, the near-impossible standards. But you also expected to get through it. Fast. Efficient. Professional. Your time as a rookie was supposed to be a means to an end. Get in, learn the ropes, prove yourself, and move forward.

But it didn’t go that way. It couldn’t. Not with him.

Sergeant Tim Bradford.

It wasn’t supposed to be him. Normally, sergeants didn’t train rookies, didn’t spend their days walking the fine line between mentor and ghost. But Grey had made the call, and when Grey made a call, people listened.

You didn’t complain. You knew enough to know Smitty wasn’t the right fit, not for someone who gave a damn. Grey knew that too. He wanted someone who’d push you, who’d treat the badge like the weight it really was. So, you got Bradford.

At first, it was exactly what you expected, hard lines and colder silences. He didn’t bother learning your favorite coffee order. He didn’t make jokes to cut the tension. He called you boot, always with that tone: firm, clipped, unreadable.

You responded in kind. Perfect posture. Precise reports. No questions unless they mattered. You spent your days buried in protocol and your nights second-guessing every mistake you made.

Let's be honest, you didn't do it to be a successful officer at the LAPD, or to make it to P2 in an instant. You did it for him. To earn his validation.

"Did you see that, boot?"

Tim’s voice cut through your thoughts like a switchblade, sharp and immediate. You blinked, pulled out of whatever haze you'd drifted into, and looked over at him.

"Hm?"

He didn’t glance your way. His gaze stayed fixed on the road ahead. Stern, focused, unreadable. One hand gripped the steering wheel at twelve o'clock, the other rested casually on his thigh, fingers drumming once, then going still. Calm. Controlled. Very Tim Bradford.

"Be alert. This job isn't for slacking off," he said, voice low, no-nonsense, commanding. Like always. His eyes didn’t move from the car ahead, parked in front of the corner shop. “That car just ran a stop sign. What do we do, boot?”

Your brain scrambled to catch up, but not from nerves. Not anymore. It was the voice, that particular rasp in his tone that made everything sound like a challenge and a warning all at once. Rough around the edges, in a hot, infuriating way that made it hard to tell if your heart was racing from adrenaline or something more dangerous.

“Uh,” you cleared your throat, adjusting in your seat. “We initiate a stop and warn the driver.”

Tim gave a single nod. “Good. Do it.”

Just like that, back to business.

Once the sirens went off, the driver slowly pulled over to the curb. You hopped out of the shop alongside Tim, heart already picking up pace at the sudden escalation, but his face remained unreadable, stone-carved and stoic, like always.

“You be contact, I’ll be cover,” Tim instructed calmly, his voice low but firm, the quiet authority in it grounding you as the two of you stepped out of the shop.

You gave a sharp nod, steadying yourself with a breath as your fingers brushed your holster, the familiar cool of the grip a silent reassurance. Tim moved to the rear flank, his eyes scanning the perimeter like a hawk, while you approached the driver’s side window of the idling Buick.

"Sir, you know you ran that stop sign?" Your voice was firmer than usual. Not quite Tim-level serious, but enough to command attention. You barely recognized the version of yourself standing here, composed, assertive, the echo of Tim’s influence in every word.

The man in the car, early thirties maybe, leaned toward the window, attempting a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I know, but I mean—c’mon, is it really that deep? Don’t you guys have real criminals to catch?”

You didn’t flinch. Neither did Tim, whose stance from behind radiated alert tension. You could feel it even without looking.

"Sir, step out of the vehicle," you ordered evenly.

His face shifted. The casual charm drained quickly, like a mask that no longer served its purpose. For a second, his jaw tensed, hesitation flickering in his eyes as if weighing the odds. You didn’t back down. You couldn’t.

"Now, sir." Your voice dropped slightly, lower, firmer, deliberate.

There was a long pause. Then, with a huff, he lifted both hands and opened the door, stepping out slowly, his movements exaggerated in mock compliance. “Alright, alright,” he muttered, clearly irritated. “Didn’t think we were doing all this over a stop sign.”

But this wasn’t about the stop sign. Not anymore.

Tim moved in closer, standing just behind the man, one hand resting near his own holster. He didn’t say a word, didn’t need to. The presence alone was enough to silence the air around you.

“Hands where we can see them,” Tim instructed coolly.

The man obeyed, though there was something tight in his posture now. Not just annoyance maybe nervous energy. His eyes flicked between the two of you, calculating. Your gut clenched.

You caught it before Tim did. The twitch of his fingers toward his jacket pocket. Small, almost imperceptible, but it was there.

"Don’t," you said quickly, your voice slicing through the air.

Tim moved in a blink, one hand clamping on the man's wrist, the other reaching for the back of his neck to guide him down onto the hood. It was quick, professional, controlled.

“Why don’t we take a look at what you were so eager to reach for?” Tim muttered, glancing your way as he patted down the man’s pockets.

You stepped in and retrieved a folded piece of paper from the inner jacket pocket, no weapon, but your eyes scanned the page quickly. Addresses. Names. Cash totals.

Tim looked over your shoulder and exhaled through his nose. “Looks like we found ourselves a runner. This guy’s not just ignoring stop signs.”

The man didn’t say anything, just glared at the pavement like it betrayed him.

Tim cuffed him and looked at you as he handed off the evidence. “Nice catch, Boot,” he said, almost offhand, like the words tasted unfamiliar in his mouth. Except you heard it. You felt it. The rare praise wrapped in his usual gravel voice, a sliver of something softer hidden underneath all that grit.

And just like that, your heart sank. Did Tim just—compliment you?

Blood shot to your cheeks. You looked away quickly, the heat crawling up your neck betraying any attempt at pretending you were unaffected.

“Thanks,” you replied, a little too quickly, a little too eagerly. You sounded like a golden retriever desperate for another pat on the head. Internally, you winced.

And of course, he noticed. He just smirked, pulling open the back door of the squad car and guiding the suspect in, refusing to bring up the elephant in the room.

__________

It only got worse after that. Or better, depending on how your heart and hormones were behaving that day.

It was firearm training today. He stood behind you, arms crossed, while you attempted to correct your stance at the range.

“You're standing like a flamingo. Plant your feet.”

You adjusted.

“Still a flamingo. A tense one. Breathe, Boot.”

You sighed and reset.

“Focus. Listen to your breathing, yeah?...” His voice dropped lower, raspier, too close to your ear now. He placed his hands over yours, helping you position yourself correctly, a jolt of electricity shooting through you. “That’s it. Doing so good, Boot.” He was devious, he knew exactly what he was doing, the way his words rolled of his tongue. You bit your lip, highly frustrated as he pulled away for you to take your shot.

"Attagirl." He smirked as you got a chest shot, just to the right of the metal suspects supposed heart. You gulped before turning to him, your chest heaving as you felt every fiber in your being catch on fire.

"I'll see you tonight?" Tim's eyes didn't leave yours as you tidied yourself up in the armory. You had forgotten that he, Nyla, Nolan and you agreed to go to a pub tonight. You didn't look up at him, you were too embarrassed, how could he make you feel like this. "I uh- I don't have a ride." You chewed on the flesh of your bottom lip before finally looking up at him.

He looked... different. His eyes were darker, maybe he was tired. "I'll give you a ride." Your eyes widened at his offer. "Oh no, I couldn't" You tried to avoid eye contact with him, but he was just so damn magnetic. "Don't be silly, it's out of my way, I'll pick you up at 9." Before you could reply, before you could even argue, he walked off. Like the asshole he is.

__________

It was currently 8:21 p.m. You were basically ready, all that was left was for you to put on your shirt. Only problem is that you can't decide which one to choose.

Red Satin Cowl Neck Blouse or Black Sheer Long-Sleeve Blouse with a slutty deep V neckline.

You looked at yourself in your mirror, your hair at your favorite length and your lacy, blue bra making your cleavage look hot. If only Tim saw you like this, he'd lose his mind.

It wasn't ten minutes before you were on your back on your bed, jeans discarded on the floor, your fingers running up and down your folds making your chest heave as a huff erupted from your throat.

"Sir..." You whined, throwing your head back as your pumped two fingers in and out of your throbbing cunt. "That's it, my perfect girl." He wasn't there but it was like you could hear him, feel him, his fingers, teasing that sweet spongy spot that sent shivers down your spine. "Fuck I'm so close, sir. Just like that..." Suddenly, before you could reach that long awaited orgasm, there was a knock on the door. And then again.

There's only one person you know that was impatient.

You got up quickly, glancing at your phone before throwing on your jeans, not having time to choose a blouse just yet. Tim was 15 minutes early.

"Hey sorry I'm early but-" He didn't finish his sentence because when he looked at you, he almost lost his mind.

Tim's a cop, he's not dumb. He's also a man, a much older man, who's been with women, and he knows what women look like frustrated and turned on. The way your nipples peaked out of your bra, your pupils dilated, your chest heaving as your hair was pretty much a mess.

"Come in." You choked before stepping aside and letting him in. "Let me just get my- uh- my shirt." This was so embarrassing for you.

He stood in your living room, quiet, his hands tucked into his jacket pockets, shoulders tense like he was trying to keep something buried. The air felt heavier. Almost like whatever he was thinking, it wasn't something he’d ever let himself say out loud.

You rushed back to your room. This wasn’t a date. You told yourself that twice. Three times. Still, your hands hovered over two shirts like your entire evening depended on this exact decision. One red—soft and sweet, something a girl-next-door might wear. The other, black—tighter, lower, riskier.

Your bare feet padded softly back into the living room, fabric draped over each arm. He didn’t move when you walked in. Just turned his head slightly, his eyes finding yours with the kind of attention that made your breath hitch.

"Sir, which should I wear?" you asked, your tone playfully teasing, dipping into dangerous territory. It was toeing the line, hell, it was crossing it, but with Tim, it never really felt like a line existed. There was only silence and tension and whatever was simmering beneath his controlled surface.

You held each shirt against your chest, watching his eyes as they moved but not to your face, not immediately—but lower. A flicker of something darkened his gaze, then vanished just as fast.

At the academy you'd learnt how to read suspects. Observe the twitch of a brow, the clench of a jaw, the way people gave themselves away when they thought no one was watching.

But Tim Bradford? Tim was unreadable. He might as well have been carved from stone.

Still, something in the way he swallowed gave him away.

"The black one," he said finally, voice low, almost casual. But you heard the weight behind it. Saw the way his jaw flexed as he quickly looked away.

You smirked internally. The sluttier option. The one that hugged your curves like it was painted on, that dipped just low enough to make people stare, to make Tim stare, if he ever let himself.

You let the red one fall to the couch and pulled the black one over your head right there in front of him. He didn’t flinch, didn’t turn around, didn’t even blink, but you knew he saw everything. The smooth slide of fabric against skin, the way your body filled out every inch of it. You didn’t do it for his reaction. Not entirely.

It was a challenge. A dare. Say something, Tim.

He didn’t.

But he did look.

The silence stretched between you as you straightened the hem, your hands smoothing over the soft material. It clung to your chest, the swell of your breasts prominent even in the dim light, the curve of your hips drawing a silent trail for his eyes to follow.

Still composed, still quiet, Tim’s tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip before he caught himself and looked away, as if watching you in that shirt might be the thing that snapped him in half.

"You look good." He almost smiled. His jaw was tense as you nodded in appreciation, deep down you were screaming internally. Your T.O juts told you that you looked good.

"Ready?" He asked as you grabbed your purse and keys. It felt as if you were a couple, getting ready to go out for a date, you let your delusions get the best of you as his hand brushed your lower back guiding you out of the door.

__________

In the car it was quiet, dangerously quiet. You both felt as if you were drowning in silence. The pub wasn't far, maybe 20 minutes, but to you it felt like eternity. You never wanted to leave.

"So, what are you thinking?" You asked, breaking the painfully awkward silence. "I'm thinking about you." You blushed; his eyes didn't leave the road as the words left his lips. "Oh?"

'Oh?' Is that really all you can say?

"I'm thinking about how I came to your apartment to find you heaving, your pupils dilated, shirtless." The words felt like a drug, you wanted to hear his sultry, raspy voice forever. "What were you doing before I got there, Boot?" You gulped, he knew already, he just wanted confirmation. You were driving through a quiet area as he pulled over in an alleyway. "T-touching myself." You squeaked, knowing how wrong and vile this is.

"Show me." Your eyes widened as he looked at you through hooded eyes. "Show me how good you can be for me." He ran his tongue over his lips as you bucked your hips to hastily pull down your jeans and panties. "Pretty girl." He groaned with a strained voice as he watched you rub your clit. "You like that? You like being such a good girl for me?"

You nodded, vigorously as he palmed his crotch, his eyes not leaving yours. "Atta girl." He smirked as you arched your back from the stimulation. "Sir..." You whined.

You couldn't bring yourself to say his name. And Tim loved that fact. The way the word rolled off your tongue drove him just as insane. "Yes, doll?" You rolled your eyes back to the nickname. A little 'hmph' leaving your lips as he slowly reached over to swat your hand away. Taking control, slowly pushing two fingers inside of you. "Aw you're doing so good for me, my perfect girl." Your eyes didn't leave his as he looked at you in awe.

He curled his fingers, brushing over that spongy spot that sent you into oblivion before slowly pulling back out and repeating the process. "This is so wrong." You mutter, looking down at the way his fingers disappeared inside of you. "Do you want me to stop, sweetheart?" You choked at the pet-name before not replying, no way in hell would you want him to stop. He took your silence as a no before shaking his head with a slight chuckle. "That's it, taking my fingers so well, baby."

Your legs began to shake, the ever-familiar coil forming in your belly. "Sir..." You whined as he huffed, the way you address him making it harder for him to keep his composure. "Good girl, gonna cum on my fingers?" He coos making you whine even louder. His eyes were no longer looking at your gorgeous facial expressions but at your shirt, the one he chose. The one that make your breasts look like a meal, he's watching the way your chest is rising and falling, the way your nipples are begging for attention.

You grip his shoulder as he doesn't slow down, pushing you over the edge, he was ruthless, and you loved every second of it as he gave you one of the most mind-boggling orgasms of your life. "Pretty girl." He'd whisper in your ear as a sound unfamiliar ripped through the thick air.

Tim's phone rang. It was John. Probably looking for them.

He didn't pull his fingers out, but he answered.

"Hello?" You couldn't believe it; he acted as if he wasn't knuckle deep inside his rookie. You weren't able to hear John speaking through the phone; you were basically high on Tim's fingers. You glanced at him to see him mouth 'Be quiet.' You hadn't realized how loud your huffing and puffing really was.

"Yeah no, we're running a bit late, sorry John." He lied. You felt a pang in your chest; these conflicting feelings were too much for you. On one hand you hated the thought of lying to one of your best friends and on the other hand Tim's fingers felt like heaven. "Yeah, okay will do, bye." He hung up before pulling his fingers out of you, you moaned at the loss on contact. "Fix yourself up Boot, they're waiting for us." You tried your best to catch your breath, scrambling to get your panties. "You did so good." He finally added while turning on the car's ignition.

__________

You were quiet—too quiet. The kind of quiet that made John squint at you from across the table, his beer halfway to his lips. You avoided his gaze, hoping the dim lights and general buzz of alcohol would keep suspicion at bay. Your body was still thrumming, still coasting the edge of that high Tim had just pulled you from. Your thighs pressed together instinctively, like you could trap the ghost of his touch between them.

Your hair was ruffled, your lipstick faded at the corners, and the collar of your blouse slightly askew from where his hands had been, they were rough, possessive, and just careful enough to keep your secret intact. You gave a weak smile to Lucy as she passed you another drink, nodding like you were fine, like your insides weren’t still fluttering like they’d been rewired.

And then there was Tim.

He sat across from you, legs wide, whiskey glass nestled between two fingers, relaxed and smug in a way only you could recognize. He barely looked at you, at least not in a way anyone else would notice. But you felt his eyes. Quick flicks. Sharp glances. They landed on you like brushstrokes on canvas he was assessing, admiring, satisfied. Like he’d made something beautiful and now he was watching it unravel under the heat of his gaze.

You looked this wrecked because of him and he loved it. His jaw ticked just slightly as his mouth curled into something too smug to be innocent. Like he was cataloguing the way your legs crossed tighter, the way your fingers trembled when you reached for your glass, the way you still couldn’t quite meet his eyes without remembering the way he had looked at you when your back hit the wall ten minutes ago.

And you knew what he was thinking.

Good girl.

He hadn’t said it out loud, not here, not now, but the energy was the same. That confident, unbothered, dominant energy that had you unraveling in a locked supply closet two floors up. He was across the table now, acting like nothing had happened, like he hadn’t just pulled a shameless, breathless mess from you.

You shifted in your seat, catching his smirk as he took another sip.

Fucker.

The laughter echoed through the group as Lucy launched into a story about one of her patrol shifts. You tried to focus, you really did, but Tim caught your eye again, this time with a slight tilt of his head and the kind of look that said it's time.

You swallowed, setting your drink down as casually as possible and standing up, brushing invisible lint from your pants like you weren’t trying to gather yourself. “Hey, I think I’m gonna head out,” you said, your voice soft, even.

“You okay?” Lucy asked, concern laced through the haze of her buzz.

“Yeah, just tired. Long shift tomorrow,” you lied smoothly, giving her a quick hug.

Tim stood too, stretching slightly, keys already in hand. “I’ll give her a lift.” His voice was calm, matter-of-fact, but it carried a weight only you felt.

John raised a brow, barely hiding his suspicion. “You two live in opposite directions.”

Tim shrugged. “I gave her a lift here, makes sense that I take her home. So she's safe."

You smiled tightly, heart thudding as you waved to the rest of the group. “Night, guys. See you tomorrow.”

More goodbyes followed.

As you and Tim walked away from the group, the night air cooled your flushed skin, grounding you just a little. His hand grazed the small of your back—not quite a touch, but a reminder.

The car ride started in silence, the kind that crackled with unspoken things. The kind that made your skin feel too tight and your thoughts too loud. Tim climbed in on the driver’s side, his movements fluid, practiced, his one hand on the wheel, the other resting on his muscular thigh.

You stared out the window, pretending the streetlights were more interesting than the heat still radiating off your skin. But you could feel him looking. Not full-on staring but glancing every so often, like he was still admiring the mess he’d made of you. Like he hadn’t quite come down from it either.

“You’re awfully quiet,” he said finally, his voice a low murmur, like he didn’t want to break the fragile bubble around you.

You turned your head slowly, meeting his eyes in the dim light of the dashboard. “So are you.”

He smiled, slow and deliberate, one of those grins that made your stomach clench and your thighs press tighter. “I like you better this way,” he said. “All quiet. Flushed. Still thinking about what I did to you.”

You weren't drunk, you knew where you were, what you were doing, everything you did was a conscious decision. So, as Tim drove you home, you recognized the spark of confidence as you slowly placed your hand on his throbbing crotch.

"Boot?"

God, you hated that nickname. What happened to sweetheart or doll or pretty girl? Why was it Boot again?

"Hm?" you replied, voice airy, laced with faux innocence. Playing dumb had never felt so delicious.

"What do you think you're doing?"

His tone was low, controlled, but there was tension there, pulling tight in his voice, in the way his fingers gripped the steering wheel like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. His knuckles went white as you pressed your palm down firmer against him, your touch slow, maddening, deliberate.

You didn’t answer him. Not with words. You kept your eyes forward, pretending to admire the city lights through the windshield as your fingers lightly traced the outline of his hard-on through the thick denim of his jeans. His breath hitched. Just enough for you to hear it. Just enough to know he was losing the upper hand.

“Yes,” he muttered under his breath, adjusting in his seat, his hips instinctively shifting toward your touch before he caught himself.

“That doesn’t sound like a ‘stop,’ sir,” you teased, your voice sultry now, laced with just enough sugar to make it feel dangerous.

“I swear to-” he gritted out, flicking his eyes toward you, he was 15 minutes away from your apartment, he couldn't wait that long. He began to unbuckle his belt, you help him before removing his cock from his boxers, he pulled into an abandoned parking lot. Watching you with heavy eyes as your ran your fingers up and down his length.

"Yes, so good f'me" He threw his head back to hit the headrest, watching as you look at his cock with awe. Long, and girthy, large veins, with an angry tip, leaking with precum. "What're you thinking, doll?" He looked at you, then back to your hand which was stroking his cock. "I wanna ride you." You mumbled before looking but up at him.

He helped you pull your jeans down, making sure to leave your panties somewhere he'd remember to take later on. "Yeah fuck, look at my pretty girl." He smirked with pride as he moved his seat back, giving you space to straddle him.

'His.' You were his pretty girl

You stroked his cock a few more times before slowly sinking down on him. "Sir!" You whined before gripping his shoulder for stability, his eyes rolled back. "Say it." He grunted, gripping your ass to move up and down on his cock. "Say my name with those pretty little lips of yours." You couldn't bring yourself to do it. This was already wrong, vile, heinous even, you were crossing so many lines you promised to yourself you wouldn't cross. "S-sarge..." You mumbled.

"Moan my name Boot. That's an order."

Your eyes rolled back as you felt his tip hit that spot that made your legs shake. "T-tim..." You finally mumbled, earning a moan from Tim.

A moan, from Tim motherfucking Braford. It was loud, and deep, with just the right amount of rasp to make you want to do it again. Hell, you'd say his name all the time if it meant hearing those noises erupt from him.

"Louder." He barked through gritted teeth, placing a tight smack on your ass, "Tim!" You yelped from the sharp sting. "Yes fuck, you're so perfect." You sped up, his words edging you on. "Cum on my cock, doll." He groaned, looking straight at you as he felt your clench around him. You knew he was close too, you could feel his cock throbbing, begging for release.

"Tim I want you to-" You whined breathlessly as he began fucking into you in frustration. "Want me to what sweetheart? Cum inside this pussy?" You nodded at his filthy words, your eyes squeezing shut as that coil you felt not too long ago formed in your belly. A large moan erupted from your chest, a white creamy ring forming around the base of his cock. He held you in place, his rough hands gripped on your hips as he released his load inside of you. "Fuck, sweetheart, that's it, doing so good." He slowly helped you sink back down onto him. His warm fluids, filling you up to the brink.

"Are y-you on anything?" He asked breathlessly, helping you off him and back onto the passenger's seat, your legs shaking from the stimulation. You nodded yes slowly, trying to catch your own breath.

__________

The drive back was quiet; the air was thick. Tim stashed your panties in his jeans pocket, leaving you bare in your own jeans. The hum of the car being your only distraction to what had just happened. Did he regret it? Is he going to stop you from being his rookie tomorrow? Is he going to fire you all in all?

When he had finally pulled into the parking lot of your apartment you had no idea what to do, what to say. "Do you uh- want me to walk you up?" He was such a gentleman, considering he had cum inside you no more than 10 minutes ago. "That would be great." You half-smiled as he turned the ignition off.

You stood at your door, apartment 10F. Tim stood next to you as you fumbled with your keys to open the door. You thought this was goodnight, but Tim followed you into your apartment once you had opened the door.

He stood behind you, his hands in his jean's pockets, once again stoic, contemplating. "Are we gonna talk, or are you just going to avoid the conversation?" Your eyes shot up as his words cut through the thick air that had followed you from the car. "I won't say anything I promise, I don't want to jeopardize your career." You looked at him with wide eyes, not daring to take a step closer to him, if you did, you were afraid you might pounce on him right there and then. "It's not about that sweetheart, it's about you."

"You're much younger than me, I don't want to jeopardize your career." He seemed genuine, almost as if he had feelings for you. "With all due respect, I'm a grown woman, sir." He almost seemed taken aback by your tone, it was new for him, it was even new for you. "I know, but the LAPD can be quite... sexist." He ran his fingers through his hair. "I don't want other officers to think you slept your way to the top." You gulped. "I didn't think we we're going to tell other officers. I mean- isn't this a one-time thing?"

"No." No?

"I won't be able to keep this as a one-time thing." He took a step closer to you, "Call me old fashioned but I don't do one-night stands." He brushed a strand of hair out of your face before placing a subtle kiss on your forehead. "You're an amazing, sweet, kind girl. I don't want you to think that I only want you for your body." You could melt right there. "Although it is a plus." You chuckled making him smile.

"You have 5 weeks left of your probationary period; I can wait, I will wait for you." He cupped your cheeks before taking a step back, going back into T.O Tim mode.

"Am I really worth the wait?"

"Yes, you are, Boot."

@sleepymissy @whatasadlittlelife @jessewesmitchellfan @w1ldf1owers @winchestersbgirl @vinos-things

#divider by v6que #tim bradford x reader #tim bradford #tim bradford smut #the rookie #the rookie smut

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lucy-literates · 3 months ago

Text

Time to Unwind

Synopsis: He might act confident in front of the cameras, but behind closed doors, Lando’s a completely different story — especially with you. After a chaotic race weekend, you find him in his hotel room, already stripped down to his boxers, waiting for you like he always does when he needs to let go. “Been good,” he whispers, eyes wide, needy, hands in his lap like you’ve trained him. But you can see the way he’s squirming, desperate for your attention. You take your time — make him ask for it properly. Maybe even make him beg. After all, Lando might be in control on the track, but tonight? He belongs to you.

Warnings: semi-sub!Lando, embarrassment/shame, begging, oral (f receiving), p in v

Requested - no

💌 - open

It had been one of the longest weekends that Lando had ever put himself through. It poured down all weekend, causing Lando to slide and DNF in the final race of the weekend. You could see it in his eyes, his disappointment, while he acted calm and cool in front of the camera. He talked about the unfortunate events, bouncing back and fixing the teams strategy while cracking jokes and flashing smiles.

You were messaged a couple hours later:

Lan 🧡: Hey my love, I'm heading back to the hotel room now

Me: Hey baby, I'm just out getting groceries to make dinner, so I'll be back about 10 minutes after you

Lan 🧡: See you then, gorgeous 😘

You paid for your groceries, called a taxi, and made your way back to your hotel. You thanked and paid the taxi driver, entered the hotel, and headed towards the elevator. You reached your door, unlocked it, and slipped your shoes off. You placed the grocery bags on the table while you called out "Lan, I'm home. Where are you?" You heard him quietly call "In the bedroom".

You made your way up the stairs and opened the door. "I was thinking of making your favourite din..." You spotted Lando on the bed, in his boxers. "I was good" he whispered "I really was, I promise". His hands were in his lap, just like you had trained him to do when he needed to let go.

You make your way over to him, trailing your nail across his chest. The shiver that runs down his spine, and the trail of goosebumps that follow your movement are the telltale signs, you know he's needy but he doesn't want to say it. His pupils are blown wide, lips pressed together tightly. Your nails trace around his back and slide up through his scalp. "You know what you need to do" to tell him.

He blushes a deep shade of pink, shame covering his face. "Help me" he whispered. "What was that?" you asked him. "I need help, I need you", tears of desperation pricked his waterline. You move back around to stand in front of him. You used your finger to lift up his chin, forcing him to back eye contact as you leaned in. You both closed your eyes as you connected your lips to his. He moved his lips against yours. His lips followed yours as you pulled away, a small whimper left his mouth at the loss of contact.

You stood up, slowly stripping in front of him. Your tits bounced as you removed your shirt and Lando followed every movement. His eyes raked over you, following the same path his hands would if he was allowed. You took his hands out of his lap and put them behind his back. You sit on his lap, resting your hands on his shoulders, "do you remember the rules?" he nods. "Use your words, baby" you remind him. His cheeks flush up again as he says "I remember. No touching unless I'm told you, no speaking unless I'm spoken to, keep eye contact" You nodded at his answer "good boy" you told him.

You felt his dick twitch in his boxers. You leaned in and connected your lips once again. You had one hand scratching his scalp, and the other hand trailing towards his boxers. "Hips up," you told him. He lifted his hips up and you slipped his boxers off. His tip was red and angry, precum was leaking out and down his shaft which stood tall. He shivered at the cold hair brushing his dick.

His lips and arms twitched, just wanting you to do something, anything. You wrapped your hand around his dick and pumped your hand up and down. Lando's head rolled back on his shoulders as he let out a near-pornographic moan. A tear streaked down his cheek, the desperation was evident in the way his body shook in an attempt to keep his hands to himself.

"Anything to say, baby?" You asked him "You can speak". With your granted permission, fist pumping his shaft, and your bare tits staring him in the eyes, he started babbling. "I need it, I need you so bad. I need to be in you. I wanna touch you, I needa feel you, please y/n!" he cried desperately. You gave him a peck and whispered "Do what you need" into his ear.

His pupils became pure black, not a shred of his gorgeous greenish/blue could be seen. He removed your hand from his dick, picked you up, and threw you on the bed. He dove after you, lifting your legs up and dragging his tongue through your folds. He was absolutely devouring you, like he had been starved. He crawled up to you, licking his lips while he wrapped your legs around his waist. He trailed kisses down your neck, suckling and biting.

He positioned himself at your entrance, slowly pushing himself in. He let out a high-pitched moan at the warmth that spreads through him. He looks at you, pure desire and desperation in his eyes. You give him a nod of approval and he leans down to whisper in your ear "Thank you". He pulls out so his tip is just breaching you, then slams back in. He keeps his brutal pace, slamming into you with ferocity.

Your nails rake down his back, leaving deep red scratch marks, something he would find later on and love. His hand left the bed, moving to tweak your nipple. You felt yourself rapidly approaching your high "L-Lando, I'm gonna cum". This causes Lando to lift your leg up, opening you up. You felt like you were splitting open. He leaned down and kissed you, slipping his tongue into your mouth.

It overloaded your senses, your body shivered and convulsed with the incoming orgasm. You finally let out a loud moan, causing Lando to reach his high. He buried himself deep inside you, his warmth filling you up. His eyes rolled back in his head as he collapsed on top of you, passing out from the intensity.

You gently pulled him out and rolled him over. You walked over to the bathroom and got a warm washcloth. You cleaned yourself before getting another one and heading to Lando, who was still passed out and slightly snoring. You wiped all the sweat off his chest and stomach, he woke with a start as you started gently cleaning his shaft. "Welcome back my love" you said to him. He sat up slowly, taking the cloth from your hand and throwing it in the clothes hamper.

He smiled sleepily as he said "wanna shower". You nodded and took his hand, leading him to the bathroom. He leaned his head on your shoulder as you turned on the shower. You helped him in and closed the door, prompting Lando to let out a little whine. "Whats wrong" you ask him. He just looks at you with a pout, and makes grabby hands through the glass of the shower. You chuckle and get into the shower next to him.

You took your time getting both of you washed and then dried. You left little kisses all around his shoulders and his neck as you dried him with his towel. You got him a clean pair of boxers to put on, and you got an oversized shirt for yourself. You both crawled into bed, your head resting on his chest as his arms circled around your waist. "Thank you" he whispered "I love you". You turned your head and kissed his cheek. "You're welcome" you whispered back "I love you more". you settling into him as he settled into the bed, both of you drifting off, ready for the day ahead.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed it; inbox is open if you have a request :)

#f1 x reader #f1 #f1 imagine #lando norris #lando norris imagine #lando x you #lando x reader #lando norris x reader #lando norris smut #lando norris x reader smut #sub lando norris

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