#<- if you wanna know about him………...

[complete-clownery]

Okay guys

[undyingdecay]

Ughhh Bob with a breeding kink 😓😓😓

Like him just letting go and going all caveman brain about it after begging you to just let him pretend it'll take😖😖😖

bob’s pull-out game is genuinely awful. like, laughably bad.

which is how you ended up insisting on condoms in the first place—not that it ever stopped him. he’d find ways. not in a sleazy, frat-boy kind of way, not with lines like “i’m allergic to latex” or “it doesn’t feel the same”—no, bob’s excuses came soaked in something too sincere, almost sweet, if it weren’t for how calculated it ended up being.

“jus’ wanna be close to you,” he’d murmur, voice all thick and needy from where he lay slotted against you, his whole body tacky with sweat and arousal, a gleaming sheen of it covering every inch of skin like lacquer. his weight always followed—not rough, but whole. he liked collapsing on top of you after he slid in, his arms hooked under yours so he could wrap around your back, chest pressed to yours, breath fanning against your ear as if the closeness wasn’t just desire, but some primal need to merge. be inside and on top and around you all at once.

you never got the chance to argue. half the time the condom was off before you’d even realized he’d unrolled it—pulled off between sleepy kisses and soft “please”s, left sagging and useless somewhere near your hipbone. once, he didn’t even bother pretending. you caught him, right there in the bedroom light, jabbing something—his key? a paperclip?—into a row of condoms like he was testing for weak spots.

“bob,” you’d said flatly, and he blinked up at you, all wide-eyed innocence. like he might lie. like he might not lie.

“…thought i saw air bubbles,” he mumbled. his cheeks flushed. his fingers fidgeted. you knew damn well he was lying. knew it, and still did nothing.

because what were your options? fight? withhold sex? as if that would’ve been possible with the way he looked at you, touched you, moaned so gratefully every time he was inside you, like it healed something. instead, you started taking birth control—not as rebellion, but as quiet damage control.

you didn’t hide it. didn’t even think to mention it. why would you?

then came the morning—early, light still soft and blue through the windows, your legs sore, your thighs sticky with dried cum. bob behind you with one arm around your waist, trailing down the stairs like a sleepy barnacle. he didn’t even try to untangle, just followed, skin warm and clinging as you went through your morning routine.

you grabbed the small bottle of vitamins, handed him two, and he popped them without looking. a routine. natural. his chin rested against your shoulder as you reached for your birth control.

instinctively, he held his hand out again.

you hesitated. glanced at him with a faint smile.

“do you plan on getting pregnant anytime soon?” you teased.

his brows pinched, lips parted just slightly.

“birth control,” you clarified, still smiling.

and just like that, his expression shifted. confusion first. then something deeper—quiet, raw. hurt, maybe. or worse: betrayal.

his arm fell away from your waist.

“…you’re taking that?” he asked, voice low, soft. as if the question pained him to ask.

you turned, brows drawing together. “yeah. i didn’t think—”

“but why?” his voice cracked. “why would you do that?”

you turn toward him fully now, your lower back pressing against the counter edge, cool marble grounding you—but only barely. you can feel the way he watches you, gaze heavy and warm, like it might scorch you if you held it too long. he isn’t mad. not really. there’s no raised voice, no cruelty. just this awful, quiet hurt, like you’d taken something from him he didn’t even know he couldn’t live without.

and maybe you had.

the pill still sits between your fingers, tiny and pale in the soft morning light, like it’s nothing—just 3mg of synthetic hormone—but his eyes are fixed on it like you’re holding a loaded gun.

you open your mouth to explain, to give him something gentle and sane and logical, but the words clog up behind your teeth. the kitchen feels darker now somehow. close and still. like it’s holding its breath for you.

“i’m sorry,” you whisper, the words barely there. you don’t even know what you’re apologizing for. but you mean it. that’s the worst part.

“i—i don’t want you to be upset. i love you. you know i love you. i’d do anything to make this better—”

his voice slices through your chest, quiet but wrecked. “throw it away.”

you blink. “bob—”

“please,” he breathes. “just throw it away. right now. i’ll feel better. i promise. i’ll feel better if you just—just let me—” his voice cracks around the edges, fraying like old thread. “i need to.”

you glance at the counter. at the pill. and you set it down without a word.

he breathes in like he’s just surfaced from under water.

his hands are on you again—gently first, palms warm and reverent at your hips like he’s still afraid you might back away—but you don’t. you let him close the distance, let him slot his body between your legs as he leans in to kiss you, deep and messy and grateful.

“i wanna be inside,” he mumbles against your mouth. “don’t wanna wait. let me… please—let me stay this time.”

you nod, not even realizing you’re nodding until he sighs like it’s relief and drops to his knees.

your sleep shorts are gone in seconds. no teasing, no preamble—just his mouth on you, warm and wet and desperate, tongue working like he’s trying to unravel something inside you, hands wrapped around your thighs like handles, pulling you open as if you owe it to him.

he licks until your legs shake, until your voice breaks, until he’s practically whimpering into your cunt, nose buried so deep you wonder if he can even breathe. when you finally try to push him back—half from overstimulation, half because you need him in you already—he doesn’t budge.

“you taste different when you’re not on the pill,” he murmurs, drunk off it. “sweeter. like your body knows.”

you don’t even know what that means. you don’t care.

“bob—fuck, come on, please?— do it for mommy”

that does it.

he rises like a wave, chest flushed, breath ragged, cock already slick and leaking through his briefs. he tugs them down with a frustrated groan and nearly cries when he presses against your entrance—his forehead drops against your shoulder, his voice high and fragile.

“gonna come so deep,” he moans, sliding in inch by inch. “gonna stay there, i swear—i’ll stay in you. don’t want it to leave.”

your hands thread into his curls, nails dragging at his scalp as he bottoms out. he’s trembling, hips stuttering already before he’s even pulled back. “i’ll be good. i’ll be so good. just wanna give you something—wanna fill you, please, let me—”

the counter digs into your spine. the kitchen lights feel too bright. and still, none of it matters except for him.

he starts fucking you slow at first, rolling his hips up into you like he’s memorizing it—like if he gets the angle just right, your body will take him in and keep him there. his hands grip your thighs, spreading you wider, sweat slick between your bellies, every wet slap echoing too loud in the quiet morning space.

you can feel it when he gets close—when the whining gets louder, the thrusts more erratic. he’s babbling again, forehead pressed against your cheek now, voice ruined.

“make me a dad,” he gasps. “let me—please—fuck, i wanna come in you so bad—wanna give you everything—i’ll stay inside forever if you let me—please—”

you pull him in deeper. his body jerks.

then he’s coming—hard—right against your cervix, crying out into your neck, hips twitching with every desperate pulse of cum spilling into you. you can feel it, hot and thick, pooling where you’re still joined. he doesn’t pull out.

doesn’t even try.

instead, he slumps forward, cock still hard inside you, panting against your throat. “don’t move,” he whispers. “i’ll fuck it in deeper. just—lemme stay here.”

and you do.

you don’t even reach for the pill.

[jungwnies]

f1 grid | you cant just kiss me

୨ৎ : featuring : all drivers on the grid ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by anon) : the trend where you kiss your partner in the middle of a heated argument just to see what happens

୨ৎ : genre : romantic comedy ୨ৎ : tws : slight angst? ୨ৎ : word count : 616

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ 10k event | masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : im so locked in omg... (ive been so tired lately lmfao i wanna sleep writing this...)

ʚ・red bull

max verstappen

he's mid-rant, hands flying, accent thick. "you don't listen sometimes, you just—"

you grab his face and kiss him. hard.

he freezes. literally forgets what planet he’s on.

blinks a few times, then mutters, "that’s not fair."

forgets the argument entirely. starts dragging you toward the couch.

yuki tsunoda

arms crossed, ranting about how you left dishes in the sink.

you're like "mhm," then suddenly lean in.

yells a muffled "ehh?!" against your lips.

pulls back with wide eyes and red cheeks. "what was that for?"

giggling now. argument forgotten. yuki is shy mode activated.

ʚ・mercedes

george russell

pacing like a whole dad. "i just think it was inconsiderate."

you stop him with a kiss that makes him stumble.

stunned silence. then he smiles, shaking his head.

"you can’t keep weaponizing your lips."

forgives you instantly. no notes.

kimi antonelli

baby boy is flustered already just from the argument.

you kiss him mid-sentence.

he stops. blushes. looks at the floor.

"you can’t do that... i was mad."

except now he’s smiling like a dork and pulling you closer.

ʚ・ferrari

charles leclerc

full hands-in-hair frustration. "you never tell me these things!"

you kiss him suddenly.

freezes. then kisses back like it’s life or death.

pulls away slightly, forehead resting on yours. "don’t do that when i’m upset. i’ll forgive you too fast."

lewis hamilton

calmly explaining his side like a grown adult.

you interrupt with a kiss that knocks the calm out of him.

blinks. "okay. what was that?"

starts laughing. "i can’t argue with you when you do that."

ʚ・mclaren

lando norris

sarcastic. hands waving. being dramatic.

you kiss him mid-rant.

goes: "wait... wait what?"

absolutely loses track of the fight. probably forgets his own name.

grins, "do it again. i dare you."

oscar piastri

logical argument mode. stating facts.

you pull him in and kiss him.

very confused. "i… what were we talking about again?"

gives up. you're now cuddling. fight over.

ʚ・aston martin

fernando alonso

intense. staring you down. voice low.

you lean in and kiss him and his brain malfunctions.

pauses. then smirks. "clever little trick."

pulls you in again. "we’re still talking after this, though."

lance stroll

softly upset. furrowed brows. a little pout.

you kiss him unexpectedly.

shocked. then all melty.

rests his head on your shoulder. "that wasn’t fair... but okay."

ʚ・williams

alex albon

rambling while trying not to smile because he knows he’s losing.

you kiss him.

chuckles. "you little cheat."

wraps his arms around you, completely abandoning the debate.

carlos sainz

passionate argumenter. lots of hand gestures.

you grab his shirt and kiss him.

pulls back like "what just happened?"

then grins. "you’re evil. beautiful, but evil."

ʚ・haas

ollie bearman

awkward and a little stiff when he's upset.

you kiss him in the middle of a sentence.

instantly blushes. stammers.

"i... okay. i forgot. what were we saying?"

too distracted now. cuddles ensue.

esteban ocon

talking in full paragraphs.

you just go for it.

stunned silence.

then he mumbles, "not a bad strategy..."

argument forgotten. he's now planning dinner.

ʚ・racing bulls

liam lawson

slightly sarcastic. mock-angry.

you kiss him.

instantly flustered. tries to recover.

"you can’t just... ugh fine. you're lucky you're cute."

kisses you back harder.

isack hadjar

super passionate when arguing.

mid-rant, you press your lips to his.

freezes. mutters something in french.

forgets why he was mad. kisses you again.

"you’re so annoying. and hot."

ʚ・alpine

pierre gasly

dramatic and expressive.

you kiss him.

fake-offended. "don’t think you can shut me up like that."

kisses you harder.

"okay maybe you can."

franco colapinto

slightly overwhelmed by the fight.

you kiss him.

all wide-eyed and breathless. "wow..."

hugs you like a teddy bear. won’t let go for 10 minutes.

ʚ・kick sauber

nico hulkenberg

stern. classic german dad vibes.

you kiss him mid-sentence.

pauses. sighs. "you know that doesn’t solve the issue."

but he's smiling. and holding your hand.

gabriel bortoleto

passionate and a little dramatic.

you catch him off guard with a kiss.

he breaks into a grin.

"okay okay, you win."

pulls you into a hug and forgets why he was mad.

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[buckysleftbicep]

lined up 𐙚 b.b

pairing: new avenger!bucky barnes x reader

warnings: nsfw, 18+, minors dni, sexual tension, dry humping, dominant!bucky, teasing, rough flirting, dirty talk

summary: bucky teaches you how to play pool. based on this request

word count: 995

author's note: pool is such a hot game, i love it, though i honestly suck at it.

The recreational room was quiet for once. No Alexei bellowing about rematches, no Yelena complaining about the vending machine, no sarcastic commentary from John. Just dim, flickering lights above, the low hum of some old speaker system, and the pool table that sat dead center like an unspoken challenge.

You shouldn’t have lingered. Should’ve kept walking when you saw him there, Bucky in a tactical tee with the sleeves pushed up, his forearms flexing as he chalked the cue with quiet focus.

But you didn’t walk away. Not when his rare good mood hung in the air like smoke. Not when his smirk was already loaded with trouble.

“Ever played before?” he asked, twirling the cue between his fingers so effortlessly it made your pulse skip.

“Once,” you replied, breath catching. “I sucked.”

His smile was slow, knowing. “I’ll teach you.”

Now you were bent over the edge of the table, cue in hand, trying not to squirm under the heat of his stare. You focused on the balls as hard as it was, instead of the way his shirt clung to his chest or how that muscle ticked in his jaw every time you shifted.

“Widen your stance,” Bucky murmured behind you, the sudden closeness making your breath hitch. “You’re too stiff.”

You obeyed before your brain even caught up, spreading your legs just slightly, only for him to step in behind you, boots heavy on the floor, presence unmistakable. His hands landed on your hips, strong and certain, the kind of grip that made your stomach twist with want.

“Here,” he said roughly, “let me help.”

He guided you forward until your body touched the table, the cool felt brushing your forearms as his front pressed against your back. You could feel him, heat and muscle, that dense, coiled strength that made him lethal on the field and devastating off it. The brush of his cock against your ass was unmistakable, and he didn’t even try to hide it.

“Bucky,” you breathed, voice catching.

“Shh,” he said, mouth near your ear, voice barely restrained. “Just showing you how it’s done.”

His metal hand slid down your side, cold against the heat of your skin, until it reached your hand on the cue. He adjusted your grip with slow, practiced movements, but his hips never moved away, if anything, he pressed in harder, grinding just enough to make your pulse stutter.

“Now bend over a little more.”

You obeyed, and that earned you a low, guttural sound. It wasn’t a word, it was need.

“You gotta stop doing that,” he murmured, grinding against you in a slow, filthy motion that made your thighs clench. “You’re making it real hard to focus.”

“I thought you were supposed to be teaching me,” you said with a faint, teasing lilt.

“Oh, I am,” he whispered, hips dragging against you again. “Lesson one: let me fuckin’ focus.”

Your smirk faltered when he pushed forward again, cock thick and hard through his jeans, grinding against your ass with agonising control. You gasped, hands tightening on the table.

“That part of the game?” you managed, voice shaking.

He chuckled darkly. “Only when you bend over the table like that, sweetheart.”

The cue was taken from your hand and dropped behind you without care. His flesh hand ran up your spine, then pushed gently between your shoulder blades until your cheek nearly touched the felt.

“Bucky-" you started, but he cut you off with a quiet growl.

“I’m not gonna fuck you here,” he said, grinding into you harder, his cock sliding exactly where you needed him. “Not yet. Just wanna feel you like this.”

You whimpered as he rocked against you again, the friction obscene. He was fully hard now, thick and heavy, and you could feel every inch of him through both layers of fabric. Your body arched instinctively into him, and he let out a dark, broken groan.

“You like teasing me?” he growled. “Wearing those tight little pants? Bending over like this? Think I haven’t noticed how you look at me during training?”

Your thighs pressed together without thinking, your whole body burning. Then his hand slid between your legs and pressed against your core. Even through your jeans, you knew he could feel how wet you were.

“Fucking soaked,” he muttered, his fingers pressing harder. “And I haven’t even touched you properly.”

“You’re insane,” you choked out, barely holding on.

“No,” he murmured. “I’m patient. If I wasn’t, your pants would already be around your ankles and this table would be shaking.”

The words made you clench, dizzy from the arousal pulsing through your body. His lips found your neck then, hot, rough, biting, the kind of messy affection that left no question about what he wanted. His metal hand squeezed your ass, fingers digging into the flesh with a possessiveness that made you moan.

“You think I’m not dying to fuck you right here?” he rasped. “Right now? But I’m not gonna. Not until you beg.”

You arched against him with a sound that was half whimper, half plea.

“Say it,” he growled. “Say please.”

You shook your head, panting, defiant even as your body screamed for him.

He froze behind you. Then, again, voice edged with steel.

“Say. It.”

Your voice trembled. “Please… Bucky. Please.”

The growl that rumbled from his chest was primal. His hips gave one more brutal grind into you, enough to make your knees buckle. And then, he stepped back.

The loss of contact was immediate and devastating. You spun to face him, trembling, wide-eyed, flushed with need.

“Why-?”

“You’re not ready,” he said smoothly, retrieving the cue like nothing had happened. “Not yet.”

“You bastard,” you muttered, voice wrecked.

He leaned in again, lips brushing your ear like a promise you’d never forget.

“Lesson two’s gonna be about patience, sweetheart.”

And then he lined up his shot, cue tapping the ball like he hadn’t just left you soaked and shaking.

a/n: also after writing this, i asked my boyfriend to teach me how to play pool properly ;)

[slutxcx]

SMUT MDNI, NAME KINK, SPANKING thinking about gojo satoru who hates when you call him by his last name when you guys are doing it...

You’re on your back, hands pinned above your head with one of his, your wrists wrapped in a pink ribbon like it’s a gift you’re not allowed to open yet. He’s above you, shirtless and smug, lips slightly parted, white lashes fluttering over intense blue eyes that glow in the dim light.

And all because you said one thing. Just one thing.

“Gojo, please—”

He freezes. The smirk drops. Wrong move.

His grip tightens just enough to make your breath hitch, his other hand trailing down between your legs with deliberate, maddening slowness. But it doesn’t reach where you need it. No — he stops, fingers ghosting over your thigh.

“What did you just call me?” His voice drops low, syrupy and dangerous.

You blink up at him, mouth parted. “I— Gojo, I didn’t—”

Slap. Not painful, but just enough of a sting as his palm connects with your inner thigh.

He leans closer, lips brushing your ear now. “That’s strike two.”

You’re breathless, squirming. “What was strike one?”

“Calling me anything but Satoru. Especially when I’m the one making you feel like this.”

You swallow. The look in his eyes is feral. Hungry.

Then he smirks again — that arrogant, toe-curling grin returning. “You wanna come tonight, sweetheart?” You nod quickly.

“Then say it.” His lips brush yours, not kissing, just teasing. “Beg properly. Use my name.”

You whisper it, hesitant, “Satoru…”

He clicks his tongue. “Louder. I want the whole floor to know who’s making you this fucking desperate.”

You whimper, cheeks burning, but you give in. “Satoru, please— I need you, I need you so bad…”

And just like that, he gives you everything. Because when you say his name like that? It drives him insane.

[somanyideassolittletime]

Thinking about Jack Abbot, who forgets that you know him better than he knows himself. 

Standing in line inside your usual smoothie shop, looking at the menu, his hand resting on your waist, whispering to you, “Which one is your favorite?” 

You point at the berry option, “berry blast, but it’s too sour for you, you won’t like it.” 

He scoffs, “Yeah? Which one do you think I like then?” 

you ponder, scanning the practically memorized options available by now. “The chocolate banana one,” 

“That doesn’t look like something I’ll order,” he says, still stubbornly ordering the berry blast. Missing the eye roll you give him. 

You know him too well that he won’t like what he ordered, so when it’s your turn to order, you order the one that Jack will like, dismissing his side glance at you in front of the cashier. 

Both of you sat down, he took a sip, trying hard to control his face over the taste, but you know him inside out, it’s too damn sour for him. So you push your smoothie his way, “try this,” 

He looked at the smoothie way too long before caving in, finally taking a sip. “It’s good, alright.” pushing back the smoothie at you. 

You held back a laugh, looking at him still trying to pretend he enjoys his choice. But when he puts down the cup, you switch yours wordlessly, because frankly, you like every option the store has to offer, so anything’s fine with you. 

He looks at you, biting the inside of his cheek, trying to put an offended face, “I was enjoying that.” 

You roll your eyes, playing the bit, “wanna switch back?” 

He seems to contemplate before shaking his head softly, muttering “no.” You smirk at him, now enjoying your actual favorite drink. 

It takes him a few big sips, actually enjoying his drink, before he whispers softly, “Thank you.” 

“We’re way past that, hon,” 

“Still. I’m the man, I should be the one who makes sacrifices for you,” he explains, though he knows you both don’t actually care about those kinds of things. 

You laugh at him, “drama queen,” earning a laugh from him. 

“How you’re never wrong at this kind of stuff for me freaks me out,” he grumbles just enough for you to hear him. 

“Eh. I know you.” You shrugged, not even thinking about it too much. 

Which then leads to Jack asking you to pick his order every time you try out new places, because deep down, he know that you’ll never do him wrong, and he damn love you for that. 

Thinking about Jack Abbot, who doesn’t care about what people think of him because the only opinion he cares about is yours.

One time, Jack came to work smelling like a vanilla garden, earning a double check from Walsh, who walked past him. 

Jack sucked at long distance, a fact you both already established way too long ago, and now you’re away from him. 

He misses you like hell, he can’t sleep without your body warmth beside him, he can’t sleep without seeing you before bed, and seeing your perfume just sitting there taunts him. 

So instead of spraying your perfume into your side of the bed like most people do (though he also did that, but it wasn’t close enough for him), he chose to use your perfume the entire time you’re away. 

You teased him about it when you get back. You were about to do your laundry when you spotted Jack’s last worn clothes, picking them up to put them with the rest of your clothes inside the machine, when you smelled your perfume. 

You walk to him, his clothes in hand, “You like me that much, you wanna be me, abbot?” 

He groans, walking to you, hugging you tightly, putting his face in your neck, “I missed you like crazy, hon.”

You chuckled, kissing his shoulder nonetheless, “Most people sprayed it on the pillows, you know, not actually wear it.” 

He leans back, looking at you, you know that look, “no, don’t tell me,” you pull away from him, running to the bedroom to sniff at the pillows. 

He stands by the door, looking bashful. “Walsh told me I smell like a cake,” 

Instead of teasing him, you walk over to him, standing on your tiptoes to kiss him on the lips, one he returns passionately. You pull away, putting your head in his chest, “ugh. You’re so sweet sometimes.” 

“Like your perfume?” 

“Even sweeter,” you say, giving him another kiss, not caring about the dirty laundry anymore. 

The next day, he went to work, back to wearing his slightly musky ozonic cologne, Robby smirked at him, “Take it the wife’s back?” Jack nods, smiling to himself, “yeah, fuckin’ finally,” 

Thinking about Jack Abbot, who always takes photos of things that remind him of you.

Strolling inside a toy slash trinkets store with Robby looking for a gift to give to Langdon’s son, debating what to get him with Robby, when he suddenly stops. Looking at the ugly plushie, he knows you will say cute instead. y/n will like this. 

He took out his phone, opening the camera app, quickly taking a snap of said plushie before sending it to you. 

| Jack: (image sent) 

| Jack: You want? 

He waited for your reply, smiling to himself when you did reply, almost immediately. 

| You: OH MY GOD SO UGLY I LOVE HIM 

| You: YES YES YES I WANT 

| You: thank youuuuu 

| Jack: No problem, wait for me, okay 

| You: yessir, thank you, love u 

“Yeah, I don’t think Langdon will approve that ugly thing, man.” Robby’s voice breaks him out of his daze, and Jack chuckles, “Yeah, for y/n. Said it’s so ugly it’s cute” 

When both men finally settled on something and finished paying, Jack proposed to take a walk for a bit before going home, and Robby, having nothing else to do, agreed. 

Robby kept it to himself, seeing Jack, who kept on stopping once in a while to take pictures with a small smile on his lips. He know Jack too well that he’s intending to show those pictures to you. 

Thinking about Jack Abbot, who hates his picture taken but loves taking pictures of you.

“What do you think?” he says, facing the phone screen away from him to show you the picture he just took of you, waiting for your approval. He knows it’s perfect, he’s even already made a mental note to change his lockscreen to this photo once he’s at home. But you’re picky about your pictures. 

He doesn’t even understand why you’re so picky over the smallest things. For him, every picture of you is perfect, but being the good husband that he is, he will always gladly retake it if it’s not up to your standards. 

“Oh my god, I think I trained you too hard, now you take pictures like a pro.” You take the phone from his hand, kissing his cheek before shoving him to your spot earlier. 

He looks at you stepping away, phone angling in your hand to take his pictures now. “Your turn,” 

He takes a step forward to protest, but the look you give him stops him, returning him to his earlier spot like a punished kid. 

You laugh behind the phone, making him smirk at you, perfect, you think, before snapping the photo. 

Truthfully? He doesn’t understand why you keep insisting on taking pictures of him; pictures of you are enough for him, he doesn’t need pictures of himself anyway. 

But the next time he sees your phone’s lock screen, and it's the picture you took of him, he can’t deny the swell of pride feeling his chest. 

Thinking about Jack Abbot, who’s too prideful to wear his glasses. 

You’re currently doing groceries with Jack, who purposefully forgets his glasses at home because he doesn’t want to wear them, saying he doesn’t need them. 

He’s trying hard to read the label at the back, eyes squinting slightly, trying to play it cool, but deep down he did regret not bringing his glasses because since when does the labels are so damn tiny??? 

You know that Jack will purposefully leave his glasses on the nightstand, you know that he’s too stubborn to admit that he actually needs them, that’s why you always do a one last sweep for his glasses every time both of you go out. 

Wordlessly, you stuck your hand inside your bag, looking for his glasses. Taking them out when your hand finally found them. Walking over to him, opening the glasses in your hand before perching them on his nose. 

He looks at you through his glasses, looking back at the now easy-to-read label. When he looks at you again, a small grateful smile on his lips, you could’ve sworn your breath hitched, he just looks so…you’re not even sure the word existed to explain how good Jack looked right now. 

“Thank you,” he says, kissing your hair. “Still feel weird with them on, hon.” 

You give him a peck on his lips, “hush. You look hot.” 

He smirks again, looking even more… again, the word didn’t exist just yet. “Yeah? Y'’ think so?” 

You nod at him, taking the box in his hand to toss into the cart before you initiate something close to a public indecency action. 

Thinking about Jack Abbot, who always kept notes about you. 

You found out one evening, currently watching a movie, that you suddenly ask him, “Jack. What’s your notes app look like?” 

“What do you mean?” he says, hands still wrapped on your shoulders. 

“They said that guys sometimes have weird notes,” you explain to him, feeling the rustle when his free hand tries to look for his phone. 

He hands his phone to you, still locked. “Go check it for yourself.” 

You look at him, shocked that he gives you access to his phone so easily, “Whoa, bad decision giving me your phone.” 

He scoffs, “You say that like you didn’t just ask me to look through your phone when you’re showering this morning.” 

“That’s different, I don’t have anything to hide.” 

“And you think I do?” he says exasperatedly. 

You sigh, realizing that he’s right, you’re both at a point where you don’t even care if he looks through your phone, it’s filled with him anyway, same goes for him. You put his phone in front of his face to unlock it, opening the notes app to see together. 

You scroll away, looking at some grocery list, medical stuff, until one title caught your eye, it was your name. You ask for his permission first, to which he replies with a hum. 

You clicked on the title, and your heart warmed upon looking at what’s inside. It’s literally about you. Unending pointers of things you liked, things you don’t, brands you prefer, up to the third alternative in case your preferred brand is out of stock. What shocked you the most was that he kept notes on things he noticed that made you happy and things he noticed that made you sad. 

“Jack,” you call to him, not knowing what to say. 

“It’s not too weird, is it?” he says. You shake your head. 

“You’re such a simp, it’s perfect.” You nudged his side with your elbow. 

“Just wanna be better for you,” he admits softly. 

“You missed one thing that makes me happy.” 

“Yeah? What’s that?” because he was damn sure the list is very up to date. 

You didn’t say anything, instead typing under the list. 

Jack. 

He didn’t say anything back, opting to just kiss you senseless instead. 

[finallychaoticeffigy]

Would you write a yandere story with a willing darling?

She’s just a girl yk?

Yandere x willing reader

Going out with the creep everyone warned you about wasn't so bad. So what if he's a little over protective over you? That just means he cares. He is the perfect boyfriend you've always dreamed of having.

He's sweet, caring and thoughtful. Not to mention he looks like he would die without you. Besides your boyfriend's sexy as hell.

Maybe it's a little unusual how he got a hold of every personal info about you even before you met him, but you adore him.

The both of you just got back from a date. You , however are tired as hell. You asked him to carry you back to your bedroom which the two of you shared.

He slowly removed your heels, so gentle you almost couldn't feel it being detached to you.Then he leaned in and placed a small kiss on your ankle.

"Hey don't kiss my foot" you yanked away

"Why...I worship you so much y/n" he voice before taking your other heel. " Fuck....I'll fucking simp for you till my last breath baby"

You playfully rolled your eyes and let out a chuckled.

He loves you a lot. He especially loves it that you felt the same way about him, maybe not as intense but you adore him , didn't you? The way you giggled and gave him affection willingly.. Gosh it's his dream come true. When he was stalking you, he thought about just taking you away if you rejected him, but heck who knew you'd actually say yes when he asked you to be his girlfriend.

"Whatever, just get in bed...I wanna cuddle"

He groaned and pulled you close. "Let's take a bath together...Yeah? "

You nodded before kissing him which he eagerly returned. You shrieked when he suddenly carried you to the bathroom.

You two were making out.Clothes scattered on the floor.His one arm wrapped around your waist protectively while the other carries your nape with care.Tongue battling. The visible sound of slurping and wet kissing is heard.

You both pulled away, out of breath. Panting heavily, he closed the space between you too and peck on your lips.

"You're tired... Let's just make love tomorrow..Hmm?" he muttered biting your shoulder gently.

You pulled his ears hard. "Ow...baby that kinda hurts" he looked at you big doe puppy eyes.

"HAha" you giggled

"So my miserable state is funny to you now huh" he grin wider before tickling you

"W-wait...Haha...St-stop" you begged, water splashing everywhere as you fought.

"Tell me you love me first, I'll stop"

"I l-love you" you mutter

"Hmm? I didn't hear you baby" he responded and tickled you harder.

"Ha-haha I LOVE YOU !"

"Who loves who?

"I LOVE YOU ! ONLY YOU ! NOW LET GO I REALLY CAN'T HAHA..HAH" relief washed over you as he finally stopped his torture.

"I love you too my darling... You're only mine alright? We belong together forever" he mumbled and pulled you closer.

--------------------

"Hey love... Can i ask you something?" you asked biting an apple which he sliced into bite size for you to eat.

"Hmm sure thing baby.... anything" he answered embracing you. He looks so in love.

"What if... What if were not meant to be? Like you know those soulm-"

"Were fucking meant to be... Even if we were not , I'll make it happen " he cuts you off and squeeze you tight.

"Hey it's just a question" you chuckled, you wrapped your smaller hands around his neck, feeling his hardness.

"Why ?Do you like someone other than me ?!" He looked at you with a hint of anger but the look of sadness in his eyes are visible.

"What? Of course not !" You defended

"Who is he? I'll kill him...Dare to even have any contact with you. If he even dared to look at you, I'll plunge his eyes out and cut him into pieces . Then I'll lock you up with me forever so you can avoid parasites like that. How does that sound baby? Do you wanna cuddle with your love forever? Hmm?"

"Wh-what are you saying jeez..." You didn't know what to say, you were speechless.

"Let's just cuddle ok? Calm down" you declare, taking his lips and kissing him gently. You see...calming him down is easy, you just need to give him affection and he's back at his usual self again.

This isn't the first time he was like this. It obviously scares you sometimes, but you love him too much to leave him.

"Ok.. just..just don't ever ask questions like that again ok? " He pleaded licking your jaw

" I won't" you smiled

[blank-potato]

Insomniacs with a z

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x Reader x John Walker

Summary:

“Damn it, John, let go,” you whisper under your breath, carefully trying to pry one of his arms off your waist. No use. His super soldier strength is in full effect, and all you manage to do is shift the grip higher—great, now he’s got you in a chokehold. And as if the universe hadn’t punished you enough for choosing this sleepover, Bob snuggles closer behind you. You feel the warm tickle of his breath against your neck as his nose nudges into your hair, his arm casually thrown across your side like it belongs there. “Not you too,” you mutter, eyebrows furrowing as you attempt to wiggle free. But with John locked on one side and Bob clinging to you like a sleepy koala, your options are severely limited. Or You form the New Avengers' very first sleep sub-unit. You, John and Bob all struggle to sleep, so you sleep in the same bed together to help each other out. And it's definitely platonic.

Tags/Warnings: 18+ Explicit Content, smut, fluff, little angst, threesome, p in v, oral sex (female and male receiving), creampie, sex dream, John and Bob being cute

WC: 9.5k

A/N: Started this ages a while ago but finally finished it. I wrote this because who wouldn't wanna be in a John and Bob sandwich, and I feel like since it's May (Challengers month but every month is Challengers month imo) I need to write threesomes. And I love Sentryagent, Thunderbolts has brought back the multishipper in me. Enjoy!

***

Sleep was something that often escaped you. After the things you’ve done, the things you’ve seen, you’re surprised you sleep at all. It’s like your mind refuses to shut down, always racing, always bracing for something that never comes. Like there's a part of you that's always on watch, never letting you fully rest unless your body gives in from pure exhaustion.

So here you are again, wide awake at god-knows-what hour, standing in the kitchen in your sweats, staring into the fridge like it’s going to offer you something other than the same sad leftovers and a questionable bottle of juice. You close it. Two and a half seconds later, you open it again.

You pace. Open a cabinet. Close it. Lean against the counter. Wander to the sink. Insomnia’s a bitch. The hum of the fridge is loud in the quiet of the night, and the soft creak of the floorboards beneath your feet is the only rhythm to your restless routine.

“What are you doing up?” a voice asks from behind you.

You turn to see John standing in the doorway, looking tired, his old white army shirt wrinkled, hair an adorable mess (not that you’d ever say that out loud). His expression is soft, caught somewhere between concern and exhaustion.

“I couldn’t sleep,” you say, shrugging. “Staring at my ceiling was starting to drive me crazy. What about you?”

John exhales deeply, like he’s carrying the weight of something heavy. “Same. Too much on my mind.”

“Feel free to join me,” you say, hopping onto the counter next to him. He doesn’t say anything at first, just moves around the kitchen trying to get his bearings. You sit on the counter, watching him as he searches the cabinets.

You never quite knew what it was. It wasn’t anything obvious, just something about seeing him like this, all comfy in his pyjamas. You liked it more than you probably should.

"You're staring," He says, snapping you back to your senses.

"Am not."

“Are too,” he replies smugly, finally retrieving a jar from the cabinet like he just found buried treasure.

“You’re such a child,” you say, rolling your eyes, though you’re smiling despite yourself.

“And yet, here you are. Watching me like I’m the last man on Earth who knows how to make a sandwich,” He says, going over to the fridge to grab bread. 

“I’m just making sure you don’t burn the kitchen down,” you lie, folding your arms.

“With peanut butter?” John questions, eyebrow quirked up. 

“You never know.”

He rolls his eyes at you and tosses his bread in the toaster as he goes to try to find the jam for his PB&J.

Just then, there's a quiet creak, the unmistakable sound of someone stepping into the kitchen. You and John both glance over to see Bob walk in, clearly not realising anyone else is there yet. He grabs a glass, eyes still adjusting to the light, then turns around. 

He stops in his tracks when he sees the two of you. His hair’s sticking up like he’d just rolled out of bed, and he's holding his empty glass like he’s just been caught stealing. In an instant, his powers kick in, the glass shattering in his hand. 

“Oh shit, I’ll…” Bob blurts, immediately rushing to pick up the broken glass with his hands.

John’s on the move before the words even finish leaving Bob’s mouth, already halfway across the kitchen, when he heard the glass break. “Be careful, you’ll hurt yourself—”

“I can’t get cut, remember?” Bob says with a small grin, crouched and collecting the shards like it’s no big deal.

John hesitates, hand still extended like he might intercept him anyway. He often forgot just how strong Bob actually was, it wasn’t something he ever led with. Something about the way he carried himself made you want to protect him, even if he was as strong as a God. Same for the rest of the team, probably.

“Still…” John mutters, his concern clinging stubbornly to the edge of his voice, even if it had no real argument to stand on.

You hop off the counter, bare feet, making a quick dash to the broom closet. “What are you even doing awake, Bob?”

“My mind was too busy. Plus, I’m kind of hungry,” he replies, tossing the glass shards in the bin. You start sweeping up the remnants of glass left on the floor when you get an idea. 

“Wanna have a midnight snack?” you offer.

“It’s 3 a.m.,” John cuts in, after glancing at his watch. 

You flash him a quick grin. “Wanna have a 3 a.m. snack?”

Bob nods, his grin matching yours now. You make quick work of sweeping up any remaining glass on the floor, and the two of you start raiding the fridge like a pair of delinquents. John watches from the side, towel slung over his shoulder, arms crossed. He rolls his eyes, but there’s the faintest curve of a smile tugging at his mouth.

“I swear, the two of you are going to be the death of me.”

There’s a beat of silence as you and Bob settle on cereal, clinking spoons against mismatched bowls.

“Do you smell that?” Bob asks, nose wrinkling slightly.

There’s a very distinct burning smell filling the room, thick and bitter.

“The toast,” John grumbles, fingers running through his hair. 

“I told you,” you gloat with a smug grin, watching as he rushes to the toaster.

He yanks the lever up and pulls out what is no longer a slice of bread but a small, blackened slab of charcoal.

“It’s cremated,” Bob says through a mouthful of cereal, casually stabbing another spoonful into his mouth.

John just sighs in defeat.

“Just join us in having cereal,” you tell him, nudging the box toward him with a smirk.

“Fine,” he grumbles, grabbing a bowl. Eventually, the three of you relocate to the couch, cereal bowls in hand, because the counters weren’t exactly comfortable, and the kitchen still smelled like a small appliance fire.

“So… what’s keeping you both up tonight?” you ask, nestled between them on the couch.

John answers first, his voice monotone. “The usual.”

The usual being everything he never says out loud, all his regrets, everything he’s lost, everyone he’s lost. All the weight he still carries. It’s been quite some time since the divorce, but he still hasn’t quite gotten used to sleeping alone, constantly tossing and turning, wanting someone to be there.

Bob chimes in, “Same. The usual.”

His mind was always too awake at night, too weak and susceptible to slipping back into the darkness. It was impossible for him not to think about everything that haunted him. He was unbelievably touch-starved. He knew touch was one thing that could help soothe the restless chaos inside. Sleeping alone, just feeling the cold sheets on his skin, only made the emptiness grow louder and kept him up.

You raise an eyebrow. “What an open group we have here.”

John glances over. “What about you, then?”

You hesitate, staring down at your cereal for a beat, then sigh. “The usual…”

The silence that follows is oddly comforting. Each of you lost in your thoughts, shoulders brushing lightly, grounded only by the shared sound of quiet crunching. You all finish your cereal, the moment hanging in the air like a soft exhale.

Bob stands, collecting the empty bowls. “I’ll wash these.”

“Are you guys going back to bed?” you ask, stretching slightly as you glance between them.

John shrugs, sinking further into the couch. “I’ll stay here for a bit…”

Bob returns a few moments later from the kitchen and flops down next to you, his shoulder brushing yours. “Same.”

The three of you start shuffling around on the couch until everyone finds a spot that feels comfortable, John leaning back with his feet on the coffee table, Bob sitting close enough that your knees touch, and you tucked between them like the final puzzle piece. From there, the conversation seemed to flow, distracting you all from what was keeping you up at night. 

“I mean, you turned my shield into a taco,” John says, deadpan but with a slight edge. You’ve always known he was a little bitter about it. 

“I said I was sorry!” Bob defends himself, holding his hands up in mock surrender, “I was a different man then.”

You chuckle at their banter, head resting back against the cushion as their voices wrap around you like a blanket. The warmth of their presence, the soft glow of the living room, and the gentle rhythm of familiarity start to lull you to sleep.

You don’t even remember when your eyes close. Just the sound of them, bickering, laughing, still talking as if the world outside these walls doesn’t exist.

***

You wake up the next morning, so well rested, you’d think you slept on a bed of clouds and dreams. 

John’s arms are draped loosely around your waist, his fingers just barely brushing your skin beneath the hem of your shirt. Bob’s head rests gently on your shoulder, his breath soft and warm against your neck, making you shiver even as you smile sleepily.

The sun is barely peeking through the curtains, casting a soft golden hue over the quiet living room.

You know you can’t stay here forever, so with great care and a ridiculous amount of flexibility, you begin to untangle yourself from their limbs. 

You pause once or twice as Bob shifts slightly or John murmurs something unintelligible in his sleep, but they don’t wake. 

It isn’t as easy as you’d think it’d be, especially once you realise you’re caught in a trap. John’s arms tighten around you in his sleep like you’re some kind of oversized teddy bear he refuses to part with.

“Damn it, John, let go,” you whisper under your breath, carefully trying to pry one of his arms off your waist. No use. His super soldier strength is in full effect, and all you manage to do is shift the grip higher—great, now he’s got you in a chokehold.

And as if the universe hadn’t punished you enough for choosing this sleepover, Bob snuggles closer behind you. You feel the warm tickle of his breath against your neck as his nose nudges into your hair, his arm casually thrown across your side like it belongs there.

“Not you too,” you mutter, eyebrows furrowing as you attempt to wiggle free. But with John locked on one side and Bob clinging to you like a sleepy koala, your options are severely limited.

It takes at least fifteen minutes before you finally manoeuvre your way out of the human bear trap that is your two oblivious teammates.

Once you’re out, you decide to have a little fun. You gently lift Bob’s head and nestle it against John's shoulder, shifting John's arm so it's draped protectively over Bob. The sight almost makes you stay.

Finally, you tuck a blanket around the two of them and step back, admiring your work with a sleepy smile. They looked peaceful. Safe.

You leave the room quietly, knowing full well someone, maybe Yelena or Bucky, would be the first to stumble in and find the two of them cuddled up like that.

They wake up hours later, the distant hum of activity signalling it’s definitely already afternoon.

“Walker?” Bob murmurs groggily, his voice rough with sleep, as he blinks at the ceiling. Then he turns his head and freezes, feeling John’s arm slung comfortably across his waist.

They both jolted upright like someone had hit a panic button.

“Nothing happened,” John says immediately, running a hand through his hair, eyes wide.

“Obviously,” Bob replies, a bit too fast, already scooting to the far end of the couch.

But any attempt at saving face is promptly ruined when Ava walks by with a mug in hand and a wicked grin.

“You two make a cute pair,” she teases without slowing, not even sparing them a second glance as she disappears down the hall.

They sit there for a beat, stunned, before Bob mutters, “Please tell me no one took pictures.”

John groans, rubbing his face. “We’re never hearing the end of this.”

***

The next few nights are tough. Worse than jetlag, worse than missions, worse than running on three hours of sleep and no espresso. You toss and turn like your sheets are made of sandpaper, pillow doing nothing to muffle the ache of absence beside you. You wanted to ask them, just once, to sleep beside you again. Just to see if it would help. Just to see if it meant anything.

But how were you supposed to do that? Knock on their door and go, "Sleep with me!"?

Mortifying.

Still, the restlessness was eating away at your nerves. So, gathering all the courage you can possibly muster, you decide maybe, just maybe, you’d go to both of their rooms and… ask. Or not ask. Maybe just stand there awkwardly until they read your mind.

You stumble out of bed, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, and go to open your door—only to stop short at the sight of a tall brunette swaying nervously right in front of it, arm halfway raised to knock.

“Bob?” you whisper, blinking.

He jumps slightly, caught red-handed. “Oh… hey.”

You tilt your head, heart thudding. “What are you doing out here?”

He scratches the back of his neck, sheepishly. “I was just… walking. Or, not really. Thinking. Or maybe… not sleeping.”

You smile, because yeah, you know exactly what that’s like. “Same.”

There’s a pause. The moment stretches, as you both tiptoe around the same thought. Then, finally, you take the leap.

“So do you… wanna stay in here?”

Bob’s eyes flick up to yours, and his smile is small, but relieved.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

Both of you lie next to each other on your bed, talking about nothing and everything. It feels more comfortable, and you can feel your body starting to relax a bit. 

But ten minutes later, there’s a knock on your door. You and Bob exchange a look, and you walk over to your door to see John standing there. He looks as tired as you are, eyes rimmed red, posture slack, like sleep has been eluding him for days.

John notices Bob already there, sitting cross-legged on your bed, half-wrapped in one of your throw blankets.

“I’m interrupting, aren’t I? I can—”

“Stay. Please, it’s okay. The more the merrier,” you say quickly, stepping aside. You were happy to see him, and judging by the soft smile tugging at Bob’s lips, so was he.

“So, I’m assuming you’re both here to sleep with me,” you start, watching as they both sit down on either side of you. They pause. Blink. The silence stretches, thick with implication.

“Well, you know what I mean,” you clarify, cheeks heating. “Sleep next to me. Next to each other in a totally platonic and cool friend way.”

“Yeah, like that…” John says, nodding way too seriously. “I actually slept really well when we crashed on the couch the other day, so…”

“Same,” Bob adds. “I… haven’t really slept since then. Not like real sleep.”

You look between the two of them, then glance at your bed.

“So… how are we all going to fit?”

There’s a beat of silence before John offers, “I’ll take the edge.”

“I don’t mind an edge either,” Bob shrugs. “Unless you want it.”

“I want pillows, that’s what I want,” you say, flopping backwards across the bed. “We’ll make it work.”

And somehow, you do. There's a bit of shifting, a tangle of limbs and blankets, someone’s foot ending up in the wrong place and being shoved off with a muttered complaint. You’re in a Bob and John sandwich, and it’s actually very comfortable. Just knowing that you didn’t have to fall asleep alone did more for you than you thought it would.

You smile to yourself and relax, the warmth of them on either side soothing you more than any blanket ever could.

“Are you guys asleep?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Bob lets out a soft, “No,” and John follows with a groggy, “I was.”

“I thought of a name for us. We’re ‘insomniacs… with a z,’’ Good right?” you whisper with a grin, and though you can’t see his face in the dark, you know John rolled his eyes at that.

“You need to go to sleep,” Bob murmurs, leaning into you, his voice low and full of fondness.

You hum in response, already halfway to unconsciousness again, feeling his hand settle gently on your waist while John’s leg brushes yours under the covers.

***

For the next few nights, the three of you fall into an unspoken routine. Cramming into your bed, trading dumb jokes and half-whispered stories until sleep takes over. It’s oddly comforting. Easy. You've never slept better.

Sometimes when you’d walk in, John and Bob would already be there, lying next to each other, leaving just enough space for you, but close enough that their legs touched under the blanket. You saw it even if they didn’t. The way Bob’s shoulders relaxed just a little more when John was near. The way John’s usually guarded face softened around him. Bob’s quiet glances when he thought no one was looking. John’s compulsive need to take care of him, even in the smallest ways, like adjusting the blanket around Bob’s shoulders or handing him a snack before he could ask for one.

You even caught John absentmindedly running his fingers through Bob’s hair once, his other hand resting casually on your shoulder as if it were the most natural thing in the world. And maybe, for the three of you, it was.

It was your little (not-so-secret) secret. Until one morning when Bucky catches you all red-handed. 

He rounds the corner, coffee mug in hand, just in time to catch John and Bob exiting your room. They're both rumpled and sleepy-eyed, Bob rubbing the back of his neck, John trying to quietly shut your door.

They both freeze when they see him.

Bucky raises an eyebrow, lips already twitching.

“It really isn’t what it looks like,” John says quickly, holding up his hands like he’s surrendering.

Bucky takes a slow sip from his mug, never breaking eye contact. “And I’m really not sure I want to know, Walker.”

Bob makes a small noise of protest, like he wants to clarify something, but then thinks better of it.

“But whatever helps you sleep at night,” Bucky deadpans, walking past them.

John takes a breath while Bob chokes on air.

Trying to eat breakfast after that was… an ordeal, to say the least. Ava was in the kitchen, minding her business but clearly listening, her facial expressions and raised brows doing all the talking. And Alexei (of course) was making himself at home, throwing not-so-subtle glances your way that made you want to crawl into a hole and never come out.

“I think it’s a great idea,” Alexei comments casually, pouring himself a cup of coffee. “Young people need warmth. Back in my day, we shared beds all the time for survival.”

“Right,” you mutter, pushing cereal around in your bowl.

“Nothing brings people closer than shared body heat,” he continues. 

“Ugh…” you groan, dropping your spoon. But all this was worth it. You needed them in your bed… for completely platonic reasons. Obviously.

That night, you open the door to see John already leaning against the frame like he owns the place.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” you say with mock grandeur, stepping aside to let him in.

John heads straight to your bed, dropping onto it like it's his. He leans back, gets comfortable, then pauses—his brow furrowing.

“Have you been eating cookies in here?”

“…No,” you lie, a little too quickly.

John shifts, brushing a hand across the blanket with exaggerated suspicion. “I can feel the crumbs,” he says, deadpan.

You roll your eyes, not wanting to hear the full lecture. “Okay, maybe one cookie. Or maybe it was more like… four.”

John sighs, dragging a hand through his hair, clearly fighting the urge to launch into a full monologue about hygiene and cookie crumbs.

“I’m not sleeping in your cookie-infested bed,” he mutters, shooting you a look. “Couldn’t you have, I don’t know, used a plate instead of just rawdogging it with your comforter?”

“Who takes a plate of cookies to bed?” you argue, arms crossed, as if this is a totally reasonable lifestyle choice.

John just stares at you. “People who respect baked goods and their sheets,” he rebuts dryly, rubbing his temple like you’re this close to giving him a headache. “When Bob gets here, we’ll just go to my room instead.”

But ten minutes pass. Then fifteen.

And still—no Bob.

You glance at the clock, then at John. “Think we should check on him?” you ask, the teasing drained from your voice now.

You were both beyond concerned.

Something wasn’t right.

John nods, and you follow behind him in silence, heart tight in your chest, hoping Bob’s alright.

“Bob? Are you in there?” John calls out, knocking once, then again, louder this time. But there’s no response.

He tries the handle. Unlocked.

Pushing the door open, you’re met with a rush of cold air. The window had been left wide open, the curtains fluttering slightly in the night breeze. The room is dim, quiet, and strangely still.

Then you see it—a Bob-shaped lump curled in the corner, knees drawn in, arms wrapped around himself like he’s trying to hold something in… or keep everything else out.

“Bob?” you say gently, voice soft but urgent, as you and John step carefully inside.

He doesn’t move. Still cradled in the same position. Shoulders tight. Breathing shallow.

The two of you lower yourselves to the floor, sitting near but not too close, not wanting to spook him, not wanting to leave him alone either.

“I’m fine,” Bob says after a long silence. His voice is thin. Flat. The kind of “fine” that clearly means anything but.

“This doesn’t look fine,” John replies quietly, a mix of concern and frustration in his voice.

You take in his dishevelled form—hair messy and clinging to his forehead, eyes wet with tears that he hadn’t bothered to wipe away. His whole body looks like it’s holding something heavy, like whatever’s going on inside him is too much to carry alone.

“You can tell us when you’re ready,” you say gently, your voice steady despite the ache building in your chest. “But we’re not leaving you alone.”

“We’ll stay on the floor with you all night if we have to,” John adds, firm and honest, with no hesitation.

Bob looks between the two of you, eyes wide and shining, like the idea of someone staying is new and almost too much to believe.

“You don’t understand…” he whispers, voice cracking. “If I lose control... I don’t hurt just me. I hurt everyone.”

Bob closes his eyes, and the memories hit him like a freight train—what happened in New York flashing through his mind as vividly as if it were happening again. He can still hear the screams, the panic in the streets, the chaos he caused. What he became. The helplessness of knowing that at any moment, it could all slip again. He could become that thing. And there’d be no undoing it.

“Bob,” you say gently, grounding him, your voice pulling him back from the edge.

His glassy eyes flutter open to the sight of you and John. He could see that you cared, more than he was used to. 

“If you lose control,” you continue, steady and unwavering, “every single one of us will be here to bring you back.”

“This will never be something you have to fight on your own. Never again,” John says, his voice thick with conviction.

And that’s when Bob breaks.

The weight he’s been carrying finally cracks, and he collapses into John’s arms, sobbing, raw and unfiltered. He reaches for your hand, grip tightens around it as soon as you find it. 

You stay there, the three of you, only the sound of Bob’s soft, trembling breaths audible. No one rushes him. No one lets go.

By the time you’re all finally drifting into sleep, slouched against each other on the floor, the first light of morning is creeping through the window.

***

The next day is a lot brighter.

The whole team is sent out on a mission that almost goes smoothly, if you don’t count the narrowly avoided international incident and the flaming jeep that somehow ended up in a fountain. But no one’s seriously hurt, and considering the usual chaos, that’s practically a win.

By the time you all make it back to the tower, bones are aching, eyes are heavy, and moods are dangerously close to cranky.

Then someone smells it.

Food. Real food.

The delicious scent winds through the hallways. The team practically floats toward the kitchen on instinct, lured like cartoon characters by the promise of actual food.

You spot Bob at the stove, apron slightly crooked, sleeves rolled up, a little flushed from the heat. You rush over to him, ruffling his hair without hesitation.

“You didn’t have to,” you say, smiling.

“I felt better today,” Bob says, glancing at you shyly, then smiling a little more freely. “So… I thought this might help. Everyone seemed like they needed something good.”

His eyes flick briefly to John, who’s leaning against the doorway, watching with soft approval.

“Well, thank you. We really appreciate it,” John says. “Plus, it’s definitely better than whatever the hell Alexei made last week.”

Alexei pipes up from the table, “It was fusion.”

“It was a war crime,” Ava mutters.

Everyone laughs, the tension melting into the kind of easy camaraderie that doesn’t come often, but when it does, it means something.

The whole time you eat, you feel it, that strange warmth in your chest, like a string pulled gently taut between the three of you. You catch yourself looking forward to nightfall in a way you never used to.

Like clockwork, they enter your room that night, John with a tired smile, Bob already carrying a pillow under one arm like he’s making himself at home. You scoot over to make space as they settle in on either side of you.

“Can you both do something for me?” you ask softly, voice barely above a whisper.

“Name it,” Bob replies without hesitation, already leaning closer.

“No judgment,” you say, a bit embarrassed, “but… can you run your fingers through my hair?”

There’s a beat of silence, then two sets of hands move almost simultaneously. No teasing. No questions. Just soft fingers brushing through your hair, careful and gentle.

You lean into their touch. Each stroke sends a calm shiver down your spine, melting tension from your body. You don’t mean to fall asleep, not that fast, but your eyes flutter shut and the weight of the day slips away before you even realise it.

“She’s been falling asleep a lot quicker lately,” John comments quietly, pulling the blanket up over you.

Bob nods, watching your steady breathing. “Yeah… think she just needed to feel safe.” His hand lingers for a moment, brushing a stray strand from your face before settling back. Then something happens that makes them question everything. 

You moan.

“Did you…?” John starts with a mix of hesitation and curiosity, but he’s cut off when you mumble in your sleep.

“John…” you whisper softly, dream-heavy and far too sweet.

Both of them freeze. Bob’s hand goes still on the blanket, and John stares at you like you just hit him with a truck. You continue, a few more unintelligible whimpers slipping out. They’re soft, needy little sounds that make both men immediately and awkwardly alert.

Your brows scrunch in your sleep, and then another mumble: “Bob…so good…”

Their hands are completely out of your hair now, as though it burned them. They exchange a wide-eyed look.

“What’s happening?” Bob says, whispering like the room itself might judge him.

“She’s dreaming,” John mutters back, blinking at you. “But… of what exactly?”

“She said both our names.”

“I know.” A pause. “Do you think we should wake her up?”

“No,” Bob cuts in quickly, eyes fixed on you, like you might say something even more incriminating. “We should let her sleep.”

They both sit stiffly now, backs straight, trying very hard to think about anything else as you sigh contentedly in your sleep, clearly having a very different kind of night than they are.

“Whatever it is,” John finally mutters, “it must be really good.”

“Walker…” Bob says, voice low and barely above a whisper.

“I’m just saying,” John mutters, lifting his hands in defence. The blonde’s ears were still pink, eyes wide. “I’ve never heard her make noises like that. That had to be… something.”

Bob runs a hand through his hair, clearly flustered. “Yeah, something. Something that included both of us.”

John sinks a little deeper into the mattress, staring at the ceiling like it might offer answers. “That’s what I’m saying.”

You gasp softly in your sleep, a breathy “Holy shit…” slipping out before your voice finally fades into silence. Your breathing evens out, those needy little noises replaced by soft, peaceful snores.

They both freeze, eyes locked on you like you’re a live grenade in the middle of the bed.

And then, finally, you shift slightly and curl in, utterly unaware of the absolute panic you’ve left in your wake.

John exhales slowly, rubbing a hand over his face. “Let’s just… go to bed.”

“Goodnight, Walker,” Bob says, still sounding dazed.

They lay back down, each careful not to touch you or each other as if contact might electrocute them. They eventually fall asleep, but their minds? Nowhere near quiet. And between the memories of your sleep-talking and the unanswered questions hanging thick in the air, it ends up being the most uncomfortable restful night either of them has had.

***

The blankets rustle and shift, and you move closer to the two of them, shuffling about as you fight to get comfy.

“You need to stop moving,” John grumbles, his voice gravely as he's already half-asleep.

“I’m just trying to get comfortable,” you argue, shuffling over to press against Bob, who whines in protest.

“You really do need to stop moving like that,” Bob chimes in, his voice a little breathy, not entirely annoyed.

John’s hand finds your hip, firm but gentle, holding you still. “John…” you whisper, suddenly aware of how close his body is pressed against your back.

He leans down, lips brushing your ear as he murmurs, “Do you want this as much as we do?”

You look between the two of them and let out a soft, shaky breath. “Yes.”

He exhales like he’s been holding that breath for days, and then John’s lips are at your neck, slow and deliberate. Bob’s hands find your waist, pulling you closer, grounding you.

“Can I?” he asks gently, his eyes searching yours.

“Yes, Bob…”, you reply, and he leans in, your lips meeting in a kiss that’s careful at first, but quickly deepens. It’s a little messy, a little desperate, like he’s been waiting too long to do this. Pulling back, you gasp softly, breath mingling in the space between you.

Looking up at both of them, your words are a whisper, “I need you so bad.”

Your pleas are interrupted as John’s hands climb up your shirt and under your bra. It’s like everything he did was made to make you fall apart.

As if you weren’t overwhelmed enough, you feel Bob’s lips on your neck. His tongue tracing patterns, his lips kissing your sensitive spots so hard that it makes your toes curl.

Then suddenly all the touches stop, and you find yourself trying to catch up to the shift in the air. You’re about to open your mouth and whine about it when you notice them looking at each other.

It’s charged and quiet, electric, even.

Then John’s hand lifts, tentative, almost hesitant, and his fingers curl into Bob’s hair, like he’s done it before, or thought about doing it a thousand times. He leans in, and they kiss. It’s entrancing, the way their bodies shift toward each other like magnets finally giving in to the pull.

You’re sure you saw tongue.

Watching them kiss was a once in a lifetime experience and the fact that it was happening on top of you, “Holy shit…” 

Was this heaven?

You wake up, still a little dazed from that crazy dream you had, but feeling refreshed nonetheless. But you can’t lie, you wanted (needed) to see the end of that dream, but life couldn’t be so easy.

As you start to shake off the haze, you’re expecting the usual warmth, an arm slung around your waist, maybe a leg tangled with yours. Instead, there's nothing but cold sheets and the sharp absence of closeness. Your hand stretches out and touches only air. You blink groggily and glance around to see both Bob and John at opposite ends of the bed, practically clinging to the edges like there’s a force field between them, and you.

You let out a big, unfiltered yawn, and both of them twitch. Like actual startled animals.

They exchange a glance above you, a rapid, silent conversation with widened eyes and furrowed brows before both sit up like someone just sounded an alarm.

“What’s up?” you ask, squinting at them suspiciously. “You two look like you just got caught doing something illegal.”

“N–nothing,” Bob stammers, eyes flicking to John, then back to the floor. “I should get going, though. Breakfast… cleaning… stuff.”

“Yeah, I’ve got training,” John says, not meeting your gaze either. “Mission later, gotta prep.”

“Guys?” you press, voice dipping slightly with confusion.

“I need to, uh, do some chores. Important chores. Early morning chores.” Bob’s words tumble out of his mouth clumsily as he untangles himself from your sheets. “I have to go.”

And just like that, they both bolt, practically tripping over each other in their haste to leave the room.

You're left blinking at the door, your head spinning.

“…What the hell just happened?” you mutter to no one.

Did you miss something? Or worse, did you do something?

Because whatever it was, they’re clearly spooked.

All day, they ignore you, and you’d never seen either of them act like this before.

John, who’s normally a chatterbox, could barely talk to you on the mission; it was like when it came to you, it was like he couldn’t even hear your voice. And Bob, sweet and usually glued to your side, sat across the room at dinner like being near you might set him on fire. Every time your eyes met, he looked away.

To make matters worse, they break their ‘Insomniacs with a z’ club commitment. You wait up at night, waiting for them to come, but they don’t. Midnight, 1 am, 2 am, and they’re still not here, so you lie down in your sheets on your cold and empty bed, trying to sleep. You can’t, though, it’s the first sleepless night in a while, and there’s no other reason than the fact that they’re not by your side. 

You wake up alone again and with a mood. It was one thing if they didn’t want to do it anymore, but to drop you with no explanation wasn’t fair.

You were practically a walking sigh at this point.

Moping in the kitchen, tragically stirring your cereal like it personally offended you.

Moping in the gym, aimlessly walking on the treadmill like your heartbreak was some dramatic indie film montage.

You even moped in the laundry room, staring into the dryer like it could somehow spin your problems away.

And Yelena had had it.

“You want to talk?” she asked finally, catching you mid-mope as you stood in the hallway holding a half-folded towel like it was a fragile relic of a better time. “Because this sad little ghost routine is killing the vibe around here.”

You groaned, dragging the towel dramatically over your face. “They don’t want to sleep with me anymore.”

Yelena blinked. “Wait, what?”

You lowered the towel. “No—I mean—not like that.”

She arched a brow.

“I mean like… they used to come into my room. And sleep. With me. Next to me. It was a whole thing. We’d talk, they’d run their fingers through my hair, but no funny business, and now? Nothing. They’re avoiding me like I’m radioactive.”

“Well,” Yelena says dryly, “There’s only one way to fix it.”

“…How?”

“Easy. Corner them. Trap them. Use emotional honesty and eye contact. Or—if that fails—lock them in a room until they start talking like adults.”

You blinked.

“You’re a genius.”

“That’s what I keep telling people,” She gloats before she disappears down the hallway.

You just had to lure them in. That night, you send them a message that’s sure to have them running to you.

“Where’s the spider?” They ask, both rushing into your room at the same time. 

You appear behind them, locking the door behind them, “Fools.”

They froze. Like deer in headlights.

Bob blinked first. “You… tricked us.”

“You sent a code red spider alert,” John added, accusatory, like that was the crime here.

“And it worked.  You two aren’t leaving until I get some answers. So now, sit. Talk.”

They hesitated, glancing at each other like maybe, just maybe, one of them could break down the door and flee. But they decided not to test your wrath.

“Why didn’t you show up last night?” you repeated, slower this time, folding your arms like a disappointed parent. “You can’t just… vanish, and not just that, but you’ve been avoiding me. It’s been miserable.”

“Did I do something?” You ask quietly, and from the subtle little flinch, you know it’s true. “Oh…”

You suddenly feel self-conscious and start rubbing your arm to subconsciously comfort yourself. Bob then steps forward, unable to let you be so distressed. “It’s not really your fault. It’s not like you can control it.”

You tilt your head at him, confused, “Control what?”

They both take a deep breath, doing their whole little silent conversation thing before obviously deciding on something. “Your dreams,” John finishes.

“My dreams–” You cut yourself off as your memories of last night's particularly steamy dream come to mind. Did you talk in your sleep?

“Did I.. Oh, I did, didn’t I?” You cry out before almost launching yourself into your bed headfirst.

“It’s not a big deal, I mean it’s understandable,” John says, gesturing to himself with his usual little grin.  “I am kind of dream worthy.”

You want your bed to just swallow you whole. “This is unbelievable. I’ll never be able to get over this. This will quite literally haunt me for the rest of my life.”

You lie still like a plank, bathing in your self-pity before a question snaps you out of it. 

“What happened exactly?” Bob asks, and your head snaps towards him.

“You want to know what happened in the dream?” You question, your mouth agape. 

Rolling onto your front, you suck in air as you replay the dream in your head, both of them shirtless, Bob’s lips on your neck, John’s fingers rubbing your clit through your panties, watching them kiss. “I don’t think that‘s the best idea.”

“It involved a few things here and there…” You say hesitantly as you try to downplay it, but the way they were looking at you from either side of you.

“We want to know,” John says, sitting down next to you. At this point, they’re both crowding around you, and you thought you were the one supposed to be trapping them.

“Well, as you can probably guess, it was a sex dream.”

You twiddle your fingers as if that’s going to make things any better and delay the inevitable awkward silence.

“And we all kissed,” you finish, voice barely above a whisper.

“Like… we both kissed you or…” Bob asks, eyebrows raised, needing the clarification more than anything else, though his voice is gentler than you expected.

“We all kissed,” you reiterate, firmer this time, like saying it with more certainty would somehow make it less embarrassing.

Bob opens his mouth, then closes it again, clearly processing before glancing over at John, who’s staring off, lost in thought, his brow furrowed as if trying to puzzle something out.

“Huh…” John finally says, scratching the back of his neck.

Bob exhales, rubbing the back of his neck too. “That’s… not what I expected, but, uh, not entirely unwelcome.”

You blink. “Wait, really?”

“So…” you begin, your voice quiet, unsure. You hesitate, wondering if you’re about to cross a line, if you're reading too much into the charged glances, the way they’ve both been orbiting closer each night. “Want to make it a reality?”

You almost regret the words the moment they’re out. But then, to your surprise, they both say yes.

You blink. They’re closer than you remember them being, shoulders brushing, heat pooling in the small space between the three of you.

They look at you, clearly unsure where to start. Taking things into your own hands, you reach for them gently, fingers threading into their hair. Bob’s hair is soft and slightly damp from a shower; John’s is shorter and messier, like he’s run his hands through it a dozen times today. They both look at you, wide-eyed, alert, hungry for your attention but waiting to be guided.

You kiss Bob first, slow, deliberate. He melts into it, moaning into your mouth like you're his salvation.

Then you turn to John. His kiss is different—deeper, more controlled—but just as wanting.

You pull back, eyes flicking between them, your hand still in John’s hair as you whisper, “Kiss him.”

They hesitate, eyes locked on each other. But only for a second.

Because they trust you and they trust each other.

You watch as they lean in, cautious at first, a brush of lips like testing the edge of something new.  Again, another enlightening experience. It’s softer than when it happened in your dream, but no less passionate. 

They pull apart to breathe, Bob laughing a little as he catches his breath. He catches the look on John’s face and immediately goes to explain himself.

“No, it’s just your beard is tickling my face,” Bob says with a shy smile.

Bob chuckles softly, his eyes twinkling.

John opens his mouth, about to apologise or say something, but Bob stops him gently.

“No, it’s okay… I like it,” Bob admits quietly.

They turn to you, noticing the way your eyes linger, how much you liked seeing them together.

“Oh, you really like that, huh?” John teases, a smug little grin on his face as he runs his fingers through your hair, right behind your ear, like he knows exactly how much that gets to you.

Bob leans in closer, voice softer but no less intense. “Didn’t know watching us would get you this worked up…”

Then, in a rush, like they can’t wait another second to get their hands back on you, they start removing their clothes. Shirts pulled off, pyjama pants too, movements frantic but focused.

You could scream.

It’s one thing to have one good-looking, shirtless man standing in front of you. It’s another to have two, both looking at you like you're the only thing in the room that matters.

You know exactly what they’d put in your autopsy report if you died right now:

“Cause of death: Abs.”

And honestly? Worth it.

It’s a mix of heat and motion, hands everywhere, so much that you don’t even know who’s touching you half the time. Fingers trailing your skin, lips brushing yours, pressure and pleasure blending until it’s all one glorious blur.

Your hands glide up and down Bob’s abs, firm and warm beneath your palms, while your lips trace along John’s bicep—so close you could just…

Before you know it, your teeth sink into him, biting down just hard enough to leave a mark.

“Did you just bite me?” John asks, blinking at you with a half-shocked, half-amused chuckle.

“Sorry,” you mumble, grinning. “Intrusive thoughts took over.”

“Bite me all you want,” he says, voice dropping low, “I can take it.”

Bob leans in from behind, his breath ghosting over your neck. “We both can.”

Just hearing that stole all the air from your lungs. In a flash, you’re lying on your back, as John ruts against you. You suspect he’s been hard ever since he and Bob made out, and you don’t blame him. 

Bob’s on the sidelines, completely entranced by John railing you, his desire on full display. Without hesitating, you reach out and palm his cock in your hands. “Can I?” You ask, and Bob swears your lips have never been so inviting. 

“Yeah, I…yeah.”

You take him into your mouth, with a kind of reverence that takes him by surprise. 

When you feel the tip of his cock hit the back of your throat, you gag, a well of spit dripping out of your mouth onto the bed. 

“Doing so well,” Bob praises, watching you in awe, as he starts using your mouth more confidently. You moan desperately in response, and that’s all you're capable of right now. 

It’s almost too hard to keep up with. And you swear you’ve never been more full in your life. Your eyes screwed shut in pure ecstacy as you try to breath through your nose... You can’t think. 

“That’s a good girl,” John says as he pulls you close with each snap of his hips. You had to admit, you loved the praises they were giving you. Each one brings you that much closer to the edge. 

Suddenly, you feel Bob’s cum flooding your mouth, his hand holding onto yours as he comes down from the high you had given him. 

Then John pulls out of you, climbing off the bed and pulling the bottom half of your body with him. 

“John…” You whine, needing him back inside of you as soon as possible, because how dare he deprive you of his touch for even a second? 

“I know, I know... so impatient,” He laughs. You’re about to complain at him, but you’re interrupted by him getting on his knees, licking at your hole.  “John!” You scream out. No part of you was expecting him to start eating you out. Every part of your body, is freaking out and your hands scramble until they find Bob. 

As if to placate you, he kisses you, tongue invading your mouth just as John’s invades your pussy. 

You and Bob pull apart, a line of saliva still connecting your mouths as John continues to wreak havoc on your sanity—hands, mouth, voice, all driving you further under.

“Need you, Bob,” you whisper, breath shaky, and your mouth finds his neck, lips and teeth leaving a trail of heat. You press open-mouthed kisses along his throat, then bite down, again and again, each mark deliberate.

Bruises blooming like constellations across his skin.

You always thought he’d look nice all marked up with love bites, gasping out your name like you’re all he needs. 

And now you know he definitely does.

Just as you pull back to look at your masterpiece, John’s mouth pull away from your core only to be replaced with his cock. 

You hold onto Bob as John starts fucking you, each thrust hitting your sensitive spot dead on. “Please, John… please,” you gasp, voice wrecked with need as your words dissolve into incoherent babbles. You’re not even sure what you’re begging for anymore—his hands, his mouth, just more.

You feel him smirk against the back of your neck, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. His grip tightens, steadying you.

“You’re gonna have to be more specific, sweetheart,” he murmurs, low and teasing in your ear. “But I like you like this—messy and desperate.”

"Please, fuck me harder," You whine, not caring what you needed to say to keep feeling this good.

Bob groans softly behind you, his breath hot as he presses kisses along your shoulder. “You should see yourself right now…”

And just like that, you're gone again.

“Please never stop,” You gasp out to both of them and with another thrust from John, your orgasm hits you so hard, you think you might be done for. “Fuck!” You cry out, your legs trembling as you slide down Bob’s body, landing in the sheets next to his thigh. 

But John doesn’t stop, continuing to pound into you, not once losing pace. Damn that super solider serum. All your restraint and any trace of common sense were long gone. It had left the building as soon as their shirts came off. 

You fade in and out, until you feel him fill you up with his cum, your name coming out of his mouth in pants. 

John pulls out of you and immediately checks on you, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you puff out, chest rising and falling as you collapse onto your back, completely spent and dazed in the best possible way.

The room is warm with afterglow, breath and heat and tangled limbs. You barely register the sound of movement before John and Bob exchange a glance over you.

“Let me help you out,” John offers, seeing that Bob’s already half hard again. 

“You sure?” Bob asks softly, hesitation in his voice. He didn’t want to inconvenience him, but the words falter when John moves closer, solid and warm, his presence filling the space between them.

“I’m sure,” John murmurs, voice low and steady, his hand finding Bob’s hip like it belonged there. His touch is grounding, confident, and it makes Bob melt under it, like everything he was holding tense finally lets go.

“You don’t have to take care of me,” Bob adds, almost whispering.

John leans in, their foreheads brushing. “Maybe I want to.”

And with that, Bob exhales, letting him take control. His strong hands wrap around Bob’s dick, and Bob holds onto his arm, needing him so bad, he doesn't know what he’d do without him.

“Walker…John I—” He stutters as he moves his hips, thrusting into his hand with fervour. They look at one another. Bob’s eyes start glowing, the light pulsing with an intensity that feels almost alive. Unearthly, charged, and very imposing. It hums in the air between them, making John's chest tighten.

Afraid it might push Bob too far, might tip him into something he can’t come back from, John starts to pull away.

But Bob grabs him, firm, unyielding. “Don’t.”

It’s sharp, clipped, nothing like the sweet, careful way Bob usually speaks. The tension in his clenched jaw, the rawness in his voice, it’s not a plea. It’s a command. An order.

So John follows it.

He thrusts into John’s hand again and again, the control now flipped on its head, and John doesn’t mind one bit.

It was something else to see. Bob Reynolds, glowing, tense, his usual restraint stripped away. And still, like he was holding the universe back with his bare hands just to be gentle with him.

Then Bob’s eyes fall on you, intense and burning gold.

“Come here,” he says, leaving no room for misinterpretation.

He doesn’t wait for a response. You move, almost without thinking, drawn in by something magnetic and undeniable. You make your way over to him, and before you can even ask what he wants—

He’s kissing you. Like he’s been holding back for far too long.

John moves his hand away, letting Bob guide you until your back hits the bed.

“Are you ready?” Bob asks, smiling at you.

You consider your current position—John is beside you, lips trailing down one side of your neck, his hand firm on your waist. Bob’s cock is pushing against your hole, so close to giving you what you’ve been aching for. Your body is lit up like a live wire, and you feel like you might die.

And yet, heart racing—you let out a soft, breathy, “Yes.”

Bob pushes in slowly, and you find yourself mewling, John soothing you with his kisses. He starts slow, each thrust deeper than the last. 

As you start to get used to it, he picks up the pace, just enough to knock the breath from your lungs. Everything about this—your sounds, your body, the way you looked at him like he was the only thing in the world—was making him lose control.

He didn’t know it could feel so... so good. Overwhelming, all-consuming, better than anything he'd imagined in the haze of lonely nights and quiet want.

His voice is rough when he speaks, barely more than a whisper:

“I’m not gonna last if you keep looking at me like that.”

And honestly, neither are you.

And when John starts rubbing your clit, it’s over for you. Your moans become higher-pitched until you whimper out, “Holy.. I’m gonna…” 

A blinding orgasm hits you so hard, your back is arching off the bed. The sight is almost too much for them both, but especially Bob. When you come back down and relax against the bed, they both go back to touching you. Making sure you would have no peace while you’re with them.

Bob’s eyes glow again, and there’s a sharp cracking sound as a piece of your headboard is now somehow in his hand, splintered clean off without him even realising it.

Your eyes widen but there’s no time to focus on that, not while he’s fucking you into a new dimension. 

A few moments later, your bedroom mirror shatters, fractured by the force of the moment as he loses himself in you completely.

He starts to hesitate, breath catching, the weight of everything creeping in, but then he feels John’s hand on his back, steady and grounding, soothing him.

“Keep going,” John says, and all Bob wants to do is listen.

He ruts into you, fingers digging into your hips so hard, you know they’re going to leave bruises. 

Then Bob feels something, strong fingers threading into his hair as John pulls their lips together for the second time. This kiss is more desperate, more needy, like something inside him has snapped loose and there's no putting it back.

It’s messy and raw, and he doesn’t even try to slow down; his rhythm with you never falters, never once losing pace. You love a man who can multitask.

The kiss breaks only when breathlessness forces it, and Bob pulls back just slightly, eyes blown wide, lips swollen, his mind a complete daze. 

“I’m close,” You tell him, and he moves faster, doubling his efforts to make you feel good. 

“So perfect for us,” Bob says, matching his thrusts to how John was rubbing your clit. It feels too good to hear him say that. There’s something in the way he says us, the way his grip tightens on your waist… it makes you want to lose your mind.  There was no holding on any longer, so you let go. 

“I–” You start but cut yourself off with a guttural cry, as your climax rips through you. It’s like you're on fire with how the pleasure overcomes you. Your hip stutter against John’s hand, as your walls quiver around Bob’s cock. 

The feeling of you orgasming around him became too much for him to bear, sending Bob into his own.

Bob finishes inside of you, his breath ragged as he buries his face in your neck, holding you tight as the last waves of his release shudder through him.

Your chest is heaving with effort and aftershocks, your body trembling, but this wasn’t over.

Not even close.

They're nowhere near done with you. You can feel it, see it in their eyes.

And when John leans in again, lips brushing your ear, voice low and wrecked with want, he murmurs, “Hope you weren’t planning on sleeping yet…”

They could and would go all night long.

***

The next morning, you wake up tangled in their embrace again, and you're happy.

Sore, thoroughly exhausted, slightly disoriented... but happy.

Your bedroom, however, looks like it barely survived the night—mirrors broken, half the headboard gone, and a John-shaped hole in the wall. You're honestly surprised anything’s still intact, especially the bed frame, though it gives a warning creak when you shift to slide out from under the pile of limbs.

You stretch, muscles aching in that oddly satisfying way, and glance back at the bed.

John’s arm is slung over Bob’s waist, both of them blissfully asleep. Hair messy, skin littered with red marks—some from you, some from each other. You can’t help the little smile that tugs at your lips.

You didn’t quite know what this made the three of you now, but there was time to figure it out.

Eventually.

For now? This felt like a damn good place to start.

Masterlist

[sluturu]

don’t mind me, just manifesting jealous/possessive nanami content🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️

cw. exhibitionism (sex in public), jealousy ⋆ mdni — 18+ 𐙚

nanami doesn’t like what he sees. you’re mingling, just like he’d begged you to when he brought you to this work event that neither of you wanted to come to, but you’re mingling with the company’s biggest flirt. aka nanami’s best friend (by force) gojo satoru. 

he doesn’t like the way you have one hand clutching your stomach while the other grips onto gojo’s arm like your life depends on it. he doesn’t like the giggles he’s hearing– not because he hates your laugh, but he hates that it’s not him that’s making you laugh. he definitely doesn’t like the look of awe on that jackass’s face while he watches you die over a joke that probably wasn’t even funny to begin with. 

nanami is usually cool and composed. it’s not like him to overreact or let his emotions control him, but this is you we’re talking about. this makes his stomach turn, his blood simmer, and he knows he needs to leave with you before he inevitably blows up.

 the problem? nanami is mid conversation with his boss and he can’t just leave without reason. so he endures it, but his blood pressure continues to rise by the second while irritation gnaws at him. every time he turns his head, you’re there smiling or laughing with another man. 

nanami watches as gojo picks something out of your hair and he decides he can’t take it. he politely excuses himself telling his boss he feels like he might’ve come down with something (a case of jealousy, he forgets to mention) before making a beeline right towards you. 

“nanamin!” gojo exclaims as soon as he spots the blonde. “your wifey here was just–”

he pretends he didn’t hear his so-called friend, “sweetheart, i’m not feeling too well. would you mind if we turned in a bit early?”

your smile morphs into a frown at the words and you give him a soft ‘of course.’ you’re turning to gojo to bid him goodbye, but nanami is pulling you away with his arm wrapped securely around your waist before you even get the chance. 

it’s not till you’re pressed against his audi with nanami flushed against you, his big bulge rubbing against your stomach, that you realize what’s going on. 

his lips are right above your, honey like eyes wild and boring into yours, “wanna tell me what the hell was so funny?”

“what?” you reply breathlessly, your own eyes darting to look around the parking lot to make sure there was no one around. 

his fingers slip under your dress, rubbing circles into your clit over your panties. when you let out a surprised moan, nanami chuckles. it’s almost sinister, but it has you absolutely, positively soaked. 

his speed picks up with each second that passes and pretty soon you find yourself grinding against his hand for more. he speaks up, “you were having the time of your life with gojo. i want to know what he said to make you laugh so hard.” 

“it was n-nothing,” you throw your head back against the sleek car, another moan comes out of your mouth. “k-ken, ugh– please,” you beg. “more, please, need more.”

he tsks disapprovingly, “nothing, huh?” he slows the pace of his fingers and relishes in your whining protests. “didn’t look like nothing. looked like my wife was having the best night ever with another man.”

you open your eyes to look at him, “i can’t remember what he said, ken… can’t think about anything except for you.”

it’s like you know exactly what to say and he swoons. he presses his lips against yours and his fingers skillfully tug your panties to the side before continuing their vicious attack on your gushing cunt. 

you sob into his mouth, body completely wracked with need, but you start hearing voices a few rows down and you freeze.

“k-kento, wait–” you say, panicked and frenzied. “what if someone sees us?”

“i fucking hope they do,” he groans, gripping your chin with his free hand and making you look back at him. “i hope they catch us so they know you’re all mine.”

© all works belong to SLUTURU 2025. do not copy or repost.

[anglbunny]

BABY!?

♡ Nagi seishiro gets baby fever, smut mdni, breeding kink, based on this req

Nagi never really got the whole kids thing.

They cry, they’re loud, they interrupt gaming, and they want attention every five seconds — like, hello? That’s stamina he could be using on Apex or cuddling you on the couch while grinding events on his mobile game.

But today?

He sees you crouched in the grass, laughing as you help your little cousin build a lopsided flower crown, the toddler squealing when you boop her nose. Your smile is soft, glowing in the sunlight, and you look so natural, so warm, so you that something in him glitches.

Nagi blinks. Suddenly his controller’s in his lap. Game paused. Eyes locked on you like he’s just seen a bonus level he didn’t know he wanted to unlock.

“…weird,” he mumbles, tilting his head.

You wave at him, calling out something playful like “Come join us, Sei!” And that’s it.

He’s done for.

Later that night, back in your shared apartment, you're straddling his lap while he lazes against the headboard, your lips pressed to his neck, hands sneaking under his shirt — and he can’t stop thinking about it. The softness. The image of you with a kid that looks like both of you. The way you’d probably look with a swollen belly, soft and full, just for him.

“Hey,” he mumbles between lazy kisses, hands gripping your hips tighter than usual.

“Yeah?” you pant.

He brushes a thumb over your lower stomach, voice low, almost sleepy — but serious. “Wanna make a mini you.”

You blink, confused. “What?”

“A baby,” he clarifies flatly, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Or like…a mini us.”

Your face burns. “seish—”

“You’d look cute pregnant,” he murmurs, flipping you onto your back, eyes a little hungrier now. “All mine… carrying my kid.”

he settles between your thighs, pushing your shirt up to see the sight of your bare, puffy pussy, which has him groaning. he pulls his cock out, rubbing the tip over your folds until you break. "baby.. fuck, please... in"

you mumble, words heavy and slurred. pussy wet with need. His thrusts get slower, deeper.

“You’d let me, right? Fill you up? Every night if I had to… till it sticks.”

he presses down on your belly so you can feel his large cock pulling in and out of you. staying buried deep, so when he cums, nothing goes to waste.

And when you whimper out his name, he smirks lazily, kissing your neck like it’s the start of the best co-op duo ever.

“c'mon, babe. think about it.”

TL: @samm1e13 @demiitria @syleepy @chaoslibra @bontenxo @pinkymangacaps @riinniies @samthesimp1 @sapphireluv @s4turnx1 @nevvynev @cookiesandcreammy @rinniebinniebay @ravenbc @kamelika @luvsymai @werfiedeii @mikemsmm @silverwings920 @cyberheartrebel @arwawawa2 @yanderebluelockfan @valexqpt @bigclownshoes @rinniewinnie787 @satorella @mitsurisupporter @meikstv @mihyas-dieehefrau @ravenbc @greekyoghurtwithberries

A/n: i fell asleep writing. its 2am

ꨄ︎Anglbunny | Do not copy, steal or translate my work and pngs. you'll be blocked.

[Masterlist]

[retiredteabag]

hi teabag ily iky ily and i love your work just as much, im not sure if your reqs are open but i was wondering if you could pls do the “current bf” on the jjk guys.

Pls and thank you sweetcheeks :*

A brief and unedited headcanon request?

my masterlist

Satoru Gojo

Fussy, pouty, whiney, how many adjectives do you need?

The second he hears you use the word 'current,' his head is whipping around so fast.

"HUHHH???" - "Why would you say that :[ ??" - "Do you only see me as a short-term boy?"

He would interrupt again and again. "Take it back, take it baaaack!"

Even after you've confessed you were just trying to see his reaction, he would be unhappy. Only back rubs can cure his moodiness after that.

Suguru Geto

^_^

He knows you're being a tease.

For some reason, I get the impression that he wouldn't say anything, he'd let you speak until you were finished. Maybe you were making a video, maybe you were introducing him to a friend, maybe you were talking about him on the phone.

Whatever the case, he has to hold himself back from pinching your cheek when he sees you keep passing glances his way.

Aww, you're trying to get a rise out of him?

Too bad it has the opposite effect and makes him want to keep you in his pocket like a bratty little critter.

Kento Nanami

This man has definitely put a ring on it, so when you call him your "current husband," he is certainly doing double-takes.

Surely he's going crazy, it's just not something you would say, and yet here you are, saying it. After a pause to collect himself, I can see him reaching out to grasp your wrist, gently rubbing at your pulse.

You crack immediately, he's too sweet, and he's looking at you as if you've broken his heart.

"Kennnn!!! I was just kidding."

Choso Kamo

"Current?" He's looking at you, and poor boy is confused.

It causes you physical distress to look over and nod at him, playing it up like normal. After a hum of confirmation, he is grabbing your hand.

He brings it over to his lap, completely serious. Long forgotten is whatever video you were making.

"I don't want to be your current boyfriend..."

He's so tender, it takes everything in you not to coo at him. "You don't?"

"I thought current meant... only now... I want to be yours forever..."

Then you eat him alive. :]

Ryoman Sukuna

He's more concerned about the title "boyfriend" than he is with the assertion you're making.

You had just motioned toward him, the "current" remark meant as his introduction. Sukuna just scoffs, rolling his eyes, "Don't call me that."

And oh, you're just giddy at his response. Score! He loves you so much :D, "Oh yeah? You don't like that?"

"I'm not a 'boyfriend', that is a gross misuse of my epithet."

Oh.

"That's what you've taken issue with?" You pout at him, in all actuality, you're a bit hurt, wondering if what he had been expecting was "current employer".

It wasn't until he waved his hand in a dismissive motion that he walked off, "I am your lover, not your measly boyfriend. Do not insult me so again."

Toji Fushiguro

"Current? What the fuck?"

He is not letting you get past that, believe me. No matter how you try to change the conversation or brush it aside, he's talking over you at every turn. He doesn't even need to be domineering.

Oh, Toji can tell by the way you're trying to hold in your laughs that you're teasing him, but two can play at that game.

You're trying to proceed with whatever silly little game you had, everything after the fact was lost on Toji though, "Current...right, right... I'm the current boyfriend, funny, I guess you tell all your hoes how you wanna spend the rest of your life with them, you beg to fall asleep on top of all your boytoys-"

It would get to a point where you would just be unintelligible over his ramblings. Eventually, you would try to cover his mouth with a hand, "Oh my gosh, TojI!!" You would end the video while his lips curled into a smirk against your palm.

Yuuji Itadori

"Huh?"

It's not the instantaneous reaction that would come from the other guys; it would likely take him a second to catch up. He's just excited that you wanted him to be a part of your little video, and also a bit distracted by how pretty you look while showing off your outfit.

The words mingle in his brain for a second, smile dropping, he evaluates your meaning.

"What...?"

You steel yourself, ready for his reaction... but it doesn't come.

You turn to look at him, but he's stepped out of frame, a confused look has taken over his features, still analyzing why you would call him that. Gears still rotating, he'd look so taken aback. Trust me, you'd have to do some serious consoling for him.

"I was joking! It's a prank, Yuuji! You're my forever and ever!"

You reach down to stop recording, and Yuuji pulls a palm to his chest. "Whew! Scared me there..." Shaking his head, he would use a hand to muse his hair, " I didn't like that."

😭

Megumi Fushiguro

"Uh, no."

You don't even have it in you to try and extend it, he's already got a pinching grip on the ticklish spot of your waist. A silent, 'try again.'

You can't continue, looking at him, you can see he's already butthurt.

Good luck getting him to bring out the dogs anymore.

[starkeymeow]

can you do that one tiktok trend where the girlfriend’s all like “i’m going home” or whatever with rafe?? it’s so funny

you try the “i wanna go home” prank on your boyfriend rafe

you hit the record button with your thumb. your phone rests on your stomach, camera angled just right, and you scroll a little through instagram to sell the illusion.

rafe’s across the room, standing in front of his dresser in just sweatpants, his back to you as he folds the last of the laundry.

you wait until he bends down to slide a drawer open before you murmur, “i think i’m gonna go home.”

he pauses. his hand hovers over the drawer for a second too long before he continues reaching into it, eyebrows pinched in a small frown.

“you’re what?” he asks, head cocked slightly to the side.

you press your lips together, trying not to smile. “i wanna go home.” you say it so casually like it’s nothing.

rafe shakes his head with a short laugh like he thinks you’re out of your mind but he’s used to it by now. he tosses the folded clothes onto the piles he’s already lined up.

“you got somewhere to be that you’re not tellin’ me about?” he throws over his shoulder.

you furrow your brows instantly, head lifting off the pillow a bit. “what? no, i just wanna go home.”

he hums, amused, not buying it for a second. “home where? and how? you don’t even drive.” he finally glances back at you as you’re stifling a laugh, then over his shoulder to motion vaguely around the room like this should be obvious. “you already are home,” he says, turning back to his drawer like it’s a fact, not a debate.

“yeah, but i meant my home.”

that’s the one that gets him. rafe closes the drawer with a little more weight than necessary. his jaw flexes as he pokes his tongue into the inside of his cheek, thinking something over. “you’re sleepin’ over tonight,” he says plainly.

you drag out a sigh, voice going all soft and bratty the way he secretly likes. “rafe . . .”

“if you even try to leave, i’m locking that damn door,” he mutters, totally unfazed. “talking about leaving . . .” he’s muttering to himself like he’s gonna have a laugh about it as he walks over to the bed, stretching one arm behind his neck like he’s just getting comfortable. and then he glances down.

you see the second he notices your phone, the camera suspiciously angled toward him. his lips twitch. he squints a little and lets out a quiet laugh, not even surprised, just amused. he knows you’re recording. you’ve been testing him with these stupid tiktok trends all week.

“really? again?”

you let out a real laugh, reaching for the button to stop the recording before tossing it somewhere behind you on the bed. you shift onto your knees and crawl toward him without saying a word, fingers curling into the waistband of his sweats, tugging him closer.

“of course i’m not leaving,” you reassure him.

his hands find your hips like they always do, and you pull him in for a kiss, then deeper as you smile into it.

[lazysoulwriter]

it's not just a race. - lando norris ── .✦

requested! thank you. ♡ content: Lando x reader, established relationship, reader is a diehard Ferrari fan, race-day post-Grand Prix drama, petty silent treatment, couch punishment, soft makeup at the end.

---

You didn’t speak to him the entire flight.

Not a word. Not even a glance.

Lando, for his part, knew better than to push you when you were like this. He didn’t dare smile too wide in the post-race interviews. Didn’t dare post a victory picture with the champagne still dripping from his fire suit.

Because he knew.

You were mad.

But not just mad — betrayed.

Because your boyfriend of two years had just overtaken your beloved Charles Leclerc for P1… and you, wearing red in the stands like a woman at war, had watched it all happen in real time.

---

“Still not talking to me?” Lando asked gently as you both walked into the apartment that night.

Silence.

You set your purse down. Took off your heels. Unzipped your Ferrari jacket with dramatic deliberation.

He smiled — carefully. “You have to admit it was a great race—”

“Don’t,” you said, pointing at him like you might cry. “Don’t you dare.”

Lando sighed, following you toward the bedroom. “I didn’t do anything! I raced.”

“You passed Charles. On the last lap. After I told you this morning I was feeling fragile!”

“You said you hadn’t slept well!”

“Because I dreamt he won!”

He blinked.

You crossed your arms, standing in front of the bed. “You’re sleeping on the couch.”

“Wait—what?”

“Until Charles recovers emotionally, you suffer.”

He blinked again. “That could take weeks.”

“I know.”

Lando shuffled out of the room muttering about injustice and heartbreak. You could hear him dramatically fluffing a throw pillow and cursing under his breath like a man scorned.

You didn’t smile.

Not out loud, anyway.

---

It was 2:17 AM when you woke up and realized you missed him. Which, frankly, pissed you off more.

You padded into the living room, blanket in hand, and found him curled up on the couch like a kicked puppy, wearing one of your Ferrari hoodies and hugging a pillow like it owed him something.

You stood there, arms crossed, fighting the affection bubbling in your chest.

He cracked one eye open. “Have you come to say I’m the love of your life?”

You threw the blanket at him. “Don’t push it.”

He grinned sleepily. “You wanna make up?”

You sighed. “I hate that I missed you.”

“You wanna cuddle?”

“…Fine.”

He scooted over. “You’re gonna let me back in the bed?”

“No. I’m letting me into your punishment zone.”

He pulled you into his arms, humming into your shoulder. “Still a Norris 4 Leclerc 2 situation, though.”

“Lando.”

“I’ll shut up.”

And he did.

Wrapped around you like a victory flag.

---

✦ please do not copy, repost, or translate this work. © lazysoulwriter // i write with a lot of love and care, so please respect that.

[shewhowillrise]

Dead on Main random idea

Usually it’s Danny talking about his crush but let’s flip it.

Jason feeling so left out and discarded by family that he has his own “guy in the chair” bc he doesn’t know if he can trust Oracle more like if she trusts him he doesn’t wanna know the answer.

His “guy in the chair” is Tucker Foley. Met the guy on a case at Gotham U. Tucker helped him hack into a encrypted USB. And then just, kept asking him for help.

They get close enough friendship where Jason feels comfortable without the helmet (and maybe without the domino mask too).

Tucker by now expects Hood to climb through his dorm window and throw a gadget at him to hack into and reverse engineer.

What he did not expect was what Hood was gushing about.

“God you know that ghost boy Phantom? He’s so small and cute I wanna squish him. Like talk about a zombie’s dream boyfriend. Don’t tell my brother but I like Phantom’s puns better than Nightwing’s.”

[mixolya]

HIIIIII 🫶🏻so I thought Yk how sae is bad at this whole PR thing and he’s just very straightforward and not many ppl like it cuz they think he’s rude😭. what if reader was his pr manger😍??? And she like gets pissed off quickly but also gets flustered and why quickly and sae is teasing or wtv

I was like i really wanna read sum like but since I follow lots of bllk writers I didn’t know who to send this 2 so then I thought “who writes sae the best?”then I thought def mixolya so here I am I’d really like it if u wrote this since ur work is really amazing 😭🫶🏻🫶🏻💖

ᓚᘏᗢ — sae itoshi: ice prince !

synopsis: sae itoshi has a pr problem. and you're paid to fix it. too bad he's also the reason you grind your teeth at night and blush like a schoolgirl on the job.

sae itoshi x manager!reader ⭑ fluff + likes & reblogs are appreciated <3

note: thank you sm IM SO HONORED NOW HFUIJKVFKJKV ily

the headline blinks back at you like a neon sign from hell:

SAE ITOSHI: Football's ice prince strikes again - says he 'doesn't care' about fans

you slap your tablet shut. you don't even knock before storming into the training facility, scanning the rows of white training kits until you spot him; the menace in cleats, jogging casually down the sideline like he hasn't just detonated another pr landmine.

"sae!" you call twice after he didn't look the first time.

his head tilts lazily toward you. of course he heard you the first time. he just wanted to make sure you say his name again. you march over, fuming.

"you told the press you don't care about your fans."

"because i don't," he replies coolly, barely breaking stride.

you scoff. "you also said the interviewer's breath smelled like 'expired vanilla milkshake.' what even is that?"

he finally stops, water bottle in hand. "accurate."

"unbelievable," you mutter, rubbing your temples.

"you hired me for honesty, didn't you?"

"you were assigned to me because no one else could handle your media tantrums!"

he takes a sip of water, entirely unfazed. "i don't throw tantrums."

"no, you throw careers off cliffs. mine included."

his eyes finally land on you, sharp eyes meeting your glare. "you're still here though."

"unfortunately."

he quirks a brow. "so why stay?"

you freeze. that smug expression makes your stomach twist. it's always like this with sae, a constant tug-of-war where you're supposed to be the handler and he the genius. and yet here you are, red-faced, pulse racing, hands clenching your clipboard like it's the only thing keeping you grounded.

"why can't you just do as i say for once?" you mutter, spinning on your heel.

"cute."

you whirl back. "what?"

he shrugs. "you get all flustered. it's cute."

"you can't just say things like that to your pr manager!" you hiss.

sae's smile is barely there, but it is there. a rare sight, like a solar eclipse, beautiful yet terrifying, and liable to burn you if you look to long.

"maybe i can," he says softly, like it's a challenge.

⭑

you threaten to quit that night. you don't, of course. because the next morning, you wake up to a trending video of sae at practice gently helping a kid tie their cleats. the caption reads: "Maybe he's not so icy after all?"

you stare at your screen, stunned. was it intentional? and then a text pings from him.

sae: better? + attached photo of him with his bangs down

you stare. you're going to scream.

⭑

(two weeks later)

you're standing backstage at a sponsorship event, briefing him one last time before he goes live.

"no sarcasm," you say, ticking things off on your clipboard. "smile. thank the brand. don't call the ceo's shoes ugly."

"they are though."

"don't care."

he sighs. you glance up, only to realize he's already looking at you. not the room or the stage, you.

and his hair? bangs down.

you blink.

"you did it again," you said.

"what?"

"you put your bangs down."

he smirks. "why wouldn't i?"

"because you hate them."

"i don't hate them. i just didn't care."

"until now?"

he shrugs. "you like them."

you stare at him, chest tightening. and then he leans in just enough for only you to hear.

"by the way," he murmurs, voice low, "if i score in the next game.. i'll point to the camera, is that okay?."

your brows furrow. "do what you want."

"okay, i'll say it's for the 'cutest manager in the league.'"

you don't can't respond. you're frozen in place, clipboard limp at your side, face on fire. and he just walks away, grinning.

imagine he doesn't score

© mixolya 2025. do not copy, remake or edit any of my works.

[kokii-omii]

So what is Rin and Idia’s relationship like pre and post book 6, also if you don’t mind me asking, how is she with ortho?

Idia and Rin didn't even talk a lot before book 6 but they have had a few encounters with each other

aside from orientation, they first met irl at sam's shop because they had new stocks of a recent manga idia liked (it's Rin's manga but he doesn't know) he read it online but he still wanted a physical copy of it

Rin works at sam's shop and was stocking up on her own manga, their anxieties were battling each other

he ended up leaving with all the first volume of her manga even though he was there for the 6th volume, and that was the first and last time they ever met because Idia got so embarrassed he didn't wanna show his face there ever again

so he lets Ortho go and buy the volumes for him now,

meaning Rin spoke with ortho way more than she did with Idia pre book 6 and she loves speaking with Ortho she doesn't get anxious when she's talking to him unlike her interaction with idia, but while they never spoke IRL after that interaction at sam's store

they spoke a lot to each other online as "Gloomurai" and "SuzuBell" and yapped about their fav manga and anime almost every day

and this was their last convo before the whole Tartarus thing happened

(and yes i used discord because i wanted it to be accurate)

little did they know that they were talking about him