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sixeyesonathiel · 2 months ago

Text

diet pepsi

pairing — brother’s bsf!satoru x fem reader

synopsis : satoru always saw you as suguru’s little sister—until you came back different, and dangerous to want. fighting it should be easy, but summer has a way of breaking rules. and some mistakes feel too good to stop making.

tags — childhood friends au, mutual pining, summer romance, beach setting, forbidden romance, brother’s best friend trope, fluff, eventual smut, explicit sexual content, public sex (car), oral sex (f receiving), fingering, pussy drunk satoru, overstimulation, virgin reader if u squint, unprotected piv sex, pull out method, dirty talk, praise kink, pet names, possessive behavior, alcohol use, 13.9k wc. 18+ only, MDNI.

a/n : i tried dialogue heavy writing instead of my usual sensory and internalization on one bit and all i can say is im never doing it again it felt so icky im so sorry TvT art is not mine, i am in the middle of finding the source ><

five years vanish like smoke, curling into nothing.

summer presses heavy on the cracked asphalt, heatwaves shimmering like ghosts rising from the dunes. the pop-up ice cream stand sags under the sun’s relentless weight, its faded awning flapping lazily in the salty breeze.

satoru leans against suguru’s rusted truck, sunglasses slipping down his nose, a greasy bag of fries teetering on his knee. they’re parked beside the shack, the lull in customers letting them sink into idle chatter, cheap food, and the sticky rhythm of a beachside summer.

he’s mid-bite—salt and vinegar stinging his tongue, sweat trickling down his neck—when he hears it.

a laugh.

not just any laugh.

bright and sharp, it cuts through the cicadas’ drone and the surf’s restless crash like a blade through silk.

he looks up, annoyed first—who’s that fucking loud?—then stunned, breath punched out of him like he’s taken a fist to the chest.

you step into view like you’ve walked out of a dream he didn’t know he was having, framed by the blazing sky and the ocean’s glitter. alone, you drag a beat-up duffel bag, its strap slung over your shoulder, sneakers kicking up little clouds of sand. the sundress you wear—white, gauzy, catching the breeze—clings to your thighs, the hem flirting with every step.

a wide-brimmed beach hat sits tilted on your head, casting dappled shadows across your face, and your hair, sun-lightened and wild, spills down your back like it’s daring the wind to tame it.

you’re older. taller. you move with a confidence that scrapes at satoru’s ribs, leaves them raw and aching. you’re gorgeous in a way that feels like a hazard, like a spark too close to dry tinder. you shine, bright and untouchable, and he’s caught, staring, helpless.

his fry drops to the pavement, forgotten.

“yo,” suguru says, elbow jabbing satoru’s side, hard enough to rattle the truck. “you good, or did the sun fry your brain?”

satoru can’t answer. his tongue’s too thick, his heart’s lodged somewhere near his ankles. all he can do is watch you, the way your dress shifts with each step, the way your hat tilts as you turn your head, scanning the beach.

then you see them.

your face splits into a grin so bright it dims the sky, and satoru feels the ground tilt beneath him.

“satoru!” you shout, waving with a reckless joy that cracks the world open.

he pushes off the truck, heart hammering like it’s trying to break free, shoving his sunglasses up to hide the way his eyes are drinking you in. he hopes suguru doesn’t notice, hopes the heat crawling up his neck doesn’t betray him.

he saunters over, all false swagger, pretending his knees aren’t loose, pretending he’s still the same satoru who used to tease you mercilessly. “long time no see, squirt,” he drawls, flicking the brim of your hat. it’s a mistake—the hat makes you look too fucking cute, the way it frames your face, the way it dares him to keep looking.

you laugh, breathless and bright, and before he can brace himself, you throw your arms around his neck.

he freezes, arms caught mid-air, your warmth slamming into him like a wave. your body presses close—soft, real, burning through the thin fabric of his shirt. your scent, something sweet and sun-warmed, wraps around him, and he’s drowning, his hands hovering before instinct takes over.

he wraps you up, too tight, too desperate, your curves fitting against him like you were made for it. your fingers fist into the back of his shirt, a brief, greedy clutch, and he feels the tremor in your grip, the way it lingers one second too long.

then you pull away, leaving him blinking, bereft, his skin tingling where you touched.

suguru joins a moment later, his lazy grin in place, oblivious to the storm raging in satoru’s chest. “didn’t know you were back today,” he says, pulling you into a quick hug. “would’ve picked you up from the station.”

he ruffles your hair, that annoying big-brother move, and you swat at him, your hat tilting precariously. “someone needs extra hands at the stand,” suguru continues, slinging an arm around your shoulders, his fondness clear in the crinkle of his eyes. “and since you’re back in town with nothing better to do…”

he’s teasing, but there’s warmth there, a quiet pride in having you close again. satoru watches, jaw tight, as you lean into suguru’s side, your ease with him sparking something sharp and ugly in his chest. it’s not jealousy—not of suguru, never that—but something else, something that claws at him, hot and restless.

“figured you’d be perfect,” suguru adds, smirking at satoru now, like he knows something’s off. “plus, toru here was whining about being bored.”

“was not,” satoru mutters, kicking at the sand, heat climbing his neck. he’s lying, and suguru knows it—satoru’s been restless all summer, chasing distractions to fill the hollow in his gut.

you laugh again, sweet and effortless, sweeter than the cotton candy sold at the stand. it’s a sound that hooks into satoru’s ribs, pulls tight, leaves him aching.

“c’mon,” suguru says, already turning toward the road. “my treat. diner time?”

it’s tradition.

that shitty little diner down the road, with its cracked vinyl booths and milkshakes so thick you need a spoon. the three of you used to haunt it every summer, sprawled across a booth, stealing fries, laughing until your sides hurt. nostalgia hits satoru like a fist, sharp and sudden. he’s fourteen again, all knees and elbows, stomach hollow with a hunger he couldn’t name.

“last one there buys dessert,” you chirp, already jogging ahead, duffel bag bouncing against your hip, sneakers flashing white against the sand. your sundress flutters, catching the light, and satoru’s eyes linger too long on the curve of your calves, the sway of your hips.

he tells himself you’re off-limits, a mantra he’s worn thin over the years. you’re suguru’s little sister, untouchable, a line he’d never cross. but the air smells like salt and possibility, and you feel like a second chance he didn’t know he needed.

he’s marching after you before he can stop himself, pretending he’s still just satoru—your brother’s idiot friend, the guy who used to pull your pigtails and sneak you extra ice cream. pretending he’s not burning up inside, pretending the rules still hold when you’re close enough to touch, close enough to taste.

pretending he’s not already, irreversibly, fucked.

the diner sits like a time capsule at the edge of town, neon sign buzzing like a trapped firefly, its pink and blue glow flickering against the dusk. same warped menu boards, same cracked vinyl booths, same sticky linoleum floor that clings to your sneakers.

nothing ever changes here, and satoru both loves and hates it—loves the way it holds you in its amber, hates how it reminds him of everything he’s tried to outrun. it’s the backdrop to a thousand memories, all of them sharp with you and suguru.

you slide into the booth across from him, your sundress whispering against your thighs, beach hat tossed beside you like an afterthought. satoru’s hyperaware of his knees brushing the air just shy of yours under the chipped formica table, the space between you electric, too small.

suguru slips in next to you, casual as ever, but there’s a protective edge in the way his arm drapes across the booth’s back, fingers grazing the vinyl an inch from your shoulder.

“so,” suguru says, sliding a laminated menu your way, its edges curling like old paper, “college treating you okay?”

you shrug, lips curving into a half-smile that catches the diner’s dim light. “it’s just school. nothing as exciting as the beach.”

“she’s being modest,” satoru teases, forcing his voice to stay light while his pulse hammers, your nearness a live wire under his skin. “probably acing everything.”

your eyes flick to his, a hint of pink blooming high on your cheeks, soft and fleeting like a sunset. “hardly. nearly failed calculus last semester.”

“you? fail math?” satoru grins, leaning forward, the memory of you hunched over graph paper, explaining equations to him and suguru, vivid as yesterday. “impossible.”

“college math is different,” you protest, but you’re smiling, holding his gaze a second too long, your lashes casting faint shadows.

suguru glances between you, eyebrow twitching upward before he grabs a menu, oblivious to the way satoru’s heart stumbles. “food’s still exactly the same here. bet they haven’t cleaned the grill since we were kids.”

“that’s what makes it good,” you say, laughing, the sound bright and warm, like the clink of sea glass against the shore. “nothing beats greasy diner food after a day at the beach.”

the waitress appears, pen poised, her gaze lingering on satoru, lips curving in a way that’s too sweet, too practiced. “what can i get for you folks?” she asks, voice syrupy when it lands on him.

you straighten in your seat, fingers tightening on the menu’s edge, a flicker of something sharp in your eyes. “i’ll have a chocolate shake and fries,” you say, voice clear, pulling her attention like you meant to.

“double cheeseburger, extra fries, chocolate shake thick enough for a spoon,” satoru orders, not glancing at the menu or the waitress. some things never change—his order, this booth, the way his chest tightens when you’re close.

“you still get the same thing?” you ask, smile soft with nostalgia, like you’re seeing him for the first time in years. “you used to make such a mess with those shakes.”

“remember when he got chocolate all over your new white shirt?” suguru chimes in, grinning, leaning back with an ease satoru envies. “you cried for like an hour.”

“i did not cry for an hour,” you protest, cheeks flushing, a spark of indignation in your eyes. “maybe ten minutes. tops.”

“and then satoru gave you his hoodie,” suguru continues, smirk sharp now, “and suddenly the tears magically stopped.”

“shut up,” you mutter, kicking suguru under the table, your gaze skittering away from satoru’s.

he remembers that day like it’s burned into him—you, twelve, small and devastated, tears streaking your face over a ruined shirt. him, awkward and too tall, draping his oversized hoodie around your shoulders, your eyes lighting up like he’d given you something precious. the memory sits heavy in his chest, warm and aching.

“you kept that hoodie for years,” suguru adds, ignoring your glare, voice teasing but fond. “pretty sure i saw you packing it for college.”

“oh my god, can we talk about anything else?” you plead, face scarlet, fingers twisting the straw wrapper into a knot.

satoru’s heart lurches. you kept his hoodie? all these years? the thought blooms inside him, dangerous and warm, like a spark he can’t smother. he wants to ask, wants to know if it still smells like him, if you ever wore it and thought of him, but he swallows it down, terrified of what his face might give away.

“what brought you back this summer?” he asks, voice steadier than he feels, desperate to shift the focus before he betrays himself. “just break, or…?”

“internship fell through,” you admit, shrugging, the motion small, almost apologetic. “figured i’d come home, make some money at the stand if you guys needed help.”

“always need help,” suguru nods, stealing a sugar packet from the caddy, spinning it between his fingers. “tourist season’s crazy this year.”

“plus satoru’s been whining about needing days off,” he adds, smirking, tossing the packet at satoru.

“i have not been whining,” satoru protests, catching the packet mid-air, his grin masking the way his pulse spikes at your laugh.

“you literally said yesterday that if one more kid dropped their ice cream and cried, you were going to walk straight into the ocean,” suguru deadpans, folding his arms.

you laugh, bright and clear, and satoru’s heart does a stupid, reckless flip. god, he missed that sound—missed it like air, like something vital he didn’t know he’d lost until it’s here again, filling the hollow in his chest.

“sounds like you need me to save you,” you tease, eyes locking with his across the table, a flicker of softness there, warm and unguarded.

“maybe i do,” he says, too honest, voice low, watching the pink deepen on your cheeks, the way your lips part just slightly.

the food arrives, breaking the moment like a wave against the shore. you take a bite of a fry, eyes fluttering shut, a small hum of contentment slipping out that has satoru gripping his glass so tight he’s surprised it doesn’t crack. the sound’s innocent, but it lands like a spark, igniting something restless in him.

“god, i missed real food,” you sigh, dipping another fry in ketchup, the motion careless, perfect. “dining hall stuff is awful.”

“that fancy school doesn’t feed you right?” suguru teases, stealing a fry from your plate, dodging your swat with a grin.

“hey!” you protest, brandishing your fork like a weapon. “and no, it’s all kale and quinoa and weird vegan options.”

“poor baby,” satoru mocks, but his voice is soft, and when suguru’s not looking, he slides a few of his fries onto your plate, a quiet offering.

you catch it, eyes warming, lips curving into a private smile that feels like a secret stitched between you. your fingers brush the table’s edge, inches from his, and he wonders what it’d be like to close that gap, to feel your skin against his.

“remember that summer we practically lived here?” you ask, stirring your shake, the spoon clinking softly against the glass. “after suguru got his license?”

“and dad’s old pickup,” suguru adds, nodding, his eyes distant with memory. “we’d come every day after the beach.”

“you two would eat your weight in fries,” you laugh, the sound wrapping around satoru like a tide, pulling him under. “and then race each other back to the water like idiots.”

“while you timed us,” satoru recalls, grin tugging at his lips, the memory vivid—your small hands clutching a cheap stopwatch, shouting times as he and suguru sprinted, sand flying. “always the competitive one.”

“says the guy who insisted on best of three every single time he lost,” you counter, eyebrow raised, a challenge in your gaze.

“which was most times,” suguru adds, smirking.

“i let you win,” satoru protests, clutching his chest like he’s wounded, but his eyes are on you, drinking in the way you laugh.

“sure you did,” you say, not buying it, your eyes bright with that old, familiar spark.

suguru’s phone buzzes, shattering the moment. he checks it, sighs, and pushes his plate aside. “dad needs me to pick up stuff from the hardware store. you two good here? i can come back.”

“we’re fine,” you say quickly, waving him off, your hat slipping slightly as you turn. “i remember the way home.”

suguru hesitates, eyes narrowing as he glances between you, like he senses the shift in the air. “behave yourselves.”

“what’s that supposed to mean?” you ask, voice too innocent, lips twitching.

“it means don’t let satoru convince you to do something stupid like that time he talked you into jumping off the pier,” suguru says, sliding out of the booth, his sneakers scuffing the floor.

“that was one time,” satoru defends, spreading his hands. “and she wanted to do it!”

“i was twelve and you told me it was totally safe,” you remind him, but you’re smiling, no bite behind it, just warmth.

“and it was safe,” he insists, leaning back. “you just can’t dive.”

suguru rolls his eyes, already halfway to the door. “i’ll be back in twenty. try not to burn the place down.”

the door jingles as he leaves, and the air shifts, charged, heavy with the weight of being alone with you for the first time in five years. the diner feels smaller, the hum of the neon sign louder, the space between you crackling like static.

“so,” you say, twirling your straw in your shake, eyes meeting his through your lashes, a hint of vulnerability beneath the tease. “did you miss me at all while i was gone?”

the question lands like a stone in still water, ripples spreading through him. he wants to say everything—how the stand felt empty, how summers dragged without your laugh, how he’s been chasing pieces of you in every distraction. but he can’t, not when you’re looking at him like that, soft and expectant.

“nah,” he says, breezy, then grins at your mock outrage, the way you puff out your cheeks. “maybe a little. the stand was too quiet without you dropping things.”

“i was not that clumsy!” you protest, laughing, the sound bright enough to drown out the diner’s hum.

“you knocked over an entire display of sunglasses trying to reach the top shelf,” he reminds you, smirking, the memory sharp—you, sixteen, stretching on tiptoes, cursing under your breath as plastic frames clattered to the ground. “twice.”

“because you and suguru kept putting things where i couldn’t reach them,” you counter, pointing a fry at him, your eyes narrowing playfully.

“it was funny watching you try,” he admits, smile softening, remembering the determined set of your jaw, the little huff you’d let out. “you’d get this wrinkle right here.” he taps between his brows, his finger lingering in the air too long.

your cheeks color, and you drop your gaze to your plate, lips twitching. “i can reach the top shelf now,” you say quietly, almost a challenge.

“i noticed,” he replies, the words slipping out, low and warm. too much, he thinks, but your smile—pleased, a little shy—makes it worth the risk.

“college has some perks,” you say, glancing up, your eyes catching his, holding them.

“like sukuna?” he asks, the name sour on his tongue, suguru’s earlier comment gnawing at him. he hates himself for it, for the way it slips out, sharp and unfiltered.

your smile falters, just for a second. “sukuna was just a friend.”

“a persistent friend,” satoru presses, leaning forward, unable to stop the edge in his voice.

“jealous?” you challenge, but there’s a hopeful spark in your eyes, a crack in your teasing that makes his pulse race.

“maybe,” he admits, surprising himself, the honesty raw, reckless. “or just protective. like suguru.”

“you’re not my brother,” you say softly, holding his gaze, the words heavy, deliberate.

“no,” he agrees, throat dry, heart pounding like it’s trying to break free. “i’m not.”

something shifts, a dangerous possibility curling in the air like smoke. you look away first, tucking hair behind your ear, your fingers trembling just enough for him to notice. your smile stays, small and secret, like you’re holding onto something fragile.

“anyway,” you say, voice lighter, “suguru mentioned you’ve been working on games?”

he grabs the lifeline, grateful for the shift. “yeah, indie stuff. nothing major yet, but i’ve got a few things published.”

“that’s amazing!” you say, eyes lighting up, genuine excitement in your voice. “you always were crazy talented with that stuff.”

“says the college girl,” he teases, but your praise sinks into him, warm and heavy, like a touch he can still feel.

“it’s just school,” you shrug, stirring your shake again, the spoon clinking softly. “nothing special.”

“it is special,” he insists, leaning forward, needing you to hear it. “you always were the smart one.”

you roll your eyes, but your smile’s pleased, soft. “says the guy who helped me pass physics senior year.”

“only because you helped me through lit,” he counters, grinning, the memory of late-night study sessions—your patience, your quiet focus—stirring something tender in him.

you laugh, the sound wrapping around him like the sun’s warmth. “we made a good team.”

“we still could,” he says, the words escaping before he can catch them, heavy with meaning he didn’t intend.

your eyes widen, lips parting, a flicker of hope crossing your face before you mask it with a laugh. “well, we’ll see how we do at the stand first,” you say lightly. “might get sick of me.”

“not possible,” he replies, too quick, too honest, his voice low enough to feel like a confession.

your smile turns shy, fingers fidgeting with your straw, twisting it into a knot. “you might be surprised. i sing in the mornings now,” you admit. “really loud, really off-key.”

“that’s not new,” he teases, leaning back, grateful for the lighter ground. “you used to screech taylor swift at the top of your lungs while restocking.”

“i did not screech,” you protest, laughing, your indignation bright and perfect.

“you absolutely did,” he insists, smirking. “scared away customers.”

“you’re such a liar,” you accuse, grinning, eyes sparkling like the ocean at noon. “you told me i had a nice voice.”

“maybe i lied then,” he suggests, voice dropping, playful but edged with something softer.

“or maybe you’re lying now,” you counter, leaning forward, your elbows on the table, closing the distance between you.

“guess you’ll have to sing for me again so i can decide,” he says, voice low, the words a dare, a pull.

your cheeks flush, but you hold his gaze, challenge sparking in your eyes. “maybe i will.”

the air crackles, five years of distance collapsing into this moment, this booth, this look. you’re not a kid anymore, and satoru can’t pretend he doesn’t see it—the way you’ve grown into yourself, confident, bright, a fire he can’t look away from.

“we should probably head back,” you say finally, glancing at your phone, your voice softer, like you’re reluctant to break the spell. “before suguru sends out a search party.”

“race you to the truck?” satoru suggests, grinning, a callback to countless summer days, his heart lighter than it’s been in years.

your eyes light up, competitive spark flaring. “loser buys ice cream tomorrow?”

“deal,” he says, already sliding out of the booth, his pulse racing for reasons that have nothing to do with running.

you grab your hat, fingers brushing the brim, eyes gleaming with mischief. “ready?”

and then you’re off, dashing through the diner, sundress fluttering like a sail, laughter trailing behind you like a melody. satoru follows, heart pounding, knowing suguru might kill him for the thoughts burning through his mind—your smile, your voice, the way you feel like home—but right now, watching you run ahead, he thinks it might just be worth it.

summer melts over the beach in thick, sticky waves, clinging to the chipped paint of the pop-up stand, to the sweat-damp curls at the nape of your neck.

you work the stand with suguru and satoru, slinging snow cones that bleed syrup, fries that glisten with grease, and cheap sunglasses that tourists snap up despite their complaints about the prices. they wilt under the sun’s brutal glare, faces flushed and shiny, while you move through the chaos with an ease that twists something in satoru’s chest.

it’s only been a week since you started helping out.

satoru tries to be normal. he swears he does.

but then there’s you, stretching on tiptoes to grab a stack of napkins from the top shelf, your tank top riding up to reveal a sliver of soft stomach, a tiny mole just above your hip that he’s never seen before. it’s a punch to the gut, that small mark, and he ducks behind the register, fumbling with keychains, pretending to sort them while his pulse hammers.

he’s not staring, he tells himself, but his eyes keep dragging back to you, to the way your skin catches the light, warm and alive.

there’s you, perched on a stool, slurping a cherry popsicle that’s melting faster than you can keep up with, your tongue darting out to catch the drips, lips stained red.

your eyes are half-lidded, lazy with heat, and your sandal taps a restless rhythm against the counter’s edge. every tap is a countdown, every slick of your tongue a slow execution, and satoru’s dying, his hands gripping the counter to keep from reaching out, from doing something stupid.

he’s fucking dying.

“dude,” suguru says one afternoon, lobbing a wadded-up receipt at satoru’s head, the paper bouncing off his temple. “your math is shit today.”

satoru startles, blinking at the till where he’s been staring for god knows how long, a customer’s change still clutched in his fist, coins biting into his palm. the tourist in front of him shifts impatiently, fanning herself with a crumpled map.

“whatever,” he mutters, shoving the coins across the counter, his voice rough. “it’s hot. i’m fried.”

“sure,” suguru drawls, slow and amused, leaning against the freezer, his dark hair sticking to his forehead. not suspicious, thank god, just teasing.

you laugh, swinging your legs where you’re perched on the counter, your denim shorts riding up to show the smooth expanse of your thighs, gleaming under the flickering neon “open” sign. you’re flipping through a gossip magazine, the pages crinkling under your fingers, your nails painted a chipped sky blue.

satoru nearly trips over his own feet grabbing a water bottle from the cooler, the cold glass slipping in his sweaty grip.

“earth to satoru,” you tease, crumpling a napkin into a ball and tossing it at his head, your aim perfect.

he catches it one-handed, tosses it back with a grin that feels too tight, too sharp, because you’re a fucking hazard, a loaded gun with your finger brushing the trigger, and you don’t even know it. your smile is lazy, your eyes bright with mischief, and he’s drowning in the heat of you, in the way you’re everywhere—your laugh, your scent, your warmth.

suguru cackles from the back room, sorting straws, oblivious to the storm in satoru’s chest.

“bet you can’t make another shot,” you taunt, grin wicked, leaning forward so your tank top dips just enough to make his throat dry.

“bet you i can,” he fires back, because it’s you, and he’s an idiot who can’t say no to you, not ever.

he grabs a plastic spoon, flicks it with a practiced snap of his wrist—it arcs across the stand, bounces off the freezer’s handle, and lands neatly in the trash can with a soft thud.

you whistle low, impressed, your lips pursing in a way that’s entirely too distracting. “show-off,” you say, but your smile softens, warm around the edges, like you’re proud of him.

later, you’re all sprawled in the sand behind the stand after closing, the air cooler but still thick, heavy with the day’s lingering heat. suguru strums a beat-up guitar he dug out of his garage, the strings twanging softly, his voice humming off-key to some old song.

you and satoru lie side by side, close enough that your arm brushes his when you shift, the contact sending sparks skittering across his skin. the sand is cool under his back, but he’s burning, every nerve attuned to you.

you doodle nonsense shapes into the sand with a stick, biting your lip in concentration, your brows furrowing just slightly. satoru watches from the corner of his eye, heart aching like it’s been bruised, the sight of you so close and so untouchable carving something raw inside him.

“wanna play chicken fights in the water tomorrow?” you ask suddenly, looking up at him, your eyes catching the last of the sunset, bright and alive.

“only if i get to be your ride,” he says without thinking, voice rougher than he means, the words heavy with want he can’t voice.

you grin, wide and blinding, and it’s like the sun never set, like you’re carrying it inside you. he almost blacks out, his breath catching, his world narrowing to the curve of your mouth.

“deal,” you say, offering your pinky, the gesture so familiar it hurts. he hooks his around yours, the brief press of your skin a vow he feels in his bones, sacred and binding.

he starts inventing excuses to stay after closing. restocking chips that don’t need restocking. double-checking the cash register he balanced hours ago. making sure you get home safe, as if the quiet streets of this town could ever hurt you. and you let him, every single time, your presence pulling him like gravity.

you let him linger, let him stand too close when you count the till, your fingers brushing his as you pass a bill, the contact fleeting but electric. you bump shoulders when you sweep sand off the counters, your laughter spilling into the night, loud and easy, hooking into his ribs and tugging until he aches. the string lights above buzz faintly, casting a soft glow over your face, tangling in your hair like a halo.

sometimes suguru’s there, tossing keys, joking about “kids these days” before bailing early to meet some girl at the pier, his footsteps fading into the dark. sometimes it’s just you and satoru, alone under the lights, the salty breeze stirring your hair, the beach stretching out endless and shadowed behind you, waves whispering secrets to the shore.

one night, after suguru ditches early, you and satoru ride home together. you slide into the cab of his truck, knees knocking against his in the cramped space, the scent of your sunscreen—coconut and sea salt—and the faint sweetness of sugar from the snow cones you snuck filling the air.

it’s suffocating, intoxicating, and he grips the steering wheel to keep his hands from shaking.

the windows are down, the radio humming a low, dreamy song, its melody weaving through the warm night. the wind whips your hair across your face, and you laugh, batting it away with a careless hand, your fingers catching the light from passing streetlamps.

he thinks about crashing the truck just to have an excuse to feel your hands on him, to pull you close and never let go.

at a red light, you turn to him, voice soft, lilting, like you’re sharing a secret. “you’re staring.”

he jerks his eyes back to the road, ears burning scarlet, heart thudding so loud he’s sure you can hear it. “am not,” he says, voice cracking, betraying him.

you hum, unconvinced, leaning your head against the window, a small, knowing smile curling your lips. “liar,” you murmur, so soft it’s almost lost to the music, but it lands like a dart, sharp and precise.

“whatever,” he mutters, flustered, his usual swagger crumbling under the weight of your gaze.

the drive stretches on, every stoplight a torture, every bump in the road vibrating through the cab, tightening the tension until it’s a living thing, thick and heavy.

you hum along to the radio, voice low and sweet, your fingers tapping the dashboard in time, a rhythm that syncs with his pulse. every so often, you sneak glances at him, quick flicks of your eyes that burn, that make him want to pull over and confess everything.

you point out a diner glowing neon against the dark, its sign buzzing faintly. “we should go sometime,” you say, casual, but there’s a thread of hope woven into your voice, delicate and bright.

“yeah,” he says, too fast, too eager. “yeah, totally.”

your smile breaks over him like dawn, warm and inevitable, and he’s helpless, caught in its light.

when he drops you off, you linger by the truck’s door, backpack slung loose over one shoulder, fingers twisting the strap. “thanks for the ride,” you say, voice feather-light, your eyes catching the moonlight.

he nods, swallowing hard, his throat tight with everything he can’t say.

you lean in, close enough that he can see the faint freckles dusting your nose, smell the sweet trace of your lip balm—strawberry, he thinks, dizzy with it. for one wild, reckless second, he thinks you’re going to kiss him, and his heart stops, his world narrowing to you.

but you just tap his chest with two fingers, right over his racing heart, the touch light but searing, like a brand. “see you tomorrow, toru.”

you bounce up the porch steps, pausing to throw him a wink over your shoulder, quick and playful, before slipping inside. the door clicks shut, and he’s left staring after you, the engine ticking softly in the warm night air, the ghost of your touch burning against his skin.

he slumps back in the seat, groaning into his hands, the sound raw and desperate. “off-limits,” he mutters, thudding his head against the steering wheel, each word a knife. “off. fucking. limits.”

he drives home on autopilot, your laugh echoing in his ears, the memory of your fingers against his chest a pulse he can’t shake. he dreams of you that night—soft, warm, impossibly close, your breath against his skin—and wakes up aching, the line between want and need blurred beyond recognition.

the next evening, satoru offers you a ride home again, his voice casual but his pulse anything but. suguru waves you off, barely glancing up from his phone, thumbs flying as he texts his latest fling about meeting at the bonfire later.

“don’t wait up,” he calls, a smirk in his voice, and satoru nearly stumbles, cheeks flushing despite the evening’s cool bite, the implication landing like a spark in dry grass.

outside, the sky bleeds watercolor—orange and gold streaking into deep lavender, fading to dusky indigo at the horizon. the air carries salt, the smoky tang of distant bonfires, the faint sweetness of wildflowers clinging to the dunes.

you slide into the passenger seat, kicking off your flip-flops with a clatter, the soles dusted with sand. you prop your bare feet on the dashboard, toes flexing, a silver anklet glinting in the fading light, and satoru’s chest tightens at how easily you claim the space, like the truck’s always been yours.

“air conditioning’s broken,” he says, wrestling with the crank windows, the handle sticking under his grip.

“who needs it?” you shrug, a carefree grin spreading across your face, bright as the last sliver of sun. you lean your head out the window, letting the sea breeze whip your hair into a wild halo, strands dancing like they’re alive.

the truck rattles down the coastal road, tires kicking up clouds of sand that drift in the orange glow. you fiddle with the radio, twisting the dial past static until a slow, dreamy track hums through the speakers, its bass vibrating deep in satoru’s bones, syncing with the thud of his heart.

your fingers tap a lazy rhythm against your bare thigh, the hem of your shorts frayed and soft, and he’s dangerously distracted, his eyes flicking to you when he should be watching the road.

“pull over,” you say suddenly, sitting bolt upright, pointing to a dirt path half-hidden by seagrass.

“what?” he blinks, hands tightening on the wheel.

“there. pull over. trust me.”

your excitement is a current, electric and contagious, and he’s turning the truck before he can think, tires bumping over the uneven path. the clearing opens to a view that steals his breath—an endless ocean, molten and shimmering, the sun sinking into it like a dying ember. the horizon burns, fierce and fleeting.

before he can ask what’s next, you’re halfway out the door, tugging your tank top over your head, the motion fluid, careless. “swimming, obviously,” you call over your shoulder, voice bright with mischief.

he stares, heart slamming against his ribs, the air in his lungs gone. you shimmy out of your shorts, revealing a plain black bikini—simple, unadorned, but devastating, the fabric hugging your curves like it was made for you. his throat goes dry, words dissolving on his tongue.

“we don’t have—” he starts, but you cut him off, flashing a cheeky grin.

“i always wear it under my clothes,” you say, winking. “just in case.”

just in case you decide to unravel him, to turn his world inside out with a smile and a strip of fabric.

“well?” you challenge, standing in the sand, barefoot and fearless, like a siren born from the waves. “you coming or what?”

common sense is a faint echo, drowned out by the roar of his pulse. he yanks his shirt over his head, the cotton catching on his hair, and follows you, helpless.

the water is warm, lapping at his skin, the tide playful, salt stinging his lips. you dive under a wave, your body sleek and sure, cutting through the current like you belong to it. you surface with a triumphant laugh, hair plastered to your forehead, water streaming down your face, and satoru’s caught, staring, the world narrowing to you.

“chicken?” you tease, flicking water at him, your grin sharp and daring.

he pushes deeper into the surf, muscles burning, fighting the urge to just float there, to watch you move. “race you to the buoy,” you say, pointing to a marker bobbing in the distance, its silhouette dark against the fiery sky.

“you’re on,” he grins, teeth flashing, adrenaline spiking.

you take off, a blur of motion, and he has to push to keep up, slicing through the water with long, powerful strokes, the ocean dragging at his limbs. by the time he reaches the buoy, you’re there, clinging to it, laughing breathless, your chest heaving. “not bad,” you concede, splashing water in his face, the droplets cool against his flushed skin. “for an old man.”

“old?” he splutters, feigning outrage, lunging for you.

you shriek, twisting away, but he’s faster, catching you around the waist, his fingers slipping against your slick skin. he dunks you under, the water swallowing your laughter, and you surface, sputtering, eyes blazing with mock fury.

you launch yourself at him, crashing into his chest, and the momentum sends you both tumbling under the next wave, limbs tangling, breathless and weightless.

when you surface, you’re wrapped around him, legs locked at his hips, arms looped around his neck, your body pressed so close he can feel the heat of you through the water. the ocean rocks you gently, the sunset bathing you in fire and velvet, your faces inches apart. he can see the flecks in your eyes, the faint salt clinging to your lashes, and his heart stutters, a painful, desperate thing.

“i win,” you murmur, voice low, triumphant, your breath warm against his lips.

his hands steady you at your waist, fingers splaying over your skin, slick and warm, and he’s drowning, every nerve alight. “cheater,” he rasps, the word barely audible, his throat tight.

your smile is slow, dangerous, your eyes flickering to his mouth for a heartbeat, and satoru feels the world tilt, gravity slipping away. he leans in, instinct overriding reason, drawn to you like a tide to the shore—

a wave crashes over you, tearing you apart with a roar of laughter and salt spray. you’re both gasping, grinning, the moment shattered but still humming between you.

you beat him back to shore, stumbling through the shallows, your laughter ringing like bells. by the time he catches up, you’re shivering, arms wrapped around yourself, the first stars blinking awake overhead, faint against the deepening indigo.

without a word, he grabs his hoodie from the truck, the fabric soft and worn, and drapes it over your shoulders. it swallows you, sleeves dangling past your hands, but you tug it tight, burying your face in the collar, and the sight of you in his clothes does something vicious to his chest.

“thanks,” you whisper, voice soft, nearly lost to the wind, your eyes catching his, warm and unguarded.

neither of you moves. the moment stretches, fragile as glass, strung between the stars and the restless waves, the air thick with salt and unspoken things. satoru’s heart hammers, every beat a confession he can’t voice.

“suguru would kill me,” he blurts, the words rough, desperate, a lifeline to keep him grounded.

you tilt your head, studying him, the wind tugging at your hair. “for what?”

for wanting you. for almost kissing you. for dreaming of you every night since you came back.

“for keeping you out too late,” he lies, voice scraping, hating how weak it sounds.

you laugh, soft and knowing, like you see through him, like you always have. “i’m not a kid, toru.”

he swallows, throat burning. “you’ve always been… different. special.” the words slip out, raw and unguarded, and he regrets them instantly, but your eyes soften, something tender flickering there.

you step closer, close enough that he can smell the salt on your skin, the faint coconut of your sunscreen lingering. “maybe i’m tougher than you think,” you say, brushing sand off his shoulder with fingers so light they feel like a dream, your touch lingering a second too long.

“maybe,” he croaks, voice breaking, his hands twitching to pull you closer.

you hold his gaze, long and steady, then sigh, stepping back, the space between you cold and sudden. “we should go,” you murmur, voice laced with something heavy, something he can’t name.

he drives you home slowly, windows down, the radio murmuring a low, slow song that weaves through the night. you curl up in the passenger seat, still in his hoodie, humming softly, your voice a thread he wants to chase forever. the road stretches, quiet and dark, the ocean a shadow to your left, its rhythm steady against the chaos in his chest.

at your house, the porch light glows, a soft amber pool, but suguru’s truck is gone, the driveway empty. “thanks for the swim,” you say, lingering with your hand on the door, your fingers brushing the handle like you’re reluctant to leave.

“anytime,” he says, meaning it too much, his voice low, heavy with everything he’s holding back.

you lean across the console, and his breath catches, time slowing as you press a kiss to his cheek—soft, quick, a fleeting devastation. your lips are warm, barely there, but they burn, a spark that could set him ablaze. then you’re gone, darting up the steps, pausing to throw him a wink, bright and teasing, before slipping inside.

he sits there, hand pressed to his cheek, heart pounding like it’s trying to escape. the engine ticks, the night presses in, and he’s alone with the ghost of your kiss, the weight of it heavier than the ocean.

“you’re fucked,” he tells his reflection in the rearview mirror, voice rough, eyes wide and stunned.

his reflection doesn’t argue, just stares back, helpless.

the next morning at the stand, suguru’s quiet, frowning over inventory lists, his pen scratching too hard against the clipboard. “you okay?” satoru asks, dread curling in his gut, the memory of last night still burning.

“late night,” suguru mutters, scribbling a note, his voice clipped.

relief floods satoru, sharp and dizzying, nearly knocking him off balance. “the bonfire girl?” he asks, forcing a grin.

suguru smirks, a glint in his eyes. “very flexible.”

normal. it’s normal. nothing’s changed.

then you appear, hair twisted into a messy bun, strands escaping to frame your face, wearing cutoff shorts and—satoru’s breath catches, a punch to the chest—his hoodie, sleeves pushed up to your elbows, the fabric loose but claiming you in a way that makes his head spin. “morning!” you chirp, dropping your bag behind the counter, the zipper jingling softly.

“you’re late,” suguru grumbles, mock stern, tossing you an apron.

“by like, five minutes,” you protest, rolling your eyes, your lips twitching with a smile.

“still late,” he insists, but there’s no heat in it, just the easy rhythm of family.

you catch the apron one-handed, sticking your tongue out at him when he turns away. satoru pretends to fiddle with the register, fingers clumsy on the keys, trying not to stare at you, at the way his hoodie looks on you, at the way it feels like a claim he didn’t mean to make.

but when you catch his eye across the stand, your smile slows, turns secret, full of promises he’s not sure he can survive. it’s a look that says you remember last night—the swim, the almost-kiss, the kiss that was—and his heart lurches, knowing he’s lost, knowing he doesn’t want to fight it, not with the annual bonfire party looming, its heat and chaos waiting to pull him under.

the bonfire party pulses against the darkening sky, flames clawing upward, casting amber and gold across faces slick with sweat and laughter. satoru nurses a beer, the bottle cool and slick in his palm, half-listening to a friend drone on about swell patterns and reef breaks. his attention frays, eyes slicing through the crowd, searching for you, a reflex he can’t tame.

when you appear, the world collapses to a single, searing point.

you step from the beach path, a peach sundress clinging to your curves, thin straps shimmering like liquid firelight, the hem teasing high on your thighs. your hair’s loose, wild from the salt air, curling against your shoulders like it’s daring the wind to try harder. you look shy at first, eyes darting through the chaos of bodies, searching for an anchor.

then you find him.

your eyes lock across the fire, and your smile—small, devastating, a curve of lips that’s both invitation and blade—cuts through him. it steals his breath, roots him to the sand, the beer bottle nearly slipping from his grip. his heart’s a traitor, pounding loud enough to drown out the music, and he’s terrified suguru’s nearby, that his best friend’s sharp eyes will catch the way satoru’s unraveling.

“dude, you even listening?” his friend asks, waving a hand in front of his face, voice tinged with annoyance.

“what? yeah,” satoru mumbles, not hearing a damn thing, unable to tear himself from you, from the way the firelight dances across your face.

a shadow moves beside him, and suguru’s there, beer in hand, leaning back against a driftwood log. “you’re zoning out,” he says, voice neutral, taking a slow sip. his eyes flick to the crowd, casual, but satoru’s stomach lurches—suguru knows him too well, reads him like a book, and satoru’s been anything but subtle tonight.

“just hot,” satoru mutters, tipping his beer back, the bitter fizz doing nothing to cool the heat crawling up his neck. he forces his gaze to the fire, to the sparks spiraling into the night, praying suguru doesn’t push.

suguru hums, noncommittal, and says nothing more, but the silence feels heavy, like he’s waiting for satoru to crack. satoru tries to play it cool—laughs at a half-heard joke, tosses a stick into the flames, watches it catch and burn. but you’re a tide, pulling at him, relentless.

the way your dress shifts with the breeze, tracing the dip of your waist; the bare slope of your shoulders, kissed by firelight; the glint of your anklet, a silver thread against your ankle. it’s torture, and he’s burning, every nerve alight with want he’s desperate to hide.

you drift through the party, a fleeting spark, never staying long. you laugh with girls from the rival stand, their voices sharp and bright, then pause to chat with a guy satoru half-remembers from high school—tanned, smug, standing too close.

you tilt your head back, laughing, throat bared, and satoru’s grip dents his beer can, the metal creaking under his fingers. the urge to cross the sand, to shove the guy back, is a live wire in his veins, but he stays put, jaw tight, because suguru’s right there, watching the fire, and one wrong move could betray him.

“you’re gonna break that,” suguru says, voice low, nodding at the can, his tone too even to be safe.

satoru sets it down, dragging a hand through his hair, the strands damp with sweat. “i’m fine,” he says, too sharp, and regrets it instantly, the words too defensive.

suguru raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t push, just takes another sip, his gaze drifting to the crowd. satoru follows it, and there you are, catching his eye again, your stare steady, unflinching. you take a slow sip of your beer, tongue flicking out to catch a drop on your bottom lip, and desire coils in satoru’s stomach, hot and heavy, his mouth dry as the ash at his feet.

he shifts, crossing his arms, trying to ground himself, to look anywhere but at you. suguru’s too close, too perceptive, and satoru’s walking a tightrope, every glance a risk. he forces a laugh at something his friend says, but it’s hollow, his focus fractured by the way you move, the way you exist, like you’re pulling the air from his lungs.

you’re there suddenly, standing before them, your sundress glowing orange in the firelight, sand dusting your bare ankles, a faint sheen of sweat on your collarbone. “hey,” you say, voice soft, a little breathless, like the crowd’s worn you thin, like you’re seeking refuge.

suguru shifts, patting the space on the log between them. “plenty of room,” he says, easy, tossing you a chip from the bag at his feet. “hungry?”

“i’m your only sister,” you point out, rolling your eyes as you settle onto the log, careful with the short hem of your dress, thighs brushing the rough wood.

you’re too close—satoru can smell your shampoo, coconut and sweet, weaving through the smoky air. your knee presses against his, a steady heat through his jeans, and he shifts, angling away, terrified of leaning into it, of suguru noticing the way his hands twitch.

you slip into easy talk, the three of you passing the chip bag, laughing at suguru’s tales of tourists losing sunglasses to the waves. but there’s a charge humming under it all, a current satoru can’t ignore.

he’s hyperaware of you—the way your fingers tuck a stray curl behind your ear, the soft hitch of your breath when you laugh, the way your eyes find his in the firelight, each glance a spark that could ignite him. suguru’s right there, sprawled and relaxed, but satoru’s nerves are a live wire, every moment a test of his restraint.

the speaker blasts a new song, bass thumping across the sand, and couples start dancing near the fire, shadows twisting against the flames. a guy approaches you—tall, cocky, hand outstretched, all easy charm. “dance with me?” he asks, grinning like he’s already won.

satoru’s jaw clenches, a spike of something hot and reckless surging in his chest, but you just smile, polite, shaking your head. “maybe later,” you say, voice light, and relief crashes through satoru, sharp and unearned, loosening the knot in his gut.

the guy shrugs, moving on, and suguru watches, finishing his beer in a long gulp, the bottle glinting in the firelight. he stands, stretching, his shadow long across the sand. “gonna grab another,” he says, voice casual, but his eyes linger on you for a beat, then flick to satoru, unreadable. “you two want anything?”

“i’m good,” satoru says, too fast, his pulse still settling, his hands gripping his knees to keep still.

“i’ll take another,” you say, holding up your empty can, fingers brushing the rim, a faint smudge of lipstick on the edge.

suguru nods, then heads off, weaving through the crowd, his absence leaving a void that hums with possibility. the fire crackles, music pulses low, and the silence between you and satoru stretches, thick with smoke and want, the air heavy with everything he’s fighting to hide.

“having fun?” he asks, voice rougher than he means, cringing at how weak it sounds, like a kid fumbling for words.

you smile, eyes on the fire, flames dancing in your gaze like they’re part of you. “yeah. it’s nice being back for the summer.” you turn to him, face half-shadowed, half-glowing, your expression soft, open. “better than i expected.”

“yeah?” he asks, heart hammering, the sound too loud in his ears, terrified suguru’s watching from the drink table, catching every slip.

you nod, holding his gaze, steady, unflinching. “yeah.”

the silence deepens, heavy as the tide, pulling at him. you take a deep breath, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your dress, tugging it down, and he can’t look away from the nervous bite of your lip, the way it shines, wet with beer and firelight. he’s drowning, and suguru’s absence is a dangerous freedom, every second a chance to break.

“actually, i’m feeling a little…” you trail off, glancing at the crowd, the laughter and chaos swelling around you. “it’s kinda loud. kinda crowded.”

“we can move down the beach,” satoru offers, instant, eager, desperate to keep this moment. “if you want quiet.”

you shake your head, lip caught between your teeth, a gesture that’s a fucking dart to his chest. “i was thinking… maybe you could drive me home?”

his brain stutters, blanks. “home?” he echoes, keys already burning in his pocket, his hands itching to move.

“if you don’t mind,” you add, quick, a blush blooming across your cheeks, soft and real, like you’re offering more than you’re saying. “i’m just… tired.”

he knows you’re not tired. knows it like he knows the pull of the ocean, the sting of salt. your eyes are too bright, too awake, the lie a fragile veil over something bolder. he’s nodding, fumbling for his keys, heart pounding loud enough to drown out the fire’s crackle. “yeah, of course. let me just tell suguru—”

“already texted him,” you say, holding up your phone, a shy smile curving your lips. “he says it’s fine.”

satoru’s pulse spikes, panic and want twisting together. suguru’s out there, somewhere, and satoru’s terrified he’s watching, that he’ll see the truth in his face, the way he’s crumbling under your gaze. but he stands, offering his hand, voice rough. “let’s go.”

you take it, fingers warm, slightly sticky from the beer, letting him pull you up. you sway, bumping his chest, and he steadies you, hands on your waist, the thin fabric of your dress no barrier to the heat of your skin. “sorry,” you murmur, looking up through your lashes, not stepping back, your breath a soft tease against his jaw.

“that’s okay,” he says, voice raw, barely holding it together. “i’ve got you.”

you weave through the crowd to the parking lot, your hand still in his, a tether he’s terrified to break. satoru spots suguru by the drink table, their eyes meeting across the sand. suguru’s gaze is steady, a small nod passing between them, no words, just an acknowledgment that feels like a warning: don’t cross the line.

satoru nods back, a silent promise he’s not sure he can keep, and guides you to his truck.

the drive’s quiet at first, just the engine’s low growl and the distant rhythm of waves. satoru grips the wheel, knuckles white, hyperaware of you in the passenger seat—your bare legs catching moonlight, the way your dress rides up, revealing the soft curve of your thigh.

you turn the radio on low, a sultry summer song with a bassline that matches his pulse, heavy and slow. your knee brushes his, stays there, a deliberate heat that sets him ablaze, and he’s fighting every instinct to keep his hands where they belong, to keep suguru’s trust intact.

“thank you,” you say, voice soft, cutting through the dark like a lighthouse beam. “for the ride.”

“anytime,” he says, and it’s a vow, heavy with everything he’s burying, everything he’s too afraid to let suguru see.

another mile hums by, the radio crackling low, a sultry bassline weaving through the dark. tires whisper against cracked asphalt, a secret shared between the truck and the night. the windows are cracked, letting in slivers of humid, salt-heavy air, thick with the scent of seaweed and distant bonfires. it does nothing to ease the heat coiling inside the cab, a fever that clings to your skin, makes every breath feel flushed, electric, like the world’s poised on a knife’s edge.

satoru feels it before he sees it—your gaze, molten and heavy, searing into the side of his face. the air shifts, sharp, trembling, a wire stretched to snapping. weeks of want, maybe years, spill over, uncontainable, a tide breaking against a crumbling dam.

“satoru,” you whisper, voice catching, raw with a need that slices through him. “pull over. please.”

he glances at you, and it’s a fucking mistake. your eyes glitter in the dashboard’s dim glow, wild and wide, lips parted, hands fisting the hem of your peach sundress, knuckles pale like you’re clinging to sanity. “what?” he asks, voice fraying, teetering on wrecked.

“please,” you say again, lip quivering, voice splintering under the weight of desperation. “i can’t hold it anymore.”

he doesn’t hesitate. the blinker clicks, sharp and urgent, the truck veering onto the sandy shoulder, ocean roaring below the cliffs, a primal pulse in the dark. he shifts into park, and the world catches fire.

“i can’t,” you whisper, eyes wide, pleading, like you’re unraveling. “i can’t pretend like you’re not everything anymore.”

he freezes, waiting for you to laugh, to take it back, but your hands are on him, yanking him across the console, your mouth crashing into his. you taste like desperation, strawberry lip gloss, and something achingly sweet, a heartbreak he can’t name. he moans, low and stunned, hands flying to your hips as you pour into him, a wave finally breaking, relentless and all-consuming.

your kiss is frantic, messy, teeth catching his lip, tongue sliding against his in a clumsy, starving dance. he’s drowning, your body pressing closer, like you could meld into him, erase every inch of space. “wait,” he gasps, pulling back, forehead knocking against yours, breath jagged, the air between you steaming. “baby, you’ve been drinking. i can’t—”

“satoru,” you whimper, fingers digging into his shirt, nails biting through cotton, dragging him back. “i know what i’m doing. i’ve wanted you since i was sixteen. please. just tonight. let me have you.”

the raw truth in your voice shatters him, every defense crumbling like sand. “oh, sweetheart,” he coos, teasing but hungry, kissing you again, deep and reckless, tongue chasing yours like he’s been starved for you. “we should—shit, we should find a bed, somewhere better—”

“no,” you cut him off, voice fierce, climbing over the console, straddling his lap in the driver’s seat. your dress rides up, thighs bare and warm against his jeans, and he chokes, breath hitching at the heat of you. “here. now. i can’t wait.”

he’s trying to be good, trying to think of suguru, of the lines he shouldn’t cross, but you’re too much—too pretty, too desperate, grinding against him, the friction making his vision blur. “backseat,” he murmurs, voice low, fraying with impatience, hands gripping your waist to lift you. “more room, pretty girl.”

you nod, frantic, and you both tumble out into the humid dark, clumsy with need, the night thick with the buzz of cicadas and the ocean’s restless crash. he catches you when your sandal snags on the doorframe, your laugh breathless, a sound that hooks into his ribs and pulls tight.

he shoves open the back door, guiding you inside with a hand on your lower back, firm but gentle, the leather seats gleaming faintly in the moonlight.

the backseat’s a tight cocoon, windows fogging, the air steaming with heat and lust. you climb in, pulling him after you, straddling him again, knees bracketing his hips, the seat creaking under your weight. your sundress is a crumpled mess, straps slipping off your shoulders, and he’s lost, staring at you like you’re a fucking vision, eyes glinting with want, skin flushed and alive.

“c’mere, gorgeous,” he coos, voice dripping with tease, but there’s a tremor beneath it, a hunger he can’t hide. he drags you closer, hands sliding under your dress, palms worshipping the smooth expanse of your thighs, the curve of your hips, the soft dip of your waist.

you gasp, grinding against him, and he feels himself, thick and aching, pressed against your core through his jeans, every roll of your hips a sweet kind of torture.

“you’re gonna fuckin’ ruin me,” he murmurs, breath hitching, hands trembling as he pushes your dress higher, exposing the soft skin of your stomach, the delicate lace of your panties. his voice is all tease, but his eyes are dark, pupils blown, betraying the impatience clawing at him.

you giggle, wrecked and sweet, and he grits his teeth, your laugh a spark to his fraying control. “lemme touch you,” he pleads, voice low, edged with a need that’s almost painful, fingers itching to claim every inch of you.

“yes,” you breathe, thighs parting, a flower opening to the sun, offering him everything.

he traces slow, maddening patterns up your inner thighs, savoring every twitch, every shiver, the way your breath catches when his knuckles graze too close. his fingers brush the damp lace of your panties, and he curses, soft and reverent, the heat of you undoing him.

“soaked already,” he purrs, lips grazing your ear, voice thick with awe, a teasing lilt masking the way his hands shake. “such a good girl for me.”

he slips beneath the lace, and you choke on a cry, biting your knuckles, head falling back against the seat. “nuh-uh,” he teases, nipping your neck, a playful bite that stings just enough to make you gasp. “no hiding, baby. i want every sound. lemme hear you.”

he tugs your hand away, pinning it against the seat, his other hand working slow, deliberate circles over your clit, featherlight and cruel.

you whimper, high and broken, hips bucking into his touch, chasing the friction. he’s methodical, a tease—circling your clit with barely-there pressure, dipping lower to trace your entrance, then back up, dragging out every sensation until you’re writhing, grinding shamelessly against his hand.

“satoru,” you pant, nails scoring his shoulders through his shirt, leaving crescent marks he’ll trace later, proof of you.

“patience, sweetheart,” he murmurs, lips dragging wet down your throat, teeth grazing the frantic pulse at your neck. “gonna savor you. make you forget anyone else ever touched you.” his voice is a promise, teasing but laced with a hunger that betrays his own impatience, and you shudder, thighs trembling under his hands.

he shoves your panties aside, tossing them into the backseat’s shadows, and spreads you open, pressing you back against the seat, the leather sticking to your sweat-slick skin. the angle’s awkward, the space cramped, but he makes it work, one knee braced against the floorboard, shoulders hunching to fit, his breath hot against your core.

“prettiest fuckin’ pussy,” he murmurs, eyes dark, pupils swallowing the blue, staring at you like you’re a banquet and he’s been starving for years.

he kisses up your thigh, slow, messy, lips smearing wet trails, tongue flicking out to taste the salt of your skin, the faint musk of you driving him wild. his hands grip your hips, fingers bruising, holding you still as he edges closer, breath fanning hot over your core, making you squirm. when his tongue drags a long, languid stripe up your folds, you sob, arching off the seat, hands flying to his hair, yanking hard enough to sting.

he moans, the sound eager, vibrating through you, and dives in, ravenous. he’s messy, relentless—tongue lapping broad, greedy strokes, then sharp, teasing flicks against your clit, nose nudging you with every movement.

his lips close around your clit, sucking lightly, and you cry out, thighs clamping around his head, a vise he welcomes. he pries your legs wider, fingers digging into the soft flesh, and keeps going, tongue tracing every fold, every sensitive inch, like he’s mapping you.

“taste like fuckin’ heaven,” he mumbles, words slurred, muffled against your core, lips brushing your clit as he speaks. his tongue dips lower, teasing your entrance, and he slides a finger inside, curling it slow, deliberate, searching for that spot that makes your breath hitch. you keen, high and desperate, and he adds another finger, stretching you, pumping in time with the sharp flicks of his tongue, the rhythm maddening.

“satoru,” you wail, overwhelmed, hips bucking, chasing the heat of his mouth, the pressure of his fingers. his eyes flick up, meeting yours, and they’re wild—lids heavy, face flushed, glistening with your slick, utterly lost in you.

he’s trying to hold back, to keep some control, because you’re suguru’s sister, because he shouldn’t, but you’re too fucking perfect, grinding against his face, and he’s unraveling, impatient for more.

he shifts, the backseat too small, his shoulder bumping the fogged window, smearing the condensation. one hand braces against the door, keeping him steady, the other working you deeper, fingers curling just right, hitting that spot again and again until your thighs shake.

his tongue traces patterns—lazy circles, sharp figure-eights, quick flicks that have you gasping, trembling. he pulls back for a moment, just to spit on you, the wet heat mixing with your slick, making everything filthier, then dives back in, lapping it up, sucking harder, fingers pumping faster, the wet sounds lewd and intoxicating.

“so fuckin’ wet,” he coos, voice teasing, lips brushing your clit, but the undercurrent of hunger is undeniable, his patience fraying. “dripping all over me, baby. gonna scream for me soon.” he dives back in, tongue relentless, fingers twisting, and you’re a mess, thighs quivering, chest heaving, the leather creaking under your restless movements.

“please,” you whimper, voice breaking, hands yanking his hair, pulling him closer, needing more. “faster, satoru, please.”

“greedy little thing,” he teases, but he obliges, tongue flicking quicker, fingers pumping deeper, curling sharper. “love it when you beg. makes me wanna tie you up, keep you like this all night.” his voice is playful, but the idea’s a spark, and you shudder, the image of you bound and spread for him making you clench around his fingers.

he groans, feeling it, and sucks your clit hard, tongue swirling, fingers relentless. you’re close, he knows it—the way you tighten around him, the way your hips stutter, the way your cries turn hoarse, desperate. he doubles down, tongue sloppy, lips smacking wetly, fingers driving into you, chasing every gasp, every shudder. “c’mon, pretty girl,” he coos, words muffled, dripping with want. “cum for me. let me taste it. fuckin’ paint me.”

you shatter, a hoarse, sobbing cry tearing from your throat as you come undone, convulsing under him, waves of pleasure crashing through you, your body arching off the seat. he doesn’t stop, lips moving, tongue lapping, fingers pumping, drawing out every tremor, every aftershock, greedy for every drop.

you’re whimpering, oversensitive, pushing weakly at his shoulders, but he’s too far gone, chasing the last of your release, his mouth slick and shining.

“satoru, fuck,” you gasp, voice broken, hands shoving at him, but there’s no strength, just a plea he ignores. he grins against you, sloppy and drunk, and licks another slow, deliberate stripe, making you jolt, a fresh whimper spilling out.

“one more, baby,” he murmurs, voice thick, almost pleading, lips brushing your clit, teasing and soft. “you’ve got another for me, don’t you? know you do.” his fingers slide deeper, curling slow, coaxing, tongue flicking light, playful, drawing you back to the edge with a patience that’s more about his hunger than your comfort.

you’re a wreck, thighs trembling, breath hitching, but you can’t resist him, not when he’s like this—teasing, hungry, cooing like you’re his to unravel.

he adjusts, cramped knees creaking, one hand gripping your thigh to keep you spread, hooking your leg over his shoulder to open you wider. his tongue circles your clit, soft and teasing, fingers pumping slow, deep, dragging out every sensation until you’re whining, high and needy, hands tugging his hair again.

“look at you,” he purrs, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes, his face a mess—lips swollen, cheeks glistening, chin dripping with you. “so fuckin’ perfect, falling apart for me. bet you’d let me do anything, huh?” he nips your inner thigh, a quick, sharp bite, and you gasp, hips jerking.

“satoru,” you plead, voice fraying, “too much.”

“too much?” he teases, tongue flicking your clit, light and quick, making you twitch. “thought you wanted me, baby. thought you couldn’t wait.” his fingers curl, slow and wicked, and you arch, a fresh cry spilling out. “that’s it, give me everything. love watching you break.”

he dives back in, tongue tracing lazy patterns, lips sucking soft, then hard, alternating to keep you guessing, keep you trembling. his fingers work deeper, stretching you, curling against that spot that makes your vision blur, the wet sounds filling the backseat, obscene and intoxicating.

he’s relentless, messy, eating you like he’s been denied for years, like every lick is a claim. his free hand slides up, cupping your breast through your dress, thumb circling your nipple, teasing until it’s hard, until you’re gasping, overwhelmed.

“wanna see you ride my face,” he murmurs, voice slurred, drunk on you, pulling back to catch his breath, his lips slick and shining. “wanna feel you grind, baby. c’mon, use me.” he doesn’t wait for an answer, just shifts, lying back on the seat, pulling you up, guiding your hips over his face, his hands firm but coaxing.

you hesitate, oversensitive, but he’s insistent, tugging you down, and when his tongue flicks your clit again, you’re gone, grinding against him, chasing the heat.

he groans, eager, hands gripping your ass, guiding your movements, his tongue relentless, flicking, circling, sucking. you’re a vision, dress hiked up, straps falling, hair a wild mess, and he’s lost, watching you use him, watching you fall apart again.

“that’s it, baby,” he coos, voice muffled, vibrating through you. “fuck my face, c’mon, give it to me.” his words are filthy, teasing, but the hunger’s raw, impatient, and you’re too far gone to care, hips rolling, chasing the edge again.

he sucks hard, fingers digging into your hips, and you shatter a second time, weaker but sharper, a cry ripping from you as you convulse, thighs shaking, his tongue still moving, still greedy.

he laps you through it, slow, deliberate, not stopping until you’re limp, gasping, hands falling loose in his hair. his lips are swollen, face glistening, eyes hazy, utterly wrecked. he presses one last kiss to your clit, soft, almost worshipful, before pulling back, panting, staring at you like you’ve rewritten his world.

“fuck, sweetheart,” he breathes, voice raw, teasing but frayed with want, his hands still roaming your thighs, like he can’t let go. “you’re gonna be the death of me.”

“want you,” you whisper, dragging satoru up from where he’s still panting between your thighs, lips slick and swollen, the taste of you lingering on his tongue as you crash into him.

the kiss is filthy, all teeth and hunger, a clash of desperation and need. your hands claw at his shoulders, nails biting through his shirt, pulling him so close it’s like you’re trying to carve yourself into him.

he moans, a low, wrecked sound, hands frantic as he helps you tear his shirt off. the fabric snags, rips at the seam, and you both laugh—breathless, wild, the sound swallowed by the thick air of the backseat.

you pause, hands splaying over his chest, fingers tracing the lean muscle under flushed skin, the faint freckles scattered across his collarbone like stars he never noticed. he’s beautiful, carved but human, chest heaving under your touch, eyes dark with a want that makes your breath catch.

“fuck, you’re staring,” he teases, voice rough but laced with a shy edge, a flush creeping up his neck that’s got nothing to do with the heat.

“can’t help it,” you murmur, tracing the sharp line of his abs, feeling the shudder that ripples through him. “you’re too damn pretty, toru.”

he curses, soft and reverent, a quiet “shit” that’s more prayer than profanity, and shoves his jeans down, kicking them into the backseat’s shadows with a clumsy thud.

his cock springs free—thick, flushed, the tip glistening with pre-cum, and you whimper, thighs clenching, a fresh wave of heat pooling low. he’s big, bigger than you’d imagined in your wildest, most reckless dreams, and the sight of him sends a thrill through you, sharp and electric.

he hesitates, forehead pressed to yours, breath hot and ragged, the air between you steaming with sweat and want. “baby, i don’t have a condom,” he says, voice tight, the words dragged out like they’re killing him, his hands trembling on your hips.

“don’t care,” you whisper, desperate, hands sliding to his hips, pulling him closer until his cock brushes your thigh, hot and heavy. “want you. all of you. please, satoru.”

he curses again, louder, a broken “fuck” as he drags his cock through your folds, slicking himself in your wetness, the head catching on your clit and making you gasp, hips jerking.

“last chance, sweetheart,” he coos, eyes locked on yours, pupils blown so wide the blue’s a thin ring, a man teetering on the edge of control. “you sure?”

“please,” you beg, wrapping your legs around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back, urging him closer. “need you inside me. now.”

he groans, a sound that’s all need, and pushes in slow, careful, watching your face with a focus that makes your heart stutter. the stretch is intense, a delicious burn that has you clutching his shoulders, nails biting into his skin, leaving marks he’ll trace later with a grin. he buries his face in your shoulder, moaning, the sound low and frayed, like he’s coming apart.

“fuck, you’re tight,” he whimpers, voice shaking, a teasing lilt undercut by raw hunger. “squeezin’ me so good, pretty girl.”

he moves slow, rocking into you, letting you adjust to the fullness, each shallow thrust stealing your breath. it stings, but it’s perfect—the way he fills you, the way he’s careful but desperate, holding back just enough to keep from breaking you. “more,” you beg, rolling your hips, greedy, chasing the friction, the pressure. “harder, satoru, please.”

“greedy little thing,” he teases, a chuckle that’s all heat, hands gripping your hips so tight you’ll bruise, a possessive edge to his touch as he pulls back, then fucks into you deeper, harder, the truck creaking with the force. you gasp, head falling back, nails raking down his back, leaving red trails he’ll wear like a trophy.

“satoru,” you sob, overwhelmed by the fullness, the way he hits every spot, splitting you open in the best way. the backseat’s too small, his knees bumping the door, your elbow grazing the fogged window, but it’s raw, filthy—the cramped space forcing you closer, bodies tangled, slick with sweat.

the air’s thick, heavy with the scent of sex, salt, and the faint coconut of your skin, windows fogged so tight you’re a secret hidden from the world.

“feels like fuckin’ heaven,” he pants, finding a rhythm, deep and steady, his cock dragging against your walls with every thrust, the wet sounds obscene, filling the cab.

the distant crash of waves below weaves through your gasps, his groans, the leather creaking under you. his hands roam, possessive, one sliding up to cup your breast through your dress, thumb teasing your nipple until it’s hard, making you whimper.

“look at you, baby,” he coos, voice teasing but frayed with impatience, “taking me so well.”

“let me ride you,” you gasp, pushing at his chest, desperate to feel him deeper, to take control, to make him unravel. your voice is a plea, high and needy, and his eyes flash, something feral sparking in them.

“fuck yes,” he murmurs, wild and breathless, a grin splitting his face. “come take it, gorgeous.” he flips you in one fluid motion, maneuvering in the tight space with a grace that’s almost unfair, pulling you on top as he settles back against the seat, the leather sticking to his sweat-slick back. his hands tug at your dress, impatient, a low growl in his throat. “off. now. wanna see every inch of you.”

you nod, frantic, yanking the sundress over your head, the fabric catching in your hair before you toss it aside. your breasts spill free, no bra—because of course, you fucking minx—and satoru moans, loud and broken, hands flying to cup them, thumbs brushing your nipples, sending jolts through you.

“fuck, you’re perfect,” he murmurs, squeezing gently, rolling the sensitive peaks until you arch, grinding against him, a whine slipping from your lips. he leans up, sucking one nipple into his mouth, tongue flicking, teeth grazing just enough to sting, and you cry out, hips bucking instinctively.

“satoru,” you whimper, hands tangling in his hair, tugging hard, and he groans, switching to the other breast, lavishing it with wet, messy attention, his lips leaving a trail of heat. his hands roam—one squeezing your ass, urging you to move, the other pinching your nipple, making you shudder, your core clenching around nothing.

“ride me, baby,” he pants, pulling back, lips wet and swollen, eyes dark and hazy, pupils swallowing the blue. “take what’s yours. lemme see you fall apart.”

you sink down on him, trembling, the stretch deeper at this angle, a sharp, perfect ache that has you whimpering, pausing to adjust, your breath hitching. he fills you completely, the head of his cock kissing your cervix, and you grip his shoulders, nails biting into his skin, grounding yourself.

“that’s it, pretty girl,” he coos, hands steadying your hips, guiding you gently, his voice teasing but laced with a hunger that betrays his impatience. “fuck, you feel so good. so fuckin’ perfect.”

you move, hips rolling, clumsy at first, finding a rhythm that sends sparks up your spine. the leather sticks to your thighs, the air thick with the scent of sweat and sex, the windows fogged so tight you’re a world unto yourselves. his hands help, guiding your hips, but his eyes are glued to where you’re joined, watching his cock disappear into you, slick and glistening, a low groan spilling from his lips.

“look at you,” he breathes, voice thick with awe, a teasing edge fraying with need. “so fuckin’ gorgeous, taking me like that.”

every roll of your hips is electric, your thighs quivering, the effort making your muscles burn, but it’s worth it for the way he looks at you—like you’re a goddess, like he’s worshiping you with every thrust.

he meets you halfway, thrusting up, matching your pace, the truck rocking with the force, creaking and swaying like it’s barely holding together. his hands slide to your breasts, squeezing, thumbs teasing your nipples until you’re moaning, loud and shameless, lost in the heat of him.

“mine,” he murmurs, pulling you down for a rough kiss, teeth catching your lip, biting just enough to make you gasp. “fuck, you’re mine, baby. always have been.”

“yours,” you sob, collapsing against his chest, hips still grinding, chasing the pressure building inside you, a coil winding tighter with every move. his hands are everywhere—gripping your ass, cupping your breasts, sliding to your clit, rubbing messy, desperate circles that have you shaking, so close you can taste it.

he shifts, adjusting the angle, one hand braced against the door to keep his balance, the other guiding your hips faster, harder.

“c’mon, sweetheart,” he pants, voice wrecked, eyes locked on yours, a teasing grin fading into raw hunger. “gimme another. wanna feel you cum on my cock.”

his thrusts turn brutal, deep, hitting that spot over and over, and you’re gone, shattering around him, walls clenching tight, dragging a low, desperate moan from his throat as he feels you pulse, hot and wet. but he’s not done. you’re still trembling, riding out the aftershocks, when he grows impatient, his cock throbbing, the need to cum clawing at him.

“fuck, baby, you’re too slow,” he teases, but his voice is strained, fraying with lust, a man on the edge. his hands grip your hips, fingers digging in, and he lifts you, bouncing you on his lap with a strength that makes you gasp, the truck shaking with every movement.

“satoru,” you whimper, hands clutching his shoulders, nails scoring his skin as he sets a relentless pace, thrusting up into you, each slam of your hips against his sending shocks through you. the angle’s deeper, his cock hitting that sweet spot with every bounce, and you’re helpless, a ragdoll in his hands, your breasts bouncing, your moans spilling out, loud and broken.

“that’s it, baby,” he coos, but it’s dark, impatient, his eyes wild as he watches you, watches himself disappear into you, slick and messy. “fuck, you feel so good. gonna—shit, gonna cum if you keep squeezing me like that.” his hands tighten, bouncing you faster, harder, the wet sounds of your bodies colliding filling the backseat, obscene and intoxicating.

“please,” you beg, voice fracturing, overwhelmed by the intensity, the way he’s taking you apart again. “want it, satoru. want you.”

“fuck, say that again,” he groans, thrusting up harder, his voice teetering on desperate, the teasing gone, replaced by raw need. “tell me you want me.”

“want you,” you gasp, clinging to him, your lips brushing his jaw, his neck, as he bounces you, the friction driving you to the edge again. “want you so bad, toru. always have.”

he’s unraveling, his thrusts turning sloppy, erratic, his breath hitching as he chases his release. “fuck, baby, you’re too much,” he pants, hands sliding to your ass, squeezing hard, guiding you down onto him one last time. “gonna—fuck, i can’t—”

he pulls out just in time, groaning loud and broken, spilling across your thighs, hot and thick, painting your skin as he slumps against you, panting into the crook of your neck, both of you trembling, spent.

for a long moment, it’s just the ocean’s roar below, the frantic thud of your hearts, the sticky heat wrapping you tight, the air heavy with the scent of sex and salt. he grabs his discarded shirt, cleaning you up with slow, careful swipes, his touch soft now, almost reverent, his fingers lingering on your skin.

“you okay, pretty girl?” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead, then your cheek, his lips warm, lingering, like he’s memorizing you.

“perfect,” you sigh, nuzzling into him, your body loose, sated, still buzzing with aftershocks, the leather creaking under you as you shift closer.

he helps you tug your dress back on, hands trailing soft, teasing paths over your shoulders, your collarbone, stealing kisses between every adjustment, his lips brushing your skin like he can’t bear to stop.

you’re curled together in the sticky heat, limbs tangled, the backseat too small but perfect for this—pressed close, hearts still racing, the fogged windows shielding you from the world. he checks his phone, and there’s one message from suguru:

you suck at hiding it. don’t get her pregnant, dumbass.

satoru groans, dropping his head onto your shoulder, his hair tickling your neck, a laugh bubbling up despite the mortification. “busted,” he mutters, half-amused, half-dreading the inevitable lecture.

“worth it,” you giggle, fingers tangling in his hair, tugging lightly, your lips brushing his temple, soft and warm, a promise in the touch.

tangled together under the heavy night, the world slipping out of focus—it’s just you and him, caught up in something quiet and reckless, something that feels too big to name.

a/n : ew i cant believe i had to mention sukuna but dw he got hit by a ten wheeler truck while the ending was happening. i scrapped the sorta aftermath of this which is one week later because it included risky beach sex.. lmk if y'all would want to see it ^_^

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artcalledwrap · 11 months ago

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If I If I was running a govt Thank too Leeds My abracadabra dab me in sister I would choose Lock up and throw away the keys Maro Largo Marlboro smoking to cancers Stop Sold Steal Sell Sloop Soup In your non closed cold-ed coaled excellence heads If I I if Could be Igloo in for safety After heat comes cold We need more after 20 years old add adult more education Schooling not discounted until after 30 Make a more than Always 50/50 difference Sublimed adults detentions SAD Feel for MADD So JUST SAY NO That’s you Republicans Closed borders brought in Drugs to digest in other millionaire sources Governing Watches And Pitts show a face since train! Angelina Went you that woman of what country that never American made it! What’s the nationality Behind in Walls like white face EX Ex P Ex F President George watched Cloned better works eleven Took the whole ensemble To carry zit and it For more than Two Add one for Woman From hackers and Epstein-ers era’s errors Poor electronic messages Po e m If I could, porn poem people I would be coming It’s been a nice bit of hive High Space dude Wiping asses since 2016 Dried toilet paper After all just fall in dumb Moist towels for wiping asses is with the beginnings of cleanliness You paper dry Go for one month Stop You will smell your Ass Afterwards Not retarded But human and a hike I used those wet wipes In packaged dark Clean you ass man Just paper and water Simple on skin better You don’t think it up You though French And water up your arse It’s on the tissue Don’t cry Rumpt In deformed ears Not hearing No hearings! After shot! After thoughts! After me and you and the REST of ‘em Poor electronic messages In campaigning for Biden 2028 2028 2028 2028 2028 2028 2028 Twenty twenties ate Ohhhhhhh yeaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhh Lick the split You dirty…., ! * # %’s > Symbiological If I was a Dictionary My definition would not be missed Like A God defined T or not Trump had a bully attack He’s how old Brought from Vagina in money And just Saturday attacked His groping pussy His boyfriend Epstein And so on’s I didn’t queff! As in did you re due Horse wailing Blow by Tornadic atmospheric pressures TAP You tapped into that You now just did You craved more Then You moist You must show your votes In November Hemoglobin’s Really rally leave Blood out of it If I Could be in 2028 after Biden My ego saving Souls If Iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiooioiiiiiiiiooooooooolove you

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pomegranatelifethis · 3 months ago

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Live in the moment

Batfamily x Youngest and Clumsiest Little Sister

"You were just walking… how did this even happen?"

Being the youngest member of Gotham’s greatest hero family was already a challenge, but being a complete disaster made things even harder. Yet, your brothers adored you—despite the fact that you constantly got yourself into trouble… or accidentally put yourself in danger.

---

1. Dick Grayson (Nightwing) - "My Reflexes Have Improved Thanks to You."

Dick spent years training to perfect his reflexes… but his real test was you.

Catching falling cups before they hit the ground? ✅

Grabbing you before you tumbled down the stairs? ✅

Stopping you from accidentally falling onto criminals? (Not so much…)

"You know what? One day, I'm going to tie a bunch of balloons to you. At least that way, you can’t fall."

But as much as you exasperated him, your energy reminded him of his younger self. And deep down, he had silently sworn to always protect you.

---

2. Jason Todd (Red Hood) - "Are You Getting Into Trouble on Purpose?"

Jason could handle Gotham’s deadliest criminals, but your clumsiness? That was a different kind of nightmare.

One time, you accidentally spilled coffee on a gang leader. You don’t remember what happened next because Jason whisked you out of there before things could go south.

"Look, kid, if you ever do something like that again… you will, won’t you? Ugh."

No matter how much he grumbled, he was always the first to come to your rescue.

---

3. Tim Drake (Red Robin) - "You Don’t Have to Try This Hard to Die in Gotham."

Tim analyzed your clumsiness and tried to come up with solutions. But no matter what he did, you still found ways to get into trouble.

A simple walk = Crashing into a streetlamp.

Drinking water = Somehow short-circuiting Gotham’s power grid. (They still don’t know how.)

"Alright, new plan: I’m making a drone that follows you 24/7. Just in case."

He tried to keep you safe, but in the end, he just accepted that you were a walking disaster.

---

4. Damian Wayne (Robin) - "How Are You Even Related to Us?"

Damian expected you to live up to the Wayne name. But your technique? A complete disaster.

One time, during training in the Batcave, you somehow managed to punch yourself in the face.

"Biologically, how is that even possible?!"

But if anyone outside the family tried to hurt you? They’d quickly learn that Damian’s sword was much faster than their escape.

"You might drive me insane, but no one else is allowed to hurt you."

---

5. Bruce Wayne (Batman) - "You Are Gotham’s Biggest Danger."

Bruce knew Gotham was dangerous… but keeping you safe was a whole different battle.

Whenever you tried to sneak out of the Batcave, he always caught you. And every time, he would take a deep breath before speaking.

"I’ve told you countless times. It’s dangerous out there."

"But I was just walking—"

"Yes. And last week, while 'just walking,' you nearly fell off a construction site!"

But no matter how many rules he put in place, his biggest fear was losing you. And in his own way, he always made sure you knew how much he cared.

---

Conclusion:

Being the clumsiest, most trouble-prone member of the Batfamily wasn’t easy… but no matter what, they all loved you. And every time you found yourself in danger, they were always there to save you.

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buckysleftbicep · 5 days ago

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swipe right 𐙚 b.b

pairing: grumpy!tfatws!bucky barnes x fem!reader

warnings: just fluff 💌

summary: sam thinks bucky needs to get back out there. he suggests tinder—and really, who better to ask for advice than you? things change when he asks what you're looking for.

word count: 2.9k

author's note: hi loves, i really enjoyed writing this fic and i hope you'll enjoy it! based on this request | requests are open!

The sky was turning the colour of old peaches—that soft, late-summer blend of pink and orange that washed everything in warmth but didn’t hide how tired the day had become.

It was the kind of light that settled low on your skin, not burning, just clinging. The kind that said the hard part was over but didn’t promise peace.

The boat creaked as it shifted against the dock, rocked by the lazy rhythm of the tide below. Everything moved slow—the air, the water, even time itself.

Somewhere deeper in the trees, cicadas droned with that steady, hypnotic buzz that made talking feel like too much effort. But Sam had never been one to leave quiet alone when it started to feel too comfortable.

He wiped the sweat from his brow with a rag that looked like it had already been through three summers too many. Tossed it over his shoulder, then glanced over at Bucky.

The man hadn’t moved in at least ten minutes. Sitting near the stern on a crate that creaked under his weight, arms resting on his knees, jaw tight. Staring at the water like it had something to answer for, the kind of stillness that wasn’t peaceful, just full of something waiting.

“You’ve got that look again,” Sam said, twisting off the cap of a beer with a soft hiss.

Bucky didn’t move. “What look?”

“Like something’s been bothering you for a while and you’re pretending it hasn’t.”

“I’m sitting.”

“You’re brooding.”

A pause. Bucky exhaled through his nose, low and flat. “You want me to smile or something?”

“God, no.” Sam took a sip, then nodded at him. “That’d be worse.”

It wasn’t mean. It was easy. Familiar. They’d gotten used to this—talking without saying much, sitting in silence like it was some kind of truce.

The water lapped gently against the side of the hull. A breeze rolled off the bayou, lifting the heat just enough to breathe again. The air smelled like salt and engine oil and the damp underside of the dock.

Everything slowed.

For a while, that was enough.

Then Sam spoke again, voice casual like he wasn’t aiming for anything. “You ever think about dating?”

Bucky glanced at him, not sharply—just slow and skeptical, like he was checking if he’d heard right. “Seriously?”

“Yeah,” Sam said. “I mean—do you?”

Bucky shrugged, more a shift of weight than anything. “Not lately.”

“Maybe you should.”

“You suggesting I go flirt with someone at the grocery store?”

“No,” Sam said, half-smirking. “I’m suggesting you try talking to someone who doesn’t know what kind of ammo you carry.”

Bucky turned his head fully this time, giving Sam a look so dry it could’ve sanded wood. “You’ve got a real romantic pitch.”

“I’m serious,” Sam said, setting the bottle down beside him. “You don’t even talk to people unless they’re on the team or from your past. That’s not living, man. That’s just waiting.”

Bucky didn’t say anything. He looked back at the water, but his jaw tightened, a little pulse at the side of it, quick then gone. Whatever was under that silence, it was old. And heavy. And still too close to the surface.

Sam didn’t press, not right away. Just let the quiet breathe a little before nudging again. “There’s apps for this kind of thing, you know.”

“I know.”

“You ever try one?”

Bucky shook his head once. “That stuff’s not for me.”

“Why not?”

“I wouldn’t know what to say,” Bucky said. “And I don’t really want to explain... all of this.”

The pause after that wasn’t awkward. It was honest.

Sam nodded once. “Yeah. I get that.”

He picked at the label on his beer for a second, thoughtful, before adding, “Still doesn’t mean you don’t get to try.”

Bucky didn’t move. Didn’t blink. “I’m not built for that kind of thing.”

Sam leaned back, arms resting on his knees. “You don’t have to be built for it. You just have to show up.”

That was the thing with Bucky—he never said no right away.

He just let silence stretch out until it either hardened into a wall or softened into maybe.

This one softened.

Another beat passed. Then, low, almost under his breath—“I’ll ask her.”

Sam looked over, surprised but not shocked. “Who?”

Bucky didn’t turn. “You know who.”

Sam studied him for a second, eyes narrowing slightly, a small smile pulling at his mouth before he spoke. “She’d be honest with you.”

“That’s the point,” Bucky said.

He stood without another word, like the decision had been waiting in him for a while and now it just had a direction. Boots thudded quietly against the dock as he walked toward the edge of the light.

Sam watched him go as he took another sip from his bottle.

He shook his head to himself, almost a laugh.

“About damn time.”

The sun’s lower now, bleeding into the bayou in streaks of amber and rose. It stretches long shadows across the dock, paints the water in color that looks like it shouldn’t belong to this world, too soft, too still.

You’re sitting near the edge, back leaned against a weather-worn piling, drink balanced loosely in your hand. Your bare feet nudge the warm planks absently.

It’s the first stillness you’ve had all day, and you’re not ready to let it go yet.

You hear him before you see him, the solid rhythm of boots on wood, measured and familiar. Not rushed. Not hesitant. Just Bucky, moving like he always does, deliberate, quiet and steady.

He sits beside you without a word.

Just drops down next to you, arms resting on his knees, gaze fixed straight out at the water like it might eventually give him an answer if he stares long enough.

You wait. You’ve known him long enough to know he only speaks when he means to.

Finally, he says, low,

“Sam thinks I should try dating apps.”

You glance over, one brow lifting. “Seriously?”

His mouth twitches. “I said the same thing” He huffs. “Apparently he thinks I’m too emotionally repressed to function without external help.”

You snort, tipping your head back to take in the sky, already turning violet at the edges. “Sounds like Sam.”

“He showed me one,” Bucky says. “Said I needed to ‘get back out there.’ Like I was ever out there to begin with.”

You hum, dragging your finger down the side of your bottle to catch a trail of condensation. “Did he show you Tinder?”

“I think so. There were… bios. And pictures. A lot of pictures.”

You take a slow sip. The drink’s warm now, but it doesn’t really matter.

“Then yeah. That’s Tinder.”

There’s a pause, one of those long, Southern summer silences that stretches without needing to be filled. The heat sits heavy on your skin. Everything is golden and slow.

Then—

“What’s it like?” he asks.

Not skeptical. Just curious, in that quiet way he sometimes gets. Like he’s asking about a world he doesn’t belong to.

You turn your head toward him slightly. “You actually want to know?”

He nods once, eyes still out on the water.

He doesn’t push. Just waits.

You lean back again, voice dry. “They’re like vending machines. If vending machines were full of unhinged men who think a selfie in a lifted truck is an acceptable substitute for a personality.”

Bucky lets out the barest huff—not quite a laugh, but close enough.

You keep going. “I’ve had guys open with ‘hey beautiful’ and follow it up with a dick pic. No hello, not even a name. Just bam, in your face."

That gets him. His head jerks a little like he wasn’t expecting it, eyes wide, blinking, then immediately looks away again. “Jesus.”

“Right?” you say, half-laughing despite yourself. “One guy put his venmo in his bio. Said I could ‘tip the talent.’”

Bucky shakes his head, a soft grimace pulling at his mouth. “That’s real?”

“Very.”

Another pause. He doesn’t speak, and you let the quiet fill in the spaces between sentences. It’s not awkward, just mutual disbelief settling across both of you like the heat.

You glance over.

“That’s the nice end of the spectrum. The ones who act normal? Worse.”

He raises an eyebrow, says nothing.

“There was one guy who said I ‘seemed cool’ and then launched into a rant about how feminism ruined dating. Claimed women used to appreciate a ‘real man’ who ordered for them at dinner.”

Bucky mutters under his breath, “That’s one way to die on a hill.”

You grin. “Exactly. I unmatched. But not before he sent me a voice note calling me ungrateful.”

That draws a small breath out of him, you’re not sure if it’s a laugh or just disbelief. Maybe both.

“So this is what people are doing now.”

“Apparently.” You nudge the bottle against your knee. “It’s bleak out there, Buck.

He looks down at his hands, his vibranium fingers flexing once—a small, absent motion like he’s thinking about something he can’t quite say.

“Sam made it sound like people meet that way all the time.”

“They do,” you admit. “But most of them walk away with trust issues and a weird story about someone who brought their mom to the first date.”

His head turns slowly. “You’re not serious.”

“Swear on it.” You pause. “You ever think about trying it?”

His expression tightens—not visibly, not in an obvious way. Just in the way his shoulders shift, his mouth presses slightly flatter.

“No.”

“Not even a little curious?”

“I don’t like the idea of strangers knowing anything about me,” he says, voice low. “And I don’t really have a profile worth putting out there.”

“That’s what Sam’s for,” you mumbled. “He’d probably write something dramatic. ‘Ex-assassin looking for redemption and someone to eat pancakes with.’”

That gets a breath out of him, small and sharp, like he wasn’t expecting it to hit as close to funny as it did.

You glance at him and catch it, the faint pull at the corner of his mouth.

Not a smile, not really. Just something close.

You watch him a moment longer. “You’re not sold.”

Bucky shakes his head slightly. “I don’t think I was meant for that kind of thing,” he says simply. “Not after everything.”

There’s no self-pity in it. Just fact.

You study him for a beat. The way he still holds himself like he’s bracing, even when he’s sitting still.

“Maybe you weren’t,” you say softly. “Doesn’t mean you don’t deserve it.”

That makes him look over. Really look. His eyes catch yours, not sharp, not guarded. Just… tired. A little older, like the fight’s still in him, but so is the weight of carrying it.

“You really think there’s people out there who’d sign up for all this?”

He doesn’t need to explain what this means. The metal arm, the red in his ledger, the quiet rage, that name.

You tilt your head. “You’re asking the wrong people.”

He’s quiet for a second. Then,

“Who should I ask?”

You smile, small, steady. Like it’s already obvious.

“Ask someone who already knows you.”

He doesn’t move right away.

Then he shifts, not away, just forward, elbows on his knees, hands hanging loose. His eyes stay fixed on the water, but his whole body reads different now.

Less guarded. Less armoured.

The air is thick with the smell of wood warmed by the sun, brine, and something else you can’t name. The heat hasn’t broken. There’s no wind, no relief—just the weight of what’s been left unsaid between the two of you.

Then, without looking at you, voice low,

“What about you?”

You glance over. “What about me?”

“What are you looking for?”

He says it like it doesn’t mean anything. Like it’s just conversation. But you hear the shift in his voice—the hesitation, the careful way he keeps his tone level.

You catch the way his fingers tap once against the dock before going still again. He wants to know. Not because he expects anything.

Because part of him is terrified to hope.

You breathe in. Let the silence stretch, but not too long. Then,

“I don’t know,” you say. “Someone who doesn’t need to be anyone else. Who’s not trying to sell a version of himself just to get picked.”

You’re not really looking at him when you say it. You’re looking past the water, past the trees. Somewhere further off. But you feel him — how still he’s gotten. How present.

You pause, let the words settle in your chest.

“Someone who’s real. Who doesn’t run when things get hard.”

There’s something brittle in your voice when you say that. Not cracked, just lived-in.

“Someone who carries things, but still shows up anyway.”

You glance at him now. And you mean it when you say,

“I think that narrows it down pretty fast.”

It’s soft and uncomplicated, but it hangs there like a match waiting to strike.

And maybe that’s the moment it lands.

Maybe not all at once—but enough.

Because now he’s turning his head, slow and unsure, like he’s still giving himself time to pretend it’s not what it sounds like.

“You talking about me?”

The question isn’t sarcastic. It isn’t cocky. It’s quiet. Raw. Like he’s afraid you’ll say no, but needs you to say yes.

You hold his gaze. “Yeah. I am.”

It’s simple. Not a performance. Not something meant to fix him. Just truth.

His eyes drop, lashes casting half-shadows. Then he looks back out over the water—not avoiding you, just... trying to breathe with it.

There’s a long stretch of quiet after that. You let it happen.

Because this is the part where people rush it. Where they try to fill the air. But not with him. Not now.

Eventually, voice low:

“I’m not... easy.”

“I know.”

He shifts again. Barely.

“I don’t have much to offer.”

You shake your head. “That’s not true.”

“Maybe not to you.”

You go still at that.

His tone isn’t bitter. It’s not sad, either. It’s just matter-of-fact. Like it’s something he’s repeated to himself long enough to accept as reality.

“I’ve hurt people,” he says, not looking at you. “I’ve messed up a lot of things I can’t fix. I don’t sleep much. I get angry. I disappear when it gets too loud. Some days I don’t feel like a person. Some days I don’t want to.”

Your chest pulls, tight and quiet. But you don’t interrupt him.

“And I know I’m not easy to be around,” he adds, almost like an afterthought. “But I don’t want to lie about that. I can’t.”

You’re already shaking your head before he finishes.

“You don’t need to.”

He finally looks at you—and this time, he doesn’t look away.

His eyes are still that same unrelenting shade of blue, something between steel and storm, edged in shadow from the way the light hits.

Cerulean, maybe, if you wanted to get poetic—but the kind of blue that feels lived-in, exhausted, quiet. Tired in a way that most people never notice, and steady in a way that somehow always holds.

You’ve seen them angry. You’ve seen them distant. You’ve seen them blank, shut down so completely they didn’t feel like eyes at all.

But now?

Now they stay. Now they’re looking at you like maybe, for the first time in a long time, he’s letting someone actually stay.

“I’d still pick you,” you say, voice even. “I know what I’m saying. I know who I’m saying it to.”

And something in him breaks open—not shattered, not messy. Just exposed. In a way he hasn’t let himself be in a long, long time.

He doesn’t say anything.

But the way he looks at you—like he’s seeing something he didn’t think he was allowed to want—it’s enough.

You can see it, how hard he’s trying to stay still. Like if he moves, even slightly, it’ll break whatever fragile thread just opened between you.

The water laps soft against the dock. Somewhere nearby, a screen door slams. A dog barks. The world doesn’t know that something quiet and impossible is unfolding in the silence between two people who didn’t think this would happen.

Finally, carefully,

“If I asked…”

He trails off.

It’s not hesitation. It’s vulnerability, stripped down to bone. Not even a full question, just the offer of one.

You let him say it the way he needs to. And you don’t make him say it twice.

You answer without hesitation. Without softness-for-show.

“Yes. I would.”

That lands, you see it in the way his shoulders shift. Just a little. Like he’s trying to let the weight down slowly, afraid it might hit too hard if he drops it all at once.

So you keep going. Gentle. Honest.

“I’d date you in a heartbeat, Bucky.”

You pause, “you’re not your past. You’re not the burden it left on you. You’re the man who lived through it and kept going. That matters more.”

He looks down for a second, like the words are too much to hold eye contact through. Then back up, slower this time.

“You sure?” he asks, voice rough.

“Yeah,” you say. “I’ve been sure for a while.”

The breeze moves past, soft through the trees. Neither of you speak for a long minute.

But something’s changed. Something settled. You feel it in the quiet, the kind that doesn’t need fixing.

When he looks at you again, it’s not with hesitation or doubt.

There’s no shift in his posture, just a quiet steadiness, like he’s finally stopped running from it, like he’s letting himself want this, want you, without pulling it apart or looking for all the reasons he shouldn’t.

1K notes · View notes

houseofaegon · 1 month ago

Text

Don't Let Go ✩ Bob Reynolds

Pairings: Bob Reynolds x Thunderbolt!Reader

Warnings: +18 SMUT MINORS DNI. rough sex, emotional sex, public sex, mental health themes (trauma, guilt, PTSD), depictions of breakdowns, emotional, angst, praise kink, possessiveness, aftermath of violence, unprotected p in v, guilt, self-loathing, established trauma bond.

Summary: The mission was supposed to be clean. Routine. But nothing is simple when the Sentry is involved, when Bob loses control, and the Void takes over. And when he does, you're the only one who can pull him back.

Word Count: 4658

Author's Note: don't even ask me if I'm okay cause the answer is no. I'm destroyed. completely destroyed and emotionally wrecked. i am ruined. bob reynolds ruins me. if you finished this and also felt like your heart's been pulled out and kissed back to life, welcome to the club. my inbox is open if you want to send me your therapy bill—just know I’m probably gonna have to come with you cause what the fuck. i love you bobby you're everything to me!!! if you want to be added to my taglist just comment below!! <333 feel free to cry with me in the comments and scream in the reblogs. i need to go outside and touch some grass, reconnect with nature and breathe cause my heart is destroyed after this one. i literally can't stop writing for bob what the hell!! bucky is jealous cause bob's taking up space in my mind that used to belong to bucky. lewis pullman you babygirlllllllllllll

masterlist.

⊹ �� ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹

The mission was supposed to be simple. In and out. Detain the targets, secure the entire facility, and minimize civilian casualties. Standard Thunderbolts cleanup. You'd done this dance before—storm in, assert dominance, extract data and bodies. Easy.

But you knew the moment Bucky said, "Bob's on this one," everything in your chest went cold.

The tower was quiet, too quiet, until it wasn't. Until the entire place was filled with hurried footsteps, shouts bouncing off the walls, and orders being thrown like grenades, gear bags being slammed open, weapons loaded with sharp clicks, and comms lighting up with rapid-fire intel. The whole floor shifted into emergency mode.

You'd barely finished gearing up when Yelena grabbed your arm and dragged you toward the elevator, her expression tight, mouth set in that grim, no-bullshit line that only ever meant bad news.

"Valentina wants all of us on-site," she muttered, pressing the call button with enough force to crack the panel. "Right now. Facility breach. Something about biotech. Hostages."

"Since when do we scramble before briefing?" you asked, yanking the zipper of your new tactical suit closed, holster strap still half-loose dangling on your hip. "Do we even have a plan?"

Yelena didn't answer. She didn't have to.

When the elevator doors opened, Bucky was already inside, pacing back and forth. His jaw clenched, comms piece buzzing with chatter. He looked up when he saw you—but he didn’t smile. Didn’t nod.

Jeez, so much for a good morning.

"Let me guess," you said, stepping into the elevator next to him. "Valentina's stunt?"

"She pulled Bob in last minute," Bucky said, his voice laced with frustration. "Didn't even care to fucking tell me. I found out when I saw his name on the team feed. Walker's there with him, Ava too."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" you froze. "She put him first? With Walker?"

“She wants to see if he's still 'field-capable.'" Bucky's voice dripped sarcasm. "Her exact words. She thinks this is some kind of game. Like we're testing out a new drone, not a man who nearly blacked out half of a city six months ago."

“Is she out of her fucking mind?” you hissed. “Bob’s not—he’s not ready. He shouldn't be anywhere near this.”

“No shit,” Yelena muttered from the other side, crossing her arms. “And we’re the ones who’ll have to clean up if he loses it again.”

You exhaled slowly, trying to damp down the rolling anger in your chest. Not at Bob—of course not, this wasn't his fault. You were mad at Valentina and her fucking need to push him to the edge. "Great," you muttered, rubbing your face with a hand. "Let's all just hold hands and pray he doesn't crack."

The VTOL sliced through the clouds like a blade, engines humming low and tense. Rain battered the sides in sharp bursts.

You sat strapped between Yelena and Alexei, your harness tight across your chest, heart beating even tighter beneath it. Across from you, Bucky was locked in, jaw clenched, staring out the side window with a look that could shatter the glass any moment. When he finally looked away from the window, he fixed his gaze directly on you.

"I need you to be ready," he said, voice low and rasped. "In case Void—" He paused, breathing raggedly. "In case Bob snaps."

You blinked. "Bucky—"

"If it happens," he cut you off, "if he breaks... don't wait for an order. Do not hesitate. You hit him with everything you've got."

Your mouth opened, but no words came out.

Because you hesitated.

Not because you didn't understand the danger. Not because you didn't know what Bob was capable of when the Void took hold. You'd seen it. Firsthand. The devastation. The aftermath. The look in his eyes—those dark, endless eyes—when he realized what he’d done.

But you'd also seen something else. You'd also seen the other side of him. The guilt

You'd been there the last time. When the Void clawed its way up his throat like poison, he dropped to his knees, shaking, burning with power, guilt, and fear. You were the only one who could get through to him. The only one who could touch him without him recoiling like he might shatter.

You'd whispered his name and watched his fist unclench slowly. You'd put your hand on his chest and feel his heartbeat slow. You'd seen how the black storm slowly evaporated, leaving a broken man sobbing against your chest.

That night was the worst for Bob.

You remember it vividly—his body trembling against yours, eyes wide and hollow after the Void had finally disappeared. He hadn't said a word. Just sank to the ground, hands fisting in his hair, like he was trying to hold his skull together.

You’d dropped down beside him, pulled him close, felt the heat radiating off his skin like a fever breaking. And when he finally clung to you—arms wrapped around your waist, face buried in your shoulder—it wasn’t just desperation. It was terror. Like if he let go, he’d fall into some pit that never ended.

He cried.

God, he cried so hard.

And you didn’t say anything. You didn’t try to soothe it away. You just held him. Let him shake. Let him break.

That night, you stayed with him.

He pulled you into bed like he didn’t even realize he was doing it—just moved toward your body like it was instinct, like your presence was the only thing keeping him tethered to the world. His fingers curled in your shirt, his face buried in your chest, breath hiccuping between exhausted sobs.

You thought he’d fall asleep eventually.

He didn’t. Not right away.

He kept whispering, voice barely audible: “Don’t leave. Please. Just… don’t leave.”

And how could you?

You didn’t.

So you stayed.

And when he finally passed out—curled around you like a second skin, little soft snores slipping past parted lips—you just watched him. His face was peaceful for once. Almost boyish. His lashes fluttered when he dreamed, but he didn’t cry out. Not with you there.

You tried to slip out once.

Just to stretch. To breathe. But the second your body shifted away, his arms tightened like a vice, dragging you back in, even in his sleep. Like his subconscious couldn’t bear the thought of you disappearing.

From that night on, it became… a thing.

Every time he had a nightmare. Every time the Void started to whisper again. Every time he needed quiet but didn’t know how to ask for it—he came to you.

He never knocked loud. Just a soft tap on your door, barely audible. You’d open it to find him standing there, shoulders hunched, hair messy, eyes big and guilty and so shy. Like he hated himself for needing you but couldn’t help it.

“Can I…?” he’d start to ask, voice barely above a whisper.

And you’d always let him in.

Always.

God, you loved it. Loved being the one person he came to. The one place he felt safe. The way he melted into you the second the door shut. The way he’d sleep tangled in your arms, legs hooked with yours like he needed as many points of contact as possible to stay grounded.

You never told anyone.

You never wanted to ruin it.

It was quiet. Sacred. Yours.

And now, strapped into this VTOL, Bucky’s words still echoing in your ears—“Don’t hesitate. Hit him with everything you’ve got”—all you could think about was how peaceful he looked in your bed. How tightly he held you. How terrified he was of being alone.

Because what if you could reach him again?

What if hitting him wasn’t the answer? What if all he needed was someone to see him before he disappeared completely?

Bucky must’ve seen the flicker in your expression, because his voice dropped lower.

“I know you’re close to him. I know he listens to you more than anyone else. But if that stops—if he doesn’t hear you this time... don’t let him take you down with him.”

He’ll hear me, you thought, jaw clenched.

He has to.

Yelena’s hand reached over, slow and steady, her fingers brushing against yours before curling around them. Her grip was warm, firm—anchoring. You turned slightly, meeting her eyes.

She gave you a small, quiet smile. The kind that didn’t promise everything would be okay, just that you wouldn’t be alone when it wasn’t.

“It’ll be alright,” she whispered. "We'll be right behind you."

You squeezed her hand back, once.

"Visuals confirm contact inside the facility," the pilot’s voice crackled through the comms. "We’ve got movement near the lab sector. Hostiles engaged. Sentry’s already on-site."

You looked up sharply. "Already?"

He wasn’t supposed to engage alone.

Bucky swore under his breath, ripping the earpiece out and jamming it back in. "Why the fuck didn’t you wait for us—"

Ava spoke through the comms, her voice shivering. “He didn’t wait. I told him to stand down, and he just… went in.”

Then the ground came into view through the viewport—flames licking up from the roof of the biotech facility, smoke pluming into the sky, the perimeter in total disarray.

"Doors open in twenty seconds," the pilot called.

You shivered. You could feel it. That humming tension in your bones, the kind that only came right before everything went to hell.

He's already slipping.

"Get ready," Bucky barked, snapping his rifle into place as he stood. "Move fast, eyes sharp. We don't know how bad it is yet."

Yelena stood up, nodding once, checking her gear. You followed closely behind.

“Hostiles are still active inside,” came another voice—Walker’s, sharp and panicked over comms. “But it’s—fuck, it’s a massacre down here. I don’t know what the hell he’s doing. I can't see him. He’s not fucking responding.”

Your heart clenched.

“Bob,” you whispered, barely audible.

Then: a boom.

A section of the lower level erupted in a plume of golden-white light, fire tearing up through the concrete as the building shook from the force of it. A pulse of energy rippled outward, flattening a chunk of the south wall like paper.

The VTOL lurched slightly from the shockwave.

“Doors opening!” the pilot shouted. “Deploy, deploy—go, go!”

The ramp dropped—and the storm hit you in the face.

Rain. Smoke. Sirens. And somewhere beneath it all, a familiar hum.

You ran.

Boots pounding against the rooftop, leaping the last few feet to the access hatch. Bucky and Yelena flanked you, weapons drawn, slicing through the chaos with practiced precision.

You barely had time to adjust before Bucky grabbed your arm, spinning you toward him. His face was grim, soaked, eyes blazing.

“Go!” he shouted over the roar. “You need to find him!”

“What about—?”

“We’ll handle the rest!” he cut in, already moving, already aiming down the chaos below. “If anyone can reach him before he turns this whole goddamn place to ash—it’s you. Yelena will be right behind you. Walker and Ava are already inside. Go!”

Your breath hitched.

Then you nodded, once, sharp and sure.

And you ran—straight into the smoke, straight into the fire.

Straight toward him.

The inside of the facility was a warzone. Emergency lights flickered through thick smoke. Sparks rained from broken ceiling panels. The walls were scorched, the tile beneath your boots cracked and slick with blood and water. You passed fallen bodies—some hostiles, some just gone, disintegrated into scorched outlines and ash.

He’d been here.

You ran faster. Your breath became shorter. Your fingers twitched at your sides.

And then you saw him.

Floating.

Just inches off the ground, his body trembling with power barely held in check. His suit was torn, soaked, blood-slick. His hair clung to his forehead in damp curls. His hands hung at his sides, fingers curled in like claws.

He hand't noticed you yet. He was talking to himself, low and frantic, like he didn't even realize sound was coming out of his mouth.

“I didn’t mean to—I tried, I tried, they didn’t listen—I told them not to run—why did they run—”

Your heart clenched. You took a breath, steady and slow. Lifted your hands, palms open, non-threatening. Stepped forward, one careful step at a time.

"Bob," you whispered.

His head jerked up like a struck animal. His eyes were pitch black. Not just his pupils. Everything. You could see the Void slowly taking over control of his entire body. Crawling across his skin in veins of shadow, threading through him like poison, claiming more and more by the second. There was nothing human in his face.

Then he saw you.

You took another step forward, heart hammering against your ribs.

"Bob," you said again, softer now.

His lips parted. The black in his eyes shimmered, like something beneath it was trying to break through, trying to remember.

You took another step.

"I'm here," you said, voice steady despite the tremble in your hands. "It's me."

"GET DOWN!" a voice screamed behind you.

You barely turned in time to see the soldier—young, shaken, finger already tightening on the trigger of his rifle, aimed straight at Bob.

“No!” you shouted, throwing a hand out. “Don’t—don’t shoot him!”

But it was too late.

You whipped back toward Bob—and his hand was already rising. Not fast. Slow. Deliberate.

Eyes locked on the soldier, face blank and unreadable, voice low and distant.

“Mine.”

“Bob!” you screamed, adrenaline tearing through your veins like lightning. You rushed toward him, arm outstretched. “STOP! STOP!”

A pulse of black energy burst from his palm. It didn’t make a sound. It didn’t explode. It just erased. The soldier was there—and then he wasn’t.

No scream. No blood. Just a curling wisp of smoke, and a blackened shadow scorched into the tile where he’d stood. Like reality itself had been scrubbed clean.

Your breath caught. Your body froze.

The soldier was gone. Just like that. And Bob? He didn't move. Didn't even flinch. Just stood there, hand still raised, void energy curling around his fingers like it wanted more.

You moved before you even realized it.

You ran.

“BOB!” you screamed, voice hoarse with panic.

You slammed into him, hands flying up to grab his face—rough, desperate, grounding. Your fingers dug into his jaw, into his cheeks, trying to feel him, shake him loose from the darkness overtaking his body.

“Bob! Look at me!” you yelled, tears already slipping down your face. “Fuck—look at me, please!"

His head twitched in your grip, eyes still black, but they widened. Like he didn’t know how you got so close. Like he didn’t even recognize his own name.

“You promised,” you choked out, forehead pressed against his. “You promised you wouldn’t let this happen again. You said I could help you. You let me in. Bob, please, I know you can hear me. Let me in. Let me help you."

And then—

He blinked.

Once.

Twice.

The black void in his eyes gone, replaced by fear. Replaced by gut-wrenching guilt.

And suddenly his hands were on you—gripping your arms, trembling hard. Holding you like you were the only thing keeping him from flying apart.

“I didn’t mean to,” he rasped, voice splintering in his throat. “I just… he—he pointed that gun at you. I—”

His knees buckled.

You caught him.

“I didn’t mean to,” he rasped again, clinging like he didn’t even realize he was doing it. “I didn’t—fuck, I didn’t mean to—”

“I know,” you whispered, trying to keep your voice steady, fingers stroking through his hair, down his back. “I know, it’s okay. You’re okay—I got you. I'm right here."

You could feel it under your hands—the tension building again. The static crawling across his skin. He was shaking harder now, like he was trying to hold himself together with bare hands and sheer will, and it wasn’t enough. It was never enough.

“I told them,” he growled, voice rising, wild and hoarse. “I told them not to send me. I told them—I told them!”

“Bob,” you tried again, your hands cradling his face, trying to ground him. “Stop—just breathe, okay? Look at me. Just look at me. It’s over. You’re okay. I’m here.”

“Bob—”

“Holy shit,” someone gasped.

You turned. Too fast. The team stood there. Yelena’s eyes were wide. Ava’s mouth hung open. Alexei looked stunned. Bucky was frozen mid-step.

And Walker? Walker’s gaze went straight to the scorched mark on the floor, and his lip curled.

“What the fuck did he do?”

That was it.

You snapped.

“You were supposed to look out for him!” you roared, your voice echoing down the hall like a whipcrack. “You knew he wasn’t ready! You knew, and you left him in there anyway—what the fuck were you thinking?!”

“Don’t yell at me because your little pet project finally snapped—”

You stepped toward him so fast Yelena actually reached out to stop you.

“Say that again, Walker.” you dared, low and deadly. “Say it. Fucking say it again.”

“Guys—” Ava started.

“Oh my god,” Yelena whispered behind you.

And that’s when you realized—Bob wasn’t in your arms anymore.

You turned, panic already in your throat. He was standing a few feet away, eyes locked on the floor, fists clenched. His shoulders were shaking, his jaw tight, like he was about to split open.

The way they were all looking at him. Like he was a monster.

And he saw it. He saw everything.

“No, no, wait—” you started.

But he was already moving. He shoved past you, not roughly—never roughly—but like he couldn’t stand to be touched anymore. Like he didn’t deserve it. And then he ran.

You didn’t hesitate.

You ran after him.

You found him down a back alley, drenched in rain, his back pressed to the wall like it was the only thing keeping him upright. His fists were clenched, jaw tight, chest heaving like he couldn’t catch his breath. He hadn’t looked at you yet, but you could see it—how close he was to falling apart, how the power still surged beneath his skin, barely contained. His body shook with it, with guilt, with the kind of rage that didn’t know where to go.

You took a step closer and he shifted like he was going to bolt again, eyes flicking to the shadows like he could vanish into them.

You grabbed his wrist. Tight. “Don’t run.”

That stopped him. His breath hitched, but he didn’t turn.

“Bob,” you said, softer now, over the pounding rain. “Please. Look at me.”

He turned slowly—and god, the look on his face broke you wide open. Soaked, shattered, eyes full of guilt and too many unsaid things. He looked like he didn’t believe he deserved to stand in front of you. Like just being seen by you hurt.

Then he kissed you.

Hard. Desperate.

Like he needed your mouth to remind him he was still real.

The kiss came out of nowhere. Teeth. Tongue. Desperation. You collided like two storms, all sharp edges and soaked skin. His mouth crushed yours, messy, uncoordinated, bruising. You dragged your hands through his rain-slick hair, pulled him closer until your bodies slammed together. He groaned your name like it hurt to say it, like it ripped something open inside him just to speak it.

You kissed him back with everything you had, dragging your fingers through his soaked curls, pulling him closer, crushing your lips to his until your teeth clacked and your breath fogged the air between you. He whimpered into it, raw and broken, hands clutching your waist through your suit like he didn’t know where to touch, like he needed to touch everywhere.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped against your lips, voice already hoarse. “I’m so fucking sorry—please, I didn’t mean to—I didn’t—” His words cut off with a sob. You shushed him with another kiss, slower this time, lips brushing his like a promise.

“I need you,” he breathed, voice broken. “God—I need you, I need you so bad—I can’t—fuck—don’t let go—please, don’t let go—”

Your gear hit the wall behind you, water slapping between you like applause. His mouth was on your throat, biting, sucking, moaning, as your hands worked beneath his already ripped suit, shoving it aside, frantic to get to skin. His hips rocked into yours like he couldn’t stand being apart from you even for a second.

“Please,” he groaned again, breath hot against your ear. “I’ll do anything. Anything. Just—fuck—just let me have you.”

You gasped, arching against him, letting him press you tighter to the bricks. You were already soaked—skin flushed, thighs shaking—and the way he clung to you like you were the only real thing left in his world snapped something open inside you.

You grabbed his face, kissed him hard, desperate. “Take it,” you whispered, voice shaking. “Take anything. Everything. I’m all yours, Bob.”

He whimpered—actually whimpered—and that was it.

Your suit came undone in ragged pieces, his hands tearing at fastenings with trembling fingers, your legs wrapping around his waist as he shoved your soaked underwear aside. His fingers dug into your hips hard enough to leave bruises, grinding his cock against your slick center until you cried out, nails raking down his back.

“Fuck—fuck, you’re so wet,” he gasped. “You want it, don’t you? You want me to lose it for you—inside you—?”

“Yes,” you sobbed, tilting your head back as he pushed in. “Yes, yes—please—”

He thrust into you in one deep, brutal stroke and you screamed, fingers clawing at his soaked suit, legs tightening around his hips. He was so deep, so hot, so real, and the way he fucked you—fast, rough, relentless—was like he didn’t know if he’d survive without this. Without you.

Every thrust hit something raw, something needy, his voice ragged against your ear. “You’re mine—you’re mine, say it—fuck, say it—”

“I’m yours,” you cried, body shaking. “I’m yours, Bob—fuck, don’t stop, don’t stop—”

He sobbed against your throat, thrusting harder, faster, panting between curses and broken prayers. “You’re perfect—so perfect—god, you feel so good—you make everything quiet. You make it all fucking stop—”

And when you came, it hit like a shockwave—your whole body convulsing around him, mouth open in a wordless scream as he slammed into you, burying himself deep and coming hard, spilling inside you with a desperate cry of your name like it was the only thing anchoring him to this plane.

He held you afterward like he might never let go, still shaking, still breathing like he’d run through hell. His forehead pressed to yours, voice wrecked.

“Don’t leave me,” he whispered. “Please don’t ever leave me.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered back, and this time, it was a vow.

His breathing was ragged.

Shallow gasps against your neck, chest rising and falling like he was still trying to outrun something only he could see. The rain hadn’t let up. It fell in heavy sheets around you, but neither of you moved. You stayed wrapped around him, trembling, your back against the soaked alley wall, his body still buried in yours, shaking with the aftershocks.

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t even lift his head.

His arms stayed locked around your waist like a vise, like if he let go even a little, you’d disappear. You felt him swallow, once, twice—and then his shoulders began to shake in a different way.

“Bob?” you whispered, hand sliding up to the back of his head, fingers weaving through his soaked hair. “Hey. Hey, I’m here.”

He sobbed.

Quiet at first. Just a ragged breath that stuttered out of him like it had been waiting for too long. Then another. And another. His whole body trembled, forehead pressed to your shoulder as he finally—finally—let himself fall apart.

“I didn’t want to hurt anyone,” he choked out. “I tried—I tried so fucking hard—I just wanted to be useful, I wanted to help—and I killed him—”

You shushed him softly, rocking him gently where you stood, your hands stroking down his back.

“You came back to me,” you said, voice low. “That’s all that matters. You came back.”

“I don’t deserve this,” he rasped, holding you tighter. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Shut up,” you whispered, tears mixing with the rain on your cheeks. “You do. You do. You’re still here. You’re still you. That’s all I care about.”

You stayed like that for what felt like forever—him wrapped around you like a lifeline, your bodies still locked together, breathing in sync. The heat between you slowly cooled, but the weight of it all stayed heavy, real.

Eventually, his head lifted, eyes red-rimmed, cheeks wet.

He looked at you like he didn’t believe you were real. Like maybe you were the only thing left in the world that hadn’t abandoned him.

“I’m scared,” he whispered.

You cupped his face, thumb brushing over the scar just below his eye.

“I know,” you said. “But I’ve got you.”

And he leaned into your hand like a man starved for touch.

Back at the tower, everything was chaos—shouting, agents scrambling to do damage control, the team fighting with each other, trying to put the blame on someone—but none of it touched you. Not when you had him. Not when he never once let go of your hand.

You didn't go to the infirmary. Didn't sit through the debrief. Bucky tried to say something, but you just shook your head. Bob didn't even look at him. At no one.

You led him straight to your room.

The second the door clicked shut behind you, his body sagged like the air had left him entirely. You helped him out of the rest of his suit, piece by piece, your fingers gentle even when your heart still ached from the weight of it all. He did the same for you, so soft, so gentle, like he was afraid to hurt you.

You pulled him into your bed without a word.

He followed like he always did. Like he couldn’t not.

He wrapped around you the way he always did—legs tangled, arms tight around your waist, face buried against your neck. But this time it wasn’t just comfort.

It was clinging.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t ask. Just held on.

You stroked his hair, tracing slow patterns into his scalp, letting your breath match his until he calmed, until that tremble in his shoulders finally stilled.

But he still didn’t sleep.

You felt him shift closer, nose brushing your collarbone. His voice, when it came, was wrecked and so, so quiet.

“Do you think they’ll ever look at me the same?” he asked, voice barely more than a breath.

You didn’t answer right away. You could feel how tightly he was holding his breath, like he was bracing for the worst. You pulled him closer, your fingers threading through the back of his hair, your lips brushing against his forehead.

“It’s not your fault,” you whispered. “They know it. Even if they won’t say it out loud. This—what happened—you didn’t want this. And they know that.”

He didn’t reply, not at first. But you felt it—the way his chest stuttered, how he finally let himself breathe.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, broken.

“I know.”

“I was so close,” he said, voice cracking like glass. “I could feel it. Like I was right there. One more second and I wouldn’t have come back.”

“But you did,” you murmured, pressing your forehead to his. “You came back to me.”

He shuddered, breath hitching again as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. Leaving a soft kiss that made your heart clench. “You’re the only one that brings me back,” he whispered. “The only one.”

You didn’t say anything else.

You just held him tighter.

And finally—finally—he started to drift.

It wasn’t peaceful. He twitched. Mumbled things you couldn’t make out. Flinched like his dreams were still trying to drag him under.

But he didn’t wake.

Because you were still there.

And he knew it.

taglist ⊱☆⊰ @notreallythatlost @mandoalorian @urfavfakeblonde @sunday-bug @ruexj283 @mylifeofcalculatedchaos

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a-god-in-ruins-rises · 2 years ago

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#i used to be really concerned about drones and drone swarms especially #i used to fear that they were basically unstoppable #and that they would render human basically obsolete #but that was foolish and i am comfortable with them #i think america is far and away the best at counter-drone technology #and that's the thing #i think drones will be super effective against developing countries #but i think their effectiveness will be limited against highly advanced countries like america #i always wondered what would be possible counters #and i think america has found the answer #i really like how we are approaching the threat #that is we're investing in really cheap and mobile and highly accurate sensors #to detect drones and then shooting them down #shooting them down is the obvious and easy part #but you can't shoot what you can't see #and you need highly advanced sensors to see them before it's too late #bonus points if you have automated targeting systems after identifying

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saguaroooo · 3 months ago

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Making an oc to be their third.

Sonick the motherfucking hedgehog is cursimng my brain. I need to be Robotnick and angent Stone's third.

#he's a doctor #but ivo keeps calling him “sir” and “not a real doctor”#and my guy keeps going “I HAVE A DOCTORATE”#just to get a “NOT ENOUGH”#also he's smart #but in the gifted kid way not in the master of evil making an army of crazy overintelligent drones way #so he does the “boring jobs” for ivo #which are hard acrually but too easy for ivo to do without getting bored #and also the dirty job sometimes #and he's so fucked up bc i love fucked up characters #he has tics #and uses a cane bc bad leg #so sonic keeps calling him dr house and that pisses him off too

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munsonify · 10 days ago

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all the small things

pairing. bob reynolds x gn!reader

summary. three times bob goes out of his way to show you kindness, and the one time you find out why

content warnings. loads of sweet sweet fluff and mutual pining (no one’s surprised), non established relationships, r being referred to as pretty, spiders & r being afraid of them, yelena and ava being nosy shits and an instigators (affectionate) (lovingly), eventual confession of feelings, not proofread

word count. 4167

a/n. here have another 3+1 with bob cause i love him and i have so many thoughts for him. also im not too good at characterizing ava so when shes mentioned it might be ooc im sorry

———

shared couch

it was hard trying to acclimate to living and working in the rebuilt tower. you liked the responsibility, you liked being in your feet and having something useful to do. while you may’ve unwillingly been recruited to be on the new avengers team, you were glad to be of use somehow. still, even with this sort of twisted contentment, it was… odd being in this tower full of people you’d only known for two short months.

you found a little difficulty in communicating with the team, something that was expectant. you’d barely known each other when the title of the new avengers was thrust upon you. everyone was grappling with their own issues as they tried to make sense of what was happening. some people opened up better than others.

someone you grew fond of quickly was bob. while he wasn’t the most open of the group, you found that he was pleasant to talk to. on the few occasions you were able to get more than simple small talk out of him, he was quite charming. even when stumbling through a punch line of a joke, it always landed right, making you let out small, genuine laughs. though the conversations may never be deep, you were grateful someone here was willing to talk with you, especially someone who was so easy to talk to.

the large, open living room inside of the tower was bustling with people. all six of your teammates were there, something that didn’t quite happen often. you realized quickly that alexei was droning on about a new promo idea he had for the team no one seemed to care much about. you didn’t care too much, either, frankly sick of the all the photoshoots and the public appearances. still, you wanted in on the conversation.

you searched the furniture for a place to sit, eyes falling on two different spots. one would have you smushed between walker and bucky, an unfortunate duo to be sitting by. the other was next to bob, who sat alone in silence, head lolling onto the cushion of the loveseat. his eyes were looking everywhere but alexei as if trying to keep his mind occupied. that’s how his eyes found you, who was shyly standing a little away from the furniture.

bob watched as your eyes flickered between the two empty spots, quickly catching on to your dilemma. you wanted so desperately to sit next to him, though unsure whether you should. a small wave of his hand caught your attention, eyes falling onto him like his had down to you. the hand he waved with dropped down to the cushion beside him, patting it gently, urging you to come sit. you were more than happy to oblige.

your pace was a little slow as you walk towards him, gently sliding onto the small couch next to him. hesitantly, bob nudged your arm, brief and nervous. you wondered only for a second if it was in case the other side of him made an appearance. he leaned in slightly after his nudge, whispering into your ear with a tilted head.

“thought it would be better than trying to squeeze next to them,” bob said, a finger pointing discreetly over at bucky and walker. “walkers riled up today anyways.”

it was your turn to lean in a little, a small smile playing on your face as you whisper back to him, watching alexei wave his hands around as he spoke. it was your turn to discreetly point, this time at the man on his feet. “i wonder why.”

bob let out a short huff of air out of his nose as a way of laughing, eyes flickering over at you as you finally settled down next to him, resting your head back on the cushion the same way he was. your whispered conversation continued on below everyone else’s much louder conversation. while the theatrics were entertaining, you’d much rather speak with bob. he was kind.

———

coffee runs

it’d been a long few days for the team. between a two day mission that required more of your time than it should’ve, nearly excessive training that had your legs feeling like jelly, and meetings valentina practically forced you guys into, it was hard to find time for yourself. needless to say, you were quite drained.

with a cheek pressed against your pillow and your phone loosely in hand, you lay rested against your very welcoming bed. this was the first time you’d been inside your room in nearly four days. the first thing you attended to was a much needed shower, sweat gripping your body from the two hour training session from earlier in the morning. while you should be getting yourself ready for a press conference, you decided that spending some time on your phone just a little long was more important. you were better in a rush, anyhow. the hardest part of getting ready was done, you were clean. two and a half hours was plenty enough time to rest for a while longer.

you were rather enjoying that peace when you were interrupted by a knock on your door, soft and steady. a groan escaped your chest before you could think twice, turning your phone off as you let it drop face down on your bed. you pushed your aching body off of your bed, wobbling a little on your feet, before you forced yourself upright and to the door. relief washed over your body when you opened the door to reveal bob, shoulders straight and unusually confident, something you didn’t dwell on for too long.

in his hands were two large, warm coffees with small black writing on it. he was quick to smile at you as his fingers indent the cups slightly, something that happened almost on instinct when his eyes found you.

“hey,” bob greeted, voice a little weak. he let out a cough to clear his throat, as if that would help him amplify his voice. it only worked a little, though. “i, uh- i got you a coffee.”

you watched as he held out one of the coffees to you, gratefully reaching out for it with both hands. your fingers gently grazed his as he passed it along to you, an accidental touch that had his throat closing up just slightly. bob had more to say that was surely going to come out as a long, drawn out ramble, though it got caught in his throat. he took that as a momentary win, glad that he wasn’t completely making a fool out of himself like he usually does around you.

you always made him so nervous. you were kind and funny and so pretty to look at. it was easy to fall for a person like you, so it was no wonder that he did. he just wished he wasn’t such a pathetic wreck around you sometimes.

“thank you, oh my god,” you let out, warmth radiating onto your hands as you held the cup. you brought your lips up to it in an instant, tasting the deliciousness of the slightly bitter liquid. another groan left your mouth, this time soft and appreciative. you licked the coffee off your top lip that remained, realization hitting you right as you do so. “you know my order?”

“yeah,” bob squeaked out, rushing to answer you. a sudden burst of embarrassment surged through him. he realized how bad this might look, how it may come across creepy or something that he knows your order by heart. he wasnt meaning to come across that way, he simply just remembered. “you told me about this really good latte you had last week, thought that you might like another, ya know?”

that’s when the floodgates opened up, his rambling beginning with no sign of stopping. “it’s been a busy week, we’ve got that stupid press conference later, and you looked so tired after training that i thought you could use one. not that you looked bad or anything! god, i’m sorry, i didn’t mean it like that. i just figured since i was already out for a coffee for myself that you’d maybe want one too.”

bob let out a low, nervous chuckle when he finished speaking, shoulders slouching back down to its usual position. a little bit of his coffee had spilled over his whitened knuckles amidst his talking, his hand shaking ever so slightly, his grip a little too tight on the flimsy cup. his eyes fell down to the ground as he began shrinking into himself.

“that’s so thoughtful of you,” you told him once he let himself breathe after speaking. his eyes flickered up to your face searching for an insincerity he didn’t find any trace of from you. he never did, now that he thought about it. the only time you were even a little insincere was when you were speaking to walker, who tended to get on everyone’s nerves sometimes.

you had the prettiest smile on your face, one that eased his nerves down to where they usually were when he was around you. he was flustered, but not on edge. you weren’t weirded out by him. in fact, you seemed flattered that he remembered your order, and even more so that he’d thought to get you one.

“thank you, bob, really,” you told him, giving him a genuine nod.

“of course,” he responded, a small, nervous smile finding its way back onto his face. “anytime, really!”

“would you wanna come in?” you offered, opening up your door for him as a welcome. “we’ve got some time before we need to be at the press conference, i can finally tell you about how alexei gave yelena the birds and the bees talk on our way to the mission.”

“you’re joking?” bob asked, eyes going wide in shock and amusement. he looked just as bewildered as you did whilst it was happening, letting himself inside of your room. you couldn’t help but laugh at his reaction, face scrunching up as you recall the awfully uncomfortable situation, closing the door shut behind the man.

you tried not to think too much about how bobs scent washed over you as he passed you briefly, and you tried even harder not to stare too hard at the gorgeous smile that rested on his face. he looked a lot more at ease now that he knew you weren’t off-put by his actions. you liked this look on him. still nervous and a little fidgety, but more comfortable. he didn’t look like he wanted to crawl into his skin anymore.

and, even when you two sat right next to each other on the edge of your bed, thighs just inches apart, bob still felt better than before. it was odd the way he felt around you. while still incredibly flustered by your presence, he always felt comfortable around you. he never felt judged by you, and if he did, you unknowingly brushed that aside for him. it was like second nature to you.

———

loose spider

the aversion you had towards spiders always seemed a little childish to you. it was something you thought you’d eventually grow out of, or an issue you’d be at least a little less affected by by now. you were a tough combat fighter, one that has seen some unimaginable things. a fighter that still, for some reason, was afraid of spiders.

you never told this to the team, it was useless information, something you were sure would never need to be addressed. quite frankly you’d forgotten about this little fear of yours until you came face to face with it in the most unfortunate events such as this one. like usual, the team was bumping into each other in the towers kitchen in desperate search of some breakfast. while you rarely ever seemed to eat the same meals, you always accompanied each other before a long day.

with the shuffling of your feet, you found your way to the fridge in search of some butter for your toast. instead, you were met with a jet black spider that sat right on the handle, stopping you in your tracks. your hand was merely inches away from it when you realized it was sat there, watching as it moves a couple inches towards your hand as you pulled it back. you let out a choked gasp as you stumbled back slightly, eyes blown wide as you stare.

all you wanted was some damn buttered toast, yet here you were.

“someone get it,” you blurted out quickly, eyes not moving from the spider as you frantically pointed at it. your words caught the attention from everyone in the room. it was rather silent this morning, only a few whispers here and there between each other. everyone seemed to stare at you for a few moments instead of helping.

“it’s just a spider,” walker deadpanned once he saw what you were pointing at as if it was obvious. “it’s not a big deal.”

“it is to me,” you whispered weakly, embarrassed by your fear. you wish you could just ignore it, get what you needed and go, but you couldn’t. the mere sight of the spider made you shiver. you heard feet shuffling behind you, and you half expected it to be john ready to make fun of you or something.

instead, it was bob, who moved past you without a word. he was careful with his steps moving forward, hands reaching out to gently scoop the spider off of the fridge. once it was secured in his big palms, he slowly turned around, letting you see that he has it without actually showing it to you.

“‘m gonna go let it outside,” he told you in the softest tone. he offered you up a small, un-judgmental smile, before he started to move past you again, heading towards the elevator. this time, you didn’t flinch when the spider came near you. bob was kind, and despite whatever your brain was trying to tell you, you knew he wouldn’t tease you with it, or bring it near you to scare you even more.

“thank you,” you replied, looking at him with the most appreciative expression. he simply nodded as he continued on, the same smile playing on his lips still there, calming your anxiety.

god, he was so gentle. most people would’ve killed the spider, squashing it in their hands or with a shoe. but bob? bob was escorting down one of the largest buildings in new york to safely set it outside. he didn’t make a big fuss out of it, or make you feel bad for your fear. instead, he made you feel seen, safe. even if it was ‘just’ a spider. you were deep in thought about the man as you watched his figure disappear out of sight when yelena broke the silence.

“well that’s just adorable,” she quipped, a small smile playing on her face as she swirls the coffee in her hand. “i think a little someone has a crush on you.”

“the spider?” alexei asked cluelessly, earning an eye roll from ava who was perched up on one of the counters, and a quiet ‘dumbass’ from bucky who was nose deep in some book he hadn’t looked up from this entire conversation.

your face heated up at yelena’s comment, eyebrows furrowing together as you glance over at her. you finally move to open the fridge, grabbing ahold of the butter you were in search of.

“bob doesn’t have a crush on me,” you told her, shaking your head in disbelief. your voice was shaky, and you weren’t quite sure if it was because the adrenaline from the spider, or the possibility of bob having a thing for you.

it’s not that you didn’t like the idea, it’s just that you didn’t think it was true. sure, you had a blooming crush on him, and it would be amazing if he’d felt the same about you. there was just no way bob felt that way. he was simply being kind and attentive to you like he always was. this wasn’t new, and it definitely wasn’t motivated with anything romantic.

“just saying,” yelena mumbled, drawing her attention back to the meal in front of her. “i don’t think he would’ve been that nice about it to any of us.”

“can you imagine bob looking at walker like that?” ava piled on with giggles. her next words were laced with a fake affection, swooning in exaggeration as she looks at the blonde haired man. “don’t worry walker, i’ll take it outside for you!”

everyone laughed at ava’s nonsense, even bucky let out a huff of air out of his nose before she said one last thing. “he would’ve dragged him for it, y/n. clearly bobs just got a big ole soft spot for you.”

you spent the rest of breakfast in silence as you sat in your thoughts, picking at your toast and sipping at your juice when you realized you were being nearly too still. you tensed up a little when bob came back to the kitchen, frowning slightly when you realized his food must be a little cold now. your eyes lingered on him as he sat, something he noticed. he gave you another soft, closed lip smile, as if reassuring you in his own little way.

could he have a thing for you? could bob feel the same as you do? you tried to be optimistic about it, letting hope linger inside of you at the thought that maybe yelena and ava were right. you still doubted yourself. that’s just who bob was. kind, honest, caring. there’s no way he was only like that with you.

———

clean laundry

maybe you were being too confident in yourself. you brought a large load of laundry into the laundry room in the tower, slipping what you could inside the washer and dryer to get it done and over with. it was tough getting it to the room itself, but now that you had to bring it back up to your room you wished you would’ve just done two smaller loads.

you had your fabric softener barely gripped with a few of your fingers as you braced the hamper, waddling your way towards the elevator, leaning your whole body towards the buttons to indicate you’re wanting to go up. you tried to keep ahold of everything, knee pushing upwards to keep the hamper in place.

getting inside the elevator was worse. you nearly knocked over your clothes when you sat it down, hands fumbling to press the number for the living quarters. why they didn’t put a laundry room on your floor was beyond you. valentina was, as usual, no help when you pressed her about it. she simply shrugged it off and moved along. as if she couldn’t be more frustrating of a human being.

the hamper wasn’t super heavy, only heavy enough for you to struggle a little lugging it around with you across the large tower. you huffed and puffed your way out of the elevator when you finally make it there, irritation growing rapidly as you try not to drop any clean clothes on the floor. you didn’t want a trail of potential undergarments leading towards you room.

you weren’t even a quarter of your way to your room when bob coincidentally turned the corner, finding you struggling slightly with your clothes. you gave him a tight lipped smile, one that was clearly full of annoyance. he was quick to swoop in to help. of course he was.

“can i help?” bob offered, walking up to you with his arms out slightly. you shook your head no, though your eyes told a different story. all he had to do was cock an eyebrow at you for you to give in, sheepishly setting the hamper down on the ground.

“thanks,” you whispered out, watching as he effortlessly picked up the hamper and began to walk. you followed behind him with a slight stumble at the start, fabric softer in hand. while you were strong as you were, sometimes you wished you had superhuman strength like some of your teammates did. it would certainly help you with your mundane tasks.

as you followed bob to your room, you began to think about what yelena had told you about bob having a crush on you. he was always eager to help you out. you always thought it was nothing, just a way to be friendly, something he would do for everyone. the thought was eating you up inside. you wanted desperately for him to feel that way about you. you wanted him to want you.

you were surprised at what came out of your own mouth next as he opens up your door for you, letting you walk in first, quietly following behind you.

“ya know,” you started, pointing beside your bed to let bob know to set your hamper there. he did just that, watching as you start to pick at the laundry to sort through it. “yelena told me you might have a crush on me.”

bob froze in an instant. he watched as you seemingly nonchalantly started to fold your clothes, setting them down on your bed right afterwards. your hearts seemed to pound together quickly, sharing the same rapid pulses at your words.

“she did?” bob choked out, eyes blown wide. he seemed just as shocked at the proclamation as you did.

“yeah,” you affirmed, glancing over at him. he was visibly nervous, hands fumbling with each other, fingers moving together in attempts to calm himself. you started to panic more at the sight of him, trying your best to distract yourself with your laundry. did you make him uncomfortable?

you realized that you might’ve messed up big time. you didn’t reveal your feelings for him directly, though it felt like by telling him that, you were opening yourself up to questions. ones that would lead him straight to your feelings. it felt like you were already out in the open for him to see right through.

“would it be so bad?” bob whispered, eyes piercing into your skin, trying his best to get his read on you. even if you felt like he knew how you felt, he hadn’t a single idea. “if i, uh… did had a crush on you?”

that made you stop in your tracks, hands gripping the half folded shirt in your hands. your eyes trailed to him one last time, looking right into his. bobs eyes were big and round and blue as you stare at each other, tension thick in the air as he waits for your answer.

“not at all,” you whispered back. you finished folding the shirt without looking at it, setting it blindly on the bed. relief visibly washed over bobs body, tension releasing from his jaw and his shoulders. his hands still fidgeted together, though, as he tried to collect his thoughts.

“i was really hoping it wasn’t obvious,” bob told you, chuckling quietly at himself. “i guess i was.”

“i didn’t notice until she mentioned it,” you replied, deciding to lean into the newfound information. “not until you were a gentleman and saved me from that spider.”

you two had matching cheesy grins on your faces at your words, the slight absurdity of it bringing out a giddiness that made your chest bloom with warmth. all he could do was shake his head at you at first, a hand of his reaching up to scratch the back of his neck nervously. “just know i didn’t show it any mercy for scaring you like that. i put it right on the sidewalk instead of the grass.”

it’s your turn to laugh this time. “the poor bastard got what it deserved.”

as your guys’ laughter died down, you went back to silently folding your clothes. the air was a lot less tense now that everything was - for the most part - out in the open. you thought the conversation over as bob started slowly pacing across your room, finding the swivel chair at your desk to sit at. he leaned back as casually as he could manage, hands smoothing down the front of his shirt. you realized that you might not have been clear on how you felt, doing so in the best way you could think of. teasing and kind.

“you know this means you have to take me on a date now, right?” you asked him, eyebrows lifting up with expectation. bob nodded quickly and enthusiastically, eyes bright as he looks up at you from his seat across the room.

“of course, y-yeah!” bob tells you immediately, a small spout of rambles beginning like they always do when he’s nervous. “i would be honored to, i mean, i’ve been thinking about it for months. i’d be kinda crazy not to now that i know i’m not completely off base with you.”

and honestly, you couldn’t wait.

#munsonify #bob reynolds #robert reynolds #bob reynolds fluff #robert reynolds fluff #bob reynolds imagines #bob reynolds imagine #bob reynolds x you #bob reynolds x y/n #bob reynolds x reader #robert reynolds imagines #robert reynolds imagine #robert reynolds x y/n #robert reynolds x you #robert reynolds x reader #bob reynolds x gn!reader #robert reynolds x gn!reader

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yamujiburo · 2 years ago

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Ketchum vs. Ketchum! Showdown in Cerulean City!

Woo! Finale time! I wanted to make this final battle feel special and give it more substance than I could do with just a comic. So! I got the help of @cyberwulf to write out this ending in fanfic form! Check it out here on AO3 if you prefer! If not, the journey continues below the cut~

prev / END

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / [X]

James Sidestory / Meowth Sidestory

A lot has happened since our Poké Moms began their journey. After a rocky start…

“*SQUAWK*”

…they’ve managed to catch some new Pokémon…

“Run! Run! Run!”

…in their own way.

“What a cute baby! You know, I have a son, too!”

With their month on the road almost up, Delia had just one more thing she wanted to do…

“I want to beat the Cerulean City Gym!”

But little did Delia know, there was a surprise waiting for her in Cerulean City!

“MOM??? JESSIE???”

“Let’s have a double battle! You and Ash versus Jessie and I!”

“You’re on! But I’m not going easy on you just cuz you’re family!”

“…What’s going on?”

Poké Mom Adventures

EP009

Ketchum vs Ketchum! Showdown in Cerulean City!

The water of the Cerulean gym battlefield glistened in the sunshine streaming through its crystal glass roof. Both teams gazed at each other with steely determination (and some lingering confusion, in Misty’s case) as above them, the Drone Rotom announced the rules.

“This will be a double battle between Gym Leader Misty and Champion Ash, and the challengers Delia and Jessie.” It projected a holographic image of both teams. “For today’s battle, each trainer may use two Pokémon. The battle is over when all of one team’s Pokémon can no longer battle.”

“All right!” Misty declared. “This is an official League battle for the Cascade badge!”

“And bragging rights!” Jessie added with a smirk.

“We’ll see about that!” Ash retorted. Misty glanced at him, taking in his clenched fists and gritted teeth. She’d seen Ash determined before, but… there was something here that she was missing. However, with the Drone Rotom hovering expectantly overhead, finding out what that something was would have to wait.

“Come out – Corsola!”

The Coral Pokémon landed on the rock in front of her, eagerly crying its name.

“This is a water-themed gym, so I’ll go with a Water-Type,” Ash remarked. “Oshawott, I choose you!”

“That’s the spirit, Ash!” Misty exclaimed. “It’s the job of a Gym Leader to help trainers learn type advantage and weaknesses by specialising in one kind of Pokémon, and around here that’s Water-Types!”

“Water, huh?” Jessie frowned as she considered the three Pokémon she had on hand. “Well, I don’t want my delicate little Ziggy to get her fur wet.” With a flourish, she tossed a Pokéball high in the air. “Go, Venomoth!”

The Poison Moth Pokémon emerged, hovering over the water.

“It’s a shame we don’t have any Grass or Electric-types,” Delia mused. “I guess we’ll just have to do our best with what we have.” Pushing her bangs out of her face, she called, “I choose you!”

Ash and Misty’s jaws dropped as the light from Delia’s Pokéball coalesced into a very large, very stern-looking Kangaskhan.

“I didn’t know your mom had such a strong Pokémon,” Misty whispered.

“Neither did I,” Ash whispered back. Movement at the corner of his eye caught his attention and he looked down at his starter Pokémon. “Something wrong, Pikachu?”

“Pika…”

Pikachu gazed across the water at Kangaskhan, ears and tail up, alert to… something. But before anyone could figure out what had caught his attention, there was a small cry.

“Kangaskhan!”

The baby squirmed, spooked by the glistening water lapping all around the rock. She buried her face in her mother’s belly and cried again. Cradling her young protectively, Kangaskhan gave Delia an apologetic look.

“Oh, of course!” Delia exclaimed. “I’m so sorry. Kangaskhan, return.” Cupping her hands around her mouth, she called across the battlefield. “That doesn’t count as one of my Pokémon, does it?”

“Of course not, Ms. Ketchum!” Misty shouted back. “Please choose another Pokémon!”

“If she’s got one,” Ash said with a confident smirk. “I’m betting she’ll send out Mimey.”

“I choose you… Clefairy!”

“Looks like you bet wrong, Ash,” Misty laughed as Ash stared in surprise at the Fairy Pokémon.

Above them, the Drone Rotom moved into position.

“Begin!”

“All right, Oshawott!” Ash called out. “Open up with an Aqua Jet!”

With a determined cry, Oshawott blasted a jet of water across the field, hitting Clefairy square in the belly and knocking the Fairy Pokémon off the rock and into the water.

“Ash Ketchum!” Delia exclaimed reproachfully. “That wasn’t very nice!”

Thrown off-guard, Ash gulped. “S-sorry!” (Oh man - I can’t believe I’m actually battling my mom!)

On the opposite side of the battlefield, a wet and bedraggled Clefairy clambered back up on the rock ridge, scowling at her attacker.

“Shake it off, Clefairy!” Delia urged as her Pokémon did just that, sending a fine shower of water droplets flying from her pink fur. “Use Disarming Voice!”

With a deep breath, Clefairy shot a vortex of pink hearts towards Oshawott, taking the Sea Otter Pokémon by surprise and knocking him into the water.

“Good work, Deerling!” Jessie shouted triumphantly. “Now it’s my turn!” She pointed at Corsola. “Venomoth, use Poison Sting!”

Venomoth hovered uncertainly for a few moments, then looked back at her.

“It doesn’t look like Venomoth knows that move, honey,” Delia remarked.

“Well, Dustox knew that move!” Jessie protested. “Venomoth should know it too, aren’t they both Bug-types?”

Venomoth just blinked at her.

“You really don’t know what moves your Pokémon knows?” Misty asked incredulously.

“Of course I do, just – just let me think!” Jessie spluttered, clenching her fists. “All right, Venomoth – use Gust!”

Venomoth didn’t move.

“Whirlwind!” Jessie tried. “Psybeam! …Tackle?”

Venomoth looked back and forth between Jessie and the battlefield as it fluttered about agitatedly, utterly confused by the barrage of unfamiliar orders.

“This is just sad,” Misty muttered, getting a nod of agreement from Ash. Raising her voice, she called out, “Corsola! Use Spike Cannon!”

Corsola glowed, and a split second later a shower of glowing white spikes slammed into Venomoth, driving it backwards towards the trainer box.

“Oh, no!” Delia groaned in dismay, wringing her hands. “Maybe we should’ve practiced with our new Pokémon before coming here!”

“We’re not giving up!” Jessie snarled, clenching her fists. “Venomoth! Get back out there!”

With a trill, Venomoth shook off the spikes, and floated towards its opponents again.

“Corsola!” Misty called. “Hit it with another Spike Cannon!”

Corsola began to glow.

“Well don’t just hover there!” Jessie barked out. “It’s about to attack again!” Venomoth looked back at her, and Jessie gestured angrily towards the battlefield. “Just do something! Anything!”

Once more, glowing white spikes shot towards Venomoth. This time, however, Venomoth dove towards the attack, sweeping its wings in front of itself at the last minute. Blue blades of light cut through the barrage of spikes, one hitting Corsola and driving it back.

“That’s Air Slash!” Ash exclaimed.

“Air Slash, eh?” Jessie shot her opponents a triumphant smirk. “Venomoth! Use Air Slash on that pitiful pink Pokémon again!”

“Hang in there, Corsola!” Misty called as her Pokémon was driven back for a second time. “Use Recover!”

“Don’t let it recover, Venomoth!” Jessie yelled. “Air Slash again!”

As her Pokémon geared up for another attack, she noticed Delia gazing at her in rapture.

“You’re so ferocious when you battle, Smoochum,” Delia remarked dreamily. She lowered her voice, waggling her eyebrows. “It’s kinda hot.”

Jessie blushed and giggled. “Baaabe, not in front of the twerps.”

Misty wrinkled her nose in disgust. “…Smoochum?”

“Freak out later, Misty!” Ash yelled. Venomoth was bearing down on Corsola, and the Coral Pokémon didn’t have much left. “Oshawott! Use Hydro Pump on Venomoth to protect Corsola!”

Leaping high into the air, Oshawott sent a powerful jet of water directly at Jessie’s Venomoth. With a cry, the Poison Moth hit the floor between Jessie and Delia, bounced once, and fainted.

“Hey, no fair!” Jessie bellowed, stamping her foot. “I was distracted!” She recalled Venomoth with a scowl. “I ought to ground you for making me look bad!”

“This is really weird,” Misty mumbled.

“You have no idea,” Ash sighed wearily.

“All right, you big blue blob,” Jessie growled to her faithful Patient Pokémon, “get out there and let’s win this thing!”

Saluting, Wobbuffet waddled forward, straight into the water. Jessie pinched the bridge of her nose as Wobbuffet awkwardly clambered up onto the protruding rock.

“Wobbles can’t attack unless he’s attacked first,” Delia murmured to herself. “Oshawott is strong, and Corsola can use Recover to gain back health. That means I’ve got to make this next move count!” She looked to Clefairy, wet and winded but not out of the battle. It was risky, but…

“Clefairy! Use Metronome!”

“Metronome?!” Misty exclaimed as Clefairy began to move her fingers hypnotically back and forth. “Now anything can happen!”

“Hold tight, everybody!” Ash called, just as the Fairy Pokémon’s fingers turned white.

Razor-sharp leaves whipped through the air, striking Oshawott and Corsola. The Grass-Type move was too much for the dual Rock/Water Type, and Corsola collapsed into the water, fainted. Oshawott was driven back against the rock ridge, and Ash held his breath, but the Drone Rotom only counted Corsola out.

“Oshawott! You hanging in there, buddy?”

With a grimace, the Sea Otter Pokémon gave him a determined nod. “Osha!”

“Ha!” Jessie cried triumphantly. “Now we’re even!” She clenched her fists, calling tauntingly across the battlefield. “Who’s next, twerpette? Togepi? Psyduck?”

“She sure is cocky for being down to just Wobbuffet,” Ash muttered.

“Not for long,” Misty replied with a smirk. She plucked her second Pokéball from her hip.

“Go – Gyarados!”

Delia’s eyes widened and Jessie took several steps back as the gigantic Pokémon appeared in the water. It glowered down at both trainers, making Delia swallow hard.

(Now’s not the time to lose my nerve! Gyarados is just a Pokémon like any other. All I have to do is-)

“Hey!” Jessie exclaimed angrily. “No fair using such a powerful Pokémon! What, are Staryu and Starmie at the Pokémon Centre or something?!”

Taken aback, Misty gaped at the former Team Rocket member in disbelief. “Since when do you care about playing fair?”

“Since you decided to use that monstrosity on a first-time trainer!” Jessie retorted with a shake of her fist. “That’s cheating!”

Misty paused, almost second-guessing her choice of Pokémon, when she remembered who she was dealing with. Squaring her shoulders, she shot back, “You’re not a first-time trainer!”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Ash muttered.

“I heard that!” Jessie bawled.

“It’s okay, honey,” Delia murmured, placing her hand on Jessie’s shoulder. “We can beat them. We just need to use strategy!”

“Gyarados!” Misty called out. Jessie may not have been the best trainer, and her track record with him was hit or miss, but Wobbuffet could reflect almost any attack. It might just have been luck, but Clefairy’s Metronome had taken out Corsola and left Oshawott just barely hanging on. There was only one choice of target.

“Use Hurricane on Clefairy, now!”

Rearing back, Gyarados shot a powerful blast of air directly at the Fairy Pokémon, sending her flying back to the trainer box.

“Oh no!” Delia cried. She knelt by her stricken Pokémon’s side, but it was obvious even without Drone Rotom saying so that Clefairy couldn’t continue. “You did a wonderful job, Clefairy.” Recalling her Pokémon, she rose, pushed her bangs out of her eyes, and called her second Pokémon.

“Mimey, I choose you!”

Ash clenched his fists. No more surprises – he knew what Mimey was capable of. Oshawott was tough, but he’d taken a lot of damage. If the Sea Otter Pokémon only had one move left, then Ash had to make it count.

“Oshawott! Hit Mimey with Aqua Jet!”

“Mimey, dodge it!” Delia cried out.

The Barrier Pokémon leapt high in the air, leaving Ash to watch, powerless, as Aqua Jet splashed harmlessly on the ground between his mother and Jessie. But before he could call out another attack –

“Now, Mimey, Focus Punch on Oshawott!”

There was no time for Oshawott to get out of the way. Mimey dove straight down, fist outstretched, and scored a direct hit. Both Pokémon vanished underwater. All four trainers held their breath. After a few seconds, Mimey burst out of the water, effortlessly leaping onto the rock. A moment later Oshawott floated to the surface, fainted.

“Good work, Oshawott,” Ash murmured as he recalled his Pokémon. He turned to Pikachu. “Looks like my mom’s a tougher trainer than I thought. You ready, Pikachu?”

The yellow mouse nodded, one tiny fist raised. “Pika!”

“You be nice to us now, Pikachu!” Delia cheered brightly.

Jessie was less optimistic.

“Babe, this isn’t looking good,” she murmured urgently. “I’ve been beaten by that Pikachu a zillion times! And that Gyarados looks strong. And mean! I don’t know if…”

She trailed off as the other woman took her hands.

“Now you listen to me, Jessie Ketchum.” Delia gazed into her eyes, a look of fierce determination on her face. “A zillion battles. A zillion losses. Against that very Pikachu. And you never gave up. So you’re not gonna give up now! Okay?”

Jessie stared back at her. Time seemed to stand still. Delia’s fingers were warm on her own as her words of encouragement hung in the air.

“Jessie… Ketchum?”

With the briefest of nods, Delia turned to face their opponents.

“Ash honey, don’t you hold back just because I’m your mom!” she called. “We’re going to give it our all, even if we lose!”

“She’s a lot like you, Ash,” Misty laughed. As Ash tugged the brim of his hat down to hide his blush, she raised her voice and called to the challengers. “You’re doing great, Ms. Ketchum! I’m really impressed by your abilities as a trainer. Now show me you’re worthy of the Cascade badge!”

“Hey!” Jessie yelled indignantly. “What am I, chopped liver?! My Venomoth pushed your Corsola to the brink!”

Misty grimaced. This was all still too strange – Jessie was a good guy? Jessie and Ash’s mom were… partners? She struggled for something positive to say about Jessie’s performance so far.

“Uh – yeah!” she managed. “It was, uh, really great how you figured out that one move.”

Jessie put her hands on her hips. “Ugh, could you sound any more insincere?!”

With a growl of impatience, Ash cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled across the battlefield. “Hey! Are we gonna battle or what?”

“Oh, we’re battling, twerp,” Jessie shot back. “And we’re gonna win!”

Ash grinned. “You ready, Pikachu?” The yellow Pokémon turned to look at his trainer. Ash pointed. “Quick attack!”

“Ha!” Jessie scoffed as Pikachu zigzagged along the rock ridge. “Wobbuffet, use Counter!”

Pikachu leaped forward…

“On Mimey!”

Delia and Jessie gasped as Pikachu pivoted and went straight for the Barrier Pokémon. Taken by surprise, he took the full brunt of the attack, losing his balance and hitting the water.

“A fake out!” Delia exclaimed. She beamed at her son with pride. “That was so smart of you, honey! You had us completely fooled!”

“Baaabe!” Jessie hissed. “I get that you care about him – I do too – but right now he’s the enemy!”

Delia tapped her fist against her head, grinning nervously. “Oh, right!”

“This is hurting my brain,” Misty groaned.

“How do you think I feel?” Ash grumbled.

Delia took a moment to centre herself and assess the situation. Pikachu didn’t have a Type advantage, but his Electric attacks were powerful – not to mention that Mimey was still wet. Of course, using them ran the risk of electrifying the entire battlefield, including Gyarados, but only one Pokémon needed to be left standing in order for that Pokémon’s team to win.

“Mimey!” she commanded. “Use Psychic on Pikachu!”

“Mr Mime!”

Mimey fixed Pikachu with an intense stare, his eyes and hands glowing blue. Blue light enveloped the yellow mouse as he was lifted into the air. Pikachu strained and struggled, but couldn’t break free.

Ash groaned in exasperation.

“Misty, go for Mimey!” he called. “If you weaken him, maybe Pikachu can break free. Plus, he’s a lot stronger than Wobbuffet!”

Misty nodded. “Right!”

“Hey!” Jessie objected. “Just because it’s true doesn’t mean you have to say it!” She shook her fist at them. “I raised you better than that, Ash Ketchum!”

“Wha – ” Ash took a step back, flabbergasted. “You didn’t raise me at all!”

“The heck I didn’t!” Jessie retorted. “Who kept an eye on you while you twerped your way through eight regions, huh?!”

Misty rubbed her temples. The whole situation was giving her a headache.

“Gyarados!”

The Atrocious Pokémon stirred itself and looked her way.

“Use Crunch on Mr. Mime, now!”

“Oh no, not Crunch!” Delia fretted, as Gyarados reared back, a sinister purple aura swirling around its fangs. “That’s a Dark-Type move!”

“Wobbuffet!” Jessie barked. “Get between Mimey and Gyarados and use Counter!”

Saluting, Wobbuffet leaped in front of Mimey, his body outlined in orange light. Crunch hit, hard, and bounced back twice as hard. Both Gyarados and Wobbuffet recoiled from the damage.

“Wobbles!” Delia cried out, as Mimey caught Wobbuffet in his arms.

“Don’t you quit on me now, Wobbuffet!” Jessie shouted.

Wobbuffet saluted weakly as Mimey pushed him back onto his paws. The distraction worked, and Pikachu dropped back to the rock, freed from Psychic.

“Keep the pressure on, Pikachu!” Ash yelled. “Use Iron Tail on Mimey, now!”

“Quick, Mimey!” Delia shouted as Pikachu somersaulted through the air, tail glowing white. “Use Reflect!”

Pikachu hit the invisible barrier and flew backwards, landing in the water.

“Gyarados!” Misty commanded. “Use Crunch again!”

“Mimey, keep using Reflect!” Delia shouted. “Don’t let them in!” She had to think. Poor Wobbles, he didn’t have much left – one more shot from that big Gyarados and that would be it. Not to mention that if Crunch hit Mimey, the battle would be over! She’d completely forgotten Gyarados could learn that move! Oh, maybe she should’ve used Zaggy instead…

Mimey obediently continued to use Reflect as Gyarados and Pikachu attacked from either side. Slowly the invisible barriers began to box them in, till Mimey and Wobbuffet were crowded together on the rock.

“Babe!” Jessie urged. “We have to do something or we’re gonna lose!”

“I know!” Delia groaned. “I just…” She cupped her face in her hands, pulling down on her cheeks. “…I don’t know!”

“Ms Ketchum!”

Delia lifted her head.

“You can’t let us back you into a corner!” Misty called. “Use your environment to find a way out!”

Ash shot her a glare. “Hey, whose side are you on?!”

“It’s my job as a Gym leader to help trainers to learn,” Misty explained with a smile. “Did you forget?”

“You didn’t help me when I battled you for the first time!” Ash replied indignantly, poking his thumb into his chest.

Misty glowered at him.

“That’s because you still owed me a new bike, Ash Ketchum!”

“Aaagh!” Ash placed both hands on his head, tugging his hat down. “Can’t you let that go already? It got repaired, didn’t it?”

While their opponents bickered, Delia had taken Misty’s words to heart.

“Use the environment…” she mused. There was only one place Mimey and Wobbles could go – but first they had to do something about the double attacks coming their way.

“Jessie!” she hissed, beckoning her partner to come closer. “Can you have Wobbles use Counter?”

Jessie looked at Wobbuffet, sweating nervously as he stood behind Mimey. She nodded.

“Okay,” Delia replied. She whispered quickly in the other woman’s ear. Jessie grinned, then straightened up.

“Wobbuffet! Use Counter on both those attacks!”

Without any hesitation, Wobbuffet moved in front of Mimey, body once more enveloped in an orange glow. Crunch and Iron Tail came back double on Gyarados and Pikachu, sending the two flying backwards. Both Pokémon landed hard on the rock, Gyarados almost wrapping around it with the force of the blow.

“On your feet, Pikachu!” Ash called. “It’s not over yet! …Huh?”

He blinked at the empty battlefield. Mimey and Wobbuffet had both disappeared. Ash tensed as he scoured the water for any sign of the enemy Pokémon, but the surface was still settling from the last bout of attacks. The sunlight streaming through the roof didn’t help either – it made the rippling water glitter.

Misty spotted movement a second too late.

“Look out-”

In tandem, Mimey and Wobbuffet burst through the surface, taking up positions either side of Gyarados and Pikachu, trapping their opponents between them.

“Good work, you two!” Delia cheered. She pointed dramatically. “Now, Mimey – use Psychic on both of them!”

Once more, Mimey’s eyes and hands glowed. Both Gyarados and Pikachu rose into the air, enveloped in blue light.

“Great strategy, Ms. Ketchum!” Misty called, earning a dirty look from Ash which she ignored. “There’s no point going for Wobbuffet – he’ll just Counter our attacks again.”

“Right,” Ash agreed. “We’ve gotta take out Mimey!” He raised his voice. “Pikachu!”

Misty did likewise. “Gyarados!”

Delia grinned. “Just as I thought.” She looked at her partner. “Get ready with Mirror Coat!”

Jessie blinked in confusion. “…Huh?”

“Thunderbolt –”

“Hydro Pump –”

“On Mimey!” both young trainers yelled in unison.

“Mimey!” Delia called, just as both Pokémon charged their attacks. “Drop them, use Light Screen and aim at Wobbles!”

“Aim at WHO?!” Jessie exclaimed.

There was no time to explain. Everything turned on a split second. Pikachu and Gyarados began to fall through the air. Several volts of electricity and a powerful torrent of water hit Mimey’s Light Screen and barrelled towards Wobbuffet.

The diabolical beauty of Delia’s devious plan suddenly caught up with Jessie. That pair of pathetic Pokémon were in for a –

“Now, honey!”

Jessie almost fumbled the command.

“M-Mirror Coat!”

Wobbuffet glowed, shrouded in a reflective aura. Everything seemed to slow down. The attacks hit. They bounced back at Mimey. Pikachu and Gyarados fell. Ash’s mouth opened in a silent noooo.

The timing was perfect.

Gyarados and Pikachu fell in front of Mimey, taking the full brunt of Thunderbolt and Hydro Pump, doubled by Mirror Coat. The sheer force of the attacks drove them along the surface of the water, causing huge plumes of water to rise into the air either side of them. The battlefield disappeared in a shroud of surf and spray.

“Pikachu!” Ash cried out.

All four trainers held their breath as the mist began to clear.

Jessie cried out in dismay on seeing Wobbuffet floating belly-up in the water. Ash groaned on spotting Pikachu doing likewise. Draped over the rock, Gyarados lifted its head weakly, then dropped it again.

Delia scanned the water, a smile spreading across her face as Mimey swam to the rock and clambered up, standing tall with a cry of, “Mr. Mime!”

“Wobbuffet, Pikachu, and Gyarados are unable to battle,” the Drone Rotom declared, as Ash sank to his knees. “The winners are the challengers, Delia and Jessie!”

“I… I can’t believe this…” Ash moaned.

“We…” Jessie couldn’t stop staring at the battlefield, Drone Rotom’s words ringing in her ears. “…we won?” She looked to Delia, and the joyful look on her face confirmed it. “We WON!!!”

Delia shrieked as Jessie caught hold of her and lifted her high in the air, doing a twirl before setting her back on her feet and peppering her face with kisses. “Hahahaha!” She turned to their opponents, pulling down on one eyelid while sticking her tongue out. “Suck it, twe – I mean, Ash and Misty! I knew this day would come sooner or later!”

“Jessica, I know you’re happy, but don’t be a bad winner,” Delia chided gently. “Magnanimity in victory goes a long way.”

“But baaaabe!” Jessie whined. “I’ve never had a victory this magnificent before!”

Delia just smiled and gave her a peck on the lips. “I think poor Wobbles wants you,” she remarked, nodding to the battlefield. “We’ll need to get him to a Pokémon Centre with Venomoth and Clefairy.”

Jessie nodded and went to haul Wobbuffet out of the water.

“Come on, you,” she grunted as she dragged the Patient Pokémon back onto dry land. Briefly she removed her cap and wiped the sweat from her brow. Fine, so she couldn’t taunt the twerps any more. Victory still tasted pretty sweet.

In her arms, Wobbuffet stirred and smiled weakly up at her. Jessie couldn’t help but smile back.

“How about that?” she murmured to him. “You’re a winner, Wobbuffet. I bet you can’t wait to tell the others.”

He managed a salute and a quiet “Wobba…” before Jessie recalled him to his Pokéball.

Ash, meanwhile, remained on his knees in the trainer box. “I can’t believe we lost to my mom.”

“You gotta admit, that last strategy was a thing of beauty,” Misty replied with a smile. She’d made her way out to the rock and was cradling Gyarados’s head, absently rubbing its crest. The big Pokémon opened its eyes and let out a quiet rumble. “I guess now we know where you get your battling skills from, champ!”

Stepping out of her sneakers, Delia carefully negotiated the slippery rock and fished Pikachu out of the water. A couple of vigorous rubs from his head to his tail, and the Electric Mouse Pokémon opened his eyes.

“You were great, Pikachu,” Delia murmured. She tickled him under his chin, getting a weak “Chaaa” in response. She made her way back to the side of the battlefield to find Ash, Misty and Jessie waiting. “You were great too, honey.”

Ash managed a smile as she handed Pikachu to him. “Thanks, Mom.” He gasped as he was pulled into a hug.

“That was such a fun battle!” Delia exclaimed. She loosened her hold just enough to look at him. “I can see why you like this so much.”

“Watch out, Ash,” Misty teased. “You might just have a new rival on your hands!”

Ash let out a distressed yelp.

“Oh no, I don’t have time for that,” Delia assured him with a wave of her hand. As Ash sighed with relief, she cupped his cheek and tilted his head up to look at him. “But travelling around this past month and battling with you today… it’s made me feel a little bit closer to you.”

Ash blushed, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Aw, Mom,” he mumbled with a grin.

“Ahem.”

Ash and Delia turned to see Misty holding out a Cascade badge.

“This is yours, Ms. Ketchum,” the Gym Leader declared. “You made the battlefield, your Pokémon and their moves work to your advantage. I’m impressed!”

“Oh, you’re too kind, really,” Delia replied, blushing as she accepted the badge. Its blue surface seemed to glitter in the sunlight streaming in from the roof. “I’ll treasure this, always. Thank you.”

“That’s how you win a badge fair and square,” Misty teased, shooting a wink Ash’s way.

The Champion rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

All three turned to see Jessie holding out her hand.

“What about me?” she demanded. “The perfect Pokémon battle partner? Trainer of vicious Venomoth and wild Wobbuffet? Where’s my badge?”

Misty sighed. Jessie had been on the winning team, and she had won a badge fair and square, but the whole situation was still bizarre.

“I’ll give you a badge if you explain what all…” She waved her hand between Jessie and Delia. “…this is about.”

“Delia and I dating,” Jessie scoffed with a shrug. “It’s not that complicated.”

“I got that part,” Misty shot back irritatedly, “I just…” She looked from Jessie, standing with her arms crossed, to Ms. Ketchum, who had one hand on Jessie’s hip, to Ash, who looked like he was hoping the floor would open up and swallow him. “…you know what, never mind.” Reaching into her pocket, she took out a second Cascade badge.

“I can’t believe this is happening, but… you earned this!”

Jessie let out a little cry of joy as Misty put the badge into her hand.

“Oh, Deerling, look how pretty it is!” she gushed. “Do you think maybe we could just get the prettiest Gym badges?”

“I don’t see why not,” Delia replied. “With James to run the restaurant, I can take vacations more often!”

“James is –” Misty glared at Ash, who pulled the brim of his cap down and giggled nervously. “We’re going to the Pokémon Centre and then you’re telling me what’s been going on, Ash Ketchum!”

“Let’s all go to the Pokémon Centre,” Delia suggested. “Our Pokémon battled hard today, they deserve a good rest.”

It wasn’t long before Nurse Joy’s tender care had Venomoth, Corsola, Oshawott, Clefairy, Wobbuffet, Gyarados and Pikachu feeling like their old selves again. Delia squeezed Jessie’s hand, murmuring “that’ll be you one day, Smoochum” as they watched Joy work.

“Well, we should get going,” Delia declared once they had their Pokémon back.

“We were going to stay and have dinner, Ms. Ketchum,” Misty said. She eyed Jessie reluctantly, but made the offer anyway. “…You’re welcome to join us.”

“That’s sweet of you, Misty, but we’ve been away long enough,” Delia replied, to both kids’ relief. “It’s time we headed home. Thank you both so much for such an amazing battle.” She hugged Ash tightly. “Don’t stay away too long, honey.”

“You know I won’t, Mom,” Ash replied, blushing. He shot Misty a grin. “I’ll be home right after I kick Misty’s butt in our rematch!”

“Then I’ll see you soon,” Delia murmured. She let go of her son and gave Misty a quick hug and a wink. “Try not to beat him too badly!”

“Hey!” Ash exclaimed indignantly.

Delia stepped back, joining her girlfriend near the door of the Pokémon Centre. She gave her a look and nodded to both kids. With a sigh, Jessie trudged up to Ash and gave him a stiff hug.

“See you at home, kid,” she mumbled. Letting go, she turned to Misty. “Thanks for the battle and the badge, I guess...?”

The two gazed at each other for a few awkward moments, then Jessie took a step closer, slowly lifting her arms.

“Aah!” Misty hurriedly moved back, holding her hands up in front of her. “I don’t think I’m there yet.”

Jessie dropped her arms with a huge sigh of relief. “Great! Me neither.” She offered her hand instead, and the Gym Leader shook it.

Ash and Misty stepped outside the Pokémon Centre to see them off, their goodbyes ringing in the air as Delia and Jessie got on the road. Jessie slung her arm around her girlfriend’s shoulder.

“Happy, babe?”

“Yes and no,” Delia sighed. “I’m sad my journey’s over, but I couldn’t be happier about how it went. I made three wonderful new friends, foiled a nasty poacher, and that battle today –” She clenched her fists in front of her. “ – I never felt so alive! I can’t wait to tell Professor Oak and James and Meowth all about it!” She slipped an arm around Jessie’s waist. “I’m so glad you talked me into this.”

Jessie preened. “Oh it was nothing, babe, I –”

She broke off as Delia took hold of her hands.

“Thank you for making my dreams come true,” the other woman whispered. Jessie’s heart caught in her throat as she saw tears shining in Delia’s eyes. “Not just today, but every day we’re together.”

Jessie smiled, warmth blooming in her chest.

“It’s the least I could do,” she replied. Delia deserved more, so much more, for putting up with her, believing in her, loving her. Not to mention all she’d done for James and Meowth too. Maybe one day –

- but before Jessie could continue the thought, Delia leaned up and pulled her into a tender kiss.

THE END

“Oh, I can’t wait to get home to our nice comfy bed!”

“Ugh, me too. I hate sleeping on the ground.”

“…who said anything about sleeping?”

#hanamusa comic #hanamusashipping #hanamusa #fanfiction #jessie #delia ketchum #ash ketchum #misty #my art

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