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allthatjazz416 · 2 months ago

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Osamu NSFW 🌹

"Kiss the cook" A Miya Osamu TIMESKIP fic Tags: Fem!Reader! Creampie! Squirting! Spanking! A lil nipple play! Manhandling! Brief!Cockwarming! Implied!Breedingkink! Praisekink! Dom!Osamu! Sub!Reader! Established RS! Cockdrunk! Cunnulingus! MarriedCouple! LovingDominance! Word Count: 2.9k Note: MDNI! Porn with like a lil plot. Inspired by this header lol which divider crdts: @/cursed-carmine

The smell hits you first.

Garlic. Onion. A little soy sauce. It hits like a warm hug the second you step through the door, bags in hand and shoes half-off. You sigh, stretching your arms over your head, sore from work but already relaxing because he’s home. And he’s cooking.

You round the corner and find him there—in a loose gray shirt, apron tied around his hips, sleeves rolled up, stirring something in a skillet.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says without turning around, voice casual, warm. “You’re home early.”

“I missed you,” you hum.

He laughs softly under his breath. “Didn’t even text me.”

You walk up behind him and snake your arms around his waist, pressing your cheek between his shoulder blades. He’s warm. Solid. Smelling like salt and dinner and Osamu.

“Wanted to surprise you,” you murmur, nosing at the back of his neck. “Smells amazing.”

“Y’better be talkin’ about the food,” he teases.

You smile. “You know I’m not.”

He goes still when you kiss just below his ear, and stay there. His knuckles tighten on the spoon. You know that look—that tiny shift in his stance. He’s trying not to react. So you push it.

Your fingers dip under the hem of his apron. His cock’s not hard yet, but he shifts when you press your palm over his waistband, groaning low in his chest.

“…Now, sweetheart,” he warns, gently, “you start that and I’ll burn the whole damn thing.”

“Then maybe you should turn the stove off.”

He snorts, but it’s breathless. He does turn it off. And the second he sets the spoon down, you spin him around, eyes already on his mouth.

Osamu tastes like soy and garlic and the tiniest hint of sake when you kiss him. He kisses like he cooks—slow and sure, knowing exactly what he’s doing. His hands find your waist. Then your hips. Then your ass.

“Been wantin’ you all day,” he mutters against your lips. “Got this picture in my head of you bent over the kitchen counter in nothin’ but a smile—”

“That so?” you whisper, tongue flicking the corner of his mouth. “Think you can make it happen?”

He doesn’t answer.

He grabs your thighs, lifts you like you weigh nothing, and sets you on the counter in one smooth motion. You blink—pulse quickening—not expecting him to actually drop to his knees. He never does this without teasing first. Without dragging it out. But this time—

He kneels. Right there on the kitchen floor.

“Samu—!” your hands reach for the edge of the counter, breath catching. “I’ve been out all day, I’m probably all sweaty down there—”

“Good,” he growls, spreading your thighs. “I wanna taste all of it.” eyes locked on your soaked cunt. “Fuck, look at you.”

You freeze, pulse hammering in your throat. Heat crawls up your chest. You weren’t expecting this—weren’t expecting him to want you like this, right now, raw and unfiltered. Part of you hesitates, skin flushed and prickling with the awareness of the day still clinging to you.

But the way he looks at you—hungry, reverent, fucking possessed—melts every ounce of self-consciousness. He wants you. Just like this.

Your breath catches again, this time for a different reason. You relax back into your elbows, thighs falling open.

“Fuck,” you whisper. “Okay…”

He spreads your thighs, hooks them over his shoulders, and drags his tongue through your slit like he’s starving.

And god—he doesn’t stop.

Osamu eats pussy like it’s his job. Like you’re his last meal. He licks up your folds, slow and wet and filthy, then swirls his tongue around your clit until your thighs twitch. His hands keep you open, thumbs pressing into your hips just enough to bruise. You pant, moan, try to grind down—but he pins you there.

“Stay still,” he growls, voice low against your core. “Lemme take my time.”

His mouth seals around your clit and sucks. You yelp, clapping a hand over your mouth. He hums into you, sending vibrations straight through your cunt.

“Osamu—fuck, that—ah—”

“You’re already drippin’, sweetheart,” he groans. “This little pussy missed me?”

You nod helplessly, hips twitching. “Y-yeah… I missed your mouth…”

He groans into your cunt, like that does something to him. And then he gets meaner. Hungrier. His fingers come next—one thick finger pushing inside while his tongue works circles around your clit. Then another. Curling just right.

You feel it building—hot and tight in your belly, your thighs clenching, every muscle on edge. But just when you’re about to tip over—

He stops.

You whine, loudly. “Samu!”

He smirks up at you, fingers still buried deep, glistening mouth pressed to your thigh.

“You were close, huh?” he teases, curling his fingers just enough to make your body jump. “You gonna cum all over the counter for me?”

“Please,” you whimper. “Please don’t tease me—need it so bad—”

He grins, slow and filthy.

“Say it again.”

“Need your mouth,” you gasp, hands fisting in his hair. “Need to cum for you, Osamu—fuck, please—”

He goes in.

Tongue on your clit, fingers curling hard and fast—right there, over and over—and the pressure snaps.

Your back arches. You scream, thighs clamping around his head as you squirt hard, soaking his mouth, his chin, the front of his apron.

You’re gasping, shaking, crying out—helpless against the wave of overstimulation.

Osamu groans like it’s the hottest thing he’s ever felt, grinding his face into you like he wants more.

“Fuckin’ love makin’ you squirt,” he pants. “You always make a mess for me, don’t you?”

You’re still shaking when he stands—licking his fingers like he’s tasting your orgasm, his cock hard as granite behind his sweats. His mouth and chin are slick—glistening with you.

Then he grabs your face.

Big, calloused fingers wrap under your jaw, thumb pressing just under your lips as he tilts your face up to his. His eyes are dark. Hungry.

“Open.”

You do.

He kisses you—filthy. Deep and slow, no warning. His tongue pushes past your lips and you taste yourself, still dripping from his mouth. He groans into the kiss, hand gripping your chin like he owns you.

“That's you,” he growls, pulling back just enough to pant against your mouth. “So fuckin’ sweet. I could live off this cunt.”

You whimper, clenching around nothing. He must feel the heat radiating off you because he grins, smug and slow and dangerous.

Then his hand slides down. Between your legs. He cups your pussy—still wet, still messy—and moans into your cheek.

“Still so fuckin’ wet,” he mutters, grinding his palm against your clit. “Y’gonna let me fuck you now, sweetheart? Let me fill you up?”

You nod. Fast. Breathless. “Yes. Please.”

“Not beggin’ pretty enough,” he growls, licking into your neck, one hand gripping your waist tight enough to bruise. “Want you to ask me. Like a good girl.”

You whimper, arching your back, rubbing against him. “Please fuck me, Samu. Wanna feel your cock. Wanna feel you inside.”

“Where, sweetheart?” he presses, cock hard against your thigh now, rubbing through the front of his sweats. “Tell me where you want it.”

“Inside,” you pant, eyes fluttering. “Need you to finish inside me.”

He lets out a sound—deep, dark, filthy. Then he hooks one arm around your waist and lifts you, making you yelp. Not rushed, not rough—just strong, decisive, possessive.

“Counter’s too small,” he mutters against your neck. “Need more room to fuck you proper.”

He carries you across the kitchen and lays you back on the table like you’re made of something precious and his. The wood is cool against your back, a sharp contrast to the heat of his body as he looms over you, staring down at you like you’re his next course.

His eyes drop to your chest, still hidden under your shirt, and he growls low—like he’s just remembered what else he’s starving for.

“Lift your arms, sweetheart,” he murmurs, tugging your shirt up and off. “Wanna see all of you.”

He palms your breasts with both hands, rough but reverent, thumbs brushing over your nipples until they harden under his touch. You arch up with a soft gasp, and he groans—low and filthy, cock twitching against your thigh.

“Fuck, these tits,” he mutters, bending to mouth at one nipple, sucking slow and deep until it makes your toes curl. “I missed these, too. God, you make me crazy.”

He bites—just enough to make you yelp—then soothes it with a slow lick. His hands never leave your body, one still cupping your breast while the other slides down, trailing heat along your side.

“Keep lookin’ at me like that,” he mutters, tugging his sweats down just enough for his cock to spring free—thick and flushed and already leaking, “and I’m not gonna be able to take my time.”

“Then don’t,” you whisper, hips lifting, legs parting. “Samu, I need it.”

He groans, low and hungry, and steps in closer—running his cock through your folds, dragging it over your clit, tapping it against your soaked entrance just to hear the obscene slick of your arousal.

“Fuck,” he hisses. “You’re drippin’—you this messy just from gettin’ eaten out?”

You whine, squirming. “M’still sensitive—”

“I know.” His smirk is slow. Dangerous. “That’s why I’m gonna make it worse.”

He strokes his cock once—twice—then presses the blunt head to your entrance.

But he doesn’t push in.

Not yet.

His hand slides up your chest, under your shirt, up your neck. Grips your chin.

“Kiss me.”

You do, panting into his mouth as he leans over you—his tongue slow, dragging, dirty. He kisses you like he owns every part of you.. Like you belong to him.

Then—only then—he starts to push in.

“Just a little,” he murmurs against your lips. “Let me feel that squeeze…”

You moan, loud and helpless, as he sinks in—slow, steady, inch by inch.

“Big,” you gasp. “You’re so—fuck—you’re so big…”

“That’s right,” he growls. “Wanna feel me stretch you out. Wanna ruin this pussy nice and slow.”

He stops halfway in. Just stops—and starts grinding.

Not thrusting. Just deep, tight circles of his hips, the thick weight of his cock rubbing right against the spot that makes your toes curl. Your hands fly up, clinging to his shoulders, his apron still bunched around his waist.

You whimper. “Samu—need all of you—please—”

“I know, baby,” he mutters, cock twitching inside you. “You’re takin’ me so well. Almost there…”

Another inch. Another grind. He watches your face—eats every gasp, every twitch of your lips, like he’s feasting on your need.

And then he bottoms out.

All of him. Buried to the hilt.

You both moan.

You swear you see stars for a second.

“God, I feel so full—”

“That’s ‘cause you are, baby,” he pants, forehead pressed to yours. “Look at me. Let me see your face when I fuck you.”

He pulls out just a little—then thrusts back in.

Deep.

Slow.

Like he wants to mold your insides to his shape.

He does it again. And again. Each thrust deeper than the last, each one building that low, aching heat between your legs. You wrap your arms around him, thighs trembling, biting back moans that only make him grin.

“You love this,” he growls. “Love bein’ fucked like this, huh?”

“Yes,” you whimper, tears pricking your eyes. “Love your cock—fuck—don’t stop—”

He doesn’t.

His thrusts stay deep, slow, and dirty. Every inch of him feels like it’s made to ruin you—hot and thick, dragging against your sweet spot with a precision that makes you clench down and moan his name like it’s the only word you remember.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, leaning over you, his chest pressed to your back. “You hear that? That’s your pussy talkin’ to me.”

He’s right.

It’s wet—obscene. Every thrust sounds like filth, slick and messy, your cunt fluttering greedily around him. You gasp as his hips press flush to your ass, his cock buried to the hilt, and he stays there—grinding. Deep and slow. Like he’s savoring how tight you are around him.

“God, I can’t get deep enough like this,” he growls, pulling out slow. “Turn over for me, baby—lemme see that ass.”

You moan, dizzy with need, and roll over—cheek pressed to the table, arms braced, legs trembling as he slips back in.

Then—

Smack.

You yelp, jumping slightly as his hand lands hard on your ass. The sound echoes through the kitchen. Your cunt clenches around him.

“There she is,” he growls, rubbing the sting in with a big, warm hand. “Always gets tighter when I spank you.”

“Samu,” you moan, shivering. “Again—”

Another smack.

You whimper, arching your back, presenting for him like a good girl.

“You’re filthy,” he pants, fucking into you again—slow and thick. “Come home from work all sweet and polite, then turn into a cockdrunk mess the second I get you on the table.”

“I missed you,” you breathe, voice trembling. “Missed your cock. Missed this.”

“Yeah?” His hand slides up your spine, fingers winding into your hair to gently tug your head back so he can kiss the side of your face. “This pussy miss me, baby?”

You whine—high, needy—grinding back into him. “So much.”

He groans into your skin, then pulls out slow—just the tip inside—and slams back in, hard enough to make the table creak beneath you.

You cry out, nearly folding over the wood, but he catches your hips.

“That’s it,” he grits, rutting into you again, hips smacking loud and sharp. “Let me fuck it better.”

His thrusts pick up, sloppy now—wet and deep, the sound of skin on skin echoing in your little kitchen, obscene and delicious. He’s panting into your neck, hands bruising on your hips, buried so deep inside you it feels like he’s touching your fucking soul.

“You love this, huh?” he growls. “Love comin’ home and gettin’ fucked dumb like this?”

“Yes—yes, baby, I love it—”

“You were so fuckin’ sweet walkin’ out the door this morning, actin’ all innocent in that cute little work outfit,” he pants, one hand coming down again—smack—harder this time, making you jerk forward with a cry. “Bet you were thinkin’ about my cock the whole damn day.”

You nod frantically, gasping. “Wanted your cock all day—”

“Should’ve told me,” he growls, grinding deep. “I’d’ve bent you over this table before you even get your keys.”

You moan, loud and unfiltered, your thighs shaking again.

His pace doesn’t let up. He keeps fucking into you like he owns it—your body, your cunt, your sounds. His cock drives in deep, again and again, that perfect spot hit over and over until your vision starts to blur.

You’re soaked. Gushing around him. So wet it’s dripping off your thighs onto the floor, messy and hot and loud. You feel another orgasm building fast—sharper this time, tighter, like a spring wound to the breaking point.

“Fuck—Samu—I’m gonna—”

“You gonna squirt again for me, baby?” he groans, thrusting harder. “So fuckin’ greedy tonight—”

He slips a hand between your legs, thumb rubbing your clit in tight circles, fucking you through it—hard and fast, like he wants to feel you fall apart again.

And you do.

You break with a scream—back arching, mouth open, body going rigid before you gush, helpless and messy, your juices spilling around him in hot waves. You feel it spray out, feel the slap of it against his thighs, the flood between your legs soaking the front of the counter.

Osamu groans like it’s the best thing he’s ever seen.

“Look at you,” he pants, never stopping. “So fuckin’ wet, baby—fuck—feel that? You’re milkin’ my cock—fuckin’ made for it—”

You’re limp. Wrecked. But he’s still going.

You moan, weakly now, every thrust sending aftershocks through your nerves. And you feel him twitch inside you, cock hard and pulsing, hips starting to stutter.

“Tell me where you want it,” he grits, hand clutching your waist. “Tell me where to finish.”

“In me,” you whimper, “Osamu—inside—wanna feel it. Wanna keep it in—”

“Fuck—fuck—” he grits out, voice cracking.

He slams in deep and stays, hips locking against yours as he cums with a growl—low and broken and possessive. You feel it fill you, thick and hot, pumping inside until it leaks around his cock and drips down your thighs, mixing with everything else you’ve spilled.

And still, he doesn’t pull out.

He bends over you, chest to your back, both of you trembling. He kisses your shoulder. Your cheek. Your neck.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he murmurs, voice soft now, tender against your ear.

You nod, still panting. “I’m so full…”

He grins, slow and wicked, cupping your mound with one big hand, with his cock plunged in to keep it all in. “Damn right you are.”

And then he laughs—soft and low, one hand sliding up your spine to stroke your hair.

“I ever tell you how much I love it when my wife comes home to me?”

You laugh, exhausted. Wrecked. Soaked in love and slick and everything that’s his.

“Only every time you fuck me like this.”

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bidonicart · 9 months ago

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And it's a wrap: the short, shocking (?) epilogue to the Mad Men/Metal Gear crossover nobody asked for but that I willed into existence anyway. Thanks for reading!

These Abominable Fancies - Epilogue

“I think nobody truly matters to you. Everyone is expendable in the name of some higher purpose I’m sure you can’t quite explain. And that’s why you’re still here, while there’s a trail of destruction in your wake.”

#metal gear solid #mad men #fanfiction #bbkaz #don draper #truly what took me longest was deciding what to draw as a header for this one

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inkandapex · 3 months ago

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butterflies

Lando Norris x Reader

Summary: After a tough triple header, Lando’s feeling the pressure, and you’re there to offer him comfort. As he opens up about his struggles, a surprising confession slips out.

Words: 2.1k

Warnings: swearing, mental health

The triple header was finally over. But it had chewed Lando up and spat him out along the way.

Three weekends. Three countries — Japan, Bahrain, Saudi Arabia — each one stacking exhaustion, frustration, and pressure on his shoulders like invisible weights he couldn’t shake off.

It had started so well. Pole position. A first win of the season. A lead in the championship standings. For a brief, brilliant moment, it felt like everything was falling into place.

And then, almost overnight, it began to unravel.

A costly mistake during qualifying. A crash in Saudi that left him stranded in P10 on the grid. Every misstep gnawed at him, louder and sharper than any of the praise that followed.

His team, his fans, his family, they all tried to reassure him. Finishing P4 from a backfoot start was an incredible recovery. They told him they were proud. They told him to hold his head high.

But Lando being Lando, he carried the weight of every mistake like a scar carved into his chest.

Everyone saw it, the way each race seemed to pull him a little further away from himself. The slump of his shoulders, the blankness in his gaze when he thought no one was looking. When he scrolled through his phone late at night, the hateful comments and cruel jokes flashing across his screen, dissecting him, mocking him, criticizing every tiny misstep like he wasn’t even human.

Hours after the Saudi race, the four of you — Max, P, Lando, and you — ended up crashing in Lando’s hotel room, ordering a late dinner to fill the silence no one really wanted to break.

Lando was half-sprawled across the sofa, lazily scrolling through his phone. His leg bounced restlessly up and down, his other hand busy chewing at the edge of his thumb, a nervous habit he never quite managed to shake. You watched him from your spot across the sofa, feeling the unease bleeding off of him in waves.

Max and P had disappeared to pick up the food, leaving just you and Lando behind in the low hum of the AC in the hotel room.

You sighed, placing your phone down in your lap.

“You wanna talk about it?” you asked gently.

Lando glanced up, almost like he hadn’t realized he wasn’t alone. His leg kept bouncing, hand slowly dropping from his mouth. “Hm?” he mumbled.

“You want to talk about it?” you repeated, shifting forward so you were properly facing him. “Whatever’s been bothering you.”

He cleared his throat, mirroring your movement like it gave him something to do. “I’m good,” he said, a little too quickly.

You didn’t buy it for a second.

“You’re clearly not, Lan,” you said, frowning. “When’s the last time you had proper sleep? No offense, but... you look like shit.”

He actually chuckled at that, a low, rough sound. Five years of friendship meant he expected nothing less than brutal honesty from you.

“I’m fine, Y/N. You worry too much.”

“Because I care,” you shot back, voice softer now. “You’re too hard on yourself, you know that? You’re doing a great job—"

“—I’m not,” he interrupted sharply, voice cracking just slightly. His hands scrubbed roughly over his face. “I’m not. And I should be. Everyone expects better from me, and I can’t fucking deliver.”

The words spilled out fast, like he couldn’t hold them in any longer.

You felt your chest tighten at the way he said it, like it wasn’t frustration talking. It was something deeper. Defeat.

Quietly, closing the gap, sitting closer to him without a word. You didn’t try to tell him he was wrong. You didn’t start listing achievements or statistics he already knew by heart. Instead, you leaned your shoulder against his, solid and steady.

“You’re allowed to have bad days, Lan,” you said simply. “One race doesn’t erase who you are. What you’ve built. You’re not just... results on a page.”

He didn’t respond immediately. His leg stilled. His phone slipped from his hand onto the cushion.

For the first time all night, he let himself lean into you, just a little. Just enough. Head ever so gently resting on your shoulder

And for now, you took that as a win.

You sighed, letting your head rest lightly against his, your fingers finding his hand and tracing slow, soothing circles across the back of it. "It’s only been... what? Five races?" you said quietly. "You’ve got so much more ahead of you, Lan."

He let out a bitter laugh, low and tight in his chest. "It’s only been five, and I’ve already fucked up every single one," he muttered. "If I haven’t ruined the whole race, I’ve made at least one critical mistake every damn time."

"You’re not perfect, Lan," you said, squeezing his hand a little tighter, grounding him.

He shook his head against you, the words tumbling out faster now, rough around the edges. "Oscar’s not making mistakes like I am. And Max — everyone keeps saying he shouldn't be that fast in the Red Bull, but he is. He's that good. And me—" He broke off, swallowing hard.

"You’re not Oscar," you said firmly.

"You’re not Max... you’re not Lewis either. You’re Lando. And that’s more than enough."

You pull away slightly, shifting so you’re fully facing him, needing him to see that you mean every word. "It breaks my heart to see you like this," you say quietly, your voice thick with feeling. "Doubting yourself. Look how far you’ve come, Lan. You should be proud."

He offers a small, tired smile, nodding once. "I know..." he murmurs. "It’s just— sometimes it gets too much, you know? I knew what I was signing up for, but... that doesn’t mean the comments, the criticism, all the shit people say... it doesn’t mean it doesn’t get to me. I wish I didn't care so much about what others thought about me"

Your heart twists painfully in your chest. Without thinking, you squeeze his hand again, anchoring him. "Then you wouldn't be you anymore...and we know you’re worth more than anything they have to say," you say, shrugging like it’s the simplest truth in the world. "I want you to be world champion, Lan. I want you to chase every dream you’ve ever had. But if it means losing yourself in the process..."

You shake your head, voice turning fierce with emotion. "If it means losing the Lando I know and love? Fuck the championship."

"Yeah?" His head snaps toward you, a smirk pulling at his lips, one eyebrow raised slightly.

"You love me?"

You roll your eyes, suddenly finding your nails very interesting, anything to distract from the heat creeping up your neck. "Out of everything I just said, that’s what you choose to focus on?"

He laughs, a real one this time, soft and a little mischievous, and nudges his knee against yours. "I love you too, you muppet."

He sighs, settling back against your shoulder like it’s the only place he wants to be. "Having you here with me... it helps," he says quietly.

"I hope you know that. You make everything easier."

You smile, warmth blooming in your chest, and press a soft kiss to the top of his head before resting yours against his again. "Mind saying that again?" you tease, voice light. "Maybe once Max gets back... just so he can hear who your favourite friend really is?"

Lando laughs, and it’s music to your ears, its bright, real, almost like you could see the weight slowly lifting off his chest. "Oh, trust me," he says, nudging you. "He knows he lost to you a long time ago. He doesn’t give me butterflies in my tummy like you do."

You chuckle, a surprised laugh slipping out. "I give you butterflies?"

"Oh, shut up..." Lando muttered, letting out a soft yawn as he nuzzled closer to you, his face buried in your shoulder. "Sometimes I feel like you rile me up on purpose."

"Hey, I do not!" you protested, slapping his leg.

"Ow!" Lando dodged, laughing through the pain. "Alright, fine. Maybe it’s just my tiny crush on you talking."

You smirked, teasing him. "You have a crush on me? How old are you, ten?"

Lando shot you a playful look. "How old are you, ten?" he mocked, sticking out his tongue. "I’ve liked you for a while now, you knob."

You froze, your heart skipping a beat. What the hell? Was he serious, or was he just messing with you? You sat there, stiff and dumbfounded, unsure of what to make of it.

"You're just tired. Sleep it off," you said, trying to brush it off, though your mind was spinning.

"I’m fucking exhausted," he yawned again, his eyes already fluttering closed. "But it doesn’t make me a liar." He shifted slightly, his voice softer now.

"You can even ask Max when he comes back."

Silence.

You couldn’t think of anything to say. Your mind raced with a thousand different scenarios, trying to figure out if he was joking or if there was something real in his words. Surely, he was just messing with you, right?

"Since when?" you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

No response. Just the hum of the AC and Lando’s steady breathing. As much as you wanted to wake him up and demand answers, you knew he needed the rest more than you needed clarity.

You stayed still, afraid to disturb him. Just enough movement to pick up your phone and scroll through your feed, passing the time as you waited for Max and P.

Lando's head was now resting gently on your lap, his legs curled up in a relaxed position, peacefully asleep. Not long later, Max and P arrived, chatting softly as they entered the room.

As soon as they were both in view, you held a finger to your lips, signaling them to keep quiet. P smiled, nodding, and walked over to the kitchen to grab some utensils. Max, however, made his way over to you with the bags of food in hand.

"Finally got him to sleep, huh?" Max said with a grin.

You nodded, a soft smile tugging at your lips. "Took a while, but he's resting."

Max took the opportunity to pull his phone out of his pocket, immediately snapping photos of you and Lando.

You quickly grabbed the throw pillow beside you and tossed it at him.

He dodged it with ease, raising his hands in surrender. "He’d want photos," he said, the smirk never leaving his face.

He’d want photos? Now you were even more confused.

You cleared your throat, trying to brush off the confusion as you gathered your thoughts. "He... uh... he said something to me before he nodded off."

Max’s attention was fully on the food now as he unpacked the containers, "Yeah?"

You took a deep breath, still unsure of how to approach it. "He told me he had a crush on me..." you said with a nervous chuckle.

Max didn’t even flinch. He continued unpacking, casually licking the sauce off his finger, "Oh, you really didn’t know?"

You frowned, your confusion deepening. "What do you mean?"

Max shrugged, clearly not fazed. "I've always assumed you noticed it by now... or that P had told you a while back." He casually shrugged again, tossing the food containers onto the counter. "Thought you were just pretending you didn’t know until he actually confessed."

No fucking way. After all these years of keeping your feelings to yourself, to find out this man — the one napping on your lap right now — likes you too?

"You're fucking with me," you laugh in disbelief. "Since when?"

Max scoffs, clearly amused. "Since months after you two first met?"

"I'll help P out, I’ll grab some ice too," he adds, before heading off into the kitchen.

You stay frozen, your mind racing, still trying to process the whirlwind of emotions.

"Believe me now?"

Lando’s voice pulls you from your trance. You glance down, finding him looking up at you with sleepy, half-lidded eyes and a cheeky grin tugging at his lips.

You roll your eyes, reaching down to pinch his cheek. "You’re so annoying."

"Secrets out..." Lando chuckles, sitting up and stretching. "Gotta take you out on a proper date now."

"I’d love that, actually." You smile softly, feeling a warmth spread through you. Without thinking, you offer him the box of spring rolls.

Lando reaches for a spring roll, popping it into his mouth with a relaxed smile.

"This is good," he says, rubbing his tummy in satisfaction. "Gotta keep the butterflies fed."

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sergeantbarnessdoll · 5 months ago

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hiii! can i request a bucky fanfic that takes place in civil war? specifically, the scene where zemo activated the winter solider and he starts attacking the avengers. and the soldier notices reader but for some reason spares her. maybe the reader is also an avenger, and has an established relationship with bucky? thank youuuu, have a good day! <33

Sparing You » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Beefy!Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Female Reader with Steve Rogers/Captain America and the Avengers

Summary: Bucky spares you when he’s in Winter Soldier mode.

Warnings: Fluff, tiny bit of Angst, language, established relationship, boyfriend!Bucky/girlfriend!reader, kissing, pet names

A/N: Thank you for the request @timmytimberdrake 🩵

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

Header made by @buck-star

GIF IS NOT MINE! Gif credit goes to the creator.

As you watched the camera footage of the room Bucky is in with Zemo, you could tell that something wasn’t right about Zemo. You didn’t need to be in the same room as him to know that.

“Something doesn’t seem right with that Zemo guy.” You say.

Steve nods as he continues to watch the footage. You stood up from your seat and walked over to Steve, standing next to him to get a better look at the screen. As you guys continued watching it, the power went out, confusing everyone. You, Steve, and Sam exchanged looks before making your way to where Bucky is. Bucky wasn’t in the metal pod or anywhere in the room when you guys got in there. Zemo wasn’t on the floor. Steve grabbed him by his jacket and slammed him against the wall.

“What the hell did you do to him?” You asked Zemo.

“You’ll find out in a moment, Miss. Y/L/N.” Zemo says, smirking evilly.

You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion.

How the hell does he know your name?

That’s when Bucky came out of nowhere and started attacking Steve and Sam. He threw Sam against the pod and shoved Steve against the elevator doors hard enough to make him fall through them. Your eyes went wide. That was enough to tell you that Bucky is in Winter Soldier mode. Bucky turned around, accidentally bumping into you. You stumbled backwards, but didn’t fall. You stared up at him, waiting for him to attack you, but he didn’t. He just stared down at you for a few seconds before walking away. Now, you’re confused.

Why didn’t he attack you like he did to Steve and Sam just seconds ago?

You followed him through the building, making sure he didn’t notice you. You hid along the wall that led to a seating area with some tables. You poked your head out to see Bucky attacking the rest of the Avengers.

“Is Barnes in there?” Tony asks from behind you.

“Yes.” You replied.

Tony got his blaster ready and aimed it at Bucky, blasting him. Your eyes went wide when he did that. You watched Bucky approach Tony with a gun.

“Uh oh.” You mumbled to yourself.

You felt like you should do something. You ran out to the seating area before Bucky could shoot Tony. You managed to get the gun out of Bucky’s strong grip. You unloaded the bullets from it and threw it as far as you could. Bucky just stared at you. You gulped, thinking he was going to attack you this time, but he didn’t. He gently moved you to the side before attacking Tony.

“Why didn’t Barnes attack you?” T’Challa asks.

“I-I don’t know.” You replied.

You didn’t let Bucky out of your sight even when after he went after T’Challa. You followed him, keeping your distance. Following him led both of you to the roof of the building. You watched Bucky get on the helicopter and started it. Steve opened the door, entering the roof. You watched Steve run towards the helicopter and grabbed onto it so Bucky couldn’t fly away. He used all of his strength to pull it down. He wanted to stop his best friend before things got worse.

———

Steve managed to get Bucky to an abandoned factory. Bucky was unconscious at the moment. You stared at Bucky while biting your nails as you thought to yourself. You were curious to know why Bucky didn’t attack you when he was in Winter Soldier mode. That’s when it hit you. You and Bucky met during your trip to Romania last Summer. You and him hung out and got to know each other. You two made it official before leaving to go back home. You guys kept yours and his relationship a secret. You hate that you kept this from your friends, especially Steve.

“Y/N, are you ok? Did he hurt?” Steve asks, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“Hmm? Yea, I’m fine. He didn’t hurt me.” You say.

Steve stared at you, studying your body language. He could tell that you were keeping something from him and he’s going to find out what it is.

“Cap, he’s waking up.” Sam says.

You, Steve, and Sam enter the area Bucky is in. Bucky groans as he wakes up. He furrows his eyebrows when he notices that his metal arm is wedged in some kind of machine.

“Steve…” Bucky says, his voice raspy from waking up.

“Which Bucky am I talking to?” Steve asks.

“Your mom’s name is Sarah and you used to wear newspaper in your shoes.” Bucky says.

“Can’t read that in a museum.” Steve says.

“And now, we’re supposed to be cool?” Sam says.

“What did I do?” Bucky asks, looking at Sam.

“Nothing.” You say softly.

Bucky turns his attention to you, smiling when he seen you. Steve looks from Bucky to you, sensing something between the two of you.

“What’s going on between you two?” Steve asks you and Bucky.

You looked at Bucky. He nodded, letting you know it’s ok to tell Steve about yours and his relationship.

“Remember when I went on a trip to Europe last Summer?” You asked.

Steve and Sam nodded.

“Well, I went to Romania for the remainder of my trip and I met Bucky when I was there. Him and I hung out and got to know each other. We made our relationship official before I came home. Him and I kept it a secret.” You explained.

“How long have you two been together?” Steve asks.

“Almost a year.” You tell him.

“A year?! Why didn’t you tell me?!” Steve says.

“Don’t get mad at her. I’m the one who said to keep our relationship a secret.” Bucky says.

Steve sighs and puts his hands on his hips, trying to process the fact that you kept your relationship with Bucky a secret for almost a year.

“Can I ask you something?” Sam ask Bucky.

Bucky looks at Sam and nods.

“Why didn’t you attack Y/N when you were in Winter Soldier mode?” He asks curiously.

“I wanted to spare her. Even though all of the programming, I still somehow knew who she is.” Bucky says.

You smiled and walked over to Bucky, giving him a hug.

“I would’ve forgiven you even if you did attack me.” You say softly, gazing in his blue eyes.

Bucky stared in your eyes. He loves how loving you are. He also loves how you can see past his mistakes he made over the years. That’s his favorite things about you. Bucky’s right hand cups your cheek, his thumb gently rubbing against your skin. He kisses you softly and sweetly. As Steve looks at the two of you and watches the cute moment unfold in front of him, he then realizes that Bucky most likely asked you to keep yours and his relationship a secret to protect you so nothing bad happened to you.

“You guys kept your relationship a secret to protect her, didn’t you?” Steve asks.

“Yes.” Bucky answers softly.

“I didn’t mean to get mad at you guys. It would’ve been nice to know. Just don’t keep anymore secrets from us, ok?” Steve says.

You and Bucky nodded. Now, that you guys talked everything out and got it out of the way, you guys can move forward on the plan.

“I know a guy.” Sam says.

Steve nods, letting Sam know to call him.

“I’ll protect you.” You say softly to Bucky.

“You’re so sweet, doll.” Bucky smiles. “I love you.” He almost whispers, kissing your lips softly.

“I love you too, sweetie.” You whispered back.

🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵

-Bucky’s Doll

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