#….oh and this ^^ this is pretty stupid-funny too

[p1astr81]

hey!! sooo i’ve been reading your shots and are absolutely amazing, anddd while i read i was listening to “cindy lou who” by sabrina carpenter so i literally run here.

what about a one shot when Osc and reader had broken up a while ago and then Oscar is dating someone new (could be lily idk) but they kind of miss each other and they met again on a paddock so she’s probably a model and guess by some brand but like everything is about the song.

maybe some smut and idk… thank you sm hope you like it 🧡

I couldn’t talk bad on Lily sooooo I gave him a new gf named Gia🙈

warnings: smut 18+, alcohol, intoxicated sex, everyone is lowkey morally wrong

You attended the Silverstone Grand Prix with Armani and Ferrari. The podium was made up of Oscar, Lewis, and Charles. In that order.

In order to celebrate, Charles—or really Alex—dragged you out to a club. You complained, but really, you needed this. Needed every shot that was shoved into your hands.

Seeing Oscar on the podium had really fucked you up. You knew you missed him, but didn’t expect how much it would ache to see him again.

It wasn’t long until you were walking around on wobbly legs, looking through blurred vision. You pushed through the masses of people, bumping shoulders with one too many of them until you ran into the back of someone else.

You giggled, a loose hand around the man’s toned bicep. “Sorry! I didn’t-“ You gasped when he turned around, hand falling to your side.

Oscar. Out partying. And… drunk by the looks of it.

“Hey, you look nice! I thought I saw you when I was up on the podium. And then I told myself I was hallucinating because, well, why the fuck would you be here? But I guess I wasn’t hallucinating because here you are!”

That’s one thing you forgot about him. How talkative he gets when drunk.

Your head hurt. And it wasn’t just because of the lights and music and the multiple shots you’d downed. Your brain was reeling, mind running wild. He never got this drunk. Tipsy on occasion. But never drunk. Not unless he felt a reason to, and winning wasn’t within his reasonings. “You’re drunk.” Was all you could manage. A quiet, vocal observation.

“Yup!” He grinned, the expression lopsided. “And so are you! Look at that, united in our drunkness.” His laugh was bubbly, but underlined with something not as light.

You should walk away. Turn your back on him and forget you ever saw him. But you could see it shining in his eyes. Something was wrong. Your frown was comical. “Something is up. What is it?”

His grin faltered. It was still there just not as strong. “You still care. I miss that.” He reminisced. “You used to always check up on me at least once a day, and made sure I was okay.” The last of his grin fell. “She doesn’t do that.”

“You don’t get to say that. You broke up with me.” You shook your head, finding the sense in you to walk away.

But he followed. “I know. And I regret it every day. I wake up wishing you were next to me. Wishing I could call you.”

You whipped around, losing your balance for a moment. “You can’t say that! You have a girlfriend!” You hissed, though you knew his filter was flushed down the toilet three drinks ago.

“I know, but Gia, she’s not like you. She-”

“She’s pretty and looks nice and everyone loves her and you look happy with her!”

He shook his head. “I’m not. She’s been ignoring me all week. I don’t know why. And the last two weeks when she wasn’t ignoring me, she was short with me. That’s why I’m here, why I have this stupid cocktail in my hand.” He took a sip from it. “Get drunk and forget about it.”

“Oh,” You sighed and stepped toward him. “I feel much less guilty about missing you now. I thought you guys were so in love. Looked it to me.”

He stepped closer, too. Your chests were centimeters apart. “I couldn’t.” He whispered, hand finding one of your own. Finger danced together before intertwining. “Not when I still love you.”

The thing about alcohol is that it does funny things to people’s brains. It’s like an infection, but brought upon and welcomed by the infected. It eats at the logical part of your brain until there’s nothing but spontaneity.

It’s how Oscar ended up single again. One short text to end four months. And it’s how you ended up in Oscar’s hotel room, underneath him.

“Didn’t- fuck, didn’t realize how much I missed you.” He sighed as he slipped fully inside of you.

You gasped and giggled. “Missed me or missed fucking me?” It wasn’t a real question, more of a jape to tease him. Your fingers tangled in the nape of his neck, tugging gently.

A breathy laugh. His forehead fell to yours. eyelashes batted against each other. “Is it bad if I say both?”

Another giggle from you. “I don’t know, but I really need you to move.” You shifted your hips, the small movement drawing another gasp from your lungs.

Fascinatingly, he was so caught up in you that he’d completely blocked out the tight squeeze of your cunt. “Fuck, right.” He breathed, bracing his arms on either side of your head.

He starts to move. Slow thrusts paired with shaky breaths. His reach inside you, the stretch, it’s all so sweet. He lays a hand on your hip. He doesn’t dig his fingers in or use your hip as leverage. He just trails his hand along your side. Soft. Familiar.

“Still feel so, fuck, so incredible.” He whimpered, pressing his forehead into yours. “Your skin… still so soft.” His fingers danced along your thigh and hip and stomach. His thrusts lacked rhythm and were lazy, sloppy. Neither of you found it in you to care. He whimpered again. “Fucking shit, you’re so tight around me.”

Your eyes were closed, chest heaving. “Forgot what it’s like.” You gasped. “How- hmm, full i feel.” You tugged on his hair harder, your other hand digging nails into his shoulder.

He tried to kiss you, but only caught your top lip. Still kissing you, he laughed, the sound so bubbly and giddy.

“Oscar,” you sighed. It made him feel light headed and nostalgic in a way. Spurred him on.

His thrusts got sloppier as he sped up. The bed creaked, your moans got louder, his joining yours. “So fucking good.” He gasped, actually on the verge of tears over the amount of stimulation lighting up his body.

His name fell from your lips again in a breathy moan, and then again, more high pitched this time. “I’m- please, make me cum”

The desperation in your voice did something to him. Added to the pleasure buzzing through his body. “Keep, ngh, keep talking.” He gasped, trying to keep his pace up. He was right there with you.

“Please, Oscar! You make me feel so good, so full! I’m so close, make me cum, cum with me, stuff me full!”

A whimper of your name rolled off his tongue as he came. Your own orgasm was triggered, and you moaned his name into his open mouth.

He continued with slow thrusts until it became too much. Pulling out, small noises left both of your mouths. He laid down next to you, wrapping his arms around you when you curled up in his chest.

He cursed after a moment, and got up. “What is it?” You asked. He didn’t answer, just disappeared into the bathroom. The sound of water running, then he returned with a cloth. “Aw, always so kind.” You cooed, half teasing.

He didn’t answer, only kissed you.

[bambisnc]

      𝖮𝖮𝖯𝖲 !   % luggage mix-ups&cute strangers

            ST✮RRING───𝗡.𝓡𝗞 ୨୧ 2566 && 𝐖. crackfic wigs implied frozen 1 slander jake + jungwon mentioned lilo&stitch mentioned sunghoon & minju appearance as airport staff reader wears glasses + likes sanrio

ㅤ𝖤𝑋𝖳𝖱𝖠 ㅤ ( > ㅅ < ) ㅤ i really went ALL out for this >< my longest drabble yet! thank you to mana for emotional support during my many crashouts, and shoutout tewww juni, koi, lilly for listening to me yap about my idea and mi + ai for semi proofreading ! i love ygs big time MWAH

                  check out my other account ! 𝖢𝘓𝗂𝖢𝖪     ᰈ̠ 𝖭𝘈𝖵𝗂

after getting off of a terribly long and otherwise unpleasant flight, all you really want is to grab your luggage, find a cab back home and face-plant into your comfy, cosy bed. and then stay there for a minimum of 15 hours.

it was the only thing keeping you going, really.

but of course, the universe has other plans for you. 

you should’ve caught on to that, from how suspicious it was that as soon as you reached baggage claim … by some stroke of luck, you spotted your suitcase immediately. 

oh, joy! for once, you wouldn’t have to stand like an idiot for an odd 25 minutes, watching various pieces of luggage roll out on the conveyor belt, moving so slowly that it was almost mocking. 

with a quick internal cheer, you’d rushed to grab the handle of the bag. 

… only for another hand to also be picking the same suitcase up?

oh! you get it. the stranger who you’ve now appraised with a quick glance (really tall, sharp features and nice hair) is just helping you out!

maybe there is good in the world, after all!

you flash him a quick smile, ready to thank him for being so nice, but really, you can handle the suitcase on your own,—before a scowl takes over his pretty features. 

okay. rude. 

hot people should not be allowed to look that annoyed and still be attractive. 

“i’d really appreciate it if you’d stop trying to steal my luggage,” he tells you, the words forced out through grit teeth. 

you find yourself sympathizing with him for a minute, the slight bags under his eyes quite telling of a rough flight.

but no. you’ve had a difficult flight too.

you’ve had to listen to a toddler whine about why frozen 2 is better than the first one for the greater part of 3 hours (who honestly did have some good points, if you really think about it). 

you’ve had to deal with some stupid 13 year old who kept reclining his seat farther and farther back (and after you politely told her to stop, she stuck her tongue out at you. the audacity.) 

and the worst of all. 

the guy seated next to you kept trying to get you to invest in his potential cult / pyramid marketing scheme for yak fur wigs. 

you kept telling him you were broke but you’re quite sure he didn’t even listen to one word you said. especially because when your flight landed he handed you a business card, which was just as sketchy as his description of his business that was about to “take the world by a storm.”

so, no. fuck being nice. you simply do not have the energy for that right now. 

“right,” you say, in a voice equally as strained, “that’s funny, because this happens to be mine. maybe try actually, oh, i don’t know, looking at it before you accuse me of “stealing” my own luggage.”

at that, the man’s scowl deepens. he tugs the suitcase towards him once, the movement sharp, and you almost fall right into his chest. but you manage to stop yourself right in time. 

all those tiktok balancing exercises—which you did only out of peer pressure from creators who insisted that if you scrolled away without dropping a follow and stretching your limbs as they were doing in the video, it would be nothing short of catastrophic—must be finally coming into use. 

“my vision is completely fine. 20/20, in fact.” he says smugly, with obvious disdain towards your own glasses. 

how dare he hold your bad eyesight against you like that. 

this means war. 

“clearly it’s not,” you slide the suitcase back towards your own figure. “because this is mine. good luck finding your own though! may i suggest paying ‘Lost & Found’ a quick visit?”

mr. stranger scoffs at that. loudly. “you can’t really think MY suitcase is yours.”

“well, yes, unless this is actually opposite world wherein your suitcase ALSO has a huge dent at the bottom from where it hit the edge of MY dressing table 5 days ago.”

“you have got to be kidding me.” he sighs, looking tired. the AUDACITY. “i know that dent. that dent is there because jungwon dropped the bag out of my balcony last month, and it slammed right into jake’s remote controlled drone.”

“a drone. really.”

“it’s … a long story.”

“i’m sure it is. i fully believe that happened.” you earnestly say, nodding along with your own words, “jake and jungwon are totally real people and you definitely put a lot of thought into that lie.”

“they are real people, dammit. and i’m not lying.” 

you blink up, the picture of innocence. “but y’sound awfully defensive for someone who’s so sure he’s right …”

that does it. his jaw tightens. “okay listen here, you—” mr.stranger’s face has flushed an angry cherry shade by now, and you have to bite back laughter at the image. 

but thankfully, right before the situation can elevate to a physical comic book-esque fight over the suitcase in question, a third party finally interrupts. 

what looks to be a rather, harassed looking airport assistance staff member appears in front of you with a bright, if slightly worried exclamation, “sir! madam!’ 

her voice is breathless, slightly shaky with effort, “we’ve been getting constant complaints from the elderly lady over there–she, um, says you’ve been blocking the conveyor belt.” 

you glance behind. and sure enough, a crowd of mildly entertained but mostly frustrated passengers stares back. 

“i believe the two of you have something to work out regarding that suitcase?” the assistant prods gently, “i could direct you towards the airport authorities, if you’d like?”

“there’s no dispute here!” you pipe up, confidently. “i’ll just be on my way with my suitcase, thank you though!” 

you turn around ready to leave, hoping mr.stranger (you should maybe consider asking for his name, at some point) has forgotten about thinking your suitcase was his. 

you almost walk away. almost. but right then, his hand grips onto your wrist, effectively stopping you. 

“just a minute, doll.” his tone is lowered in what you assume is annoyance in a way that, embarrassingly, sends a shiver down your spine, “there’s just one small problem. that suitcase is still very much mine.”

“fuck off, you very well know this isn’t yours?!”

the assistant raises her hands placatingly, “alright, alright—let’s all calm down here. i really suggest going to the .. baggage authorities.” her tone clearly emphasizes that it wasn’t a “suggestion” at all.

you and mr.stranger, suddenly feeling slightly conscious, exchange a glance and unanimously decide to comply. 

soon enough, you’re taken into the office by her and presented to a uniformed man behind the counter. 

he takes one look at you and mr. stranger, gaze squinted in silent scrutiny. the practiced customer smile that he directs towards you soon after is only slightly forced.

“another 320LMAO, is it minju?,” he asks the assistant, tone dry and oozing of boredom. “not one day goes by without one of these. i’m getting too old for this shit.”

“you’re 22, sunghoon.”

“i meant metaphorically. obviously. get with the times, minju.”

“do your job, sunghoon.”

sunghoon grumbles at that. he takes an additional 10 whole minutes to stare at you and mr.stranger, respectively, before wordlessly beckoning for the suitcase. 

mr.stranger obliges, sliding it towards him with a weirdly unnecessary flair. 

“as much as i’d hate to interrupt the .. uh,  proceedings” he begins, “... what exactly is a 320LMAO?”

minju the assistant sighs and mutters something under her breath which sounds a suspicious amount like here we go again. completely contrasting her demeanour, sunghoon’s face lights up like he’s been waiting years for someone to ask.

“it’s code, actually! lingo for the cool, hip airport guys, if you will—Luggage Misidentified Again Ohmygod. LMAO. and the 320 is there because minju said it’d sound more official like that.” 

minju looks like she’d rather be anywhere else at the moment and flusters around for a second or two before gesturing something towards her phone and all but booking it out of the room.

so, basically, you and YOUR suitcase are totally in good hands. 

“... and so, finally, after 6 days and 23 whole hours we were able to find that battered, orange warrior of a suitcase.” .. sunghoon’s still talking, rather passionately now, about what you’re assuming are the origins of 320LMAO, “and ever since that day, this beloved code has been put in place. thinking about the story gives me chills. literal chills.”

when will this be over? you just want to go home, for god’s sake. with a sideways glance towards mr.stranger, you catch a glimpse of his incredulous expression at sunghoon’s story and let slip a giggle. 

he turns to look at you upon hearing your little laugh, and his own tensed features finally give way to a slight smirk. you almost let bygones be bygones due to the sheer reason that he looks … really pretty now that you’re really looking at him. 

you can always get a new suitcase, yeah? might as well let him have this one!

“you’re not even listening.” is sunghoon the official … pouting at you and mr.stranger? “oh. i get it. too busy having your little romcom moment to listen to the greatest story of all time.” 

a sound not unlike a strangled half-choke, half-cough leaves mr. stranger, “excuse me? we’re really not—”

“whatever. you wouldn’t it get it, anyway. let’s get this over with.” the official crouches down huffily, unzips the suitcase and flips the lid open in a way that only reveals the contents to himself. “woah.”

???

“i need each of you to state some things you had packed in your luggage.” he says, eyes flashing with a hint of amusement. 

your my melody makeup bag. a blue cinnamoroll themed polaroid camera. one kuromi plushie. you oblige this information with zero hesitation. you’re proud of your sanrio obsession. who could even say one singular bad thing about something so whimsical and cute and joy-giving?

sunghoon nods slowly. 

mr.stranger says he has a chrome hearts hoodie, a new pair of headphones and .. one kuromi plushie. for his younger sister. interesting.

sunghoon nods, facial expression betraying nothing. he’d be really good at poker, you find yourself thinking, right as he clears his throat and makes his verdict, “... well. i don’t even know what to say. you guys can just .. have a look inside, i guess.”

very professional.

however, you both lean in as soon as he words out the sentence, eager to finally, finally put an end to this.

there’s a pause. all you can really do is stare.

“... what the hell?” mr.stranger mumbles, tone so unbelieving and full of wonder it elicits a snort from sunghoon.

you blink. once, twice. 

the shock of plain, mousy brown that greets you from the inside stares back resolutely. 

the suitcase appears to be full of … wigs? 

you really hope they are wigs.

sunghoon uses one gloved finger to daintily edge away a few of the .. wigs .. present at the surface to reveal … 

… what looks to be a gorgeously painted porcelain sink (yes like the one where you do the washing), exactly 2 and a half bowling pins (one of them being somehow broken vertically) and a metal case. 

which on further investigation turns out to be filled with miniature replicas of medieval weaponry. 

oh, and, one life sized victorian era accurate crown. 

“so?” the official prods, “whose is it, then?”

“that … is definitely not mine.” you immediately say, only for mr.stranger to exclaim in a way that overlaps with yours completely.

“uh. yeah, no, same.” he adds, stepping back like the suitcase might be infectious.

the deadpan expression on sunghoon’s face says everything he’s probably too polite to actually voice out. but thankfully, minju—your life saving grace, an angel from the heavens,your .. knight in shining armor, even—peeks into the room right at the moment.

“sunghoon. emergency. a child has climbed on top of the “lilo & stitch” display and won’t get down. he says frozen 2 is the superior movie and demands to meet olaf.”

“againnn?” said man whines, “i’m so over this shit, ugh.” but after a quick little tantrum he does eventually leave the room, grumbling out a short “don’t touch anything” to you and mr.stranger.

obviously, you and mr.stranger unanimously decide to touch everything.

in the suitcase, that is.

aside from the wigs. obviously.

“hey, mr.stranger guy—”

“??? it’s nishimura riki.”

“that, yes. this crown looks like it’d be the perfect size for you. that’s suspicious. are you sure the suitcase isn’t yours?”

riki squints at you, then looks disdainfully down at the crown in your hands. “…not my style. and more importantly, i wouldn’t be caught dead with those … wigs … ever. my hair is very natural, thank you very much.”

you burst out laughing at that; maybe the hours of travelling induced sleep deprivation is finally catching up to you. riki rolls his eyes, the corner of his lips twitching upwards at your reaction.

both of you sink down to the floor in front of the open bag, knees just about brushing. 

“what’s their story, do you think? whoever this suitcase belongs to.” you wonder aloud, after a beat. 

“hm. i’d say they were a member of royalty with a deep love for waffles, bowling and plumbing. and a family history of male pattern baldness. just a guess.”

 “or,” you begin solemnly, “someone pulling a medieval-themed heist … against a bowling league. the waffles were a heist snack and the sink was a spoil of the battle. a sign of our guy’s victory, if you will.”

riki nods in agreement, not even trying to hide his smile anymore, and it’s a little too successful in disarming you for someone who called you a thief merely minutes ago. “that makes perfect sense.”

you find yourself grinning back despite yourself. “come to think of it … this one guy on the plane was trying to recruit me as an investor in his yak wig business …”

exactly on cue, the office door creaks open by some divine intervention and you see outside the following events happen in rapid succession : 

sunghoon, attempting to wrestle off a child who is resolutely clinging onto a “Stitch” from “Lilo & Stitch” cardboard cutout while simultaneously trying to reason with a man (is that mr.yak wig business seller himself?) and assure him that the airport staff are doing everything they can to find his precious suitcase.

and then telling him that no, sunghoon will not be investing in his business because frankly, it sounds like a pyramid scheme.

neither you nor nishimura riki think to put an end to the sheer chaos outside by simply telling the yak wig business man that his suitcase is, in fact, right here.

because, honestly, you couldn't care less about the suitcase anymore. let the airport staff figure that one out themselves.

you’re a bit too caught up having your little romcom moment with riki, after all. oops.

but hey, at least you’ll have a good laugh about all this at the coffee date he’s just asked you to tomorrow! ^-^

𐙚 . regulars : @chrrific @jessxxxfwd @evanesceki @soobundle1009 @weedatthegasstattion @flipitkickit @douqhnxtss @soona-huh @amoressb @nicholasluvbot @manariee @rinrinninnin @ddeonuswife @douqhnxtss @lovenha7 @amatariki @i-am-not-dal @liyahhhh620 @elleetlalune @eunwonji @s0shroe @wensurr @unhakies @starniras @calabaeri @athenaisonlinee @weepingsweep @itsactuallylina ⋆

[ 𝑓𝗋𝑜𝗆 陰 ] : my longest drabble yet .. possibly my longest piece of writing in general ... my magnum opus, my baby, my child. i live love laugh this drabble. hi.

ㅤㅤㅤ© BAMBiSNC ♡ 2025

[cosmicstxrdust]

My thoughts on the HTTYD la film since everyone apparently ✨loved✨ it so much 🙄

It's not good. Don't get me wrong— it's not terrible, but I wouldn't see it again unless you paid me like $50. It was just a scene-for-scene remake, but not even that— they took out one of the most important scenes! You know the one where the Terrible Terrors are trying to steal Hiccup's fish and then fight each other for it? Where he says "you're not so fireproof on the inside, are you?" It's not just some throwaway line; it's literally how he gets the idea to kill the Red Death! And they cut it from the la so it's just like "oh yeah, I came up with this plan by ✨magic✨." Not only that, but they never revisited the "you just gestured to all of me" scene. They included the first one but not the one at the end of the film where it shows that Stoick accepted Hiccup for who he was!! They cut a bunch of other good/funny lines too.

Oh, and speaking of lines— you know when Hiccup is about to fight the Monstrous Nightmare and asks Astrid to protect Toothless if anything goes wrong? Yeah, well, he doesn't really care about Toothless anymore!! All he cares about is Astrid and how his dad's view of her will change if she helps him 🙄

And then there's the characterization. Don't even get me started on the characterization. Everyone's so watered down that they're basically unrecognizable. And guess what?? Astrid and Ruffnut are— get this— best friends!! Which basically negates the whole arc of them trying to get along in RTTE! Ruffnut's way too gentle and she's all about 'girl power' in the obvious 'trying too hard' way (like they were putting it in there just to say they did.) Not to mention the stupid name they have for dragon training 'trial of fire' or whatever it was. Just call it dragon training!!!

On top of that, apparently chiefdom is a democracy now?? Because Astrid was like 'I'm gonna be chief one day.' 

Finally, there's the cgi. Sure, Toothless looks pretty good. Even Stormfly and Hookfang do, too. But Meatlug was done so dirty that she just looks like an overgrown grape/blue hippo pretty much. Not to mention in all the flying scenes (especially romantic flight), I could 100% tell that that there was a green screen behind them and a wind machine blowing in their face to make it look like they were 'flying.'

I hate how hyped everyone is for a mediocre film. I think it's due to a mix of not having good la until this average one, plus the nostalgia factor. But if they were to take a good look at it, they'd not be so over the moon about it anymore.

[worshipandtribute]

in honor of me getting a kitten, its time for..

nikityom as cat-dads :3

Artyom tries his best to keep the camera centered, but something keeps pushing at his ankle. He does his best to ignore it, focusing on his friend who's cutting up the body of a person they killed. Soon enough the pushing at his ankle frustrates him, he looks down and is greeted by a kitten.

He clicks the camera off, setting it on the ground next to his feet and quickly getting Nikita's attention. “Check it out.” He leans down and grabs the kitten gently, pinching at the skin on the back of its neck and watching it go limp.

“Do you wanna?..” Nikita gives him a worried look, doing his best to force a smile. He was desperately hoping Artyom would say no. He was barely sure he could get himself to do something like that.

Hearing the poor thing meow in such high pitch didn't help either.

“Hell no! Look at the thing.” Artyom stood closer to nikita, using both hands to hold the kitten in a more gentle nature.

Standing there, the blonde cradled the kitten in his arms as if it were a child, all while leaning against Nikita.

The two boys made eye contact after looking at the sweet little animal in the other's arms, acknowledging the little game of "house" they were playing.

“Okay, good, because i really didnt want to.” Nikita responded, and they both broke out in laughter, making their way to the blonde's house.

ฅ⁠^⁠•⁠ﻌ⁠•⁠^⁠ฅ

“The soap, kitja, hurry!” Artyom leaned back as he held the kitten inside the bathtub, he himself hissing at the pain of the little guy scratching up his arms.

“Alright, alright, sorry!” Nikita squeezed the bottle over the kitten, soap pouring onto its pretty grey fur.

“Don't let it fuck you up too bad, you've already got enough scars on your wrists!” Nikita nudged the other. “Don't make me push you into the water with this cat, man.” The other joked as laughter filled the small bathroom.

They heard the door to the apartment open and click shut, making both their eyes widen as they made eye contact with fear.

“Artyom, i swear, if you've brought some kind of animal into my house, I'll kick you and the thing out. You can both be strays!” His mother angrily called out from the living room, making the two boys hold in their laughter until their faces turned blue.

the kitten's nails scratching the tub must've been a giveaway..

Bathed, dressed in a small collar, and fed the cheapest cat food they could get, the kitten was happy in its new home. Even if it had two sub-par fathers.

The two stood over the little thing, watching as its belly rose and fell as it slept on the jumble of sheets and fluffy blankets they had put together.

“who knew you were such a good mom, nikita.” Artyom smirked, patting the other on the back in a teasing manner.

“who said i was the mom?! You're more of a woman than me, with that pretty hair of yours!” He whispered, yet trying to seem as if he were screaming.

They both did their best to not wake the cat up, scream-whispering at each other like the pair of idiots they were.

“You think my hair is pretty?” Artyom chuckled, but it was a genuine question, he didn't find anything funny. His face was dusted pink from ear to ear, making eye contact with nikita and watching as he avoided doing so.

He turned to the other, arms wrapping around his lower waist. “Well, now.. I didn't mean to—” Artyom cut him off with a chuckle, pressing his forehead against his and closing his eyes. “don't make yourself look stupid, kita.”

Trying to change the subject as he wrapped his arms around Artyom, he turned his head and looked down at the kitten. “What should we name it?” He asked, artyom leaning his head onto Nikita's chest.

“kita.”

“Yeah, what?"

“No, idiot! We should name the cat kita.”

“Oh.. But won't that get confusing?” Nikita questioned, giving the other a confused look.

“Nah. It'll be fine.” Artyom smiled, pulling away from the other and placing a quick kiss to his cheek.

/⁠ᐠ⁠｡⁠ꞈ⁠｡⁠ᐟ⁠\

The cat mainly stayed at Artyom's house, but the two spent just as much time with the kitty as normal. Eventually, the cat was very attached to both of them. They'd occasionally joke about being the favorite, but in reality, the cat loved them both dearly.

When they'd make music in Artyom's room, kitty-kita would scurry away from the screaming as fast as he could.

At night, the kitty would sleep between the two. Artyom made jokes about them possibly crushing the poor thing by accident, but that never happened.

As the two would lay in bed together— clothes discarded for whatever reason— and the cat would jump on top of them and walk across their chests. The cold pads of its paws making them both giggle like little kids.

This kitten, this small, dependent being, was singlehandedly healing their relationship. They were very clearly happier ever since the kitten had waltzed into their lives, it was one of the only reasons their mothers allowed them to keep it.

my kitties!

[sunlightfeeling]

ossan takuya fucking losing it over tsuyoshi’s member color being curry

[faunandfloraas]

Obsessed with people still acting like seungmin's getting special treatment because song by exists, despite the fact the format has been massively cut down so atp it's just a video of a live cover and... literally what does him making a live cover vid every couple of months have to do with div1 fumbling lee knows gucci deal? They also fumbled chan + givenchy and jeongin + Alexander mcqueen, unless somehow these are also seungmins fault.

Also div1 also fumbled seungmin + loewe so lmao

[razzle-zazzle]

My favorite flavor of teen to young adult creek is when they're so down bad for each other that it makes them insane. Stupid, even.

[actual-corpse]

きみとそらをとぶ　/ feat. 初音ミク & 巡音ルカ

Y'all... why does this give me intense nostalgia for a time I know I can never get back to?

Like... That's THE Pokémon song! The one you hear at the end of your journey. The one that makes you wanna go back to your mom and show her your Pokémon badges.

I really do love Pokémon lol. I love the games even though I hate battling. I'm actually in the process of trying to complete my Pokedex in Let's Go! Eevee, before I build my dream team for the Elite Four. I love my Eevee, I named her after my cat (as you do).

Idk... I'm tired, and in pain, and in my feelings about this song.

[misiahasahardname]

i found a photo of me in the hospital after my first seizure and i am wearing the most HORRENDOUS combination of clothing imaginable 😭😭

thinking of redrawing it with mikey because epileptic 2012 mikey is real

[marklikely]

how many gd horror origin prequels do we need im half expecting a new movie about freddy kreugers childhood or something to come out in a month

[lurkiestvoid]

I just realized DST happened apparently?? And also my birthday is this month (fuck). I will not be announcing the date and hopefully will not be mentioning it again other than this One (1) Time bc it fills me with conflicting feelings of Dread and Longing so instead I prefer to just forget the whole concept. one day a year

[microwavetoaster-selfships]

Just now realized I wonder if Leland's last name has subconsciously been influencing my opinion of him. I mean, most the Cars characters have last names that are puns in some capacity or some sort of trait(I mean we literally have Finn. McMissile. Over here.) But Leland is just. Leland Turbo. Finn's last name is important to his caricature(er- his weaponry at least), Rod's last name is Redline, which is related to the type of car he is but also I think a bit of his personality as well, I wonder what Leland's is about.

Though, alternatively, this also simultaneously makes me even more curious about Grem and Acer, cause I understand they are technically villain thugs who's most of their role is sort of reduced to "reoccurring bad-guys so kids can keep up with knowing who we say you should root against because it's the same guys", veryyy few of the character's don't have full names. And some have full names that just aren't ever used in the movies but they exist. I mean, *every single* racer in every movie has a full nams, and all the ones from the first Cars movie(and a couple future ones) have backgrounds as well. And I mean every little background racer that you see on the track for five seconds. They got a full name. So it's interesting that Grem and Acer are just lackies that don't have one. I could maybe drag Professor Z into this but for some reason it feels more understandable to have a revealed last name and not a first name, and he's.. Zündapp. Then again. Grem and Acer are wanted in about every continent, so it probably isn't too far fetched if these are just nicknames that they sort of built up into aliases.

I may or may not have done another thing of the tags were supposed to be two sentences but now they've turned into two paragraphs again.

[connormoving]

my toxic trait is that i forget that i was still a child after turning like. 12 or something

[tojishousewife]

cw - light anal stuff, “just the tip”, ddlg reader

Your brain’s all gooey and blank in that warm, stupid way you get when you’re ovulating and so full of that buzzy, needy ache that you don’t know where to put it. You’re laying on your tummy, legs kicked up with your ass arched at him just the way he likes, little cotton panties tugged down to your knees to expose your tight holes.

You’re so warm back there. Puffy and twitchy and extra sensitive, your poor little hole fluttering at him like it’s begging for attention. You feel it every time you move—a tingling little throb that tickles in the worst, best way, deep in your belly.

“Tojiii,” you whimper, turning to look over your shoulder at him with glossy eyes. “It tickles... back there. It’s making me feel weird”.

Toji hums while kneeling behind you, big hands spreading your plushy cheeks apart. “Yeah? Right here?” he murmurs, dragging a warm thumb down the crease of your ass, letting it trace slowly around your rim.

You wiggle, shivering a little from his touch. “Mhm... it won’t stop twitching. Feels like something’s supposed to be there”.

And oh, he loves it when you get like this. All desperate and drooly and too dumb to be embarrassed. His sweet girl with her voice all high and broken, asking him to touch places she barely understands.

“I know what you need,” he mutters, reaching down to stroke himself, his cock already fat and flushed, the head leaking just from the sight of your cute asshole twitching open for him.

���Just the tip, please?” you ask in your softest voice, burying your face in the sheets. “Wanna feel it kissing my hole. Wanna know what it feels like”.

He groans, grabbing your hips and lining up behind you. “You’re so fucking cute, baby. Gonna let daddy play with your pretty hole?”

You nod eagerly, gasping when the thick, warm head of his cock presses up against your excited rim—not pushing in, just resting there. You clench instinctively, like your hole’s trying to suck him in.

“Shh, easy there,” Toji croons, holding you steady as he rocks his hips just a little, letting his tip rub slow, lazy circles over your puckering rim. Not fucking in—just dragging the head along the puffy ring, smearing pre-cum all over the twitchy little muscle.

You moan, long and soft and needy. “Feels funny, daddy...”

“I know, sweetheart,” he breathes, his voice hoarse with need. “Your little hole’s all fluttery, huh? Can feel it sucking at me”

He leans forward and spits right on your hole, watches it glistens then rubs his tip in the mess, sliding back and forth, letting it smear in slow, wet strokes.

You squirm like it tickles—like every tiny shift of his cock makes your thighs tremble. “Feels good but it’s making me wiggle,” you whimper. “Like my belly’s tickly inside…..”

Toji groans low, gripping the fat of your ass tighter. “That’s ‘cause it’s needy, baby. Your little backdoor wants daddy’s cock, doesn’t it? Wants to be stretched real nice ‘n slow”.

“Just a lil’ bit,” you breathe. “Wanna feel the head pop in...”

He obliges—just barely. He lets the swollen head press in until your hole stretches wide around it, only the plump tip sinking in snug and tight, and you cry at how it feels. So full already and so hot, the stretch making your whole body twitch.

“Good girl,” he whispers, not moving yet, just letting your greedy hole flutter and squeeze around the head possessively. “Look how it hugs me. Feels better now, doesn’t it?”

You nod with a whimper, clutching the sheets, as your back arches like you’re trying to pull him in deeper. “Don’t take it out yet,” you beg. “It stops the tickles when it’s in there”

“Yeah?” he smirks, rubbing his thumb over your back while his cockhead sits heavy and pulsing inside your rim. “Then we’ll keep it there, baby. You just be a good girl and let daddy plug you up nice ‘n gentle”.

[kthologue]

the bet — jason todd

synopsis. it’s harder to keep your relationship with jason a secret from the world's greatest detectives than you thought. (3 times each wayne family member tries to prove that you and jason are together and 1 time they actually do.)

notes. ooc. tooth. rotting. fluff. like 3k words of it and im sick. my first time writing for jason ever yay!

“You know, if you stare any harder, you might actually burn a hole through her head.”

Dick’s teasing voice slices through the comfortable silence between the two brothers, save for the distant sirens and the low hum of Gotham’s never-ending nightlife below them. They’re perched on a rooftop across from an upscale bar, the neon sign casting a soft glow on their suits. Through the massive glass windows, you sit at the bar, leaning in with an easy, disarming laugh as the suspect, some sleazy drug trafficker falls right into your trap.

Jason, crouched beside Dick with his elbows on his knees, grumbles beneath his mask. “I’m not staring.”

Dick lets out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “Right. Then I must be hallucinating.”

“I thought we got you checked out for that already,” Jason shoots back, his voice sharp.

Dick winces, placing a dramatic hand over his heart. “Low blow.”

“It was pretty funny.”

Dick doesn’t argue, just settles into a knowing silence, watching as Jason’s hand unconsciously flexes against the holster at his hip.

Jason exhales through his nose, his jaw ticking. “I don’t understand why she has to flirt to get intel. We could just beat the answers out of these guys. Hell, we’d probably get it faster.”

The older vigilante shakes his head. “Yeah, because nothing says ‘covert op’ like bashing heads through walls.” His voice is light, but his eyes flicker to the way Jason’s fingers tighten around the grip of his gun. “Relax. Your sweetheart can handle herself.”

Jason freezes, but only for a fraction of a second. His heart, though, does that annoying thing where it skips a beat, both traitorous and stupid.

Your sweetheart.

Not that anyone knew. Not that anyone could know. As much as he wanted to grab you by the waist and kiss you breathless after missions, he wasn’t about to hand his family more ammunition for their relentless teasing.

Dick, for one, was proving exactly why this relationship stayed a secret.

The silence should have been Jason’s first warning. The way Dick just sits there, absently swinging a batarang between his fingers, watching the bar with an all-too-pleased expression.

“You know,” Dick hums, as if lost in thought, “it’s important to let that special someone know how you feel. Your twin flame. That one person you’ve been pining over since– oh, I don’t know, your youth.”

Jason doesn’t move.

Dick pauses for dramatic effect, then casually props his chin in his hand, his gaze flicking to Jason. A slow grin tugs at his lips.

“Hm. You’re blushing.”

Jason’s breath stills. His eyes snap to Dick, but his head remains stubbornly forward.

“I am not blushing.” His voice is gritted steel. “And I haven’t been pining over her for that long.”

Dick tilts his head, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Huh. Funny.” He leans back with an exaggerated stretch. “I never said who.”

Jason’s fists clench.

Damn it.

His mask covered his whole damn face. There was no way Dick could have seen a blush, no way he could have known.

Jason grits his teeth as realization dawns.

He walked right into that.

Like a lovesick fool.

The next time Jason’s nearly caught is at one of Bruce’s galas.

Jason had grumbled and rolled his eyes when you insisted on attending—something about not wanting to spend the night in a “stuffy ass ballroom pretending to care about Gotham’s elite.” You had countered that it was for a good cause, something you actually cared about, and that Bruce would appreciate the support. Begrudgingly, he agreed.

But, of course, he couldn’t just let you go without making things complicated.

“Matching colors,” Tim observes, arms crossed, his sharp blue gaze flickering between you and Jason.

You school your expression into something neutral. Jason, standing entirely too close to you, does no such thing.

“What a coincidence,” Tim drawls, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“It really was,” you force out a laugh, silently screaming at Jason for his careless mistake.

He had seen your dress before the gala, made a gruff noise of disapproval, and then—without a single word—had left only to return an hour later with a tie in the exact same deep shade of red.

You had almost thrown a shoe at him.

As endearing as the gesture should have been, it was infuriating. He was the one insisting that your relationship remain under wraps, but he was awful at hiding it.

Right now, you can practically feel his warmth radiating onto you, his fingers twitching at his side, itching to settle on your waist. His entire presence screams possessive, yet he’s standing there trying to play it cool.

“Right, Jay?” you prompt, hoping begging he plays along.

“Total accident,” he deadpans.

You mentally facepalm. He is not selling it.

Tim’s smirk deepens, thriving off Jason’s obvious discomfort.

“Well then,” Tim shrugs, barely suppressing his amusement. “If she’s not your date, do you mind if I steal a dance?”

Jason’s shoulders tense. His jaw clenches so tight you’re surprised his teeth don’t crack.

“Go ahead.”

His tone is flat, but you know better. His hands may be in his pockets, but you can see them clenched into fists. His entire body is rigid, like he’s forcing himself to not grab your wrist and pull you back to his side.

You want to laugh. It’s so obvious.

Tim takes your hand and whisks you away onto the dance floor before Jason can change his mind.

He’s is a smooth dancer, you’ll give him that. He moves with confidence, leading you effortlessly through the slow, sweeping steps of the waltz. The ballroom around you is a blur of glittering gowns and dark suits, the music swelling in a soft, romantic rhythm.

You try to focus on the dance, but you can feel Jason’s stare.

It’s burning into you from across the room, a weight against your spine that makes your pulse spike.

Tim notices. Of course, he does.

“I know I have a grand total of one song before your guard dog comes back,” he murmurs, tilting his head slightly as he spins you. His fingers press lightly against your back, his mouth close to your ear. “So, between you and me… you can just tell me if you’re dating.”

You groan. “Why is everyone so obsessed with this?”

Tim pulls back just enough to give you a pointed look. “Because the two of you have been dancing around each other for years. I’m in pain just watching.”

“You’re so dramatic.” You roll your eyes, trying not to laugh. “Buzz off and focus on your own romantic life, Drake.”

Tim just grins. “Yours is so much more interesting.” He spins you gracefully, his smirk growing as he catches sight of Jason still watching. Still fuming.

He tugs you back in, dropping his voice to a whisper. “So tell me… are the two of you together? Because I’ve been sensing–”

“You’ve been sensing jack shit, Drake.”

The voice is low, sharp, and pissed.

You barely have time to process Jason’s arrival before you feel a hand—his hand—on your waist, warm and grounding and claiming.

Tim barely gets a breath out before Jason smoothly steps in, seamlessly taking his place as if he had planned this from the start. His movements are precise, natural, possessive. The transition is so smooth it’s like the dance was meant to end like this—with you in his arms.

Tim watches, looking utterly delighted.

“Wow,” he muses. “Not even a full song? Possessive much?”

Jason doesn’t acknowledge him. His grip on you tightens, and you feel his breath against your temple as he leans in just enough to send a shiver down your spine.

You should step back. You should do something to break the illusion.

But you don’t.

Because his hand is on your waist, his other hand holding yours just right. His body is solid and warm against you, moving with you effortlessly like he was made for this. The scent of leather lingers on him, comforting and intoxicating.

He is looking at you like you are the only person in the room.

And you don’t even realize you’ve stopped breathing until he speaks.

“I don’t like how low his hands were.”

The words are gritted out, low and quiet, meant just for you.

Your heart stumbles. You should not find that as attractive as you do.

“Jason–”

He exhales sharply through his nose. “He knows. He’s just trying to het under my skin.”

You blink up at him, heat rising to your cheeks. “Jay, it was just a dance.”

His fingers flex against your waist.

Your breath catches in your throat. The words send something electric through you, something dangerous. You don’t have time to respond.

Because Tim, damn Tim, is still standing there, watching the whole exchange with way too much satisfaction.

“Well,” he muses, rocking back on his heels. “That was interesting.”

Jason finally acknowledges him by glowering in his direction.

“Get lost, Drake.”

Tim grins. Because while he may not have gotten a confession, he definitely got confirmation.

After your encounter with Tim, you and Jason had agreed to lay extra low. No unnecessary risks, no slip-ups. No feeding into their suspicions. That plan, of course, went up in flames, quite literally when you almost lost a damn arm.

Jason had nearly lost his mind.

Now, standing in the training room with Cassandra, you tug absentmindedly at the hem of your sleeve, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in your arm.

Cass, however, does not.

“That’s one nasty burn,” she winces, crouching slightly to get a better look at the angry, blistering wound.

You shift uncomfortably under her scrutiny. “It’s nothing, really,” you say, waving a dismissive hand. “I was just reaching into the oven to grab some muffins, and my arm accidentally hit the hot rack.”

Jason, standing beside you with his arms crossed, snorts.

“Yeah,” he mutters. “Told you to be careful this morning.”

The second the words leave his mouth, his body goes rigid. His eyes widen slightly, realizing his mistake.

Shit.

Cass doesn’t even blink before zeroing in.

“What was that?”

Jason schools his expression into mock confusion. “What was what?”

“Don’t play coy, Todd.” Cass’s voice is sharp, her dark eyes locked onto him with an intensity that could crack glass.

Jason ever so stubborn and entirely unwilling to admit defeat, doesn’t back down.

“I don’t know what you mean.” He doesn’t flinch.

Cass tilts her head, unconvinced. “I heard the two of you were on patrol pretty late last night.” Her gaze flickers between you and Jason, noting every shift in body language, every subtle tell. “So tell me, Todd… what were you doing with [Name] this morning too? Did you, perhaps, sleep together?”

Silence.

The tension in the room thickens, settling over you like an impending storm. Your pulse spikes. Jason’s jaw locks. Cass’s eyes remain unmoving, sharp as a blade.

The stalemate stretches too long.

Before Cass can press further, you jump in.

“What Jason meant,” you say quickly, forcing an easy laugh, “is that our patrol ended at around six in the morning. I invited him over for a snack, is all.”

You will her to believe it.

Jason exhales subtly beside you, relaxing ever so slightly at your quick save.

Cass, however, is not satisfied.

“You never invite me over for snacks,” she states, arms crossing over her chest.

You frown. “I’m sorry, Cass. How about next time?”

She considers for a moment, expression unreadable, before nodding.

“I’ll be there at sunrise.”

You smile, nudging her shoulder. “It’s a deal.”

Cass eyes the two of you for another long second before finally, finally, grabbing her bag and exiting the room.

The moment the door clicks shut, Jason lets out a heavy breath.

Without warning, his large frame topples over yours, his solid weight pressing against your back as he buries his face into the crook of your neck.

“You’re gonna kill me one day,” he mutters, lips brushing the sensitive skin near your ear. His voice is low, gravelly, full of something raw and unguarded.

His arms encircle you, pulling you flush against him.

You bite back a smile, leaning into his warmth.

“Have I told you how much I love you?” His lips graze the nape of your neck, lingering.

“Not nearly enough,” you murmur.

It’s a lie.

Because Jason tells you every single day.

If not with his words, then with the way he looks at you. With the way he touches you like you’re the most precious thing in the world. With the way he freaks out over every little injury, over every near miss, like the thought of losing you would be enough to unmake him.

And God, if he wasn’t so damn obvious about it.

Your charade finally comes to an end on a rare night. The entire family gathered around the Wayne Manor dining table. It had taken weeks of convincing, countless rescheduled plans, and Alfred’s unshakable will to make it happen. You silently applaud him, watching as he moves seamlessly around the table, topping off glasses and making sure everyone eats.

The conversation is lively but controlled, an unspoken agreement hanging in the air: no fights. Bruce was actually eating rather than brooding, Damian had only thrown out two insults so far, and Tim was at least half-awake. For a Wayne family dinner, this was practically peaceful.

No one notices that you and Jason are sitting a little too close, they’re all too engrossed with the hearty meal and a rare opportunity of having a civil conversation with each other.

Jason, ever the attentive boyfriend, wordlessly reaches for the serving platter and places another thick slice of roast onto your plate. Then, he carefully spoons asparagus onto your dish, making sure it’s coated just enough with hollandaise sauce just the way you like it.

“Eat up, sweetheart.” His voice is low and smooth, meant just for you.

Your heart does a little flutter at the name, and your lips tug into a smile as you pick up your fork.

But then a familiar voice turns the entire night around.

“Forgive me if I’m wrong,” Damian’s voice cuts through the table, as sharp as one of his throwing knives, “but doesn’t ‘sweetheart’ have romantic implications?”

Silence.

A few forks hover mid-air. Bruce pauses as he cuts into his steak. Dick, who had been talking to Cass, freezes mid-sentence. Tim, who had been half-heartedly scrolling through his phone under the table, suddenly looks very awake.

“No, you’re absolutely right,” Dick leans back in his chair, grinning like he just hit the jackpot. His eyes flicker with amusement as he clasps his hands together. 

Jason’s chewing slows. Your eyes flicker to his face, trying to gauge his reaction. This was it. The moment he always dreaded.

“Todd just called [Last Name] ‘sweetheart,’” Damian supplies, ever helpful, pointing at the two of you with his fork.

Cass and Tim share a knowing glance, both nodding in quiet confirmation.

Dick gapes. “In front of my salad?”

Jason, rather than looking panicked, looks entirely unbothered. Too unbothered. His jaw moves as he stuffs another carrot into his mouth, chews deliberately, and then–

“It’s our one-year anniversary next month.”

Chaos erupts.

“WHAT?”

“I KNEW IT!”

“Called it.”

“Took you guys long enough!”

Tim smacks the table, rattling the silverware. Dick throws his hands in the air. Cass laughs silently, shaking her head as if she’s just been vindicated after months of waiting.

Stephanie, meanwhile, grabs Tim’s arm and shakes him. “You owe me fifty-bucks, Drake.”

Bruce, to his credit, looks unfazed, save for the slight twitch of his eyebrow. He sets his knife down and looks at Jason with a measured expression.

“Well done, son.”

Jason stares at him for a moment before giving him a single nod, as if they’re discussing business strategy rather than his romantic relationship.

You’re still flustered under the sheer weight of all the attention, but then Jason’s fingers interlace with yours under the table. Warm. Steady. Protective. He gives your hand a light squeeze, and just like that, your nerves settle.

The chatter continues, voices overlapping.

“I suppose that means I won the bet?”

The room stills.

Jason’s head snaps up. “Wait. What?”

Tim, not even looking ashamed, shrugs. “Technically, nobody won. We all knew already.”

Damian scowls. “The condition was that someone had to prove it. I did that tonight. Therefore, I win.”

Jason straightens in his chair, voice dangerously low. “Hold on. You had a bet?!”

You grimace, bracing yourself as the night takes a turn.

Tim leans back in his chair, smirking. “Oh, yeah. This has been going for months.”

“How much?” Jason demands, his eyes narrowing.

Dick, grinning, raises his glass. “A hundred bucks.”

Jason turns to you, betrayed. “Did you know about this?”

You shake your head furiously. “I would’ve rigged it to win if I had.”

“Unbelievable,” Jason mutters, rubbing his temples.

But then he feels your thumb brush gently over his knuckles, and suddenly, the noise fades into the background. He turns to you, the frustration melting from his features as he takes in the warmth of your smile, the way your eyes are only on him.

You squeeze his hand. “Well,” you say softly, just for him. “At least we don’t have to sneak around anymore.”

Jason exhales a low chuckle, shaking his head before turning to you fully. There’s adoration in his eyes, open and raw and entirely unguarded. His lips form the silent words, ‘I love you,’ and though no sound escapes, you hear it in the way his eyes soften, in the way his fingers tighten just slightly around yours. Your breath catches, warmth blooming in your chest, and without thinking, you smile radiantly, mirroring the love on his face.

thank you for reading! comments n reblogs are appreciated 💋

[bruisedboys]

second nature — bob reynolds

bob tells you he’s never been kissed. you decide to change that. (post thunderbolts, spoiler free!)

bob reynolds x fem!reader, fluff, friends in love, kissing, thunderbolt!reader (or at least she is implied to live in avengers tower), 1.7k words

“You’re telling me you’ve never been kissed?”

Bob’s face is already hot, but now it burns like a furnace. You’re staring at him like he’s grown two heads.

“No,” Bob shakes his head, embarrassed under your gaze. He looks at his hands instead. “I mean… not properly.”

You must be able to tell he’s embarrassed about it, because you soften.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that,” you say gently. Bob didn't think you meant it like that, but it doesn’t make it any less embarrassing. You twist towards him. “I just meant … I don’t know, you’re cute. How come no one’s ever kissed you before?”

Bob goes a bit blind. He’s already nervous enough, having you in his room like this. You’re meant to be playing his new video game together, but you’d gotten talking about an old high school fling who used to play video games and was, incidentally, a terrible kisser. You’d asked Bob if he’d ever had a kiss so bad it made him want to brush his teeth five times over, and he’d blurted his secret before he’d even considered lying.

“I don’t know,” Bob mumbles. The tips of his ears burn. He wonders if he imagined you calling him cute. “Nobody’s ever liked me that much, I guess.”

There’s a beat of silence. Bob realises he’s made a pretty pathetic image of himself (as if he wasn’t enough of a loser already), and he goes to amend, but you beat him to it.

“I find that hard to believe,” you say. You put your controller down on the duvet by your hip and twist to face him. You’re sitting side by side on the end of his bed, legs dangling over the edge. It’s a big bed — it’s a big tower. Bob’s still not used to living in the Avengers old headquarters, and he doesn’t think he ever will be.

Bob swallows and finally looks up at you. You’ve got this look on your face that he can’t put a name to. The forgotten video game glowing on the TV reflects back, colouring your features different shades of blue and orange. You’re really pretty. He’s really nervous.

An awkward chuckle tumbles from his mouth, “Why’s that?” He asks.

You shrug one shoulder. “‘Cos you’re really nice. And funny. You’re handsome too, if that helps,” you say, grinning a bit now.

Bob just blinks at you, flummoxed. Is he dreaming? He doesn’t remember falling asleep.

“Are you making fun of me?” He asks eventually. He doesn’t think you ever would, but he can’t fathom that fact that maybe, you’re telling the truth.

You shake your head vehemently. “No. No, what? I’m serious, Bob, you’re a great guy,” you say earnestly. Then, like an afterthought, “I’d kiss you,” you add quietly.

Bob short circuits. He truly can’t figure out if he’s dreaming or not. Surely, he is. Surely you, the loveliest, prettiest girl he’s ever had the pleasure of knowing, doesn’t want to kiss him. He searches for something to say but all that comes out is,

“Oh.”

You grin, not teasing but getting close. “You don’t believe me?” You ask, raising an eyebrow.

Bob flounders, “I—no. I mean, yes? I… I don’t know.”

Smooth, he thinks sarcastically, then promptly shuts his mouth before he can say anything else stupid. Meanwhile, you’re leaning closer, your thigh pressing into his.

”I can prove it, if you like,” you say in a quiet voice.

Bob’s heart hammers. “Prove … what?”

It’s a stupid question, but you’ve never made him feel stupid and he doesn’t think you ever will. You just smile softly.

”Prove that I want to kiss you,” you say simply. “Can I?”

Bob doesn’t know how to respond to that. He’s not sure if he’s lightheaded from your proximity, your sweet perfume, your words, or a mix of all three. He finds himself nodding.

“Okay,” he says.

He watches in a sort of trance as your eyes flicker to his mouth and back up again.

“You sure?” You ask.

Bob’s never been more sure of anything in his life. He tries not to breathe too fast. “Yeah,” he nods.

You grin. Now Bob’s looking at your lips, the curve of your Cupid’s bow, your plump bottom lip. The tip of your tongue as it darts out to wet your top lip.

His heart thuds in his chest.

“Alright,” you say. “Shut your eyes, handsome.”

Bob slams his eyes shut and stays very still. He’s so nervous he can feel it in his bones, a warm sort of buzzing deep in his limbs. It’s unfamiliar and strange, but not uncomfortable. He feels you moving closer, and then feels your hand on his shoulder. Jolts of electricity go down his arm.

“You ready?” You ask in a whisper.

You’re so close now Bob can feel your breath on his lips when you speak. Meanwhile, he can’t speak, so he just tilts his chin up in response.

You take the hint. You press your lips to his and kiss him. Bob forgets how to think — your lips are warm, your kiss achingly soft. He doesn’t know what to do with himself but let himself be kissed, his heart pounding so hard now he’s sure you can hear it. You kiss him for longer than he’s expecting, your thumb pressing into the fleshy part of his shoulder. When you pull away, he wants more.

“How was that?” You whisper. You’re very, very close, so close Bob could count your eyelashes if he wanted to. The glow of the TV reflects warm orange in your eyes.

“Not a real kiss,” Bob murmurs. Your kissing has left him feeling braver than usual.

Your eyes glint and you grin, all Cheshire Cat-like. “I was just warming you up,” you say a little defensively. “You want to go again?”

Bob nods. His nose bumps yours. “Please.”

You kiss him again. You’re more sure this time, warmer, like you were waiting for him to ask for more. Your hand migrates to the very top of his back, your arm caging his shoulder as you push up into the kiss. Bob finds himself kissing back, though he doesn’t really know how, he’s just following your lead. Your thigh starts to squash his and he doesn’t care, ‘cos you taste like butter popcorn and something sweet, and you’re kissing him like you’ve wanted to do this about as long as he has.

You move closer, your kisses getting surer, and Bob’s hand starts to move of its own accord, an invisible thread tugging it towards your waist. His thumb skips over your sweater, and his hand aches with want, but he hesitates.

You break away from the kiss.

“You can touch me,” you murmur with a lopsided grin. “Go on.”

You reach down and take his hand in yours, pressing it to your waist. Bob swallows. You’re so warm, and his hand fits perfectly to the dip of your waist, his pinky finger sliding over the bump of your hip. If he’d known touching you would be like this, he’d have done it much earlier.

“S’that okay?” He asks you.

You nod. “Yeah. You can touch my face, too, if you want. Do you wanna try kissing me now?”

Bob does want to, very badly, but he’s afraid he’ll mess it up. “I don't know how,” he says honestly, past caring how pathetic he sounds.

You shrug. “That’s okay,” you say gently. Your hand returns to his shoulder and you push your palm up towards his neck. You lean close until your noses almost touch. “Just do what I did, okay? I’ll help you.”

You let your eyes fall shut. Bob, his heart rampant with nerves all over again, takes that as his sign and moves forward to slot his mouth with yours. It’s messy — his nose squashes into yours, and he’s not sure whether to part his lips or not. His decision gets made for him when your lips part very slightly under the pressure of his kiss.

“That’s good,” you murmur against his lips, nodding encouragingly. “Good job.”

You grab his neck and tug yourself closer. Your mouth is hot, your hand greedy at the nape of his neck. Bob remembers what you said before, and raises his free hand to very gently cup your jaw. You’re abnormally warm under his touch, and when he presses his palm to your neck, he can feel your pulse going almost as fast as his.

He pulls away from you an inch, suddenly concerned. “Are you okay?” He asks, frowning. “Your pulse is a riot.”

He must sound as clueless as he feels, because you give a breathless laugh.

“You’re making me nervous,” you say shyly.

Bob blinks. “Oh,” he says. He didn't know he had the capability to make you nervous.

You giggle breathlessly, lips all swollen and dark pink, and Bob decides he’s in love with you right then and there.

”Yeah, oh,” you echo, smiling like a fool. “Kiss me again, will you?”

Bob doesn’t need to be asked twice. His hand roves around to the small of your back and he kisses you again, and sure, it’s not perfect, but you make up for it by kissing him back so ardently that it’s a wonder Bob doesn’t pass out. Your hand pushes up into his hair, greedy as anything, and now he’s sure he’s gonna pass out. You tug at the strands of hair at the very nape of his neck and Bob makes a sound he can’t help. He whimpers.

He’s about to die of embarrassment when he feels you smile against his lips.

“Feels nice?” You ask, pulling back, but not before giving him a few short kisses.

”Sorry,” Bob says back. He’s almost certain he’s steaming at the ears right now.

You shake your head. “Nothing to be sorry for, handsome,” you kiss the side of his mouth, your fingers curling into his hair like it’s second nature. “You want me to keep going?”

Bob’s not sure he could handle it, but he nods anyway. If the others find him passed out or dead in his own bedroom in the morning, he’s blaming it on you.

-

thank you for reading! please consider reblogging if you enjoyed 🤍