inlovewithquestionablecharacters

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

Bob Floyd X F!Reader: Crash and Burn

a/n: I love writing near-death experiences that lead to confessions and smut. It’s a guilty pleasure 😉

Warnings: smut, angst (very tame), cursing, fighting (nothing too bad) near-death experience, emotional conflict, sexual content, explicit smut, mutual pinning, f!reader, no use of y/n, penetration (p in v), semi-public sex (i mean anyone could have walked in), possible me remembering stuff wrong from the movie ( i haven't seen it in awhile okay 🙃)

Word count: 3.4K

Maverick had made it his personal mission to push every pilot past the point of comfort. He was determined to test your limits. You were more than eager to prove you could take the heat.

The sun beat down on the cockpit canopy as you adjusted your helmet, eyes locked on the radar screen. Somewhere out there, Maverick was hunting, pushing you to fly faster, think sharper, and stay alive. 

Failure was not an option.

The sky in front of you was clear. It was a beautiful day for a flight. If Maverick hadn’t been hunting you, you were sure you would have enjoyed the scenery a lot more. Unfortunately, your heart was racing with the thought of somehow losing. It wasn’t a real possibility, not in your mind anyway. You were a good pilot and Fanboy was an excellent WSO, so you didn’t have much to worry about.

But then again, you were flying against Maverick. He had proved to you and the rest of the crew that he wasn’t just a legend. He knew his craft, and he wasn’t going to let any of you stop him from doing what he did best, which currently meant beating you.

“Anybody got eyes on him?” Hangman’s voice crackled through the comms, sharp and steady.

You scanned the horizon, muscles tense. “Not yet. But I’m pushing the limits. I’ll call it if I see him.”

Fanboy’s calm voice came over your headset. “Radar’s clear for now, but he’s tricky. Don’t lose focus.”

Your grip tightened on the controls as you adjusted your heading, heart pounding. Maverick was out there somewhere, and this chase was far from over.

And then, almost as if he’d heard you, Maverick appeared out of nowhere. You couldn’t see him yet, but you knew he was there because of the curse Hangman had just let out, followed by the clear sound of the older pilot saying, “Hangman, you’re dead.”

The comms crackled with frantic voices as pilots scrambled to react. You tightened your grip on the controls, eyes darting between your instruments and the horizon. Fanboy’s calm voice came through your headset. 

“I see a blip on the radar. Twelve o’clock, fast approaching.”

Your eyes darted to where he was talking about, immediately catching sight of the two jets. You watched as Phoenix and Bob tried to outmaneuver Maverick, zigzagging low, trying to shake the older pilot off their tail. You spotted the ridge up ahead, your heart suddenly clenching as you realized just how close the other two pilots were flying to it.

“They’re too close to the ridge,” you said, voice tight. “Fanboy, tell me if they’re not pulling up.”

“Roger that. They’re pushing it.”

You should probably have been thinking about how to win this game. If Bob and Phoenix got eliminated, that only meant you had a bigger chance of winning. But you couldn’t get your mind to think like that, not as you watched their jet come closer and closer to the ridge.

Your heart was pounding, and it wasn’t because Maverick was hunting you. The jets dipped low, causing your breath to catch.

“Phoenix, Bob, pull up now! You’re gonna hit the ridge!”

Static buzzed, then Phoenix’s voice came through, strained but steady. “We’re fine.”

You knew Phoenix was a good pilot–you trusted her instincts–but you could see where she was going, and it seemed like she was too focused on Maverick to realize just how close she was to the ridge. The way she said it, so calm, so certain, made your blood boil all of a sudden. You were warning her because you cared, and she wasn’t even trying to listen.

“Phoenix, you’re too fucking close. Pull up now!”

There was no response. You fought the urge to shut your eyes, unable to look away even though your mind screamed it was coming. Then, just as you were about to call out again, their jets jolted upward, barely clearing the jagged rocks by inches.

You exhaled sharply, your breath shaky.

“Jesus,” Fanboy muttered in your ear, echoing exactly what you were thinking.

You didn’t answer him. Your eyes were still locked on Phoenix and Bob’s jet, watching it level out.

 A second slower and they would’ve been gone.

The rest of the game had gone by in a blur. All around you, pilots were getting eliminated left and right. Maverick was absolutely destroying all of you. But you kept fighting like you had a chance—because maybe, if you believed you would win, you could.

Yeah, right.

Even you knew that beating Maverick wasn’t something you were going to achieve today. Still, your chest swelled with pride when you found out that you and Fanboy were the last ones to get eliminated. Not quite a victory, but still a win in your book.

Unfortunately, you couldn’t even appreciate it the way you wanted to. Your brain kept replaying the sight of Phoenix and Bob’s jet almost crashing into the ridge. The happiness you felt over your small victory was short-lived, immediately replaced by a sudden anger that bubbled up inside you and filled your chest like fire.

The sun was high by the time you all hit the tarmac. Sweat clung to your skin, your body already aching from the endless drills, but it didn’t matter. Maverick had ruled the sky again, and now everyone was paying the price.

“One hundred push-ups,” he’d said flatly. “Rules are rules.”

So you dropped to the ground with the others, hands pressed to the hot concrete, heart still pounding from more than just the exercise.

You were seething.

Each push-up only made the rage worse. You tried to breathe through it, focus on form, on rhythm, on anything else. But your mind was stuck. Stuck on how close they’d come to slamming into that damn ridge.

Phoenix was beside you, gritting her teeth, her form sharp. Bob, quiet as ever, kept his head down and his pace steady.

You didn’t look at either of them.

Once you finished your one hundred push-ups, you were all exhausted. You were equally drained and angry, and you were sure it showed in your facial expressions and body language. That thought was confirmed when Hangman so helpfully quipped, “What's with the face? You suck on a lime or something?”

You gave him your most meaningful glance. He raised his hands in mock surrender.

 “Whoa, hit a nerve,” he said with a coy smile.

“Fuck off, Hangman.”

That surprised him because, despite all his teasing, you were always someone he never managed to get under the skin.

He wasn’t the only one who noticed, of course. All eyes had turned to you as you said those words. You could feel Bob’s gaze on your shoulder and Phoenix’s smoldering eyes watching you. You made brief eye contact with Bob, then with Phoenix. Without a word, you exited the room.

You didn’t expect them to come after you—maybe today was a day for unexpected things.

“Can we talk?”

You paused at Phoenix’s voice, then turned around to face her. Your eyes flicked to Bob behind her. He wasn’t cowering, but he did seem to be slightly hiding from you, allowing Phoenix’s body to shield him from your rage.

It made you feel bad for a moment, but then the moment was gone, and you were back to seeing red.

“I don’t know. Are you going to listen to me?”

Phoenix rolled her eyes at you. She would have expected this from someone else. She wouldn’t have expected it from you. But here you were.

“Look, I’m sorry for not listening to you.”

You didn’t hesitate. “Yeah. You should be.”

Her eyes flicked up, sharp. “Look, I said I was sorry.”

You crossed your arms, jaw clenched. “You nearly clipped a ridge trying to show off. That’s not just something you shrug off, Phoenix.”

Behind her, you saw Bob glance over from his locker, brows furrowed like he was debating whether or not to step in. 

He didn’t.

Phoenix held your stare for a beat, then scoffed. 

“I had it under control.”

You laughed, but there was no humor in it. 

“You didn’t. That’s the problem.”

Fanboy stepped between you and Phoenix just as the tension reached a breaking point. His voice was calm, almost tired.

“Everyone’s exhausted. Maybe we should just call it for today—get some rest.”

Phoenix’s eyes flicked toward him, then back to you. You clenched your jaw but didn’t argue.

“Fine,” you muttered.

Without another word, you turned and pushed your way through the hangar doors, needing space. Needing to breathe.

You’d gotten cleaned up and found a space where no one was around, which was kind of a miracle, considering how many people were constantly coming and going. You weren’t hiding exactly, but you weren’t exactly inviting company either.

You didn’t think anyone would be looking for you. You and Phoenix would work it out eventually. She knew better than to come to you when you were angry. And Bob was just as quiet as ever.

So yeah, you hadn’t expected him to come.

Yet there he was, just outside the door, eyes fixed on you.

You only noticed his presence when he let out a soft knock, causing your eyes to shift from the window you’d been staring out of to the other side of the room. He opened the door gently, peeking his head through the opening.

You studied him for a moment. Maybe there was a problem. Maybe Maverick had called an unexpected meeting and sent Bob to find you. 

But you were surprised when he let out a soft, “Is it okay if I come in?”

“I don’t own the room, Bob. You can do whatever you want.”

You sounded like a dick—you knew that—and you saw it in the way Bob’s expression shifted, but he shrugged it off and stepped inside.

He took in the way you were standing, posture rigid as you leaned against the window. The anger from before still radiated off you. He’d do what he could to avoid igniting the fire, but he couldn’t keep “fighting” with you without talking it over.

He hated not being able to talk to you. He hated seeing you angry. It had only been a couple of hours, and he was already missing your smile. He wanted to see it again. He’d do anything in his power to make that happen.

“Did you warn her?”

Bob had barely taken a couple of steps when your voice cut through the room. You shifted your gaze to him, silently telling him you were waiting for an answer.

You were sure that, as Phoenix’s WSO, he would have warned her about how close they were getting to the ridge. You knew Fanboy would have been screaming in your ear if it had been you.

“Is that what happened? Did you warn her and she just ignored you?”

Bob hesitated, running a hand through his hair.

“She’s a good pilot. I trust her,” he said quietly. “I knew she had it.”

You shook your head, frustration bubbling up again.

“But she almost didn’t, Bob.”

You strode across the room toward him as you spoke.

“She almost crashed. And if she had, it wouldn’t have just been her life—it would’ve been yours too.”

Bob didn’t move. He let you keep coming closer, each angry step echoing in the quiet room.

“You could have died. Do you get that? You could’ve been up in smoke right now because you didn’t speak up.”

You poked at his chest as you spoke. Bob barely flinched.

“Floyd, are you listening to me?! I could’ve fucking lost you!”

The words hung in the air, heavier than you expected. You blinked, suddenly aware of what you’d just said.

Not “we.”

“I.”

Not “both of you.” Just “you.”

Bob’s eyes widened, just a fraction, catching the change like a spark.

Your hand was still pressed to his chest—no longer sharp like a knife but soft, your palm resting there as if you were leaning on him for support. As if, if you let go at that moment, you would crumble to the ground.

Your breathing shifted. Your lip quivered. Before you knew it, you were crying.

You tried to pull away, tried to hide the tears, but he didn’t let you. He tugged you into him, strong arms wrapping around your frame. His arms tightened around you, steady and grounding, as if to hold not just your body but the storm inside you.

You leaned into him, the tension in your muscles slowly melting away. Your breath hitched when his lips brushed softly against your temple. The feeling seemed to awaken something inside you. 

You lifted your head slightly, meeting his gaze.

Bob watched you with a pained expression. He hadn’t meant to hurt you. He would never do that. Knowing that the tears wetting your cheeks were because of him—and from the thought of losing him—made his heart tighten.

You shifted your face softly, mouth opening with slightly sped-up breaths. You brushed your nose against Bob’s, your eyes catching his furrowed brows.

He called your name just before you claimed his mouth.

His lips met yours with a gentle insistence, soft and searching, as if trying to convey everything he couldn’t say with words. Your hands slid up to his shoulders, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as the kiss deepened, becoming more urgent.

Bob’s hands gripped your waist as he gently guided you to the nearest wall. Your back hit it with a soft thud as he pressed in closer, crowding into your space but never overpowering. His lips moved with yours in a slow, deliberate rhythm, like he wanted to memorize the shape of your mouth.

You had started this, but you hadn’t expected Bob to mirror your desire so clearly. He was always so quiet. Always kept to himself, averting anyone’s gaze if they stared at him too long. You knew he could be confident—you’d seen it before—but it was rare, and you weren’t prepared for the kind of need that was seeping out of him now.

Your hands slipped under the edge of his shirt, fingers splaying against the warmth of his skin. His breath caught at your touch, the sound vibrating softly against your lips. He pulled back just slightly, his eyes scanning your face, asking a silent question.

You nodded before he could even get the words out.

“Bob,” you breathed, fingers curling around his wrist as you guided his hand to your waist. “Touch me. Show me you’re real. That I’m not imagining this.”

Your words caught him off guard. You thought you were dreaming? Then what did that mean for him? Had he somehow died and gone to heaven? No. He could feel your warm palms pressed to his chest. Real. Alive. Waiting.

He surged forward, kissing you like he’d been holding back for far too long. His hands slipped beneath your shirt, and when they found bare skin, he let out a quiet groan into your mouth. You helped him peel the fabric from your body, your breath hitching as cool air met overheated skin. He stared at you shamelessly, drinking in the sight of your barely clothed chest. You couldn’t help but smile at the awe on his face.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, almost like he wasn’t sure he should say it out loud.

But he meant it. You could feel the truth of it in the way his gaze lingered, in the slight tremble of his fingers as they traced the edge of your bra. You could tell he wanted to take it off but was hesitating to ask.

You didn’t make him beg—your hands moved to unclip the bra.

Bob’s breath hitched as your breasts bounced free, nipples hardening at the sudden chill. You pulled him closer, guiding his mouth to the side of your neck, tilting your head as his lips explored the sensitive skin there. You felt the drag of his teeth, the wet heat of his tongue, the gentle suction that made your stomach tighten and your knees threaten to give out.

Your hands found the waistband of his pants, undoing the button with practiced ease. He hissed at the contact, burying his face in the valley of your breasts as you slid your hand inside, stroking him through the thin fabric of his boxers.His breath hitched. 

“Fuck…”

It came out as a soft whine. Your eyes nearly rolled back at the sound. God, he sounded pathetic, and you fucking loved it.

You stroked him a little harder, feeling the twitch of his cock against your palm, the way his hips instinctively pushed forward. Then you heard a noise outside. Both of you froze for a moment, suddenly reminded of where you were. 

You didn’t have much time. As much as you wanted to drag this out as long as possible, you knew you were on an invisible timer. And with how hard Bob was pressing against your hand, and how wet you were feeling between your thighs, you knew leaving without cumming was not a possibility.

“I need you,” you whispered, voice breaking on the words. “Please.”

His gaze softened even as his jaw tightened. “Yeah. Okay. I got you.”

He lifted you like you weighed nothing, your legs wrapping around his waist as he pressed you back into the wall. One hand steadied you, the other guided himself to your entrance.

The moment he pushed into you, slow and fucking delicious, you both gasped. You clung to him, forehead resting against his, your breath mingling in the small space between you.

He started to move, each thrust slow and deliberate, dragging pleasure through your core like waves. The wall at your back grounded you, but it was him—his arms, his steady breath, the way he whispered how good you felt in broken fragments—that made you feel steady. Safe. Present. 

You weren’t sure when it happened, but you were crying again. Only this time from the overwhelming ache of it. The kind that came from being seen. From being held like this.

Your hands traced the line of his jaw, tilting his face up so you could look into his eyes—dark, searching, full of everything you’d been holding back. You swallowed hard, your pulse hammering in your ears.

“Almost there,” he murmured, voice wrecked. “Just… stay with me.”

There was nowhere else you’d rather be. 

You clawed at his shoulder, nodding as he quickened his pace. You were both hanging off the edge, bodies full of adrenaline and the intense feeling of each other. He drove deeper, every movement raw and urgent, as if trying to bury himself inside you and never let go.

And then his lips found yours again, and something snapped inside you. He swallowed the moan you let out as he came. You felt him tense beneath you, arms tightening around you as his orgasm washed over him.

When it was over, he didn’t let go. Not even for a second.

He held you there, face buried in your neck, your bodies still tangled. He only pulled back when he felt your breath start to steady.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered.

And you believed him.

After a while, both of you got dressed again, laughing as you searched the room for different pieces of clothing. You helped Bob neaten up his hair and clean the smudges off his glasses. He smiled at you as he put his glasses back on, leaning to place a soft kiss to your cheek. You grinned up at him, grabbing onto his hand.

“I’ll talk with Phoenix.”

Your brows furrowed.

“About being reckless. And about listening.”

“Oh. For a second, I thought you were talking about what happened here.”

Bob flushed at the mere thought of Phoenix—or anyone else on the team—finding out just how desperate he had been for you a few seconds ago. Not because he was embarrassed by you, but because he was embarrassed by his lack of control. He should have at least taken you out to dinner.

“Don’t worry about it.”

Bob’s eyes snapped up to look at you. Had he spoken the last part out loud?

“I’ll patch things up with her. I promise.”

Bob smiled.

“Good. Can’t have my favorite girls fighting.”

You raised your eyebrows again.

“I’m one of your favorite girls? I would have never guessed.”

Bob laughed at your mock surprise. Your face spread into a grin. There it was—the smile he loved so much.

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

Requests Open!

Hey friends! I’m officially opening my requests again! If you want something from The Bear, Top Gun: Maverick, or the Thunderbolts send it my way! I’m totally down for smut, fluff, angst, or whatever vibes you’re feeling.

Just a couple quick things:

Please let me know what pronouns you want me to use for the reader. ( Just because it helps me know what pet names and descriptions to use)

If you’re asking for smut, it’d be super helpful if you tell me how you want the reader described anatomically (It just helps me be sure i'm writing it just like you imagined 😉)

For now, I’m focusing on these fandoms, but I might open others soon—so stay tuned!

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

Bob Floyd X Reader: Speedy Landing

a/n: Can’t stop thinking about Bob coming in his pants from desperation and being embarrassed. So yeah, that’s what this is, porn with no plot.

Warnings: smut, premature ejaculation, Bob being Bob, no use of y/n

Word count: 659

You couldn’t blame him—it wasn’t his fault. You were so beautiful, and so very desperate for him. It was impossible for him not to be just as desperate for you.

He was lying on the couch, you on top of him. Both of you were fully clothed and fully consumed by your lip-lock. He hadn’t even managed to get his uniform off before you jumped on him. The flight suit always seemed to put you in a good mood.

In between filthy kisses, you pulled back to whisper against his lips.

“Missed you.”

“I was only gone for a week,” he said with a soft laugh.

You pulled him into another messy kiss, nipping at his lip before answering.

“A week without you is a long time. Far too long.”

Bob’s brows furrowed as you moved to lick at his neck, soft whines escaping his lips.

You didn’t even realize you were doing it—not really. The way your hips moved—slow, unconscious little rocks against the growing bulge beneath you. Like your body knew what it wanted before your mind could catch up. And he let you, because how the hell could he not? He was already so hard it hurt.

It was remarkable how quickly you could get him needy for you.

The truth was, he’d missed you too. Every night he thought of you—of your warm body beside him. They weren’t even dirty thoughts, just thoughts of missing you.

He hadn’t even realized how touch-starved he was until now—until your body was pressing against him like this, warm and eager and so heartbreakingly close. Bob’s hands gripped your waist, fingers digging in, but not to stop you. Never to stop you. Just to hold on, desperately clawing at you as you continued to move against him.

God, how he loved you.

How you smelled. How you felt. How his name slipped from your lips in a breathless sigh.

He could barely breathe. You didn’t let him escape your mouth, trying to consume him entirely with only a feral kiss.

He buried his face in your neck, breathing hard, biting down on a groan as you kept moving against him, grinding in just the right way without even trying. You let soft pants into his ears, mouth moving over his neck. You were kissing him like you couldn’t get enough, like you needed him, and it was all too much—your mouth, your weight on him, the friction, the heat.

It was like a switch flipped in his head—like suddenly he’d been able to see through the foggy haze of lust. His eyes widened in realization, hands grabbing onto you with more desperation.

“Honey, please,” he whispered, his voice wrecked. “You have to stop. I’m—fuck, I’m gonna—”

But it was already too late. His hips bucked up in their own accord. He tensed beneath you with a choked, broken sound as he came in his pants like a fucking teenager.

You didn’t even realize what had happened at first—not until you felt it. A sudden warmth seeping through the front of his flight suit, pressing hot and sticky against your inner thigh. You froze mid-motion, blinking down at him in surprise.

Bob’s face crumpled, equal parts overwhelmed and mortified.

“Fuck—I’m sorry. I—I didn’t mean to. You were just—Jesus, I tried to hold on—”

But you weren’t upset. Not even close.

“You came in your pants,” you whispered, almost in awe.

He groaned, covering his face with one hand.

“God, I know. Don’t—don’t say it like that.”

But you didn’t move off of him. Instead, you pressed your thighs tighter around his hips, just enough to feel the sticky warmth again. You looked at him—red-cheeked, hair mussed, lips still wet from your kisses—and you felt your core clench with the sheer heat of it. Your hips rolled forward, slow and deliberate, and he shuddered beneath you.

“That,” you said, voice low and reverent, “was the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

Hiii, I'm the anon who requested the one bed troupe, it was fantastic 😍 you write bob so, so we'll 🥺 and adding smut was the best decision ever. Chef kiss! Thank you very much!!

Yay another happy costumer! 😊 thanks for trusting me to write your idea and feel free to send over any others you might have 😉

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

John Walker X F! Reader: Reckless Admission

Summary: After a mission gone wrong leaves you injured, John can no longer keep his emotions hidden. Smut ensues.

Warnings: Smut, explicit sexual content, self blame (reader fucked up a mission), oral sex (f receiving), penetration (p in v), strong language, kissing, teasing, slow burn romance, emotional tension, light fighting, some angst, injury mention, mild violence, possessive behavior, no use of y/n, fluff, happy ending.

Word count: 4.3K

You felt like a fucking idiot.

The entire flight back, you couldn’t stop cursing yourself.

How could you have been so stupid? How did you not see the guy before he took the shot?

It was a fucking amateur move. It wasn’t something an Avenger should have done. Which meant it wasn’t something you should have done. But it had happened all the same. And now you were going to have to deal with the consequences.

Your brain wouldn’t stop spiraling, running through every possible fight you were about to get into the second the team saw you. You knew they’d blame you—and you’d take it, because it was your fault.

Your fuck-up. Your stupid move that had almost thrown the entire mission off the rails.

You weren’t arrogant enough to deny that. So you just sat there in silence the whole way home, rehearsing for what was sure to be the most uncomfortable evening of your life.

You barely even felt the bullet wound anymore. Barely smelled the blood. But it was there—drying, crusting. A dull reminder beneath the suit.

You were so buried in your own thoughts that you didn’t notice the way John's eyes flicked to you every now and then.

Watching. Measuring. Making sure you didn’t knock yourself out from blood loss.

He was keeping an eye on you—because he always did, even if you were too dense to see it. But this time, there was something else in his expression. Something quieter. Angrier.

It wasn’t just concern. There was rage coiled beneath it. A restrained kind of fury. Because how could you have been so fucking stupid?

If he hadn’t been there, you probably wouldn’t still be breathing.

Had you even stopped to think what that would’ve meant for the team?

For him?

Probably not.

Not that he could blame you—not really. It wasn’t like he’d ever made it crystal clear how he felt about you. At least, not in a way you seemed to pick up on. He cared. More than he cared about the rest of the team. That much was true. He’d lost people before. He knew what that felt like. And he sure as hell wasn’t planning on losing you.

The moment you stepped off the jet, voices started filling your head. Not the anxious kind that usually followed a fucked-up mission, but actual voices—real teammates, completely unaware you were still bleeding through your suit. And you let them talk shit. You just stood there, hollow, listening to the bickering around you about how you’d fucked up, how you’d almost ruined everything.

You took it, because you felt like you deserved it.

Maybe if Bob had been here, he’d have shut them down. But he was still somewhere up in the tower, doing God knows what.

“Hey, can you all just shut the fuck up? Can’t you see she’s fucking bleeding?”

Your eyes snapped up at the sound, your head turning to face the owner of the voice.

John stood beside you, his spine rigid as he spoke.

You hadn’t expected him to defend you. If anything, you thought he’d join the rest of the team as they chewed you out.

He’d saved you, and you were sure that if he hadn’t been there, you probably wouldn’t be standing here right now.

John avoided your gaze, even though he could feel your eyes on the back of his head. He couldn’t look at you right now, because if he did, he’d most likely say or do something stupid. So he kept his eyes on the rest of the teammates, silently daring them to keep talking.

Under many other circumstances, Ava would have probably chewed him out about something, or Yelena would have made a smart comment. But the look on his face—this raw rage that had become more and more unexpected in recent months—kept the rest of the team silent.

You were all tired. You were all full of adrenaline. Someone was about to say something they’d regret. You could feel it in the air.

So none of you spoke.

The rest of the team moved silently into the tower, leaving you and John alone outside. You hadn’t stopped looking at him since he’d spoken. You felt the urge to say thank you, but just as you opened your mouth, his words cut through the silence.

“Get to the medbay. You need to patch that thing up.”

He hadn’t even waited for you to respond before walking toward the building, leaving you outside alone. Suddenly, you felt the urge to cry, but you bottled it down, shaking your head as you followed the rest of the team inside.

This whole patching-up thing would’ve been a lot easier with an extra pair of hands. But you felt too bad about yourself to ask for help. So here you were, ripping gauze with your teeth as you tried—unsuccessfully—to patch up the wound on your arm.

The bullet had gone clean through, which was a good thing. It meant you didn’t have to extract it yourself, which you were sure would’ve been an awful process to do alone. But that also meant you needed stitches. Stitching yourself up wasn’t exactly the most fun process. You’d managed through gritted teeth and small curses. 

But you’d managed.

Once you’d finally covered the wound with the proper amount of gauze and tape, you allowed yourself to sit on the cot, eyes staring out into the city through the window. 

The urge to cry bubbled up again. This time, you allowed yourself to feel it—because you were alone. You felt comfortable being vulnerable alone. The sound of your cries echoed through the tiny room. You hadn’t expected anyone to hear it. It was quite possible they wouldn’t.

But John was in the room. And with no doors or walls stopping the sound from reaching his ears, it was impossible to ignore.

He suddenly felt like a fucking asshole.

He thought about leaving. Thought about silently exiting the room, leaving you to cry by yourself. But he pushed the thought down as soon as it came to his brain—because he couldn’t. He couldn’t physically remove himself from the room knowing you were suffering inside it. Maybe that made him soft. Maybe he was okay with that.

He made his way over to you in silent steps. He didn’t want to freak you out, but he also knew he needed to make his presence known—especially if his intention was to comfort you.

Your hands covered your eyes as you cried, your body shaking softly with every sob. John reached out a hand, stopping an inch from your shoulder. 

He hesitated. 

Was he doing the right thing? Would he be able to talk to you without getting pissed? Probably not. But he’d try his best.

Your head snapped up at the feeling of something touching your shoulder. Your tear-covered eyes met John’s baby blue ones. Your face was wet from crying. You felt pathetic, and you were sure you looked it too.

John didn’t say anything. He just looked at you for a moment. You stared right back at him. Then your lip quivered, and before he could react, you reached out for him—hands wrapping around his chest as you buried your face in his shirt. He hadn’t been expecting that. If anything, he’d expected you to tell him to fuck off.

It was a rather nice surprise.

He let you cling to him, his hands moving in small circles on your back as you continued to cry into his shirt. He could feel the wetness of your tears leaking through the fabric and into his skin.

“I’m sorry,” you said through a sob.

God, he was such a dick.

“Shhh, it’s okay.”

It wasn’t okay. You knew it wasn’t okay. But you let him comfort you, because if you were going to be truthful—you needed it. More than you cared to admit.

You slowly pulled back just enough to catch your breath, your chest rising and falling unevenly as you wiped at your wet cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered again, voice cracking. “I fucked everything up.”

John’s eyes narrowed just slightly, and he didn’t hide the bluntness in his tone.

“Yeah, you did.”

The words hit harder than you expected, and you bristled immediately.

“Wow, thanks. You don’t have to rub it in.”

He stared at you, unflinching.

“I’m not rubbing it in.”

“Then why say it like that?”

John sighed, frustration threading through his voice.

“Because you need to hear it.”

You crossed your arms, anger bubbling up.

“Well, maybe I don’t. Maybe I’m already beating myself up enough without you piling on.”

Of course you two were going to have at it. Of course his desire to comfort you would turn into a fight. That’s just the way he was wired. No matter how much he tried, he couldn’t escape it—this anger, this aggressiveness that always seemed to bubble just under his skin.

It didn’t help that you were just like him. Just as ill-tempered. Just as ready to snap back and defend yourself. Because yes, you’d fucked up. He didn’t need to rub it in. You didn’t need him reminding you of the things you already thought about yourself. And he hadn’t intended to. He truly hadn’t. Of course, that was the way you’d taken it.

John stepped back, his hands going over his face. It had been months since he noticed he had a thing for you. Months since he realized just how much he cared about you—about your well-being. He hadn’t really thought about how he’d tell you. This was definitely not the situation he would’ve imagined.

But maybe it was perfect this way. Maybe it fit with the way you two were wired. He’d confesse to you in a fight.

Wasn’t that just fucking poetic?

“It’s not about your fuck-up!”

“Oh yeah, John? So enlighten me—what is this about?”

“It’s about you being so fucking reckless that you’re gonna end up getting yourself killed.”

You let out a sarcastic laugh, and the sound made his blood boil even more.

“Like you fucking care.”

And that was the breaking point.

Because what the hell did you mean—he didn’t care?

Okay, John wasn’t the most cuddly person, but he never ever went out of his way to make you feel like he didn’t give a shit about you.

You were both standing now, chests heaving.

He took a step forward, towering over you, jabbing his finger at your chest.

“Don’t fucking say that.”

“Why the hell not, Walker?”

John’s eyes darkened, the frustration and worry swirling in them like a storm.

“Because I do care,” he growled, voice low but fierce. “More than you realize.”

You narrowed your eyes, crossing your arms defensively.

“Then why do you always act like I’m a screw-up? Like I’m not worth the trouble?”

His finger dropped from your chest, but his stance stayed firm.

“Because I’m scared,” he admitted, voice cracking just enough to show how much it hurt. “Scared of losing you. Scared you’re gonna get yourself killed and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.”

You blinked, the fight faltering for a heartbeat.

Oh, you had not expected that.

There were a million other things you thought he might say, but what he did? No—you never expected that.

You didn’t know how to answer, so you just stood there for a moment, gazing up at him, watching his chest rise and fall with anger.

You’d riled him up because you’d expected him to put you down.

But this—this was something else entirely.

You reached for him before you even realized what you were doing, hands clawing at his shirt as you pushed your face to his, crashing your lips together.

Your lips moved against his with a fierce urgency—everything you’d been holding back pouring out in the desperate press of your mouth against his.

His hands found your waist, gripping firmly as if anchoring himself to you, while your fingers tangled in the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer.

The roughness of his calloused hands contrasted with the softness of your skin, sending sparks of heat rippling through you.

You felt the sharp intake of his breath as he deepened the kiss, his mouth moving against yours with a growing hunger. His body pressed harder against yours, every inch of him taut and demanding.

You hadn’t even realized you’d moved back from where you were standing until your back hit the wall. You let out a soft gasp, lips parting to allow John to tangle his tongue with yours.

There was no restraint. There was no fear.

There was only passion—and you adored it.

John was completely lost in it, his hands roaming over your body as he tried to grab onto any part of you. He was being rough with it—and it wasn’t like you were complaining.

But then he pushed you a little too hard, and your shoulder bumped into the wall—right on the spot you had wounded.

You hissed.

The moment you did, John pulled back.

“Did I—”

“No, okay, it’s okay. Don’t stop.”

John hesitated for a moment, his eyes trailing over the gauze on your shoulder. The fervent desire that had been coursing through his body faltered for a moment.

You were hurt. He’d known it, but seeing it—actually looking at the place where your wound was covered—made his heart ache a bit.

“John.” You called his name softly, one of your hands moving up to cup his cheek, forcing him to look at you. “I’m okay. I promise.”

John pressed his forehead against yours, letting out a shuddered sigh. “Don’t ever do that again.”

You knew he was talking about getting hurt, but it wasn’t exactly something you could always stop. “I’m not in control of that. Not always.”

John sighed because he knew it was true. You were superheroes. Of course you’d get hurt one moment or another. That didn’t mean you had to do it alone.

“I know. Just… ask for help next time. Let me…” He stopped for a moment, suddenly self-conscious. But he forced himself to continue because it felt important to say. “Let me take care of you.”

You gave him a soft smile—it was the most tender side he’d ever seen come from you. You pushed your lips against his, softer this time.

“Okay,” you whispered.

When his lips met yours again, the fire that had been burning was still there, but it was softer now—followed by something that wasn’t just lust, but love.

You sighed as he moved his lips to the side of your neck, your head tilting up to give him better access.

His fingers trailed against your hips, kneading the skin there gently.

When his hand slipped beneath your shirt, you let out a soft gasp—not expecting the warmth of his palm on your body.

John pulled away for a moment, gazing up into your eyes.

“Can I take this off?”

You gave him a quick nod, arms raising to help him.

You grimaced as the movement sent a small sting of pain through your wound. It wasn’t anything too bad, but John placed a kiss on your shoulder to distract you.

You hummed at the gesture, hands moving to cradle his head as he made his way down your body.

Every inch of skin revealed to John was treated with reverence and love.

He kissed every inch of you—from your lips down to your calves.

You were having a hard time standing, desire clouding your brain and turning your body into mush.

John seemed to notice, causing him to call out your name.

“You alright?”

You grinned down at him, your hand moving against his beard.

“I’m perfect.”

John seemed satisfied with your answer for the time being. His hands framed your thighs, steadying you as he kissed along your inner thighs—careful and slow, worshipping every inch of your skin.

Your hips bucked up unconsciously. It was clear from the wet patch in your underwear that you needed him.

His chest swelled with pride.

John moved one of his fingers along your clothed cunt. You let out a soft whine.

“Please.”

“Don’t need to beg, baby. I’ll give it to you. Just relax.”

He pushed your underwear down your legs before tugging one of your legs onto his shoulders.

After what felt like an eternity, John’s tongue flicked out.

You tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, your breath hitching as his lips wrapped around your clit.

John’s tongue moved with slow, teasing strokes, each flick sending shivers rippling through your body.

“You taste so good,” he murmured against you, voice low and husky.

You gasped, fingers tightening in his hair. “John…”

He looked up briefly, eyes locking with yours, full of hunger and something softer underneath.

“I want to make you feel amazing,” he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss just above your clit before diving back in.

Your breath hitched, body trembling as waves of pleasure built steadily.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he said, voice rough with need. “I want to know everything you want.”

You managed a shaky smile. “Don’t stop. Please.”

His lips curled into a satisfied smirk, tongue swirling in circles that drove you higher, his fingers slipping inside you to caress your pussy with practiced ease.

“God, you’re perfect,” he breathed, the words sending a fresh rush of warmth flooding through you.

You moaned, head falling back against the cool wall, the contrast making the sensation even more intense. John’s rhythm never faltered, each movement calibrated to push you closer to the edge. You could feel it coming—you just needed a little push for your orgasm to wash over you.

And John was prepared to give it to you.

“Come on, baby. Cum for me.”

And you did. You came with a cry, hands moving over the wall as you tried to hold onto reality. John continued to lick at you, cleaning your cum up like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted.

John pulled back slowly, his lips glistening with you. He looked up at you, eyes dark and satisfied, but there was a softness there too. You reached down, brushing your fingers through his hair, still trembling from the waves of pleasure crashing over you. Something about your fucked out face snapped somthing inside him. 

“Not done yet,” John murmured, his voice rough as he pressed a lingering kiss to your inner thigh.

You swallowed hard, feeling the ache of wanting more. You wondered if you’d ever have enough of him. You doubted it.

John stood up after gently placing your foot back onto the ground. Your leg ached slightly, but it was soon forgotten as John kissed you again. You could taste yourself on his lips.

Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, matching his hunger with your own desperate need.

You weren’t the only one who was still needy. Heat radiated off John’s body as his hands moved to cup your ass, his hard on pressing urgent and unforgiving against you.

How you wished to feel him inside.

John’s breath hitched as he pressed you harder against the cool wall. His hands gripped your hips possessively, thumbs digging into your skin as he ground his hardness against you with slow ruts

“You want this, don’t you? My reckless girl,” he murmured, his voice a rough tease, eyes dark with hunger and something fiercer beneath.

You gasped, fingers clutching at his shirt as your hips rolled instinctively, craving more. His reckless girl. Because yes, you were his—and there was no denying that. The ache between your legs grew unbearable, burning with desire and raw need.

John’s lips found your neck again, teeth grazing the tender skin and eliciting a sharp moan from you. Your hands slid under the hem of his shirt, fingertips tracing the curve of his muscles. It felt unfair how overdressed he was compared to you.

John seemed to read your thoughts because he backed away slightly and pulled his shirt off.

Your nipples dragged against his bare chest as he pulled you into another bruising kiss. You whined as you felt him roll his clothed dick against you for the hundredth time. You couldn’t handle all this teasing—you needed him, and you needed him now.

Your hands moved over to his pants, fingers grazing the belt. He glanced down at the waistband, then back up at your flushed face, a wicked grin spreading across his lips. He replaced your hands with his own, moving yours to hold onto his shoulders. You watched as he slowly, deliberately hooked his thumbs beneath the belt loops and began to unbuckle them, his eyes never leaving yours.

You licked your lips unconsciously, as his dick was finally free from its confines. You’d been craving him for a long time—maybe longer than you cared to admit—and you were sure it was clear on your face. John placed his fingers under your chin, forcing you to look up and meet his gaze. His eyes were dark with desire and something else—something possessive.

He pulled you into a steamy kiss, groaning as his dick came into contact with your slick folds.

“You’re mine,” he murmured against your lips, voice low and fierce. “And I’m gonna make sure you never forget it.”

You couldn’t trust your mouth at that moment, so you just gave him a soft nod.

“Ready for me?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you breathed.

“Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours, John.”

Satisfied, he pushed in. You hissed at the feeling, trying to get used to his length. John noticed your discomfort and paused the movement of his hips for a moment. It was taking everything in him not to just ram inside you.

Your hands clawed at his back, surely leaving marks. He didn’t care—in fact, he enjoyed the thought of having a reminder of you on his body.

“John, please move.”

He did as you asked, thrusting forward.

John’s hips began a steady, deep rhythm—slow and deliberate at first, giving you time to adjust to the stretch, the fullness of him inside you. His hands found your waist, gripping firmly, holding you close as he drove into you. The roughness in his movements was laced with a fierce urgency, a hunger that matched your own.

Your breath hitched as his body moved in time with yours, every thrust sending jolts of pleasure that blurred the sharp edges of pain from your wound. The cold wall pressed against your back, grounding you, contrasting with the fire burning between your legs.

John’s voice dropped low, thick with want. “God, you feel so good.”

“So do you.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm—fuck, I’m getting close.”

You moaned, your nails digging into his shoulders as he picked up the pace, hips snapping harder against yours. The sound of skin meeting skin echoed faintly in the small medbay, your ragged breaths mingling with his deep groans.

His lips found your neck again, teeth grazing the sensitive skin just below your ear.

“Want you to cum with me. Can you hold on a little longer, baby? Huh? Can you wait for me?”

You nodded dumbly, already so far gone you were surprised you could even process what he was saying.

Your body trembled under his touch, pleasure rising fast and fierce. You clung to him as the waves built, each thrust driving you closer to the edge. The heat inside you pooled and spilled over, your voice breaking free in a shuddered cry.

John groaned deep in his chest, hands tightening on your hips as he chased his own release, the tension coiling tighter with every stroke.

“Cum, baby. Go ahead,” he rasped, voice thick with need.

With one last, powerful thrust, you both tumbled over the edge—your cries mingling, breathless and raw.

Your bodies stilled, clinging to one another in the aftermath. His chest heaved against yours, damp with sweat, the sound of your synchronized breathing filling the quiet space.

John didn’t pull away right away. Instead, he buried his face in the crook of your neck, lips brushing tenderly over your skin, as though grounding himself in the moment. One of his hands came up to cradle the back of your head, the other smoothing gently down your spine.

“You okay?” he murmured, voice rough but softer now, laced with concern.

You nodded, still catching your breath. “Yeah… I’m good. Really good.”

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest, warm and fond. He leaned back just enough to look at you, his fingers brushing a few strands of hair from your face. His eyes, once dark with lust, were now gentler—softer, searching.

“I meant what I said,” he told you quietly. 

“I know you did, John.”

Your hand found his jaw, thumb stroking along the stubble there.

“I promise I'll be more careful.”

He kissed you again—slow this time, without heat, just closeness. His lips lingered on yours like a promise, like he wanted to seal the moment into something more than just physical.

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his breath warm as it fanned across your cheek. His arms wrapped fully around you, holding you close, grounding you against his bare chest.

“You scare the hell out of me sometimes,” he murmured with a faint smile, voice rough with leftover emotion. “But I wouldn’t change a damn thing about you.”

You closed your eyes, letting yourself sink into him. “Even when I drive you insane?”

“Especially then.”

You laughed softly, and the sound made something flicker in his expression—something tender and unguarded. His thumb brushed slow circles against your hip as silence fell over you both, the kind that didn’t feel heavy or awkward, but full.

“I’m not going anywhere, you know,” you whispered, the confession slipping out as natural as breath.

He pulled you in tighter. “Good. 'Cause I don’t think I’d let you.”

And for a long, still moment, you just stayed there—tangled up in each other, the chaos of the world outside forgotten. Just you and him, in the quiet after. Safe in each other's arms.

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

Bob Floyd X Reader: Drunk words, sober truths.

Summary: After one too many drinks, you drunkenly confess your feelings to Bob. The next morning smut ensues. That it guys, thats the plot.

Warnings: Porn with some plot, Smut, explicit sexual content, kissing, physical intimacy, alcohol consumption, drunkenness, dirty thoughts, consensual sexual activity, drunken confessions, no use of y/n, penetration (p in v), Bob being adorable.

Word count: 3.7K

You weren’t drunk.

Okay, maybe a little bit.

Maybe one glass too many. But hey, that’s okay, because your brain still seemed to be functioning just fine. Unfortunately, the only thought currently echoing inside your head was: dick, dick, dick.

So yeah. Maybe one too many.

In your defense, Bob looked really fucking good tonight. The fucking jeans were teasing you, messing with your brain and begging you to let the crush you’d been harboring for the man for ages slip from your not-so-sober lips.

It hadn’t yet. But the night was still quite young. And you were feeling very comfortable in your skin.

You sat on a stool, sipping on the fifth… wait, no, sixth. Was it the sixth? Whatever. You sipped a beer, watching the crew play pool. You were normally very good, but you were sitting this game out. You weren’t sure you’d be able to keep your balance well enough to score a shot. And you weren’t the type that played not to win.

Your eyes slipped from the pool table to a far more interesting sight.

Bob Floyd’s ass.

It wasn’t your fault that he’d literally placed himself in your line of sight. You barely had to move your head. His ass was just on display for you. You knew it wasn’t intentional—of course you knew that. He was lining up a shot that just happened to be right in front of you.

But you weren’t one to waste the universe’s gifts.

So you let your eyes latch onto Bob Floyd’s perfectly round ass. It was probably obvious to anyone who looked at you that you were staring. Luckily, no one was paying attention to you at the moment.

Well, almost no one.

You heard a soft snicker beside you, head turning slightly toward the sound. Phoenix watched you, a small smirk on her face. She knew all about your major crush on Bob. She had the unfortunate role of being the friend who had to listen as you gushed over the pilot every chance you got. But Phoenix was a good friend, and she knew to stay out of other people’s business.

That did not mean she wouldn’t tease you when the opportunity presented itself.

“You alright there?”

The rest of the crew’s heads turned toward you. Everyone’s gaze had shifted—including Bob’s.

You felt the blush that suddenly coated your cheeks. You could feel Bob’s eyes on you, but yours stayed glued to Phoenix. She just gave you a sly smile, knowing damn well what she’d just done. You were going to make her pay for that one day.

“I’m fine.”

It came out a bit slurred. A bit too high-pitched.

Someone laughed.

You didn’t pay them any mind, gaze still glued to Phoenix as you gave her a small grimace of a look.

And then you felt something warm on your shoulder.

Your head turned to look at what it was. Your eyes trailed up the hand currently resting on your shoulder, searching for its owner.

Your breath nearly gave out when you were greeted by the sight of Bob. His face was full of barely restrained concern, glasses slightly slipping off his nose as he stared at you with kind eyes.

“Hey.”

The word slipped from your lips before you could stop it.

Bob gave you a soft smile, the hand that wasn’t holding onto you moving to push his glasses up. It was such a simple act, but it still made your heart flutter.

“Hi.”

Time seemed to slow down. The sound of his voice was like velvet. You wanted to be buried inside it.

Wanted him to be buried inside you.

Whoa. Okay. Drunk thought.

But a very persistent one. Even in your sober moments.

Luckily, you still had enough control over your brain to not let the thought slip out of your mouth. You just stared at Bob for a moment. Someone had said something, but you weren’t listening. You only noticed because Bob’s head had snapped toward the speaker.

You had a perfect view of his side profile. A glorious sight of his perfect nose.

What would it be like to sit on it?

God, you really needed to get some water in your body. The thoughts were becoming more and more unfiltered with every second. Soon, you’d let something slip. And then you’d die of embarrassment.

You bit your lip, forcing your mouth to stay shut.

“What do you think?”

Bob was talking to you again. You stared at him, confused. What did you think of what?

“Don’t think she was listening, Bob.”

That came from Hangman. Your eyes flitted over to him, catching on the teasing smile he wore. You had the urge to flip him off, but you stayed still.

“Hey.”

Your eyes moved back to Bob’s face as he gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze.

“Do you want me to take you home?”

Maybe that would be best. You were clearly hanging on by a thread. And maybe if you did slip—which you were pretty sure would happen eventually—you’d at least be alone.

Alone with Bob.

You practically shivered at the thought.

Because you couldn’t trust your mouth to open and say anything other than ‘I love you’ , you opted to nod your head.

Bob smiled at you.

“Okay then. Here, hold onto me.”

“Not that drunk.”

But you still held onto him. Because he’d offered. And because it meant he would be closer to you. Bob had said goodbye to everyone. You’d followed with a drunken wave.

And then the two of you were off.

The whole drive home, you stared out the window. If you looked at Bob, you’d start thinking dirty things. And that would make you want to do said dirty things.

But you didn’t want to scare Bob.

So you kept your eyes on the road.

You struggled to get your shoes off at the door. And Bob, being the gentle soul that he was, sank down to his knees to help you out.

You shook your head, trying to keep the dirty thoughts at bay.

It seemed to work pretty well.

Until it didn’t.

Bob had waited outside the bathroom as you changed. When you’d slipped back into the room, dressed in an oversized shirt, Bob came to help you to bed.

He handed you a pill and a glass of water. You took it without question. If you were lucky, you wouldn’t have a hangover tomorrow. But the odds were definitely not in your favor.

You chugged the water down before handing Bob the empty glass. He placed it on the nightstand before moving to tug the sheets over your body.

“Sleep tight.”

Bob moved to leave the room, but you grabbed his hand before he could take even a step away from the bed.

“You okay?”

His face was full of concern. You smiled up at him.

“You’re really sweet, Bob.”

“It’s not a big deal… really.”

You let out a soft hum, not letting go of his hand.

“Can I tell you a secret?”

Bob smiled at the question.

“Sure.”

You gestured for him to come closer. He did as you asked, leaning down so your lips were right at his ear. He could feel your breath on his cheek.

“I think you’re really handsome.”

Bob's heart skipped a beat at the confession.

And then you kept going—

“I think about riding you all the time.”

Bob nearly had a heart attack.

You let go of his hand, settling into the sheets and closing your eyes.

Bob leaned back into an upright position, still staring at you with wide eyes.

But you were already fast asleep.

The sun slipped into the room through the curtains. You opened your eyes with a soft groan. Your eyes took a while to adjust to where you were. You rubbed at them, trying to ignore the soft pounding in your head.

Hangover.

Fantastic.

Honestly, it could have been worse. You were sure the headache would leave after some coffee. So you peeled yourself off the bed, feet padding against the floor as you made your way to the kitchen.

Small flashes of last night moved through your brain as you waited for the coffee to brew.

You bit your nails, trying to remember.

You remembered the bar. The drinks. Phoenix’s smug smile. Bob’s hand on your shoulder. His voice. That’s when a hazy memory flickered behind your eyes. A whisper. Something you said.

Something about Bob.

God, had you said something? You weren’t totally sure—but there was that gnawing, sinking feeling in your gut. 

You were startled by a knock on the door. Instinctively, you glanced at the clock. 10 o’clock. Not bad, considering how late you’d gotten in last night. 

But who would be at your door at such a time on a Sunday? You moved to grab your phone to check for messages. And that’s when it hit you.

Your phone.

You’d forgotten it at the bar.

You opened the door, and there he was. Bob Floyd, looking far too good for someone this early in the morning. He had your phone in one hand and a paper bag in the other.

“Hey,” he said, a little cautiously. “You, uh… forgot this.”

You reached for the phone, your fingers brushing his just slightly. He didn’t pull away. Neither did you.

“Thanks. I—yeah. Sorry.” You gave a sheepish smile. “Honestly, I didn’t even realize.”

Bob nodded once, then hesitated.

The kind of hesitation that meant he was thinking about something. The small feeling of dread crept back. Okay, so you’d definitely said something. Because sure, Bob was a shy guy, but this wasn’t his usual shyness. This was something else.

There was tension.

Even if you didn’t remember exactly what you’d said, Bob clearly did. Before you could think too much about it, you moved to the side of the door, allowing Bob to see into your house.

“You want coffee?” you asked. “I just made a pot. And you look like someone who’s already been up too long.”

Bob hesitated for a moment, fingers clenching and unclenching. Your heart raced. What the fuck had you said? But then he looked at you and gave you a soft smile.

“Sure. Yeah. Coffee sounds good.”

You let out a soft breath as he walked into the room.

Your hands shook slightly as you closed the door. Bob Floyd was inside your house. Bob Floyd knew something you couldn’t remember. You weren’t sure if you wanted to find out or not.

Bob settled at the kitchen table as you grabbed two mugs and filled them with coffee. His eyes flicked toward you every so often, like he wanted to say something. You pretended not to notice, but your heart raced as you handed him his mug.

“One cream, two sugars.”

Bob’s eyes lit up slightly at your words. You’d remembered how he liked his coffee. He had only told you once, and you still remembered. It made something warm flicker in his chest.

“Thank you.”

You gave him a small smile. “Yeah, well… thanks for, you know, coming back with my phone.”

He nodded, fingers curling around the warm cup.

“Yeah. Figured you’d want it back sooner rather than later.”

You laughed softly, the sound a little too breathy.

“Yeah, definitely.”

There was a pause.

Bob cleared his throat. “About last night…”

Your heart skipped, but you didn’t look up. “Yeah?”

He hesitated, then shrugged. “I mean, you said some things.”

Your cheeks heated. “Did I?”

“Yeah. But it’s okay. I’m not mad or anything.”

You glanced at him, meeting his gaze for a brief second. “Honestly, I don’t even remember most of it.”

“Me neither,” he said with a small smile.

It was a complete lie, of course. He remembered your exact words. He remembered how you smelled, how warm your breath had been on his neck. He remembered going home and, much to his shame, lying in bed and taking care of his little problem while your voice echoed in his head.

“But I figured, if you’re sober now, maybe we could talk about it?”

You swallowed hard. “I’d like that.”

His smile grew warmer. “Good. Because I don’t want things to be weird between us.”

“No, me neither.”

The tension wasn’t gone, but it had dulled a bit. You were sure you’d be embarrassed by whatever had slipped through your lips. But you also knew Bob wouldn’t hold it against you.

You were adults. You could act like it.

You were not, however, prepared for what Bob was about to tell you. He had struggled for a moment, trying to be as gentle as possible. It was clear from his face that he was flustered. As soon as he told you what you’d said, you were sure you’d just died. Or at least you wished you were dead, because you could not handle this conversation. You were not adult enough for this.

You placed your mug on the table with more force than necessary, hands moving to cover your face as you whispered “fuck” repeatedly.

Bob felt bad. He had expected it to be weird—awkward, maybe. But he hadn’t expected you to almost start sobbing into your hands. He could tell you were having a hard time breathing, so before he could think better of it, he got up. He placed his hands on your shoulders.

“Hey. Look at me.”

You shook your head emphatically, hands still hiding you from his warm gaze. You’d have to quit. That was the only solution. You could not handle looking at Bob every day knowing you’d told him one of your dirtiest thoughts in a drunken daze.

Bob’s hands moved to grab yours. You tried to keep them where they were, but Bob was stronger than you. He pried your hands away from your face, holding your wrists gently together. You bowed your head, staring at the floor.

“Can you please look at me?”

Fuck him. Fuck him and his soft hands and velvet voice.

You lifted your head slowly, expecting to be met with pity or disgust, but that’s not what you found. When you finally looked at Bob’s face, he looked just as out of breath as you felt. He was so close that your noses were practically touching. And his eyes—his big, beautiful eyes—were almost black with desire.

You nearly choked on your own spit.

“Did you mean it?” he asked.

You breathed heavily, trying to think of what to say.

“Well, you know the phrase… drunk words, sober thoughts,” you said with a slightly pathetic laugh.

And then Bob’s hands shifted. He let go of your wrists, cupping your face with a speed that made your heart stutter. You barely managed to gasp out his name before his lips were on yours.

The kiss was all-consuming.

Bob’s body moved against yours as he deepened it, his mouth warm and sure. You groaned as your back hit the kitchen counter. Bob tried to pull back to apologize, but you didn’t let him. You tugged his head back to yours, tongue sliding over his lips. He opened his mouth to you, letting you explore. His hands moved to rest on your hips, his body pressing you firmly against the counter.

His grip on your hips tightened, fingers digging into the soft fabric of your sleep shirt like he was trying to ground himself. You could feel the tension in his arms, the restraint in the way he kissed you—like he wasn’t sure how far you wanted to go. Like he was holding back.

“Bob,” you breathed against his lips, your voice rough, “don’t hold back.”

That was all it took.

He groaned, deep and low in his chest, before lifting you effortlessly onto the counter. Your legs wrapped around his waist on instinct, pulling him flush against you. You could feel him—hard and heavy through his jeans—and the contact made you whimper.

“You have no idea,” he muttered against your jaw, lips trailing down the side of your neck, “how long I’ve wanted this.”

“Then show me,” you whispered, fingers already tugging at the hem of his shirt. “Please.”

Bob didn’t need to be asked twice. He tugged the shirt over his head, tossing it somewhere behind him, and leaned back in to kiss you again—deeper this time, hungrier. His hands roamed, slipping under your shirt and dragging up slowly until your chest was bare to him.

“Fuck,” he whispered, reverent and breathless as he took you in. 

He bent down, mouthing at the swell of your breast, tongue flicking over your nipple. You gasped, arching into him, needing more. You clawed your shirt completely off, whining as Bob continued to suck your breast. Your shirt fell somewhere near his but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was Bob. 

Bob and his perfect fucking mouth. 

Your hands fumbled with his belt, desperate to get him out of his jeans. “Bob, I need—”

“I know,” he said, voice wrecked as he reached down to help you. “God, I know.”

You finally got his belt undone, yanking at his jeans until he helped you shove them down just enough to free him. Your eyes dipped down, and your breath caught. God, of course he was big. And thick. And flushed an angry shade of red, already leaking from the tip.

Bob groaned as your hand wrapped around him. It was the prettiest sound you’d ever heard. You just smiled and leaned forward to press your mouth to his neck, dragging your tongue over the pulse there. But then his hands were on your thighs, thumbs dragging over your waistband, eyes dark with heat. 

“Wait,” he said, voice low and hoarse. “Let me taste you first.”

The way he said it—like it was a need, not a want—almost made you give in.

Almost.

Your fingers curled into his hair as you looked him dead in the eyes. 

“Next time,” you whispered. “I need you inside me right now.”

Bob groaned, like the words physically hurt him, but he nodded. 

“Okay. Yeah. Just—fuck, come here.”

He should probably have taken your underwear off entirely. But you were both so impatient and the little bit of fabric wouldn’t affect his skills. So he tugged your underwear to the side with one hand and guided himself to your entrance with the other. 

You were more than ready for him, slick and warm and aching. And when he finally pushed in—slowly, carefully—you both let out a sound that could only be described as relief.

“Holy shit,” you gasped, nails digging into his shoulders.

“You feel—fuck—” Bob gritted out, forehead pressed to yours. “So good. You feel so fucking good.”

He gave you a second to adjust, but you were already rolling your hips, desperate for more. That’s all he needed. He set a rhythm, hard and deep, his hands gripping your hips like he couldn’t bear the thought of letting you go.

Every thrust sent you back into the counter with a delicious thud. Your legs locked around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer. His name fell from your lips again and again, each time more breathless than the last.

“Hey,” he panted, causing you to look up at him, brows slightly furrowed with pleasure.

“Yeah?”

“Can I tell you a secret?” he rasped, one hand sliding up your back to cradle your head.

He hit your G-spot, making you moan his name before nodding. Bob leaned his forehead against yours, closing his eyes.

“I touched myself to the thought of you last night. Couldn’t stop thinking about you on top of me.”

“Oh, fuck—Bob!”

It was so odd how sweet you found his confession. The entire thing was said in such a dirty manner, made even nastier by the sound of his dick spearing into you with every thrust. But you understood why he’d said it. It was his way of telling you he wanted you too.

Your eyes glossed over, head tilting back as you moaned. Bob latched onto your neck, sucking hickeys into the skin. He shifted his hips slightly, allowing him to hit a deeper angle—and you were fucking gone.

You came. Right there on the kitchen counter, gasping his name, clutching him like a lifeline as the orgasm ripped through you. Bob followed moments later, burying himself deep with a low, drawn-out groan.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. Just heavy breaths and the rapid beat of two hearts trying to slow down. Bob’s fingers traced lazy circles along your back, grounding you both in the afterglow. He leaned down, lips brushing softly against your temple. 

“You’re incredible,” he murmured, voice husky with emotion and something deeper—admiration, maybe even awe.

You smiled weakly, breath still shaky. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

His hand slipped from your back to cup your cheek, thumb tracing over your flushed skin. “I want to take my time with you. Not just tonight.”

You met his gaze, heart pounding all over again. “Me too.”

Slowly, carefully, he helped you off the counter and into his arms, like you were the most precious thing in the world. You let him wind his arms around you, your bodies pressed in a tender hug. The sun shone brightly outside, but you paid no attention to it. You nestled into Bob's body, hearing his heart slow down as you two enjoyed each other's embrace.

“I’m never drinking again.”

Bob chuckled at your words, the vibration rippling through your body.

“I’m glad you did.”

You lifted your head off his chest, gazing into his eyes.

“Glad I got shitfaced and told you I thought about fucking you?”

Bob smiled again, his hand moving to push some hair off your face.

“I’m glad you feel the same way I do about you.”

It was your turn to smile now. You placed a soft kiss on his lips.

“Of course I do, Bob. You’re easy to fall for.”

“And to ride, apparently.”

You gave him a soft slap, but you couldn’t help but smile.

“I don’t know. I never got actual experience. I just fantasize about it,” you teased.

“You wanna find out?”

You gave him your cheekiest smile.

“You bet I do.”

His hands found your waist again, pulling you close as a slow, knowing smile played across his lips. The promise in his eyes was impossible to miss, and you matched it with one of your own, full of mischief and anticipation. 

The kitchen, the morning light, even the lingering scent of coffee—all faded away, leaving only the delicious tension between you two, teasing and ready to explode. Whatever came next, it was clear neither of you planned on letting this be the last time.

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

Carmen Berzatto X Reader: Sweet Symphony

Warnings: smut, car sex, oral (f receiving), handjob, penetration (p in v), public sex (it happens in a parking lot so yeah i guess), no use of y/n, mutual pinning, cursing, kissing, dirty talk, female anatomy, male anatomy.

Word count: 4K (idk how that happened, i swear it's worth it 😅)

There were about a thousand other things Carmen should’ve been doing right now.  The restaurant was still made up of tarps and chunks of wood and debris. He needed to call a plumber. And an electrician. And a builder.  He needed to figure out the menu. Get the staff. Handle the permits.  There were a million other things he should be doing.

But he wasn’t.

In fact, he wasn’t anywhere near the restaurant.

Carmen currently found himself sitting in your car, parked in the middle of a near-empty lot, as you blasted the radio. You hadn’t shut up for the last thirty minutes. You couldn’t. There were too many things to say, too many thoughts to share.

And Carmen listened—not because he needed to, but because he wanted to. Because it mattered to you. 

He enjoyed the way your eyes lit up as you spoke about the music. He didn’t understand half the technical terms you used and probably never would, but that didn’t matter. He loved the way your hands moved through the air, describing a specific part of a song like you were conducting it.

He wondered if this was how people felt when he talked about cooking. Did he light up like this? Did his hands move the same way?  Did people look at him the way he was looking at you now?

Carmen had been so focused on the way you looked as you talked that he completely lost track of what you were actually saying. You noticed. You always noticed.  You snapped your fingers in front of his face to bring him back.

“Yo, Carmy? You still with me?”

“What? Yeah—sorry.”

“I’m boring you with my music talk, huh?”

“No, no—of course not. I was just—”

“Jesus, Carm. I’m joking. You’re all good.”

This happened a lot. Sometimes Carmen got too caught up in the sight of you, in his thoughts about you, that he missed whole pieces of conversation. You never seemed bothered by it. You never held it against him.

But it happened enough for you to notice—how his eyes would glaze over just slightly, or how he’d be so focused on your face that he didn’t compute a single word coming out of your mouth. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t like it. Who wouldn’t want Carmen Berzatto staring at them like they were the only person left on Earth?

“I could play at the restaurant,” you said suddenly.

You surprised him—it was obvious on his face.

“I mean, think about it. You could have live music on, I don’t know, Saturday. Then I could go, and I could play.”

“…Okay. I’d need a stage.”

“No, fuck that. I don’t need a stage to play.”

“Okay. What about payment?”

“Jesus, Carmy—way to spoil the mood.”

You were toying with him. You couldn’t help it. Carmen was an easy target. You loved seeing the way his brows crinkled when he thought he’d actually managed to piss you off. He never did. Well—maybe if he really tried, he could. But he never had. Not once. And yet every time you teased him, you still got him. Every time.

“You’re a pain in my ass,” Carmen muttered, but he was smiling when he said it.

You leaned back in your seat, kicking your feet up onto the dash like you lived in the car. Like this was your shared little world where nothing outside mattered—not the restaurant, not the bills, not the creeping anxiety that clung to Carmen like grease in his skin.

“Yeah, well,” you said, tilting your head to look at him, “you keep coming back, don’t you?”

He did keep coming back. Not because it mattered. Not because he had to. But because you were a break. A break in the constant anxiety and dread that filled him. A break from the restaurant and its never-ending chores.  A break from his mind. Here, in your car, locked away from the rest of the world, Carmen felt like he could breathe again. It didn’t matter that he didn’t understand what you were talking about half the time. The sound of your voice—the simple presence of you—managed to calm him.

So yes, he kept coming back to you.

Even if maybe there were other things he could be doing with his time.

You always made sure he had nothing left on his plate before letting him melt into your passenger seat. You didn’t let him hide here if there was something waiting to be resolved. And even when he said, “I’m good, I’m done for the day,” you still checked with Syd. Not because you didn’t trust him.  But because you didn’t want to be a burden.

You didn’t want to be the reason the restaurant fell behind.

Because as much as you selfishly adored your time with Carmen— as much as you wanted to keep him here, tucked away with you forever—you knew what the restaurant meant to him. How much it meant to be building something again. It meant something to him, which meant it meant something to you too. Because he meant something to you. 

Carmen’s eyes raked over your face before shifting to the place where your hands thrummed against your thighs. You seemed so at peace here—so angelic against the light of the setting sun. Carmen often thought that, in moments like this. But he never told you.

“You look really pretty.”

You blinked, caught off guard.

It wasn’t like Carmen to say things like that. Not to you. Not to anyone, really.

He was quiet with his feelings—kept them pressed down, folded into corners of himself he rarely let people see. And even though you were close, even though you spent hours like this—just being together—he had never said anything like that before.

Not really.

You glanced over at him, searching his face for a sign that he was joking, or distracted, or thinking about someone else entirely.His brow furrowed slightly, like maybe he was already regretting saying it. Like the words had slipped out before he could shove them back down.

But he didn’t take it back.

You felt your stomach twist, just a little.

“…What?” you asked, not because you didn’t hear him, but because you needed to be sure.

Carmen looked away, jaw tight. His fingers tapped lightly against his thigh—nervous, fidgeting.

“I just…” he started, then stopped. Swallowed.

“I think that sometimes. That you look… you know. Pretty.”

You stared at him for a moment, completely still. Because you’d known he liked being around you—sure. You’d known he cared. But this? This was different. 

Your heart beat louder than it should’ve.

You didn’t really know how to respond.Maybe you should thank him, but that felt too superficial, too odd considering the situation. Carmen Berzatto had just told you that he often thought you looked pretty—and that was doing something to you that you hadn’t expected it to.

You’d always had a sort of thing for him. The Berzattos were a handsome family—it was easy to fall for their looks. So yeah, when you were younger, you thought Carmen was cute. But then you started to know him. Started to hang around him. Actually became his friend.

And the thought of him being cute melted into something else.

But he had too much on his plate already, and you didn’t want to just pile on another thing for him to be worried about.

Friends don’t look at friends the way you look at Carmen.And Carmen doesn’t look at you the way he looks at his other friends—the few ones he does have.

So you let yourself sit in silence for a moment, running over a million thoughts at the speed of a second. And then, before you could chicken out,before you could convince yourself that it wasn’t worth it,you removed your feet from the dash and began to lean over the center console so you could reach him.

When your hand touched Carmen’s thigh, his head snapped up from the window to look at you. He hadn’t even realized you’d moved—not until you were practically on top of him.

And you stayed there for a second. Not moving. Not talking. Just letting your breath and his mingle.

His eyes darted from yours to your lips and you took that as your shot.You pressed a gentle kiss to him, backing away softly in an attempt to allow him to take in what had just happened.

But Carmen didn’t need to think. In fact, he’d almost shut off that part of his brain in that moment. Because if he started to think, he would chicken out. And he didn’t want to lose the opportunity you had just granted him. So before his brain could even compute it, he had dragged you onto his lap, hand settling at your waist as he kissed you again.

Carmen’s lips trailed from yours down to the hollow of your neck, soft and searching. You tilted your head, giving him better access, heart pounding in your chest like a drum. His fingers pressed firmly at your sides, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.

You could feel the heat radiating from him, the subtle shift in his breathing as desire laced every movement. It wasn’t rushed, wasn’t urgent—it was something deeper, slower. Like discovery.

Your hands found their way up, tangling in his hair, feeling the slight roughness beneath your fingers. He responded with a low sound in his throat, pulling you into him again.

The radio hummed somewhere in the background, but it was just noise now—everything else narrowed to the warmth of his skin, the press of his body, the steady beat of your shared breaths.

Carmen’s lips left your neck to meet yours again, more demanding this time, as if he was catching up on all the things he’d been holding back. Your hands slid down, tracing the line of his shirt, feeling the strength beneath, the promise of more.

You ground your hips down onto Carmy’s, causing him to let out a low groan. You smiled against his lips, repeating the action. You could feel the heat radiating from him, the way his body pressed harder into yours, matching the rhythm you set.

And then he pulled his mouth away from yours. You wondered for a moment if he’d changed his mind. Wondered if you were going too fast for poor Carmy. But he surprised you.

“Get in the back.”

You raised your eyebrows at the sudden shift in his voice. Where had the shyness you knew so well gone? Carmen seemed to catch onto your amusement, his hands moving to caress your ass. He smiled as you gasped at his actions.

“You started it.”

“And you’re gonna finish it, Berzatto?”

Carmen smiled at you—full of mischief.

“Get in the back and you’ll find out.”

That was all you needed. You climbed over the center console, sitting in the backseat. Carmen didn’t even need to ask you to take your pants off; you were already stripping them when he managed to get to the backseat. His eyes raked over the newly exposed skin, hands moving to knead it like soft dough. 

Carmen’s hands didn’t stop kneading, their touch slow but deliberate, as you adjusted yourself into a more comfortable position. You were practically lying down in the back seat, Carmy hovering above you. The car felt smaller than it had a couple of moments ago, the air charged with a sort of unspoken need.

You let out a soft breath, your fingers trailing down his arms, feeling the strength beneath the fabric.

“Can I see you without the shirt?”

Carmen was surprised by your question. You’d been so prepared to undress yourself before him, but you worried he wouldn’t be as comfortable doing that. Instead of answering, his hands released your body for a moment, tugging his shirt off. Your palms traced his body as he leaned down to kiss your neck again.

His hands moved over your stomach, fingers skimming against the edge of your shirt. You nodded your head at him before he even asked the question, hands moving to help him peel your shirt off. When the shirt slipped over your head, Carmen’s lips met yours again, slower this time, more deliberate. His hands roamed your back, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.

You could feel the heat pooling low in your stomach, the pressure of his body pressing against yours. His fingers trailed lower, brushing over your ribs, the bare skin beneath your bra.

“Can I?” he murmured against your lips.

Your breath hitched as you nodded, lifting your arms just enough for him to slide your bra straps down your shoulders. His hands cupped your breasts gently, thumbs circling your nipples through the thin fabric. Your head lifted slightly off the seat as Carmen leaned down, taking one of your breasts into his mouth while his hand continued to caress the other.

You could already feel the wet spot forming on your underwear. Carmen wasn’t much better off—his boxers were already stained with precum, his dick twitching with every soft sound that escaped your lips. And every sound did feel like music to him, which felt appropriate, considering your profession.

His lips trailed lower, moving from your breasts to your stomach, and finally to where you needed him most. He hooked his fingers around your waistband, pausing for just a moment to meet your gaze in silent question before tugging the fabric down your legs.

The space was tight, but Carmen was determined. He managed to settle between your thighs, his face mere inches from you.

And then he leaned in.

Your body jolted at the first touch of his tongue. A soft gasp escaped you as your hand found his hair, gripping tightly as he continued working you open with slow, deliberate movements.

Carmen groaned softly against you, the sound vibrating through your core and pulling another breathy moan from your lips. He was taking his time with it, dragging his tongue through your folds, slow and focused—like he was tasting something he’d been craving for a long time.

Your thighs twitched around his shoulders, and he only pressed in deeper. One arm curled beneath your leg to keep you open for him, while the other reached up, hand sliding along your ribs until his thumb brushed over your nipple again. Every point of contact lit you up.

“Fuck, Carmen—” you breathed, voice catching as your hips rocked against his mouth.

He pulled back just enough to glance up at you, lips shiny and eyes heavy.

“Yeah?” he said, voice hoarse. “That feel good?”

The teasing lilt in his voice was new—rough and low, coaxed out by the way you fell apart for him.

You nodded, too far gone for words. Your fingers tightened in his hair as he lowered his head again, tongue circling your clit before sucking softly, rhythmically. You gasped, a sharp, broken sound that made his hips twitch beneath the denim.

You were close, and he knew it. He could feel it in the way you pulsed against his mouth, in the way your thighs tried to close around his head.

He didn’t let up. If anything, he doubled down—sucking harder, tongue flicking in just the right way, fingers now slipping lower, pressing inside you without warning.

Your back arched off the seat, a cry spilling from your mouth as the pleasure hit all at once, wave after wave rolling through you. Carmen didn’t stop until you were twitching under him, your grip in his hair loosening, chest heaving with the force of it. Only then did he lift his head, dragging his mouth across your thigh with a breathless laugh.

“Jesus,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “You’re gonna fucking kill me.”

You were far too breathless to offer a witty quip in response. So instead, you tugged him up by the chin and kissed him, messy and needy. You could taste yourself on his lips, the mixture of you and him almost intoxicating. Your tongue moved over his, hands clinging to his biceps as you tried to keep him close.

It was too much for Carmen to handle. Being this near to you, yet still not close enough, was driving him insane. And you could see it. You could feel it in the way his body trembled as he tried to hold himself up. You could feel it in the bulge straining against his jeans. With every movement of his tongue, he rocked his hips into you—his clothed dick dragging against your thigh, desperate for friction.

You shifted one of your hands from his cheek, palm trailing down his body until you reached his belt. You didn’t know how you’d managed to do it one-handed, but somehow, you got his belt off. You caressed him through his boxers, reveling in the soft moan that escaped his lips at the action.

“Someone’s excited to see me.”

Carmen couldn’t help but laugh at your words, his forehead resting against yours as you smiled. Your hand slipped beneath his boxers, soft fingers wrapping around his dick. Carmen bucked into your hand unconsciously.

“Yeah? Like that?”

He’d gone quiet all of a sudden—just nodding at your words.

“Come on, Carmy. Where’s the loudmouth I know and love?”

“Fuck you.”

You grinned. “There he is.”

You shifted your grip, fingers moving over his head as you continued your languid strokes. He kissed you again—maybe in an attempt to shut you up. Or maybe to stop himself from groaning out loud. You nipped at his lips, tugging them between your teeth.

“Wanna hear you, Carmy,” you whispered against his lips, your voice low, sultry, commanding.

Carmen groaned — this deep, wrecked sound from somewhere in his chest — and you felt his whole body shudder in response. His hands gripped your hips like he was grounding himself, but his resolve was slipping. Fast.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he muttered, almost like a prayer, breath hot against your skin.

“Haven’t even got to the best part yet.”

Your words sent a shiver of desire rushing through him. Yes, he had wanted to keep going—that’s why he’d told you to move to the backseat. But to hear you acknowledge it, to hear those suggestive words slip from your lips, ruined any self-control he had left.

Without warning, he shifted, guiding your body further down the seat. His fingers hooked around the edge of your underwear, tugging them fully off this time and tossing them somewhere behind him. His hands spread over your thighs, pushing them open as he settled between them, his gaze trailing down your body like he was memorizing it.

“You still sure?” he asked, voice rasped and a little wrecked.

You nodded–breathless, aching. “Yeah. Fuck, Carmy—please.”

He lined himself up, pressing the thick head of his cock against you, teasing you with just the tip. He watched the way your body reacted — how your hips lifted toward him, how your breath hitched — and he swore under his breath. 

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he murmured, and then he pushed in slow, deep, agonizingly, deliberately.

Your head fell back with a gasp, hands gripping his shoulders as he sank into you inch by inch, filling you completely. The car felt even smaller now, the heat between you overwhelming.

Carmen stilled when he was fully inside, trying to catch his breath, to keep from coming right there.

“Jesus Christ,” he hissed against your neck. “Fuck, you’re warm. Oh god.”

“Carmy,” you whined, biting your lip as you tried to adjust to his size.

He growled — actually growled — and pulled back before thrusting into you again, harder this time. You moaned, nails digging into his skin.

The rhythm started slow, deep, grinding — like he wanted to savor every second — but it didn’t take long before it grew messier, more desperate. You wrapped your legs around him to pull him closer, to let him hit deeper. He bit into your shoulder, hips snapping against yours in a rhythm that had you both panting.

“You feel so good,” he groaned. “Fuck—just—so good.”

Your lips brushed his ear as you whispered, “Don’t stop, Carmy.”

Carmen’s hands gripped your hips tightly, fingers digging in just enough to remind you he was there—anchoring you even as his movements became more urgent, more desperate. Each thrust hit deeper, sending sparks of pleasure bursting through every nerve ending.

Your breath hitched with every collision, a mix of gasps and moans tumbling from your lips, the confined space of the car amplifying every sound. The way he moved—rough yet careful—made you feel cherished and possessed all at once.

He kissed down your jaw, teeth grazing your skin, leaving a trail of fire. Your hands tangled in his hair, tugging him closer as your bodies moved in perfect, heated sync.

You were going to come. You could feel the coil tightening with every thrust. And when Carmen started mumbling words of praise against your neck, you knew you wouldn’t last much longer.

You met his gaze, eyes shimmering with need and something softer—trust, desire, something unspoken that hovered between you.

“Carmy,” you breathed, fingers tracing the line of his jaw, “I want you to come with me.”

His pace faltered for just a moment, but then he nodded, lips brushing against yours in a promise.

The sun was long gone; the only light illuminating the car was a crappy one from the parking lot. You were sure anyone who passed by could tell what was happening inside. With how rough Carmen was moving, you’d be surprised if your beat-up car wasn’t rocking along with the rhythm. But you couldn’t care less. Let them see. Let them watch the show.

The tension coiled tighter, muscles burning, heart pounding. Your world narrowed down to the feel of him, the sound of your joined breaths, the heat that bound you both.

And then, with a shuddering groan, Carmen tipped over the edge, his body trembling as he spilled inside you, every inch of him alive with release.

You clung to him, riding out the waves of your own climax as the world outside faded away.

For a long moment, you just held each other—breathless, tangled, the world outside reduced to distant noise. Your eyes were glued to the ceiling of the car as you tried to catch your breath. You could feel the warmth that still radiated from Carmen's body beside you. Could feel the scratch of his jeans against your bare legs as he shifted into a more comfortable position. 

Carmen rested his forehead against yours, voice thick with exhaustion and something softer. “You okay?”

You nodded, fingers tracing lazy patterns across his sweat-dampened skin. “Better than okay.”

A tired smile tugged at his lips. “Damn, you’re something else.”

You laughed softly, the sound warm and genuine. “So are you.”

Neither of you spoke for a while, just breathing in the closeness, the newness of what had shifted between you.He smiled, a slow, genuine smile that made your heart twist. 

“I don’t want this to end.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the honesty.

“Stay over,” he said quietly, his voice almost a plea. “Sleep in my apartment tonight. Let me wake up to the sight of you in the morning.”

The smile that broke onto your face could have replaced the sun. You tugged him into a soft kiss.

“Okay… but you’re driving.”

His brows lifted in surprise. “Wait, what?”

“I can’t feel my legs,” you teased, nudging him gently.

Carmen laughed—a low, warm sound—as he shifted closer, wrapping an arm around you. “Alright, alright. I got you.”

After you both got dressed and Carmen settled into the driver’s seat, you made your way to his apartment. You watched the city pass by as you drove, Carmen’s hand resting on your thigh—a soft reminder of what had happened. A silent promise of more to come.

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

Carmen Berzatto X Reader: Etched in Ink

a/n:this was originally gonna be a smut but it ended up turning into something soft instead.

Warnings: fluff, a little angst, grief, smoking (reader and Carmy), mutual pinning, "strangers" to lovers, childhood crushes to lovers, no use of y/n, Carmy being vulnerable, happy ending.

Word count: 2,1 K

Carmen wasn’t expecting you.

When he opened the door at the back of the restaurant, he’d expected to be greeted by his sister’s face. He had prepared himself for another fight they would possibly have — about God knows what. They seemed to be fighting more and more these days.

So he was surprised when, instead of finding Sugar, he found you.

There you were.

It had been years since he’d seen you. He couldn’t even tell you how many. But you looked the same as you had when you were kids. And as soon as his eyes caught onto you, he just knew — that it was you, that you were here.

Why were you here? The question beat around his head, but he couldn’t get himself to verbalize it. He was still trying to take in how you looked now, after all these years without seeing you.

And then you’d opened your mouth and broken him out of his trance.

You didn’t say much, just a simple:

“You going to let me in or what?”

And before he could even think about answering, his body had moved to the side of the door, and you walked into the restaurant like you had done it a thousand times. Because maybe you had. How would he know? He hadn’t seen you in years.

It was only when you were almost out of his line of sight that he realized where he was and what was happening, and his body seemed to move into action. He rushed after you, finding you in the small office that was littered with piles and piles of unorganized documents.

“What are you doing here?”

It had come off a bit more harsh than he had intended, and he could see it as you raised your eyebrow up at him.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just… you surprised me.”

“Sugar sent me. Something about paperwork that needed to be organized.”

Of course. Of course his sister had been the one to send you — it made sense now. This was one of the many subjects that they had been fighting about. The papers needed organizing, and Sugar didn’t have time for it. Richie was completely incompetent, and Carmen couldn’t even stay long enough inside the office to begin thinking about how to organize them.

So Sugar had called you — the family friend — to organize shitty pieces of paper.

“I can’t pay you.”

Carmen was already starting to regret saying it. It sounded so rough, so cruel, coming out of his mouth.

But you simply shrugged, dropping down to sit on the floor as you picked up one of the various boxes stacked full of paper. You looked up at him.

“Don’t worry. I know you guys are tight on money right now. Just…”

You paused, suddenly unsure if you should keep going.

“Consider it a favor. For Mikey.”

Carmen had stared at you for a moment. When he realized that you weren’t going to get up, that you weren’t going to disappear into thin air — that you were actually here, sitting in the office surrounded by mountains of paperwork, prepared to get to the job — he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.”

“Yeah, okay.”

It had taken you an entire week to organize everything inside the room.

Carmen would be lying if he said he wasn’t impressed. Considering how much paperwork was inside there, he’d expected you to be stuck in the restaurant for at least a month. He was sure that was how long it would’ve taken him — if not more.

But he’d forgotten that you were different from him. That you always had been. And that was why he’d looked up to you, even when you were kids.

The feeling still lingered now. Both of you older. Both of you, somewhat, wiser.

Carmen had wanted to thank you for your hard work. He couldn’t thank you with money, so he opted for the next best thing: your very own dinner, prepared by none other than Carmen Berzatto himself.

Carmen didn’t really want you to see his shitty apartment. For some reason, it embarrassed him.  Which was kind of absurd, because you were never the type to judge anyone for anything. But Carmen wanted you to be impressed by him. He wanted you to see him in this sort of mystical light. Not as Carmen, Mikey’s brother. But Carmen, the chef at the world’s best restaurant.

Except that he wasn’t.  

Well… not anymore, anyway.

So here you were, sitting in his shitty apartment after having eaten the most delicious dinner you’d had in the last… God, you didn’t even remember how long it had been since you’d eaten something so good. When you told Carmen that, he just shrugged — like it was the most normal thing ever. Like he hadn’t spent three hours prepping just to make sure that the dish was absolutely perfect. 

You didn’t know Carmen’s secret. And he was equally oblivious to yours.

Because the truth was: you hadn’t just gone to the restaurant as a favor to Mikey or upon Sugar’s request. You’d gone because Sugar had told you that Carmen was back — and a small part of you, a part you thought had gone away when you were kids, felt your heart race at the mere thought of seeing Carmy again.

Yes, you had a crush on Carmen Berzatto.

And as soon as you’d seen him at the restaurant — his hair disheveled, his apron filthy with… you didn’t even know what — your heart had sped up. And you knew. You just knew that you still weren’t over Carmen. And maybe… maybe you’d never be. Not entirely, anyway.

After dinner, the two of you moved over to the window to share a cigarette.

You stared out into the night of Chicago, listening to the sounds of cars as they drove past, trying to ignore the heat coming off Carmen’s body. He was so close to you, and yet he felt so far.

You had known him once, years ago, but the Carmen before you — the one who had cooked you dinner and was currently handing you the cigarette — was not the boy you’d known years ago. This Carmen had gone through something. Through a lot of things. Things that maybe you’d never know about.

And it hurt a bit, knowing how much could change — how much had changed.

You hadn’t wanted him to go, but you never told him that because you were young and you thought it was just a crush, and he had to live his life, and you needed to live yours. Even if that meant being far from him. Even if that meant reading about him in magazines and newspapers instead of hearing him talk about all these marvelous experiences face to face or through the telephone.

Did he even have your number?

You had his — because you never deleted it. And as far as Sugar had told you, he’d never changed it. So yes, you had Carmen Berzatto’s phone number saved in your phone, and yet he hadn’t spoken to you in years.

And there, in his shitty apartment, the first thing that came to mind was to ask him about his tattoos. Because it seemed like a safe enough subject. Safer than Mikey. Maybe even safer than the restaurant.

Maybe you were just curious. Maybe you wanted an excuse to be able to touch him.

So when he passed you the cigarette again, you grabbed onto his hand.

“How many tattoos do you got?”

Carmen stared at you for a moment, his brain not entirely computing what you had asked because you were holding his hand, and he could feel the warmth of your palm against his.

God, how long had it been since someone had held him like that?

It was so simple, but it felt so different.

Your hands were so soft — skin warm against the chill air of Chicago. When he didn’t answer, you took a drag of the cigarette, gently tapping his hand with your finger.

That made him look at you, his eyes finding yours for the first time that night.

He hadn’t allowed himself to look you directly in the eye before — afraid that maybe if he looked at you head-on, you’d be able to read him. Be able to see every dark thought, every anxious feeling that was inside him.

But that’s not what he felt when he looked at you.

He felt warm. Like your gaze was sunshine, and he had just stepped into the light. It always had that ability — to brighten up a room, to lighten up the mood. Carmen had missed that. He was only noticing how much just now.

“Carmy?”

“Sorry.” He let out a small cough, clearing his throat as you handed him back the cigarette. “I have eight.”

You let out a soft hum of acknowledgment, moving your free hand — the one that wasn’t holding his — to grab the cigarette back from him. You took a drag, blowing the smoke into the night sky. Then you turned to face him.

“Will you show me?”

“Yeah, sure.”

You moved over to the couch to be more comfortable. The cigarette you two had been nursing lay in an ashtray by the window. You hadn’t bothered to close it. Carmy had offered, but you told him you liked the sound of the cars passing by, so he left it open.

A chill filled the room, causing you to shiver slightly, but you ignored the discomfort, focusing instead on the words coming out of Carmy’s mouth. He had just finished telling you about his seventh tattoo. There was only one left — the one you were most curious about, and the one he seemed to be actively avoiding.

The flower tattoo on his left hand.

You knew it was a forget-me-not, so you’d been coming up with the meaning for it, but you wanted to hear him say it. You wanted him to tell you.

“What about this one?”

You pulled his hand onto your lap, gently tracing over the tattoo with your fingers.

Carmen watched you look at the tattoo for a moment, his eyes tracing over your features. You looked so beautiful in this light. The thought surprised him — he hadn’t anticipated that his crush on you would have lasted all these years, but that seemed to be the case.

His fingers curled into your hand, grabbing onto it, causing you to look up at him. Your eyes were soft as you waited for him to tell you the meaning behind the tattoo.

He could tell that maybe you’d figured it out, but that you wanted to hear it from him all the same.

So he told you.

“It’s for Mikey.”

A soft silence filled the room.

It wasn’t a comfortable silence — it was one filled with the sudden sadness that seemed to be shared between the two of you.

Carmen knew you were friends with Mikey. He knew you’d been at the funeral because Sugar had told him.

So he imagined that his brother’s death had also hit you hard, but it would never be the same. Never the same as what he felt about his brother’s death.

So the two of you just stayed there, each silently mourning.

And then you whispered his name.

The sadness just seemed to slip out, replaced by something else — a sort of longing. It had always been there, and yet somehow gone unnoticed all these years.

So when you leaned in to kiss him, Carmy accepted it.

Your body shifted on the couch, moving closer to his as you deepened the kiss. There was a sort of desperation in it — a common understanding that life was too short to keep walking around on eggshells.

Mikey had been there, and then he hadn’t.

It could be like that for any of you.

Appreciate the present.

Appreciate the now.

Carmen planned on doing just that.

His hand moved to your leg, maneuvering your body so that you were straddling his. His fingers curled into your hair, desperately tugging you closer.

And you let him.

You let him take what he needed. You let him feel.

And when tears popped in his eyes, you kissed them away.

Your hands moved over him in an attempt not to distract, but to comfort.

And by some miracle, Carmen accepted the gesture.

The whole thing was soft, sentimental.

Two bodies molding into one. Two hearts beating in perfect sync.

And when it was over, he held you to his chest, your face buried into his neck as his buried into your hair.

And in the middle of the cold, in the sounds of traffic in the street, you whispered a confession to him.

“I think I love you, Carmy. I think I’ve always loved you.”

And Carmen whispered the words back.

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

Carmen Berzatto X Roomate!Reader: Slow burn

a/n: Ei yo just started The Bear so you know what that means, oh yeah, falling for Carmy. 100% knew it would happen.

Warnings: fluff, kissing, allusions to sleeping together, cuteness, pinning, roommates to lovers, no use of y/n.

Word count: 2.1K

Carmen was tired. He had just spent the last several hours working away at the restaurant, and he hadn’t taken a moment to eat anything nourishing all day. It was finally catching up to him.

He stood outside the apartment door, key in hand, stomach grumbling. Carmen hadn’t expected much when getting home, but he certainly hadn’t anticipated the smell of something burning. The moment he caught a whiff of smoke, his hand jammed the key into the lock and twisted.

You were trying to do something nice. You picked a simple recipe so you couldn’t screw it up. And somehow, you still had.

You cursed as the fire alarm beeped incessantly, arms aching as you flapped at the smoke, trying to clear the air. You hadn’t even noticed Carmen had come in. It was only when he called out your name over the alarm that you realized he was home.

Your face dropped immediately when your eyes met his.

“What the hell’s going on?”

“Shit—Carmy, I’m sorry. I was trying to make dinner, and I burned the fucking onions or something—I don’t even know anymore, I just—” You stopped, turning sharply toward the fire alarm. “Oh, will you shut up already!”

Carmen took in the scene. Your shoulders tense, your hands frantic, the frustrated tears welling in your eyes. He knew that feeling too well. The way failure could cling to you even when your intentions were good.

So he jumped in to help.

He reached up and smacked the fire alarm with the back of a wooden spoon, muting the blaring beep. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“Okay,” he said quietly, moving beside you, opening a window. “What exactly happened?”

“I don’t know, I guess I got distracted,” you muttered, embarrassed. “I wanted to make dinner for you. I thought—I don’t know—I thought maybe it would help. You always cook for everyone else. I just wanted to do that for you for once.”

Carmen glanced at you. There was something soft in his eyes now, something that made your cheeks burn hotter than the stovetop.

“You didn’t have to,” he said. “But… thank you.”

You looked down at the blackened skillet.

“I guess it’s kind of ruined. We can just order pizza or something. Honestly. You’re probably starving.”

He gave a tired half-smile, rolling up his sleeves.

“It’s salvageable. We’ll figure something out. You wanna cook with me?”

You glanced at the stove, then at him, skeptical.

“Carmy, I kind of ruined it.”

“So?” He met your eyes. “That’s not the part that matters.”

You folded your arms, shifting your weight.

“I tried to make dinner and set off the fire alarm. Feels like a pretty important part.”

He gave a tired laugh, the kind that wasn’t loud but still managed to soften the air between you.

“Do you know how many times I’ve messed something up in the kitchen?”

You raised an eyebrow.

“You?”

“Me. A lot. It happens.” He paused, nodding toward the cutting board. “You still have some stuff prepped, right?”

You nodded slowly.

“Yeah… the rest is okay, I think.”

“Then come here,” he said gently. “We’ll do it together. You can plate while I handle the pan. I’ll walk you through it.”

You hesitated, still feeling the weight of your failed surprise. But then he added, quietly:

“I know it was for me. So… let me be part of it too.”

Something in you cracked open a little at that. The way he said it—not like you owed him, but like he wanted to meet you halfway.

“…Okay,” you said finally, stepping closer. “But if something else catches fire, I’m blaming you.”

Carmen smirked, already reaching for the olive oil.

“Fair.”

You stood beside him at the stove, the silence between you no longer heavy—just warm. Comfortable. He walked you through each step patiently, letting you do most of the work, only stepping in when your hands faltered. From time to time, he’d use some kitchen lingo you didn’t understand, and you’d just stare at him until he noticed your lack of comprehension. Every time he’d apologize. Force of habit he’d say with a shrug. And then you asked him to teach you something and he just looked at you. Surprised. Not because you’d asked but because you seemed genuinely curious. So as the two of you cooked, he’d slip in some kitchen knowledge where he could.

“This one?” you asked, holding up a handful of herbs.

“Yeah,” he murmured, brushing his fingers over yours as he took a sprig. “That’s perfect.”

You tried not to overthink how close he stood. Or how he smelled like smoke, citrus, and whatever cologne he barely wore. Or how you could feel the quiet calm rolling off him now that he wasn’t in the chaos of the restaurant. You always loved watching Carmy cook. You could see all the tension leave his body as he moved around in the tiny kitchen of your shared apartment. It was one of your favorite things and now that you were doing it with him your chest couldn’t help but fill with butterflies.

When you finally sat down to eat, plates balanced on the coffee table, a half-finished bottle of wine between you, it wasn’t fancy. But it was good. Surprisingly good.

You took a bite and looked at him. “See? You fixed it.”

He shook his head. “We fixed it.” Then added, “And it was never broken, really.”

You smiled, cheeks warm again. He poured you another glass without asking. A quiet settled over the apartment, the kind that doesn’t demand filling. You leaned back into the couch cushions, legs curled beneath you. Carmen sat close enough that your knees almost touched. He glanced at you, eyes lingering longer than they usually did. You tried not to stare back at him, afraid to lose yourself in his ocean blue eyes.

“I’m not good at… people doing things for me,” he said quietly.

You turned to him, showing him you were paying attention.

“Not because I don’t appreciate it,” he added quickly. “It’s just—I’m used to being the one who has to show up. Who has to hold things together. So when someone… like you… tries to take care of me…”

He trailed off, searching for the words. His hand wrapped around his wine glass, but he wasn’t drinking.

“It messes with your wiring a little?” you offered, voice soft.

He let out a breath of a laugh. “Yeah. Something like that.”

You nodded slowly. “I get it.”

There was another beat of quiet. The air felt heavier now—not with tension, but something else. Anticipation, maybe. A shift.

“I noticed, you know,” he said after a moment.

“Noticed what?”

“That you try,” he said, looking at you. “In these little ways. The coffee when I get home late. The lights you leave on when you know I’ll be in after midnight. This dinner. Even if it went up in smoke.”

Your breath caught a little. You didn’t think he’d ever said something like that before. The sincerity in his words, the feeling of vulnerability he held made you feel like you could open up to him a little more.

“I try,” you echoed. “Because I care.”

Carmen looked at you for a long moment, eyes unreadable but soft. You’d said “care” but Carmy understood you didn’t mean it in a roommate way. Or in a friendly way for that matter. It was the sort of “care” people had for those who were special to them. Those who mattered a little more than everyone else. Carmy’s chest tightened.

“I care too,” he said. “I just… haven’t known how to say it without messing it up.”

Your heart was pounding now, but you didn’t look away.

“You’re not messing it up,” you said. “You’re kind of… doing the opposite right now.”

He gave the smallest smile, just the corner of his mouth twitching. And then his hand moved. Just slightly, resting on the couch between you. Close. Not touching. But waiting. You shifted your hand too. Let your fingers barely brush his. A question. He didn’t pull away. His pinky hooked around yours. It was small. Barely anything.

And it felt like everything.

Your fingers stayed like that for a moment. Until you shifted slightly closer, slow enough that he could move if he wanted to. But he didn’t. You let your shoulder brush against his, then leaned in, resting gently against his side. He tensed for just a second, like he didn’t quite know how to hold that kind of closeness. But then you felt him ease. Like maybe he didn’t know how much he needed it until now. Neither of you said anything for a while. The wine sat forgotten on the table. The plates had gone cold, bits of food begging to be cleaned up.

But none of that mattered.

Carmen’s arm moved—tentative—and he let it rest along the back of the couch behind you. Not pulling you in, not holding tight. Just being there.

You turned your head slightly against his shoulder and whispered, “You know you’re… kind of a really good guy, right?”

You felt the breath he let out more than you heard it. Like the words hit somewhere deeper than he was ready for. He didn’t answer right away. But then, in a voice quieter than the room itself, he said:

“I don’t always feel like one.”

You shifted, just enough to look up at him.

“Well,” you said, “you are. At least to me.”

He looked at you. Really looked at you. And for once, he didn’t flinch under the weight of it. His eyes dropped to your mouth for a second, then back up. He didn’t move, didn’t push it. Just let the moment hang there, like he didn’t want to break it.

And neither did you.

But then something shifted.

You didn’t even realize you were leaning in until your nose brushed his. A breath passed between you and then his hand moved, barely cupping your jaw, thumb grazing your cheek like he couldn’t believe he was allowed to touch you. He hesitated, just for a second. One last out.

And then he kissed you.

It was soft. Careful. Like he was afraid you’d vanish if he moved too fast. You kissed him back with the same kind of care, like it was something fragile you didn’t want to break. When he pulled back, it wasn’t far. Just enough to rest his forehead against yours, eyes still closed.

“I’ve wanted to do that,” he murmured, “for a while.”

You smiled, heart fluttering against your ribs. “Me too. Since you opened the door to the apartment the first time I came to look at it.”

You’d wanted him that long? If only he’d known. Maybe he would have made a move sooner.

Another pause. Another breath.

Then he pulled you in again. This time, he kissed you without hesitation.

The morning light crept in slow, gold and gray through the blinds. Carmen blinked awake, still heavy with sleep, the sheets tangled loosely around his legs. For a second, he didn’t remember falling asleep. Just remembered warmth. Your hand. Your lips. The silence after.

Then he turned his head and there you were.

Lying on your side, facing him. Still curled up under the covers, one arm tucked beneath your cheek, the other resting gently against his chest like it had always been there.

You were still asleep in his bed. Flashes of the night before made it into his mind. It hadn’t been a drunken dream. It had happened. You were really here.

Carmen didn’t move. Didn’t want to risk waking you. He just watched. Quiet, still, the kind of still he never let himself be when anyone else was around. There was a weight in his chest that he didn’t know what to do with. Not heavy in the bad way. Just… full.

Someone had stayed. For him.

You had chosen him. You’d told him so last night. He remembered now, how his chest had soared as he kissed you before falling asleep. How his chest heaved beside yours as you tried to catch your breaths. How he’d felt when you nuzzled into his chest, mumbling something against his neck before sleep took over you.

His fingers moved slowly under the blanket, brushing the back of your hand, letting them settle there. A grounding point. A promise, maybe. You stirred a little, but didn’t wake. Carmen closed his eyes again, just for a minute, breathing in the quiet.

He should get up. He needed to get to work. But then your hand moved against his, fingers curling into his own. And he stopped thinking about everything else. He let you hold on to him. Let you anchor yourself to him. He didn’t feel weighed down. If anything he felt like he’d just grown wings. He tugged your body closer into his. Eyes closing as he allowed sleep to move over his body once again.

And when he finally slept he dreamt of you. Of you and him and the life you’d have.

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

Yesssss! This is so true, i recently started commenting on other writers fics because I realized just how much the comments on mine motivate me. Any little love you leave on fics, any funny reposts you use they matter to us. So never feel scared to do it!

"I didn't comment on a fic I liked because I don't think the author would care or remember my comment anyway". fanfic writer here, I still remember comments I got on my fics from seven years ago. I still think about them and they still make me smile. your kind comments are what motivates us and what helps us keep writing.

I personally know writers who take screenshot and print out comments they got from their readers.

TL;DR comments matter to us writers more than you think. if you like a fanfic, never be shy to let the author know ♡

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

John Walker X Reader: A sweet escape

Warning: smut, fluff, public sex (sort of), kissing, teammates to lovers, no use of y/n, cute ending, fingering, mutual pinning, Valentina slander (because why not?)

Word Count: 3,2K

You were bored out of your mind.

You tugged at the straps of your dress for what felt like the fiftieth time tonight. The place was packed. Everyone was dressed in their best outfits, and you were no exception. Not that it would’ve been your first choice. You usually liked having a bit more mobility—a consequence of being a hero. You always had to be prepared to fight.

The dress you currently found yourself in didn’t meet that requirement. But you’d worn it. Because Valentina had told you to. And since this whole event was her dumb idea, you knew better than to argue with her.

You were leaning on the bar, nursing one of many drinks of the night. You weren’t drunk. Just numb to the idiocy happening around you.

You knew you should be mingling. The others were, and you should be too. But you couldn’t be bothered. You’d already wasted thirty minutes talking to some idiot about what it felt like to be an Avenger, and you’d burned through your social battery for the night.

You weren’t the only one.

“You wanna get out of here?”

You hadn’t realized John was that close until he spoke. You turned to look at him.

He was wearing a suit. It was navy blue—Valentina’s idea, meant to remind people of his U.S. Agent uniform. But that wasn’t the first thing you noticed.

The first thing you thought was that he looked handsome.

John Walker cleaned up nicely.

But maybe you were biased.

“Won’t we get in trouble?”

It felt unnatural to care about that. Getting in trouble had never been something you worried about before. But now that you were an Avenger, you were constantly in the spotlight. People expected things from you. That made you vulnerable to making good choices.

John glanced around the room, scanning the crowd for Valentina. He wouldn’t find her—you knew because you’d been looking too. Once he seemed to realize she was nowhere nearby, he turned back to you.

“Wicked Witch doesn’t seem to be here,” he said with a smirk, clearly proud of his little jab.

You rolled your eyes but felt your lips twitch.

“Well then,” you said, pushing off the bar. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

You started making your way toward the balcony, John trailing behind you.

The air outside was colder than you expected, and you let out a small shiver. John noticed and thought about offering you his jacket but that seemed too intimate. So he stayed quiet. 

You leaned against the railing, your skin coming into contact with the cool metal. Your eyes scanned the city as you let out a small sigh. The air smelled like oncoming rain. It calmed you.

John moved to stand beside you, mirroring your stance. The two of you stayed silent for a moment, just taking in the city lights.

John kept looking at you from the corner of his eye. You looked nice.

He felt the urge to say that, but worried you’d think he was being sarcastic. So he bit the words down.

He needed to stop being such a coward.

You seemed to have that effect on him. Whenever he was around you, he suddenly worried about everything he did and said. He wanted you to think highly of him—because he thought highly of you.

Because he liked you.

In a not-so-teammate way.

“You really hate these things, huh?” he asked.

You huffed a laugh. “What gave it away? My charm or my scowl?”

John let out a small chuckle, finally allowing himself to turn toward you. Your eyes met his, and his heart sped up slightly.

“What about you, Walker? Is this your scene?”

He could sense the teasing behind your words. He could play it off, say something funny to make you laugh. But tonight, he opted for the truth.

“I never really got the whole fancy event thing.” He turned back to look at the city; your eye contact was making him nervous. “Feels like we’re just pretending to be something we’re not.”

You let out a breath of agreement because, yeah, you knew exactly what he meant. You hadn’t expected to be a hero—then suddenly, you’d saved New York from Void and been declared an Avenger. Twelve-year-old you wouldn’t believe it. But it was the truth.

“You look good, by the way,” he said, his voice quieter now.

You glanced over, surprised. He wasn’t smiling—not in that cocky way he usually did. He looked serious. Maybe even sincere.

You raised an eyebrow. “Valentina picked the dress.”

“She’s got decent taste, then.”

You looked at him a little longer this time. His suit really did bring out his eyes, even if the idea of coordinating with his U.S. Agent colors made you want to roll yours.

“You clean up pretty well too,” you admitted. “But don’t let it go to your head.”

He chuckled. “Too late for that.”

You shivered again, pulling away from the railing to wrap your arms tightly around yourself.

John couldn’t stand to watch you so clearly uncomfortable. He thought about asking if you wanted to go back inside—but he didn’t want that. He didn’t want to go back to being a circus clown. He wanted to stay here with you. Because with you, he didn’t have to pretend. 

Summoning a bit of courage, he did what he’d been thinking about for a while. John slipped off his suit jacket and moved silently to drape it over your shoulders. You raised an eyebrow, curling in on yourself for a moment before accepting the gesture. It was warm. And it smelled like him. 

You resisted the urge to bury your nose in the collar.

“Thank you,” you said softly.

John just shrugged, like it was nothing.

Because to him it was.

You stayed quiet for a moment, feeling the warmth of his jacket settle around you. The chill in the air wasn’t just from the night anymore. John shifted slightly, his shoulder brushing against yours just enough to send a ripple of something unfamiliar through your chest. You need to distract yourself from the feeling. Before you did something you regretted. 

“Kind of weird, isn’t it?” you said softly. “How we used to be in the dirt, covered in blood, just trying to stay alive—and now we’re expected to smile for cameras and give speeches about unity.”

John didn’t answer you immediately. You turned to look at him, eyes falling on his side profile. Why did he have to be so handsome? You could tell he was thinking about something. No, not thinking—remembering. Regretting. You were starting to regret asking the question. You hadn’t meant to sour the mood, but you were beginning to feel like you had.

“You ever think about just walking away from it?” he asked. “All of it. The missions, the politics, the... expectations?”

You swallowed.

“All the time.”

The sincerity in your tone surprised John.

“Don’t you?”

John had had a rough time after he’d failed as Captain America, and for a while, he’d thought of giving it all up. Sometimes he still did. But then he’d wake up in the tower and see you making breakfast in the kitchen, and things didn’t seem all that bad.

There were worse places to be.

“Some days. But mostly no.” He turned to face you, the moon reflecting in his eyes. “I wouldn’t have met you.”

Your eyes widened at his words, and he panicked. “And—and the others, of course.”

Your shoulders sagged visibly at his correction, but he didn’t notice. He was far too occupied cursing himself for almost confessing to you to notice your disappointment.

You buried yourself deeper into his jacket. His cologne engulfed you. You closed your eyes, trying to commit the scent to memory.

You must have let out some sort of sound of contentment because John’s attention snapped back to you. He watched as you leaned your head against the fabric of his suit jacket. It seemed so right to see you in his clothes. They didn’t fit you perfectly because they weren’t yours, but he felt like it made sense—his clothes on your body.

Before he could convince himself not to do it, he moved closer to you.

Your eyes snapped open as his arm wrapped around your shoulders. You gazed up at him, eyes slightly questioning his actions.

“Saw you shivering. You still cold?”

There was something in the way he said it—voice so full of genuine concern, body so warm against yours, face so close to yours—that made you snap.

You leaned forward, placing your lips gently on his.

You pulled back almost immediately, eyes wide and heart pounding. Panic welled up inside you. Had you gone too far? Did he want this? The sudden rush of doubt made your breath catch, and you took a small step away, pressing your hands against your chest as if to hold yourself together.

John’s eyes locked onto yours, sharp and intense. He saw the hesitation, the sudden flicker of regret. Without a word, he closed the distance in an instant, his hands wrapping firmly around your waist. The heat of his body pressed against yours erased every doubt in your mind. His lips found yours again, harder this time—deep, urgent, demanding. You responded, every uncertainty melting away in the fire of the kiss. 

Something ignited inside John. His lips moved against yours with a growing hunger, deepening the kiss until it consumed every thought. The heat between you flared, spreading through your body like wildfire. His hands slid from your waist to your back, pulling you impossibly closer, the press of his body against yours sending a thrilling ache straight to your core.

Your breaths mingled, ragged and urgent, as his tongue traced the seam of your lips, asking for entrance. You parted willingly, giving him access, your own tongue meeting his in a heated dance that left you dizzy. His grip tightened, fingers digging into the fabric of your dress, and a shiver ran down your spine—part cold from the night air, part from being so close to him.

When you finally parted, both gasping for air, lips swollen and cheeks flushed for the intensity of the kiss, something shifted in the air. John's eyes were dark despite the bright lights. His blue orbs almost completely black with desire. His gaze snapped around the balcony searching for something.

His eyes flicked toward the far end of the balcony, where a shadowed corner jutted out, mostly hidden by a decorative pillar and the curve of the wall. 

Isolated. 

Out of sight. 

Perfect.

Without a word, his hand found yours. He didn’t ask, didn’t wait. He just tugged and you followed.  The moment your back hit the cool stone of the wall, his hands were on you again, sliding down your sides, gripping your hips as his mouth crashed back onto yours. This time there was no hesitation, no slow build, just raw, desperate hunger.

You moaned softly against him as his tongue tangled with yours, as his body pressed harder, pinning you with just enough pressure to make your head spin. One hand slipped down your thigh, lifting your leg around his waist, drawing your bodies even closer. You were suddenly very glad to be wearing a dress. Easy access was a godsend.

His other hand found your jaw, tilting your face up to deepen the kiss, his breath mixing with yours in a rhythm that matched the frantic beat of your heart. His hand on your thigh squeezed, anchoring you to him as he ground his hips into yours. You gasped into his mouth at the friction—your dress hiking higher with each movement, the thin fabric suddenly feeling like far too much between you.

“John.”

His name slipped from your lips without intending to. Everything felt so good. He felt so good. John pulled back just enough to look at you. His eyes were dark, jaw clenched, breath hot against your skin. Still, he said nothing. His expression did all the talking. You gave the barest nod, and that was all he needed.

His hands slid down your body, bunching your dress up until it pooled at your waist. His fingers grazed the soft skin of your thighs, moving with purpose but never rushing. You trembled beneath his touch, anticipation winding tight in your stomach. 

When his fingers found your underwear you couldn’t help but whine. He teased you through the fabric for a moment, fingers feeling the wet patch that was starting to form. Your hand latched onto his bicep, nails sinking into the fabric of his shirt. He groaned low against your skin. And then he leaned in his lips ghosting along your jaw, down your neck, biting just hard enough to make you gasp again. 

"Fuck," he breathed—more to himself than to you.

The sounds you were making were driving him crazy.

A part of his brain wanted to savor this—but another, more rational part knew he was on borrowed time. Any moment, someone could step out onto the balcony and catch you both in a compromising position. The thought made his cock twitch in his pants.  He wouldn’t mind getting caught.  But he also wanted to enjoy this. Enjoy you.

When his fingers finally slipped beneath your underwear, you hissed at the sudden chill. His fingers were cold. The discomfort didn’t last long. It was quickly replaced by a wave of pleasure as he added another finger, stretching you open. Your back arched off the wall, nails digging into his shoulders as he worked you slowly—unrelenting and precise. His lips found your ear, whispering your name like a prayer, voice gravel and heat. 

There was a clear desperation in his voice. He wanted to focus on you, but you wanted him—you wanted him to feel as good as you did.

So, despite everything in your mind screaming for you to let him keep going, your hand moved to gently grasp his wrist.

John’s gaze snapped to yours immediately, his hand freezing in place against you. “You okay?”

You smiled at his concern, leaning forward to press a kiss to his lips. “I’m fine,” you whispered. “I just want you inside.”

A low groan escaped him, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment as your words sank in. When he opened them again, they were darker—hungrier.

He kissed you again, rougher this time, all teeth and tongue, and then pulled back just enough to slide his fingers out of you. You watched as he brought them to his mouth and sucked them clean with a low, guttural growl that made your knees weaken all over again.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he muttered, voice dark and low.

Then he unbuckled his belt.

You stared down at where his hands moved to free himself, but you couldn’t see anything in the darkness. That wasn’t a problem—you’d feel it soon enough.

John paused for a moment, his face wearing the same focused expression he had on missions. You placed a hand gently on his cheek, forcing him to look at you.

“Hey. It’s just us. You don’t have to be him around me. I don’t want him. I want you.”

John understood immediately. He had slipped into superhero mode, but he didn’t need to. He didn’t have to be perfect for you—just himself. He gave you a small nod, grateful for your words.

“Wrap your legs around me so I can lift you up.”

You obeyed, jumping slightly as you wrapped your legs around his waist. John gripped your thighs firmly, fingers digging into your flesh. He pressed you against the wall, steadying you before lining himself up. 

Both of you gasped as he pushed in. Your hand moved to toy with the hairs at the nape of his neck, your body shifting off the wall as you adjusted to the feeling of being full of him. John leaned his head against your shoulder, lips pressing soft kisses there as he waited for you to settle.

You tugged his hair gently, signaling that he could move. John lifted his head from your shoulder, his grip shifting slightly before he began to move. Your mouth opened into a silent moan as he pulled out and pushed back in.

His chest heaved as he started to pick up the pace. You squirmed beneath him, but that wasn’t a problem. Super soldier serum had its perks. You took what John gave you, hands clawing at any part of him you could reach.

“Fuck you feel perfect.”

“So good John. Keep going, please don’t stop.”

“I got you. I–shit–squeezing me like a vice.”

John groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating through you as his hips slammed harder, faster. His hands tightened on your thighs, keeping you locked in place as he matched your rhythm with relentless precision.

You’re mine,” he rasped against your ear, voice thick with need. “Only mine.”

You shivered at his words, fingers threading through his hair as you pulled him closer, craving every inch of contact. Your breath hitched when his teeth grazed the shell of your ear.

“Don’t stop,” you begged, voice barely above a whisper but desperate.

He responded by picking up the pace, his body moving with such raw urgency that you could barely think beyond the fire consuming you. Every thrust sent sparks shooting through your nerves, every touch making you tremble.

Your nails dug into his back as you felt yourself tipping over the edge, breath catching as the world blurred into nothing but sensation.

“John,” you gasped, voice cracking with need, “I’m close.”

He whispered back, voice fierce and possessive, “Come for me. Let me hear you.”

Your eyes glazed over as you came. John held you tightly as your body spasmed, his hips not slowing until his own orgasm washed over him.

For a while, neither of you moved—your body clinging to his as his hand braced against the wall. Then reality seemed to settle back in. You whimpered softly as you unwrapped your legs from around John’s waist. You’d be sore tomorrow, you were sure of it. But oh, had it been worth it.

John helped you gather yourself, even letting you borrow his phone as a mirror—a surprisingly sweet gesture. Once you both felt presentable again, you started heading back inside the event.

You stopped just before the door. John stopped with you, watching you carefully. For a moment, he thought maybe he’d messed things up—that you regretted everything and that it had all fallen apart. But then you surprised him.

“Did you mean it?” you asked softly, your voice vulnerable.

John released the door handle and turned to face you fully.

“Mean what?”

You fiddled nervously with your hands. “That I’m yours? That you want that—that I’d be… yours.”

John relaxed, a soft smile tugging at his lips. He stepped closer, placing his hands gently on your arms and leaned down to kiss you softly.

“Of course I do. If you want that too.”

“I do.”

John brushed a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his thumb lingering on your cheek. 

“We’re in this together now,” he murmured, his voice low and sure.

You smiled, feeling a lightness inside you that hadn’t been there before.

“Together,” you echoed, intertwining your fingers with his.

And with that you two entered the party. Ready to face it again, this time together. 

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

John X Bob X Reader: Between the three of us.

a/n: ah yes a bull rider AU because i love me a cowboy and Wyatt and Lewis have played them so i had visual inspo for this. Chefs kiss 🙂‍↔️.

Song recommendation for the read

Warnings: bull rider AU, smut, mutual pinning, childhood friends to lovers, threesome, pet names (darling and sweetheart), face sitting, hand job, blow job, thigh biting, dirty thoughts, cursing, cute ending, no use of y/n.

Word count: 5,8K ( so yeah...that happened)

The sun was beating down on your head. Your throat longed for water, but you didn’t move. You couldn’t miss this. You never had, and today wouldn’t be the first time. Your eyes kept flicking to the scoreboard, waiting for their names to pop up. But it was old and unreliable, so it was a futile thing to do.

Your boot clanged against the ground, throwing up dust. You could hear the bulls whining softly. You could smell beer and practically taste the salty sweat dripping down your body.

And then the speaker blared his name and the crowd went wild.

John Walker rushed out of the stable, hands gripping onto the bull for dear life. He needed to hold steady, keep his balance. Move with the bull, not against it. His body did exactly what it was trained to do, syncing with every twist and jerk of the animal. The seconds ticked by, but he barely noticed. His arm burned, his head spun, but his grip never faltered.

And then, in the blur of people, he found you.

It should’ve been impossible to spot you at the speed he was moving, but he knew exactly where to look. You were in your spot, like always during competitions. His eyes locked onto you, just another blur in the crowd he didn’t need to see clearly to feel.

Let go, John.

He heard your voice clear as day, even though he knew you probably hadn’t shouted a word. He felt it in his bones.

So he let go.

He flung off the bull’s back, hitting the ground with a dull thud as dust clouded around him. All around, people were shouting. He didn’t bother listening. He was too focused, forcing his eyes to find you.

Everyone else was watching the scoreboard.

But your eyes were on him.

And when you smiled, he just knew. He’d scored higher than the last guy.

You hadn’t left your spot, but John came to meet you a while later. He had his hat on now—something he hadn’t worn while riding—but his clothes bore the clear signs of battle. Dirt, sweat, scuffs. He looked like he’d taken on the beast and walked away with the better score.

The good thing was, he didn’t have to beat the bull.

He just had to beat the other bull riders.

“You were great out there.”

You pulled him into a hug, surrounding him with the scent of you. He lived for moments like this. The feeling of adrenaline still buzzing through his veins, combined with the warmth of your body. It always made him giddy. It had been like that for years, and he doubted it would ever change.

He turned to say something, but just as he released you, the speaker crackled to life again, announcing the name of the next bull rider.

Your head snapped toward the ring. Your hands clung to the railing as you lifted your body slightly onto the metal barrier that kept you safe from the bulls—just so you could see better.

Bob Reynolds.

He sprang into the arena, hair wild as the bull beneath him kicked and twisted, trying to throw him off. Bob kept his hand steady, his form tight, body loose where it needed to be and locked in where it counted. It wasn’t just about holding on, it was about how he held on.

John knew he shouldn’t be jealous.

You were always there for them. The two boys. It had been like that since childhood, and it stayed that way as you grew older. When they both took up bull riding, you called them crazy—but you showed up to every match.

You were their lucky charm.

Neither of them ever said it out loud. But they both knew.

It was you in the crowd that made them keep going.

John knew you cheered for him the same way you did for Bob—but it always felt different. The way you climbed the railing a little higher for Bob. The way your voice pitched just a bit louder. Maybe it was because John had always been on the other side, hearing you scream his name. Or maybe it was just because Bob was... different.

John tried to tear his gaze away, but his eyes kept flicking between Bob and the scoreboard.

Bob had made it to 6 seconds already. But he wasn’t letting go.

He was riding for style, for control, for the kind of ride that made judges nod and crowds roar.

“Come on, Bob.”

You whispered the words softly—but John heard them. His head snapped toward you.

Your body leaned over the railing in desperation. Bob didn’t want to just stay on—he wanted to ride like he owned the bull. The bad thing about this sport was that even when you were teammates, even when you were friends for years... it was still a competition.

Because this had never just been about bull riding.

The competition started long before the bulls.

The real ride?

The one for your heart.

And you didn’t even know it.

The sound of the buzzer pulled John’s attention back into the ring. Bob jumped off the bull, landing much more gracefully than John had. It was just another thing to compare himself to Bob—just another thing the brown-haired man was better at.

He watched Bob’s eyes meet yours; he could feel the tension in the air as you held his gaze. Then, with a smile, the other man turned around and disappeared into the arena, heading for the locker rooms.

A couple of moments later, Bob found you and John. He, too, was wearing a hat and showed clear signs of battle. You gave him a smile as he approached, tugging him into a warm hug just like you had done with John.

That was the thing about you—you always made it fair. You hugged them both, always held their hands, and laughed the same at their jokes. It made it that much harder to fight over you because you seemed so clueless to the clear tension. They felt like fools to fight for you. You were all friends. Whether they longed for something more or not, it didn’t matter.

“Well, that was impressive.”

It wasn’t clear who you were talking to—maybe both of them. But Bob was quicker.

“Had to show up John,” he teased lightly, though the heat in his gaze told you this was more than just friendly rivalry.

John’s jaw tightened. 

“You did. But don’t think it’s over.” 

His voice was calm, but you caught the edge—the challenge beneath it.

You always chalked it up to them being too high on adrenaline to remember they were on the same team when it came to most things. Sure, they competed against each other in the ring, but as soon as they were outside of it, the three of you were a unit.

The three of you continued to watch the other riders. Bob and John were itching for this to be over—they wanted to know who the winner was. Sure, they wanted to beat each other, but mostly, they wanted to beat the other riders.

You watched the rest of the competition with mild curiosity. You didn’t care much for the sport itself. You only came to support your boys, and anything beyond them was just background noise.

When the scores were finally tallied, you were glad to see that Bob and John had placed second and third, respectively. You expected them to grumble at each other about the rankings. You knew how bitter John could get when Bob outperformed him in competitions. But both of them were too focused on having lost to some random guy who’d come out of nowhere. They didn’t care much about the specifics of who placed where—they just didn’t like losing.

You knew they’d be tense for the rest of the night if you didn’t step in and do something about it, so you made a quick decision.

“Drinks on me,” you said with a grin.

The bar was lively, warm, and loud. Filled with the kind of rowdy energy that only small-town nights and cheap beer could conjure. You’d picked it on purpose. The music thumped through the speakers, a little too loud for conversation, but perfect for distraction.

Bob and John sat at a high-top table near the back, nursing cold drinks. Their shirts still clung slightly from the heat of the day, and dust lingered on their jeans like proof of the ride. You could see the frustration in both of them, even if they didn’t say a word about the results.

You’d danced a little when you first arrived. Light, easy movements just to shake off the lingering heat. Neither of them joined you. They just watched, sipping slowly, stealing glances when they thought the other wasn’t looking. You’d caught them, though. Both of them. Their eyes on you when they thought you weren’t paying attention. It wasn’t new, but tonight it felt… heavier. More loaded.

Then the mechanical bull started.

The crowd shifted toward it like moths to a flame, and before you could think twice, someone had pointed at you. Cheered. Dared you.

You looked back at John and Bob, mischief in your smile. 

“Think I could last eight seconds?”

John raised a brow, his mouth twitching. 

“Depends on the bull.”

Bob just smirked, but his gaze dragged over your body like he was already imagining it—your hips, your legs, the way you’d move. He lifted his drink and tilted it toward you. 

“Go show us what you’ve learned.”

So you did.

Climbing onto the mechanical bull was more awkward than you thought it’d be, but once the machine started moving, you found your rhythm. Sort of. The crowd whooped and laughed as you tried to hold on, your body rocking with each buck. You could feel your shirt clinging to your skin, the flush in your cheeks growing from more than just exertion. You didn’t dare look at the table.

But they were looking. Watching. Not speaking. Something tight settled between them as they took you in: legs squeezing the saddle, hands gripping the rope, body moving to stay on. It wasn't just a joke anymore. It wasn’t just fun.

Bob’s tongue darted over his lower lip.

John’s hand curled tighter around his glass.

When you finally tumbled off—laughing, breathless, and very much done—you pushed your hair back and waved at them before weaving your way back to the table.

“Okay,” you panted, flopping down between them, “I don’t know how the hell you two do that. That was exhausting.”

John chuckled under his breath. 

“You looked good up there.”

You turned toward him with a grin, then toward Bob. 

“Yeah? Should I consider a new career?”

Bob gave you a once-over, smile lazy but eyes still sharp. 

“You wouldn’t last a week.”

You leaned back in your seat, heart still racing—but not just from the ride. You could feel it again—that crackling, silent thing sitting heavy between the three of you. Their shoulders were brushing yours now, both of them so close it was almost stifling.

You reached for your drink, took a sip, then said casually, “Wanna go back to my place? I’m done with the bar scene.”

There was a pause. Barely a breath.

And then Bob nodded. 

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

John didn’t even hesitate. 

“Lead the way.”

They’d been to your house about a thousand times. It was a safe space. A resting zone. A place they could go to escape training or the responsibilities on the farm. Tonight wasn’t any different.

And yet, somehow, it was.

There was a static in the air that always seemed to follow the three of you around, but it was more intense tonight. More electric. You felt like if you so much as acknowledged it, you’d get shocked. So you pretended everything was as it always was—even though you knew it wasn’t.

The three of you were on the couch. Bob and John on either side of you. Your legs were draped over John’s, his hands resting on top of them. Your back was pressed against Bob’s arm, your head resting softly on his shoulder.

John wasn’t watching the television. His eyes were locked on your legs. It was a hot day, so you’d chosen shorts. That meant the skin of your thighs was on display, and his hands were just inches away. He didn’t touch. As much as he longed to, he didn’t. He just stared.

John thought about how your thighs would feel around his head. Thought about the weight of you on top of his face while he ate you out. Would you like the feel of his beard against your soft skin? Something told him you would.

He wanted to find out more than anything.

A soft moan echoed through the room.

John flinched. For a second, he thought the sound had come from him—had he really gotten so lost in his own thoughts that he let it slip? But then he looked up at the screen and realized where the sound had come from.

That dumb tennis movie you’d switched on had taken a turn. On screen, the characters kissed. Not just two of them—but three. Your body tensed slightly. Not out of embarrassment, but because… you were turned on.

And then something unexpected happened.

The two guys on screen turned to each other and kissed—hard. Bob’s head snapped toward John. And to his surprise, John was already looking at him. Something passed between them—silent, but impossible to ignore.

How had they not thought of this before?

Why go for you separately… when they could both have you?

You shifted, lifting yourself from where you’d been leaning against Bob. Your hand moved to grab the remote. You needed to shut this off before you started spiraling—before your thoughts made a mess of everything. But before your fingers could even brush the remote, John’s voice cut through the room.

“Leave it.”

You turned to look at him, lips slightly parted. His gaze burned, locked on yours. His hand gripped your thigh tighter than it ever had, holding you in place.

“Listen to him, sweetheart,” Bob said, voice low, his breath warm against your neck as his hand settled on your hip.

Your breath caught in your throat.

John’s hand was still gripping your thigh, hot and firm and undeniably present. Bob’s fingers at your hip curled tighter, grounding you as his lips brushed your ear—just barely.

You turned slowly, your gaze flicking between the two men. They were both watching you now, not the screen. John leaned in slightly, like he was waiting for a sign. Bob didn’t wait at all.

He kissed you.

It was gentle at first—an exploration more than a declaration—but it made your whole body burn. His lips were soft but hungry, like he’d been holding back for years and finally allowed himself a taste.

John’s fingers slid from your thigh to your waist as you kissed Bob, tugging you ever so slightly toward him. When you broke the kiss to breathe, John was already there, lips claiming yours in a way that made your knees weak, even sitting down.

His kiss was different—deeper, rougher, more desperate. Like he wasn’t just kissing you—he was starving for you.

And when you opened your eyes between those kisses, you realized Bob was watching the two of you with something raw in his eyes. It wasn’t just jealousy—it was something else.

Desire.

A desire to change places. Not with John, but with you.

You wondered how you’d never noticed it before. All those glances exchanged between them over the years shifted into something else—not looks of competition, but looks of longing.

When John pulled away, his lips slightly swollen, his thumb brushing your jaw, you didn’t have to say a word. None of you did.

You stood up, untangling yourself from the two men. They looked at each other briefly—both suddenly worried that maybe they’d gone too far. That maybe you didn’t want this, and that their unfiltered desires had broken the friendship.

But then you surprised them.

“Come on,” you nodded toward the hall. “Bedrooms this way.”

The bedroom was quiet except for the soft hum of the ceiling fan. Bob and John sat side by side on the edge of the bed, their eyes fixed on you, waiting. You could feel their anticipation like a tangible weight in the air. You took a slow breath, locking eyes with both of them before speaking in a low, steady voice.

“Close your eyes.”

Neither of them hesitated. Their lids fluttered shut, and the world shrank down to just the sound of your footsteps and the thump of your heart. It was amazing how much controle you had on them. As soon as you walked into the room you were the one in charge. You’d told them to sit. So they sat. You’d told them to wait. So they did.

Bob could hear the sounds of you peeling your clothes off. The unmistakable sound of denim hitting the floor made him clench his fists over his thigh. John wasn’t much better off. He caught the sharp intake of breath Bob let out when he heard your feet settle on the floor after you’d taken your clothes off. That, combined with the thought of finally getting to have you, made blood rush from John’s brain straight to his dick.

“Okay,” you whispered. “Open your eyes.”

You watched as both of their eyes snapped open in desperation. Their gazes roamed over your exposed skin. You weren’t completely naked—not yet anyway. You wore a lacy set, not exactly lingerie, but not granny panties either.

You walked over to them slowly, bracing one knee on the spot between them. They didn’t move, but their eyes never left yours. You were in control. That much was clear.

You leaned toward John first.

“You say I’m a lucky charm.”

You pulled John into a kiss, your hand moving to grab his blonde locks. He met you with the same desire you felt, a soft groan leaving his mouth as you pulled away.

You turned to Bob next.

“But there’s something you don’t know.”

You pulled Bob into a searing kiss. It was softer than John’s, due to the lack of stubble on Bob’s face, but it still held an intense desire. You pulled off of Bob with a small pop, a string of spit connecting you.

You lifted your body up so that you were looking at both of them, settled directly between them.

“Do you want me to tell you?”

They both nodded, and you couldn’t help but smile. You could have said anything to them in that moment, and they’d agree. The power was starting to go to your head.

You placed a hand on each of the men’s cheeks, your eyes moving from one to the other.

“Okay. The secret is that I always wear this set to your competitions.”

“Always?”

The word slipped from John’s mouth before he could stop it, causing you to look at him.

“Always.”

John’s mind raced through his memories. He remembered every hug he’d given you after watching you dance at the bar following competitions. Every night you’d sat between them on the porch, sipping moonshine after a tough day.

All those times you’d been hiding this black lace set beneath layers of clothing. Their hands must have grazed it a thousand times. But this was the first time they were truly seeing it.

It felt like a gift.

A gift he wanted desperately to unwrap.

“Why?”

The question came from Bob. Your head turned to look at him, brows furrowing as you tried to think of the reason.

“I guess,” you paused, trying to figure out if this was really the truth or if you were just making it up, “I guess I wanted to be prepared.”

“Jesus Christ.”

Your head snapped toward John.

“Oh, please. Don’t act like you two haven’t kept secrets too. I’m not blind.”

The two men exchanged glances. They knew they’d been obvious in their desire for you, but they hadn’t expected you to acknowledge it so openly.

“All those little glances... it wasn’t just the consequence of being sore losers, and you know it.”

That made both men look at you in confusion. They thought you meant their secret—well, not-so-secret—desire for you. But that last part made them realize you weren’t talking about that.

When they kept staring at you in silence, you let out a small sigh.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of. I mean, I get it.”

“What do you get?”

“Come on, John. How long are you gonna keep denying it?”

“Denying what?”

You let out a small huff of disbelief.

“That you want to kiss him just as much as you want to kiss me.”

John’s head snapped to look at Bob, who was already staring at him. They held each other’s gaze in silence for a moment, both too afraid to move. Because if they did, it’d be real and that would complicate things.

You were about to do something yourself when Bob moved. His body launched forward, closing the gap between him and John. John’s body tensed at the feeling, his brain short-circuiting. But then he smelled Bob’s cologne, and his shoulders relaxed. He met Bob’s kiss with the same intensity, their lips molding into each other as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

As if it was meant to be.

You watched the exchange from between them. You didn’t feel left out. Far from it. You felt more entangled with the two of them than you ever had in your life. Plus, it was hot. It was so very hot to watch them make out. You hadn’t expected to enjoy it as much as you did, but the sudden wetness you felt told you otherwise.

You let your eyes flicker between them, your breathing growing heavier as their mouths moved against each other. The way Bob’s hands found John’s waist, fingers digging just enough to claim, and how John’s thumb traced light, teasing circles on Bob’s jaw. It was intimate. Something the three of you would share forever. 

Your own hands itched to touch, to pull them closer, to feel the heat that radiated from their skin. Slowly, your fingers slid up from your side, trailing lightly over John’s thigh, the rough denim a sharp contrast to your bare skin. John’s breath hitched at your touch, but he didn’t break the kiss. Instead, his eyes fluttered open just enough to catch yours, filled with raw need and a silent question. 

Your hand popped his button open, fingers moving slowly to guide the zipper down. John groaned into Bob’s mouth as your hand grazed his hard-on. The sound caused Bob’s eyes to snap open, curiosity getting the better of him. He found your hand immediately, his gaze zeroing in on John’s size. Even in the confinements of his boxers, he could tell John was well endowed.

John pulled away first, lips swollen and flushed, his voice a low, rough whisper. “You’re driving us insane.”

You smirked at him. John Walker held himself as a tough man—inside and outside the ring he was known as a beast of sorts, his temper flaring often. But the Walker in front of you was a different kind of man. A desperate man.

You’d done that.

Your chest couldn’t help but fill with pride.

Bob’s hands settled on your hips as you kissed John. He tugged you into his body, causing you to settle on his lap. John chased after you, shifting closer to Bob. You pulled away from John for a moment, turning your head to kiss Bob. John’s lips trailed down your exposed neck as Bob’s hands wrapped tighter around your waist. His hips bucked every so often, making you painfully aware of his growing bulge.

John’s eyes trailed down to your thighs as he kissed your neck. One of his hands found your skin, wrapping around your thigh. You gasped into Bob’s mouth as John squeezed roughly.

 “She likes that,” Bob said, his tone soft and teasing.

 “Yeah?” John asked, looking at you. 

You just nodded. John smiled and repeated the motion, his dick twitching in his pants as you whimpered softly.

 “Look at me.”

You moved your head so your eyes met John’s. Bob took that as his cue to kiss your shoulder blades. John’s hand moved to cup your cheek as he leaned close to whisper in your ear.

 “And if you were sitting on my face, would you like that?”

John’s heart raced as he asked, nerves flickering beneath the surface. It wasn’t that he doubted you would enjoy it—it was the desperate hope that you would, and the tiny possibility you might say no that made him tense.

But then you gripped his shoulder, a moan escaping your lips at the suggestion, and John’s whole body hummed with possibility.

 “Yes,” you gasped as Bob found your sweet spot. “I want to ride your face, John.”

John tugged you off of Bob, guiding you to your feet. You stood before him, chest rising and falling as you waited.

“Take those off for me.”

John turned to face Bob as you slid your underwear down. He pulled the brunette into a heated kiss, his hands trailing under Bob’s shirt. John’s nails raked over Bob’s abs as their lips met again. Then his hand moved lower, undoing Bob’s pants just as you had done his.

John felt your hands slip beneath his shirt from behind, the soft touch making him shiver. He hadn’t realized you’d sat behind him until your lips found his ear.

“You two are overdressed. Take these off.”

You rose from the bed, standing before them once more. John broke the kiss, releasing Bob as he stood up. Bob watched John tug his shirt off, breath hitching at the sight of the shirtless man.

“You too, Bob.”

His head snapped in your direction, noticing for the first time that your bottom half was bare. You made your way to him, settling your body on one of his thighs. There would definitely be a wet spot when you got up—you were certain of it. But you didn’t care. And neither did Bob.

“Need help?”

Bob nodded, lifting his arms so you could tug his shirt off. John watched as you placed soft kisses along Bob’s bare chest, his eyes drifting lower—down to where you were settled on Bob’s leg. That would be his face soon. He couldn’t wait.

Once the three of you were equally naked, John settled back onto the bed. You climbed up onto him slowly, dragging your body across his until you were right where he wanted you. Your thighs framed his face, but you didn’t lower yourself just yet. His hands came to rest on your hips, gentle but eager, urging you to sink down.

You stared down at him, hair falling slightly into your face. A flicker of insecurity passed through you—brief but noticeable. John saw it instantly. He leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on your thigh.

“Hey. It’s alright,” he said, his voice steady and comforting. “Just relax. I’ll be fine.”

“He can handle it, sweetheart.”

Bob’s voice came from just in front of you. Your head snapped up to look at him. He stood at the edge of the bed, giving you a soft smile before gently taking your hands and placing them on his shoulders.

“Hold onto me,” he said. “I’ve got you. Let him enjoy this. God knows he’s wanted it for a long time.”

“Fuck you, Bob,” John muttered from beneath you.

The brunette looked down at John, giving him a teasing smile.

 “Maybe later.”

John didn’t even have time to protest before you were sinking down onto him. Oh, he was in heaven. His grip on your thighs tightened as his mouth moved against you, hungry and unrelenting. Every whine that escaped your lips only spurred him on. You were already gushing around his face, the desire you’d held for both of them for so long making you impossibly wet.

Your nails dug into Bob’s bicep as you rocked your pussy against John’s face, chasing the high you’d been aching for. Bob pulled you into searing kisses every so often, devouring your moans like they were meant for him. John’s eyes snapped open each time he heard the sound of your lips meeting, the wet, needy kisses adding fuel to the fire already burning inside him.

The way Bob was positioned gave John a clear view of his dick. He could see the precum staining his boxers. He could see the way Bob thrust into the air ever so often. John could cum just by eating you out, and he probably would. But Bob needed some extra help. So, with a groan of reluctant need, John gently lifted you off him, just enough to speak clearly.

“Bob needs your help.”

You were so dazed that it took you a while to realise John had spoken. He seemed to notice this, teeth biting into your thigh to get your attention. The sound you let out was almost pornographic. John took a mental note to bite you more often. He wanted to get back to shoving his tongue inside you so he spoke again. His voice was lower this time, coaxing and clear.

“Help him out, darling.”

Your eyes flicked from John’s flushed face to Bob, standing breathless just inches away. You took him in for a beat, then gave a small nod. That was all John needed. With a satisfied smile, he pulled you gently back toward him, his hands already hungry again for your skin.

Bob's eyes closed as he felt you free him from his boxers. There was enough precum on his dick to make your job easy. You guided your hands around him, giving him soft strokes. Bob’s thighs spasmed slightly, nudging John's head softly. 

The action caused John's nose to bump into your clit. You let out a soft moan

“Do that again John.”

John did as you asked, head moving up so that his nose bumped into the bundle of nerves.

“Yes, like that! Please keep doing that.”

John gave you a nod of understanding, lips never faltering. You gave Bob a messy kiss before leaning down. You replaced your hands with your mouth, palms moving to rest on the bed as your engulfed Bobs dick. His hands moved to hold onto your head, not to push you just to steady himself. With the pressure John was pulling you towards you were having a hard time keeping your pace on Bob consistante. The brunette didn’t mind though, his hips moved involuntarily, helping you bring his pleasure along. 

You clenched around John's tongue, silently telling him you are close. John knew you wouldn’t last long and he wanted to hear you as you came. Which would prove a hard task with Bob's dick in your mouth. So just before you came John tugged your off Bob's dick, replacing your mouth with his hand as his mouth brought you to your peak. You clawed onto Bob’s body as you gushed onto John's face. 

“Oh John!”

Bob's eyes snapped to look down as your juices spilled onto the blonds face. The sight was enough to get him to the edge. He spilled onto the spot where you and John connected, his cum mixing with yours against John's face. It was dirty. It would have been disgusting if it wasn’t yours and Bob's cum. But because it was and because John had thought of this for so long it was enough to make his orgasm rush into him. He came in his boxers, hips rising from the bed as he did. 

Your body sagged onto Bob's chest. John let go of Bob's dick, his hand moving to gently guide you off his face. Bob helped him, tugging your body up so the blonde could slip out from beneath you. John's chest heaved as he tried to recover, one hand wiping the mix of you and Bob off his cheeks. His beard was a mess—he knew it—but he didn’t care.

You shifted beside him, moving from sitting to lying down. John opened his arms, letting you curl into his side. The bed dipped as Bob joined the two of you, settling into the space opposite John, forming a human sandwich with you as the filling. You sighed as Bob’s arms wrapped around your waist, his head tucking into the crook of your neck. One of his hands reached for John’s, and the blonde didn’t hesitate to intertwine their fingers.

John turned to glance at Bob, a soft smile tugging at his lips before he could stop it.

“We should’ve done this ages ago,” you said, your voice still a little wrecked.

“It’s not like we haven’t been trying, you know?” John replied.

“We haven’t.”

John’s head snapped up at Bob’s words. 

“What do you mean?”

“We weren’t trying to do… this,” Bob said, gesturing toward the three of you with his head. “We both wanted you—but only one of us to have you.”

Silence settled between the three of you. It was true. For as long as they could remember, John and Bob had been trying to outdo each other for your affection, never realizing you might want both of them.  And they’d definitely been too afraid to admit they might want each other, too.

“Well, I like it better this way,” you murmured, drawing their eyes back to you. 

“It’s always been the three of us. Why should that change now?”

The way you said it made it sound so obvious. And maybe it was. You’d always been a team—in work, in life, in loyalty. Why wouldn’t that carry over into this?

John’s thumb brushed over the back of Bob’s hand, grounding himself in the moment. Bob looked down at their joined fingers, then over at you nestled between them, and let out a quiet laugh.

“Well,” he said softly, “guess we’re in this together now.”

You smiled, warm and slow. “Finally.”

John let out a deep, content sigh, his free hand moving to rest on your stomach.

 “Not that I’m complaining, but… do you think we’re gonna be able to keep our hands off each other now?”

“Absolutely not,” you said, grinning.

Bob chuckled.

 “Speak for yourself. I’m already thinking about round two.”

John raised an eyebrow. 

“Just two?”

You snorted, burying your face into John’s chest as Bob laughed behind you.

“Well,” you murmured, voice muffled, “good thing we’ve got all night.”

And just like that, all the tension—the years of second-guessing, the competitive edge, the quiet longing—melted away, replaced by something deeper. Something real. The three of you lay tangled together in the sheets, limbs intertwined, hearts finally on the same page.

For the first time, it didn’t feel like any of you had to choose.

Because this time, you chose each other.

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

Yelena X Reader: Mission:Sleepover

Warnings: fluff, mentions of the red room, traumatic childhood (nothing that bad but still), Yelena missing out of stuff, a little angst, happy ending, no use of y/n, reader and Yelena like each other.

Word count: 1,2 K

“Wait, hold on. You’ve never had a sleepover?”

Yelena looked at you, brows slightly raised.

“Child assassin.”

She pointed at herself as she said it—like it was obvious. Because it was. And yet, you still found yourself forgetting from time to time.

“Oh no, we’re fixing that. Tonight.”

“I do know what they are—sleepovers, I mean. I’ve seen movies.”

“Okay, valid. But have you ever laid in bed wearing some stupid pajamas while binging snacks and talking shit about people you don’t like?”

Yelena stared at you.

“No…”

You let out a victorious smile.

“Exactly.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t bother hiding the small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“Fine. You win.”

Maybe you’d exaggerated a bit. You couldn’t help it—you were excited. It had been years since your last sleepover, and you missed the experience dearly. More than that, you wanted Yelena’s first time to feel as authentic as possible.

Okay, so it wasn’t a real sleepover—you both lived in the same place—but she’d be sleeping in your room instead of hers for the night, and that was good enough for you.

You’d told Yelena to wait until you said the room was ready. Now she stood outside your door, dressed in her pajamas with a pillow tucked under one arm. She looked at the chaos that had become your room, brows lifted slightly as she took it all in, clearly wondering how you’d managed to find half this stuff on such short notice.

The truth? Being an Avenger came with some perks, and you had absolutely no shame in using them.

Yelena stepped cautiously into the room, her eyes scanning the string lights you’d pinned up across the ceiling, the pile of mismatched pillows and blankets in the middle of the floor, and the collection of snacks you’d artfully dumped into bowls like you knew what you were doing.

“You are dangerously enthusiastic about this.”

You grinned. “This is serious business.”

She placed her pillow in the center of the blanket pile you’d made, settling down beside it. You watched Yelena continue to take in her surroundings. She grabbed a handful of pretzels you laid out, shoving them in her mouth. You grabbed a soda from the mini fridge you’d dug out of Alexei’s merch room. Bucky’s eyes stared blankly at you from the door as you closed it. You moved to sit by Yelena, handing her a soda can.

“That’s unnerving.”

You knew exactly what she meant—the “Bucky fridge.” It was a little unsettling, but honestly, it was just a picture. You saw the real thing daily, which somehow made it funnier.

“Just be glad I didn’t get the one with your dad’s face on it.”

Yelena visibly shuddered, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

After a while, the two of you settled in, the movie you’d thrown on earlier playing quietly in the background—more ambiance than entertainment. You both picked through the snacks, occasionally tossing popcorn into each other’s mouths and failing more often than not. You were both laughing so hard at one point, you had to pause the movie. It felt nice. You and Yelena had grown closer with every mission you went on. But it was hard to have moments like this. When the fate of the world rests on your shoulders, it’s hard to find the time to just exist with each other.

Yelena had her head turned toward you, arm lazily thrown behind her. She’d stopped paying attention to the movie a while ago. Your eyes remained glued to the screen, like you hadn’t seen this one a thousand times before.

“People really stayed up all night doing this as kids?”

You turned your head to look at her as she talked, the movie now completely forgotten.

“Yeah. It was always about stretching the night out as long as possible. Like... if you stayed up talking long enough, nothing bad could happen.”

She was quiet for a moment.

“We weren’t allowed to talk at night.”

Your chest tightened.

“I’m sorry.”

Yelena just stayed quiet. You could tell her brain was running over all the bad things she’d done. You could see her mourning the life she could have had if she hadn’t been raised in the Red Room. You placed a hand on her arm, pulling her attention back to you. You wouldn’t let her drown in her regrets.

“Can I ask you something?”

Yelena nodded.

“What did you think this would be like?”

She looked away, thoughtful.

“I figured it would be boring. Maybe a little awkward. But it’s... not. It’s nice. Calmer than I expected.”

Yelena let out a sigh, eyes closing. Your grip on her tightened, silently grounding her. You wanted her to know she could be vulnerable with you. She didn’t have to handle the pain alone; you were willing to share the burden with her. Yelena opened her eyes, shifting her body so that she was lying on her side, facing you completely.

“I think I wanted it to be bad.”

She paused, waiting for you to show that you were hurt by her confession. When you didn’t, she kept going.

“I missed so much of it. Sleepovers. School dances. Friends. Crushes. Silly little fights that didn’t involve weapons. I understood it all from afar, but I never got to live it. I guess I wanted it to be bad. Because if it was…” She sighed. “Then maybe I wouldn't feel so bad for not getting to experience it, you know?”

You moved your hand so that you were holding onto hers instead of her arm. Yelena let your fingers push against hers, hands wrapping around each other. She looked at you, and for a moment, neither of you said anything.

“Thanks for doing this,” she murmured. “Even if it’s silly.”

“It’s not silly,” you said. “Plus, I had fun. I’d love to show you what you missed. If you want that.”

“I’d like that.”

Soft silence filled the room. You continued to gaze into Yelena's eyes. She stared at you like she was memorizing you. Her thumb brushed over the back of your hand, slowly, testing the waters. Your gaze moved from her eyes to her lips. You could feel her hot breath on your face as she breathed softly. Without noticing it, you’d inched your face closer to hers. You swallowed, heart pounding a little faster.

“Can I—”

“Yes,” she said, not even letting you finish.

You leaned in, and she met you halfway.

The kiss was soft. Careful. Like neither of you wanted to break the moment, or the space you’d created between shared laughter and half-eaten snacks and dumb movies. When you pulled back, your foreheads stayed pressed together.

“Is this a normal sleepover thing?” she murmured.

You let out a soft laugh, hand moving to hold onto Yelena's face.

“Only the really good ones.”

Yelena smiled at you, leaning over to give you another soft kiss.

“Do people cuddle? In these ‘really good’ sleepovers?”

You shrugged.

“I don’t know. But we can, if you want to.”

“I think I want to.”

You smiled, shuffling closer to her. Yelena turned onto her back, allowing you to mold your body against her back. You let out a satisfied sound, nose nudging against Yelena's neck as you settled into her. She let out a deep breath, body relaxing in your hold.

“We should do this more often.”

You smiled at her words.

“I’d like that.”

And with that, the room fell into a peaceful silence, the movie long forgotten, the world outside the glow of the fairy lights fading into nothing. Just you, Yelena, and the warmth of something new beginning.

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

Random Masterlist

Masterlist Key

Fluff=🥰

Smut=🫣

Angst=🥲

The bear

Carmy: Slow burn🥰

Carmy: Etched in Ink 🥰🥲

Carmy: Sweet Symphony 🫣🥰

Top Gun

Bob Floyd: Pretty Boy🥰

Bob Floyd: Drunk words, sober truths 🫣🥰

Bob Floyd: Speedy Landing 🫣🥰

Bob Floyd: Crash and burn 🫣🥰🥲

Squid game

Seong Gi Hun (player 456): Make believe 🥰

Seong Gi hun (player 456): The look of love, the rush of blood 🫣 🥰

Cho Sang Woo (player 218): A blast form the past 🫣

Kang Dae Ho (player 388): Warmth 🥰

Alice in Borderland

Chishiya: Crawling back to you🥰🥲

The trunk

Han Jeong-Won: Your lips, my lips🫣

Polar

Duncan Vizla: Too Sweet for me 🥰🥲🫣

Midnight Mass

Sheriff Hassan: The new sheriff in town🥲

Sheriff Hassan: So this is the end🥰🥲

Avatar

Lo'ak: Reborn🥰

Neteyam: Reckless Behaviour🥰

Stranger Things

Eddie Munson: A helping hand🥰

Wednesday

Tyler: Not a monster, just done monstrous things

Xavier: Unrequited love🥲

Good omens

Crowley: To love and be loved

Crowley X Aziraphale: Together

Triple Frontier

Santi/Frankie: Two is better than one🫣🥰

Saltburn

Oliver: The birthday boy🫣

One Piece (Live action)

Luffy: Love bites 🫣

Usopp: Shoot your shot 🫣 (request)

Sanji: Forbidden fruit 🫣

Star Wars

Cassian Andor: Rescue Mission🥰

Cassian Andor: Hold me even if your hands are bloody

Poe Dameron: Stubborn to a fault🥰

Din Djarin: Another day🥰🥲

Din Djarin: Yours🥰

Din Djarin: Guilty Pleasure 🫣

House of the Dragon

Alicent: Secret touches🫣

Alicent: Sworn protector 🥰 (request)

Helaena: A mothers pain🥰🥲

Aemond: Sweet Caresses 🥰🥲

Aemond: An olive branch 🫣🥰

Aemond: The cowardly king🫣🥲

Aemond: Words of comfort🥰🥲

Aemond: Two side of the same coin 🥲

Aegon: A shoulder to cry on 🥰🥲

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

Arcane Masterlist

Masterlist Key

Fluff=🥰

Smut=🫣

Angst=🥲

Slico: Revelations (There are 5 parts)🥰

Silco: The agreement (There are 2 parts)🥰

Silco: Unlikely alliance

Viktor: Guardian angel🥰

Viktor: Slow dancing in the dark (there are 2 parts)🥰

Vi: You are the only exception 🫣

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

Marvel Masterlist

Masterlist Key

Fluff=🥰

Smut=🫣

Angst=🥲

Thunderbolts*

Bob: Sunday Funday 🫣

Bob: Two broken soul, one mended heart 🥲🥰

Bob/ Sentry: Two of a kind🫣🥰

Bob: No room for secrets 🫣🥰

John Walker: Code Yellow 🫣🥰

John Walker: A sweet escape 🫣🥰

John Walker: Reckless Admission 🫣🥰

Yelena Belova: The Sound of Safety 🥰

Yelena Belova: Mission:Sleepover 🥰

John, Bob and Reader : Between the three of us 🫣🥰

Venom

Eddie Brock: When you love something, you protect it🥰

Eddie Brock: Late night confessions🥰

Daredevil

Matt Murdock: When the world went quiet🥰

Matt Murdock: Safe and Sound🥰

Punisher

Frank Castle: Spaghetti and Meatballs🥰🫣

Frank Castle: Dead Man walking🥰

Frank Castle: Bloody Savior🥰🫣

Frank Castle: The secrets we keep (request)🥰

Morbius

Milo(Lucian): I see red🫣

Milo (Lucian):You belong to me🫣

Milo(Lucian): Eternal (request)

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

The last of us

Masterlist Key

Fluff=🥰

Smut=🫣

Angst=🥲

Joel:A way to quiet the mind🫣

Joel: The things we do for those we love🥰

Joel: Tough guy act🥰🫣

Jesse: Curiosity killed the cat

Joel and Tommy: Sharing is caring🫣