#I got interrupted and never got to finish these

[toranoya]

Hawks listened quietly, his gaze never leaving Kari’s face as she spoke. Her words were heartfelt—raw in that way only a kid who’s been through too much could manage. He didn’t interrupt her, didn’t try to lighten the mood with a joke like he usually might.

When she finished, Hawks gave a small smile. Not a cocky grin, not a public persona smile—this one was soft and a little sad, the kind you give someone when you understand more than you wish you did. He reached out and gently brushed a hand over her hair again, smoothing it back.

“Hey… I can handle it, kiddo,” he said quietly. “All of it. The long nights, the villains, the League—I've been in this game a long time. I know how to fly through storms.” He gave her a half-smile, but the seriousness didn’t leave his eyes.

“But…” He paused, eyes steady on hers. “If something ever does happen to me—really happen—you’ll be taken care of. I’ve made sure of that. People you trust, people who know what you mean to me… they’ll be there for you. You won’t be alone, Kari.” He leaned in just a little closer.

“I’ve already made plans to protect you—even if I’m not around to do it myself.” He sat back a little, wing flicking subtly behind him.

“I get why you kept your guard up. Honestly, I’d be more worried if you didn’t.” He smirked gently. “But you’ve got a good heart. A strong one, even after everything. So if you got ‘too attached’… then good.” He winked. “And hey… wanting a family again? That’s not something to be ashamed of. You deserve one. You deserve to be loved, kiddo.”

He reached over again, pinky already held out.

“Promise me you’ll keep talkin’ to me when you get scared like that. Doesn’t matter if it’s big or small. Deal?”

[jesuistrestriste]

dom!art still taking the strap like a p★rnstar.

cw (18+) : teasing dom!art, eager-to-please sub!reader, brief fingering, choking, pegging, spitting in mouth, handjob, general filth

art pushes his face into the mattress as your soft, willing tongue laps slickly over his hole from behind, his left hand reaching back to grab your shoulder and squeeze it with everything he’s got. he rocks his hips against your mouth and keens when he feels you whimper into his flesh.

“f-fuuuck,” he shudders, “you’re so greedy for me, aren’t you? do i taste good?”

all you can do is nod, too immersed in his taste and his smell and his dirty language. he laughs lowly in response and then hisses like he’s in pain—even if he’s feeling quite the opposite—when you begin to ease two fingers into his tight entrance without permission. you usually have to ask in order to touch any part of him, as he likes the sense of control and you like knowing that your movements are dependent on his say-so, but it just feels like the right moment to open him up. (he’d been prepped perfectly already with just your licking, his cock hard and hanging heavily between his thighs.) he bites at the sheets, the feeling of you beginning to curl the pads of your phalanges down into his prostate punching a broken whine from his lungs. warm spit clings to his bottom lip and chin as he releases the fabric from his teeth to sit up a bit and look over his shoulder. he looks annoyed.

aroused beyond belief, but annoyed.

“that’s enough—no more, or i wont last long enough to take you. come lie down,” he pats the pillows near the top of the bed, “and tighten the harness, it’s slipping.”

you scramble to your feet, easing your touch from his core, and wipe your face with the back of your other hand before you pull at the polyester straps of the strap-on enough to keep it secure. art sprawls himself out on the bedding for just a moment; he lets you stare at his toned, flushed, willing body while you move to lay your frame down. he crawls on top and straddles you afterwards. maneuvers to smush his shaft against the faux rubbery one underneath him. he moans when he frots with it—grinding his leaking tip against yours with even, teasing thrusts. he does it until he starts to shake, his limbs locking up with an impending climax, only to pull back and begin to sit over the dildo without needing your despairing whine as a prompt. your brow pinches reflexively as you watch him devour the inches, one after the other.. he’s a pro by now, but it never ceases to amaze you. he bucks against the fullness. you wonder if it’ll bulge his tummy this time like his dick bulges yours when he’s inside. the way he starts to bounce on it interrupts your flow of thought. he’s slow at first, then ravenous with it. you’re sure that every motion is hitting that special spot in his walls.

“you look like a mess.. and i’m the one getting fucked,” he snickers between whorish groans and whimpers, his hands finding your throat and gently squeezing the sides under his palms, “you like when i ride you? yeah? just like this? fuck, shit—open your mouth—“

you do as you’re told.

is there any other way to respond to him when he gets like this?

you do what he wants you to do, or you don’t get the satisfaction of pounding him until he’s gone mushy in the head. it’s a transactional process that you’re more than willing to work through.

as soon as your jaw is slacked, your eyes fluttering, he leans in and purses his pout. a glob of his saliva is slowly spat over your tongue like sugary honey. you can hardly take it. your hands fist the sheets and you writhe beneath his weight at the viscous fluid dulling your senses. the flavor is so him, slightly minty from the gum he always chews. he taps the underside of your chin when he’s finished letting it drip. he licks his bottom lip to be rid of the remnants.

“swallow.”

and you do—you want nothing more. he sits upright again and splits himself open harder on the toy bound to your pelvis. each time he slides down it, you get to watch as his abdomen curls and his blonde locks are strewn about his forehead. he tightens his hold on your neck just enough to remind you who’s really in charge, and his length jumps in response to the resulting look that crosses your face. you mewl when it dribbles glassy precome like a river; it glosses over the throbbing vein running down the underside of it. a sound that’s a mix between a shout and a sob then escapes his chest.

“god, i’m close,” his hips stutter in their efforts, his blue eyes shielded by low lids, “c’mere—“

he takes one of his hands from your body and reaches it down to take one of yours that’s still grasping at the sheets. he guides your limp fist to wrap around the base of his cock, keening as he starts to hump it.

“touch me—jerk me off.. fuck.. that’s it—that’s good—don’t stop.. beg me to come for you..”

the heat in your gut swells and contracts in time with his noises and his movements, your hand pumping him quickly to aid his consumption of the pleasure he’s being abundantly given. your thumb swipes over his tip, you can tell it aches. he jolts forward at his sensitivity, dazedly moving both of his hands to your chest for leverage, and you dig your heels into the mattress to help you rut up forcefully into his ass. he almost screams.

you beg. you slur out a multitude of pathetic, indulgent sentences that spur on the wave of ecstasy about to crash into his figure. ‘please, come on my strap’ and ‘i’m begging you to let it all go for me, let me watch you lose it’.

it does the trick. in fact, it does it perfectly. everything snaps.

he topples forward with a sudden wail; brows furrowing and thighs quaking and back arching in an unbelievably filthy manner. his legs begin to close as the pleasure floods in and squirts from his erection in several bursts—the ropes coat your fingers and dribble over his stomach like fresh milk. still riding the toy, he digs his calloused touch into the sides of your torso, his fingers moving there in the midst of his orgasm. he hangs his head as he pants.

“fuck, i’m coming,” he gasps, growling afterward as if the sensations are causing his hair to stand on end, “keep stroking me, i’m still—yeah—god, you’re my favorite way to get off..”

you can tell that he means it, that the intoxicating effect of his release isn’t making him drunk enough to be insincere. you pump him until he seizes up and starts to hiccup. when the overstimulation becomes too much, he drops himself on top of you in a boneless heap; a sweaty, spent, satisfied mess of a man. the strap-on is still buried in his heat, and his cock is softening rapidly, but he shows no sign of moving anytime soon.

he reaches up quietly and cups your cheek, brushing his nose against it. you can feel him swallow down a jumble of words before his final ones sound out lowly and tenderly.

the way you like them, and the way he knows you need them.

“good job.. you did so well for me, thank you. give me a few, and then i’ll let you have what you really want.”

there's no need to place any bets on his integrity; you know he’ll keep his promise.

he always does.

tags : @voidsuites @asheepinfrance @fawnnpaws @artstennisracket @andyrambles @imperishablereverie @ghostgirl-22 @lexiiscorect @cha11engers @patricksbf @newrochellechallenger2019 @pittsick @blastzachilles @oncefaist

[modrntravlr]

say honestly you won't give up on me - robert 'bob' reynolds

gn!thunderbolts!reader

Summary: When Bob is trying to recover the memories he lost during his time as the Sentry/Void, you open up to him about your own struggles with addiction and memory loss.

Warnings: Mentions of memory loss and mentions of nondescript past drug abuse.

Title From: I Shall Believe - Sheryl Crow

WC: 1.1k

It wasn’t an uncommon place to find Bob at the Watchtower. When he wasn’t tucked into the coziest chair he could find with his nose buried in a book, or trying to handle the chores as a thanks to the rest of the team for doing all the heavy lifting (quite literally), chances were that he would be in the meditation room. Warm lights dimmed low and clouds of essential oils filling the space with scents of soothing eucalyptus and lavender. 

The room itself had initially come at the request of Bucky when everyone had moved into the tower. With a handful of veterans and former assassins for roommates, each with their own share of traumas, he thought that everyone might benefit from having a designated room to decompress and destress. In the end however, it was actually Bob who got the most use out of the room.

Nobody had heard from him in quite a few hours and with dinner time approaching, everyone was eager to know whether Bob would be joining the team for the meal or eating alone. So there you were, stalking into the meditation room in hopes of finding him.

Sure enough, he was sat in the middle of the room, cross legged and perched atop a plush cushion in absolute silence with his eyes relaxingly shut. He looked uncharacteristically still, but light in a way that nobody else on the team could manage quite like he could. At least from where you stood.

“Bob,” you quietly approached, clearing your throat to alert him of your presence. 

His eyes fluttered open, softening at the sight of you and the sound of your voice.

“Hi,” he simply replied, voice slightly hoarse, but with no trace of frustration at the interruption. “What’s up?”

“You’ve been in here for a few hours. It’s getting close to dinner time and everyone wants to know if you’ll be joining us today or not.”

“Is it really that late already?” he frowned slightly.

“Afraid so,” you replied as sympathetically as you could muster. “What’s always got you so tied up here in the meditation room?” you tried as nonchalantly as possible. Trying your best to convey that he wasn’t under any obligation to answer. He did anyways.

“I’ve been trying to recover my memories,” he said shyly, eyes dropping to his lap. “I read that mediation can help, but I don’t think I’ve made much progress.”

“By memories you mean the time you lose when you’re Sentry, or the Void?” you asked, stepping further into the room. 

You settled on the ground directly across from him, mirroring his exact position, knees just shy of touching. He looked up suddenly, seeming surprised that you’d sat so close to him, but not put off by it.

“Yeah,” he sheepishly smiled, shrugging his shoulders. “I guess I figure that if I can remember those moments I might find something useful. Something that’ll tell me how I can be the Sentry without completely spiraling. I’m just tired of feeling like I’m useless to the team.”

It was honest, you could tell. The way he sighed and his shoulders sagged as he finished confirmed as much, but there was something else. Something deeper that he wasn’t sharing. Maybe you should have just left it at that, but the part of you that yearned to get to know him couldn’t help but press.

Opening up had never been your forte. In your line of business, opening up meant leaving yourself vulnerable, exposing each and every one of your weaknesses for anyone and everyone to take full advantage of. It was a stance that everyone on the team had, but it was something you were all decidedly working on. Together.

That’s the only reason you offered up the information so easily. Certainly not because you wanted to know him, and in turn you wanted him to know you just as deeply.

“I used to forget things too,” you confessed. “When I was on a lot of drugs, and I’d have these sort of manic like episodes. When I’d finally get sober I’d have trouble remembering all the things that had happened before.”

“You — you were an addict too?” he asked timidly, head tilted with a frown of confusion on his face. Maybe it hadn’t been the right time to make such a confession. Regardless it was too late to take it back.

“Yeah, I was,” you sighed. “Well maybe I still am. I don’t know, that feeling never really goes away, right?”

It was rhetorical. You didn’t really expect an answer from him, but he gave one anyway.

“No, it really doesn’t,” he nearly whispered, a shy and sad smile creeping across his face. “I think it just gets easier to ignore. Having all of you makes it easier to ignore.”

“Yeah, I think so too,” you answered returning the smile.

“Did you ever figure out how to get those memories back?” 

His voice sounded full of hope. As though the next words out of your mouth could hold the secrets of the universe and the power to tilt his world off its axis.

“No, not really,” you answered, voice thick with the type of dissatisfaction that could only come with the truthful reality of a situation. “But I did have mission reports. And journals, and photos, and people who were around me during that time.

“None of it could ever really be the same as the real memories, but real memories are fragile, fickle things anyways. Those records that are these snapshots of those very moments, and the people who were there have given me plenty of information to be able to piece together my own probably very flawed, but just as real and valid version of events.”

He hummed a sad sound of resigned acknowledgment at that. 

“Bob,” you pleaded gently.

He met your eyes.

“You have mission reports. And CCTV and news footage. And most importantly, you have us. You don’t need to lock yourself away in here for hours every single day searching for memories that may never come back to you. 

“It’s okay not to remember what happened. We’ll all remember for you, okay? And you can remember for us too.”

He smiled more brightly than you think you’d ever seen him smile before. It was a beautifully contagious thing that made you want to reach out and trace the lines of his face to be sure you never forgot what it looked like. What he looked like.

He stood up suddenly, towering over you as he reached his hand out to you.

“Well in that case, aren’t you coming to dinner?” 

You took his hand, allowing him to help you up. And if anybody happened to notice that when the two of you walked into the common room together neither of you had let go, they didn’t have anything to say about it.

[r-bitfluffs]

dogging it. like the cryptids Gotham needs.

DISCLAMIER !!!! i have never seen or read anything to do with the dc universe OR the Danny phantom show. my understanding of the show comes from cross over righting prompts and the phandoms love for bibity bobitying Danny into Gotham as random animals.

English is not my mother tong and I have moved a lot as a child so my spelling in BOTH my languages is not the best.

this is my first righting prompt for ENY fandom. please do be kind in the comments, constructive criticism is okay but PLEASE don't be rude about it.

on another note, there is art for this! (I'm really heckin proud of it, I'm still kind of new to digital art. )

alright I'm done yapping lets get into this//

. + . + . + . + . + . + . + . + . + . + . + . +

it was a normal night in Gotham, sky was clouded, air was spicy with a hint of some sort of gas and the bats and birds where out and about on patrol.

duke was at home asleep, since he was the dayshift. Jason was in crime alley dealing with some trouble stewing there, Tim was taking a coffee brake on a roof somewhere, dick was finishing calming down a paniced civilian after being mugged a couple of streets over from batman and robin (in Gotham for reasons.) Steph had the night off and cass was being cass and sneaking around somewhere.

nothing big had happened yet for tonight, just some muggings, one of them being a literal mugging involving a heavily intoxicated on who knows what male who SOMEHOW kept on finding random mugs and, like the dumb*ss drunken dude he was, was trying to rob, and I mean TRYING. to rob a poor college student who had stayed late for a test, and like the stressed, overworked, in dept person they where, had forgotten the normal carry on taser so was stuck waiting for a bat to come play. it got handled and now there was just some gossip over the coms that the bat tried and failed to stop.

+ - + - + - + - + - + -

"-the fact that some people keep fish like that in those horrid conditions is just unacceptable. even if you don't involve the fact that a vase is to small for a betta fish there is also the ammonia, nitrite and nitrate build up to take care of and- "

"sorry to interrupt your rant there robin but there seems the be some cams glitching near a alley way near you near 25 Wayman's alley if you can just check that out please. "

"hrm." (bat translation. alright we will go check on it.)

"copy that oracle we will run visual surveillance and see what we find"

"alright thanks just be careful- no wait all units statis."

"me and batman are it rout to the glitched cams." robin said first then waited for the rest to speak.

"*grunts* dealing with some- "HAY JACK*SS STOP THAT." dealing with some low level goons ill be done in a min or 2. " came from red hoods com.

"just finishing off calming a civ after a spook from a mugging!" Nightwing cheerily bugged in with his status

"on a coffee brake." red robin said after nightwing was finished speaking and a couple seconds later a jiggle rang across the coms signalling that black bat was a-okay and checking in as well.

"alright good that you are all safe. we have a arkham brake out. joker is on the loose, i repeat. joker is on the loose."

"F#CK.!"

"ughhhh."

"again? really? ugh."

"hm." (bat translation here again, he is NOT happy about it.)

+ - + - + - + - + -

Danny was.. okay.. ish, he wasn't hurt but he wasn't fully happy about how he get hear in the first place either. he and cujo had been in Gotham for around a week now just living day by day, it was stressful not letting to many folks see cujo but he'd say he's doing pretty well if he's to say for himself!

not really happy about being turned into a dog but he will live (ha right. he's not even alive.) but he will take being a dog over being strapped to lab table torn apart molecule by molecule.

... he's still mad at clockwork for it tho.

just before he got to stuck in his own mind cujo came bouncing over and pawed his leg happily trying to show Danny something so he stopped walking to see what it was that cujo wanted to show him. It turned out to be a old batarang laying there but it was a bit bloody so he let out a low chuft telling cujo to let it be and kept walking, cujo running up to his side after a little bit of sniffing at the discarded weapon.

he's still kind of annoyed that the only way he can talk to somebody makes his voice sound like he's on a OLD voice recorder. and when he does try and speak his mouth doesn't move so it just looks like he's standing there with his mouth wide open , it makes it REALY hard to help calm down folks he runs across and can be really creepy to some folks.

why does he hear crazed laughter?

....

+ - + - + - + - + - +

....

the clown didn't even stand a chance. danny didn't kill him, oh no.

he did make Shure he'd never harm anybody else again, tho and he mighhtttt have been a little bit creepy about it. but i mean come on? a ghosts gotta have fun sometimes and he DID called off cujo after a little bit of light maiming so who can blame him? no him at least.

.....

danny sadly didn't see the random civ who got a good photo of him and cujo when they had stopped for a little thanks the the fact that they had a VERY old camera or the fact that another civ get a VERY blurry video of him and cujo going cryptid on the clown....

(no clue how to make this look like a post on the internet so just imagen it is.)

(cujo is TINY and danny is HUGE he looks kinda like a black lab but the size and fluff of a newfoundland in meh brain)

the vid got posted after the photo and went viral within the next day.

cue red hood LOVEING those puppers and robin trying SO hard to adopt those dogs and FAILING again and again.

[yokedtablet]

heavy (in your arms)

ellabs oneshot:

Post-canon, Abby and Lev return to the farm with Ellie. They find a tenuous peace, and a makeshift trust that's always at risk of breaking. Abby finds Ellie's guitar upstairs, which she never plays anymore, and starts to learn. She's not very good. Ellie hates this, or so she says.

Based on this post.

947 words

Abby’s fingers cramp the frets. She strums with a little too much force, and the guitar makes a rattling, muted sound. Its hollowness creaks in her lap as she resets, tries to find her place in the song again.

She found the guitar upstairs, in a room with Ellie’s other stuff. A stack of journals she didn’t open, despite her curiosity. Sketches of animals. A painting of Dina, which makes her regret stepping into the room in the first place. 

But the guitar has a moth on the neck that matches Ellie’s tattoo, so she picks it up. She strums the strings, open. It’s out of tune, probably a little bit warped by heat and moisture. There are a few song books that teach her cursory chords. She hasn’t even attempted any fingerpicking yet.

In the living room, Abby hears the screen door swing open. Footsteps stomp through the kitchen, pause, and then approach more slowly. 

Ellie props herself against the doorframe. She’s dressed in her brown jacket and looks tired from the hunt. “Are you trying to make my ears fall off?”

She hates Abby’s playing—or so she says. The first time she saw her with the moth-neck guitar in her hands, she looked at her like she’d violated some long-held pact. Touched something that didn’t belong to her. And Abby thought this would probably lose her the hard-won progress she’d made. Just a couple steps forward, so that they could exist in the same room together without someone flinching. 

But then came the teasing. “You’re not supposed to strangle the damn thing.” “The sheep could hear you all the way from the barn. Told me to tell you it sounds awful.” Mostly, things to the effect of, “That sounds like hot garbage.” It was the most Ellie had spoken to her since they got back to the farm. 

Despite the complaint, Ellie flops down onto the couch, kicking her feet up on the coffee table. When Abby stops playing, she gives her an insistent nod. 

Abby laughs inwardly. “You want me to keep going?”

“No,” she says. “It’s whatever.” Petulant and infuriating, as always.

She’s almost as bad as Lev, who’s become a little bit of a menace with his newfound stability. Because he doesn’t need Abby’s help anymore, and he would do just fine hunting on his own if she let him. He’s started to add some of Ellie’s more colorful language to his repertoire, too. “That sucked balls,” she’d once heard him say when Ellie missed a shot with her bow, giggling.

“Any requests?” Abby asks.

“Ummm…” Ellie rolls her head against the couch cushions. Catching the fading light from the window, her face is dark and freckled from the sun, her hair cut unevenly above her chin. She keeps her left hand tucked into her jacket. “Anything but whatever that was.” 

“Fine.” 

Abby starts to play something else. She pauses between each chord, interrupting her strumming as she carefully places each of her fingers against the strings. Her hands are calloused enough—from chopping firewood, from her regular exercise routine, but her fingertips are still tender. The longer she plays, the more the strings bite. She would never admit this to Ellie, of course.

When she��s finished, she awaits a familiar insult. 

I could do better with two fingers. Except Ellie doesn’t play anymore, because Abby took that away from her.

But there’s no reply. Abby lifts her attention from the fretboard, and Ellie’s asleep. Her head lolls peacefully to one side, eyes shut, brow furrowed, like she’s still pissed off. Her chest rises and falls with slow, even breaths. 

It’s the first time Abby’s seen her like this in the daylight. They sleep in separate rooms, Ellie with her door shut tight. But sometimes Abby wakes in the middle of the night to find Ellie curled into her side, fingers knotted into her t-shirt, breathing softly against her neck. She never hears her come in, and they never talk about it in the morning.

Abby sets the guitar down slowly, careful not to make a noise when it connects with the floor. 

It’s easy to imagine carrying her, taking all of Ellie’s weight in her arms. She could carry her upstairs and take her to her own bed. She would unlace her converse—she can’t believe Ellie still wears those things—and tug them off. 

But Ellie would probably wake up as soon as she curled an arm under her neck. Her eyes darting wide, instinctively bracing herself against Abby’s chest. Taste of blood in her mouth. She would struggle, and say the words she'd been saying to Abby in one way or another since they got here. 

Don't fucking touch me. 

Abby hasn’t earned that yet. Ellie chooses when to approach and to retreat. Abby can wait. She can wait until she’s ready. They have time. 

Instead, Abby unfolds a blanket from the back of the couch. She stretches it out to her full wingspan, letting it fall to her knees. Slowly, so slowly, she drapes it over Ellie’s sleeping form. 

Ellie jerks in her sleep, and Abby freezes. She waits. But then she makes a grumbling sound and relaxes again, and Abby continues. 

The blanket envelops her fully. Careful not to actually touch her, Abby tucks the blanket in around her neck and shoulders. It gets cold down here at night.

Which reminds her, she should close the window.

She cringes when it makes a grating sound against the woodwork—old house and all. But when she looks back, Ellie is still sleeping.

Flecks of white paint fall and stick to her forearms. She flicks off the light.

-

(read this on ao3)

[alwaysthebiggerbear]

Somewhere Close To Me - 1: Emergence - Beau Arlen x Female Reader

Story Summary: Cassie knows Jenny has feelings for Beau, but she's almost certain his attentions are engaged elsewhere. ~ The story of you and Beau told through the eyes of Helena's favorite leading ladies. Chapter Summary: Cassie is trying to ascertain if movie night is still on but Beau seems a bit distracted.

Pairing: Beau Arlen x Deputy Sheriff!Female!Reader; Beau Arlen x Female!Reader

Series Masterlist A/N: Something I wrote a long time time ago (back in '23 or somewhere around there) but never finished. I recently came back to it and decided to see it through. Warnings: none Word Count: 2126 dividers by @firefly-graphics

“So, are you and Jenny going to have another movie night tonight?” Cassie asked.

Beau shrugged and took a sip of his coffee. “I don’t know. Not really the same without you, you know?”

The woman smiled and shrugged. “Cormac really wants me to hear his friend’s band play and I promised him I’d go tonight.” That and she knew Jenny was wanting some time alone with Beau. Cassie knew the blonde had feelings for their friend, though she wasn’t so sure the man returned those feelings. Beau had always been a bit hard to read when it came to the subject of women.

He went to answer her when something caught his eye over her shoulder, immediately claiming his attention. Her brows furrowed and she turned to see what had him so captivated.

Cassie watched as you made your way into the squad room, folder in hand. “Pops, you got that file I asked you to find?” Well, Beau had always been hard to read until you came along that is.

Poppernak nodded in response, holding it up for you to take. You plopped your file down on his desk and grabbed the one he was offering. 

“Thanks.”

“Yep.”

You immediately began rifling through the papers inside, reading something on a page, your brows lifting. “Gotcha,” you muttered.

“Got something?” Beau asked. 

“I think so.” You shut the folder and tossed it onto Poppernak’s desk. “Feel like taking a ride, Pops?”

Poppernak went to answer you when Beau spoke up, clearing his throat. “I can. I can ride with you. If Popcorn is busy, I mean.”

Poppernak studied Beau’s expression before turning back to you. “Uh, yeah. I mean, the sheriff can go with you if that’s okay. I have a lot to do here, so…” He gave an uncomfortable laugh.

“Are you sure?” You asked Beau directly. “I don’t want to interrupt.” You then turned a smile on Cassie. “Hey, Cass.”

“Hey,” Cassie greeted you back just as warmly. She liked you and she loved that Beau had yet another woman to keep him on his toes and his cheekiness in line. On the other hand, Jenny feeling the same way about your recent emergence in Beau’s life…not so much. 

Beau straightened up from leaning against the counter as if it had been on fire, and placed his coffee mug down. “Nope, all good here. Right, Cass?” He didn’t even wait for Cassie’s response before grabbing his hat from next to him. “Let’s go. I’ll drive.”

You scrunched up your nose. “I have to ride in that bucket of bolts again?”

“Hey! Be nice to Pedro. He’s carted me everywhere I needed to go for the last some odd years.”

“I know,” you groaned. “Don’t remind me. I remember melting into a puddle on the floor back in Houston when you made me ride around in that thing with no A/C and it was one of the hottest days of the year.”

“And you survived, didn’t you? Pedro may be an older model but he’s reliable. You got something against older, reliable cars, darlin’?”

Cassie exchanged a quick glance with Poppernak. The latter immediately dropped his gaze to his paperwork, hiding an amused smile, and the former bit her lip, trying to do the same. Not only had Beau just called you darlin’ like you professed to hate, but Cassie got the distinct feeling that Beau wasn’t just talking about Pedro in that last question.

You flashed Beau a bright smile, obviously choosing to ignore the darlin’ this time around. “Not at all. I just like to be comfortable. Meaning I don’t want to be bordering on heatstroke every time we go for a ride.”

Beau chuckled and slipped his hat on his head. “I doubt you’ll run the risk of that happening up here but fair enough. You want to drive then?”

Cassie’s eyes widened in shock. When Beau wanted to take Pedro, he drove. He never ever let anyone talk him out of it — not you, not Jenny, not even Emily. 

“Nah, I just like to give you hell every now and then. Keeps you from getting a bigger head than you already have, Sheriff.”

Beau smirked at you and looked like he was about to say something smart in reply, but then appeared to have thought better of it. “Well, if you’re done being a thorn in my side, why don’t we head on out?”

“You love it,” you teased, grabbing your jacket from the back of your chair.

Cassie watched as Beau’s gaze briefly dropped to the floor, a small smile on his face, before schooling his features as you turned back to him. He cleared his throat. “You got an address?”

“You have any idea who you’re talking to? Of course, I have an address. Now, let’s go. Bye, Cass. Pops.” Cassie gave you a wave as you spun on your heel and made your way out of the station.

Beau shook his head, chuckling, and went to follow you when Cassie stopped him.

“Hey, real quick before you go. Should I tell Jenny movie night is still on for tonight or no?”

Beau’s eyes were on you, watching as one of the attractive (and younger) male deputies stopped you and began talking you up. “Uh, yeah,” he said distractedly.

“So movie night is still definitely on?”

“What?” Beau’s gaze flashed to hers, brows furrowing, before turning back to you. “Sorry, I meant no. We’ll wait ‘till you’re free.” You laughed at something the deputy said and his jaw tightened slightly. “Sorry, Cass, gotta go. You have yourself a nice time with Cormac, you hear?” He clapped Poppernak’s shoulder on the way out. “Popcorn.”

He approached you and the deputy, and the PI watched as he told the younger man you both had to run down a lead, and he ushered you out the door before anything else could be said between you.

Cassie sighed and shook her head. Jenny was bound for more disappointment. As far as she knew, the blonde was expecting a movie night with just her and Beau due to the date happening with Cormac later that evening. But had Jenny just witnessed the little exchange between you and Beau, the little smile Beau had when you weren’t looking, the way his eyes never left you once you walked into the room, she would have known right then why tonight’s planned movie night wasn’t happening despite Cassie’s absence. 

Cassie wasn’t entirely sure what the story was with you and Beau other than what he’d told her, but it was more than obvious that Jenny was bound to get her heart broken unless she made a move to finally let Beau know how she felt. Not that she hadn’t been giving him every signal she could to let him know she was interested, as she’d told Cassie, but Beau was so hard to read. Sometimes he’d open up to Jenny, and then sometimes he’d shut down and she’d be closed right back out again. Cassie never had that problem in her own friendship with Beau, but then again, they were never going to be anything more than friends. That had been apparent since the get go, even before Cormac came into the picture.

Saying a quiet goodbye to Poppernak, Cassie made her way out to the parking lot herself. She truly felt bad for Jenny, knowing how deep her best friend’s feelings ran though she never voiced it. It certainly explained her overt hostility towards you since your arrival, though you didn’t seem bothered by it one bit. If anything, you seemed amused.

As she backed her truck out of its parking spot, Cassie got the distinct feeling that things were going to come to a head, and soon. Especially, if Jenny ended up witnessing something similar to what she and Poppernak had just seen. Madge, Cormac, Denise, the department, the whole town even could see that the sheriff had a soft spot for you. If Jenny didn’t make a move soon, Cassie was pretty sure that Beau would and it wouldn’t be what her former partner had been hoping for all of this time.

“Alright, so we take another run at the mother and I think…Beau?” Jenny waved a hand in front of the sheriff’s face.

His green eyes flashed up to meet her blue ones. “Sorry. Repeat that?”

Jenny shut the folder in her hands and gave him a smile. “What has you so distracted?”

He grabbed his football and Jenny immediately knew something was bothering him. “I’m not distracted. I’m just…wondering about some things.”

The blonde rolled her eyes in amusement and sat down on the edge of his desk, facing him. “Wondering about what things?”

He didn’t meet her eyes and tossed the ball from hand to hand. “Well, let’s say an employee, a female employee that is, she’s doing really well at her job and her boss, who happens to be a man, wanted to get her something to show his appreciation. Like say…flowers. Is that too inappropriate, do you think? Or would it maybe make her uncomfortable? Plus, people talk. Would they get the wrong idea and would that make her uneasy?” He mumbled the last part, the expression on his face morphing into deep concern.

Jenny’s brows furrowed. “You want to get her flowers?”

“I didn’t say it was me,” Beau rushed out, his gaze snapping to hers. “It was a hypothetical.” She could see the faint tinge of pink in the tips of his ears as he quickly looked away, squeezing the football. 

A faint smile started to form on Jenny’s face but she bit her lip to keep it from spreading. “Depends. Is this boss and his employee already friends?”

He squeezed the football harder. “Maybe. What does that matter?”

She shrugged. “Because it could help keep her from getting the wrong impression.” 

Beau seemed to think on that for a second, slowly nodding his agreement. “Yeah.”

Jenny was just about to ask who the hypothetical was really about when he placed the football down on his desk and turned in his chair to face her, the concern back in his gaze. “What if she’s the type that doesn’t like getting flowers, though? What if they’ve always symbolized something bad for her in the past?”  

That was…oddly specific. “How could she think it’s something bad if it’s for appreciation of her doing her job well and it’s her favorite flower?”

A smile began to take shape on his handsome face. “Good point. Thanks, Hoyt.” He then seemed to realize something. “Oh hey, what’s your favorite flower, by the way? I don’t think you’ve ever mentioned it.”

Jenny’s heart started to pound in her chest. If he was asking her and this boss wanted to show his employee appreciation but was worried about it being appropriate and what the impressions would be then was he… No, he couldn’t be talking about her, could he?

She gave him a warm smile. “Roses.”

“Of course, I should’ve pegged you for a roses type of girl,” he chuckled. “How many bouquets of those have you gotten as an apology over the years?”

“Not nearly enough,” she quipped.

Beau laughed and the infectious sound made her chest feel a little lighter. “Well, next time you have a date, I’ll make sure to pass that on to the lucky guy.” He gave her a bright grin.

She dug her teeth into her bottom lip. “You make sure that you do.” She hoped it was implied that she very much hoped that the next date she went on would be with him. Beau chuckled under his breath and shook his finger in her direction before getting to his feet.

“So, you want to take another run at the mom you said?”

Jenny made sure to smoothly stand up, laying her hands flat on his desk and leaning forward slightly, an encouraging smile lighting up her features. It didn’t hurt that this position helped her cleavage to show a little more. “I did.”

Beau gave a nod and grabbed his jacket. “Alright, let’s go.” He led a smirking Jenny out the door, who later watched as he excused himself to make a call. When she overheard him asking about different sizes of bouquets, she was more than confident that come tomorrow, a vase would be sitting on her desk. She decided right then and there that once she received the flowers, she’d finally take the bull by the horns and make a move. 

Jenny couldn’t stop smiling for the rest of the day. Her patience and consideration of Beau in not trying to spook him or rush him into anything was about to finally pay off.

A/N: Part 2 coming soon...

[ithinkthereforiamfandom]

POV the HR lady, trying to confirm consent with a Raven (male sexpionage agent), in fact with the top Raven in the company.

***

Working Human Resources for MI6 was never going to be the easiest job, Bond of all agents had given her the most headaches but at the moment her heart ached for him.

"Yes, all consensual, I would never harm Q, never do anything he didn't want." Bond gave her the usual charming, reassuring smile he gave every conversation they had but it was starting to show strain.

"No Commander. I apologise if I have not explained clearly enough over the last half hour." Taking a deep breath in, all she could do was go for it. A huff interrupted her, easily interpreted as frustration. "So speak plainly please, maybe we can drop the beurocratese for a moment." So she did and watched her words Finally sink in.

"We need to confirm that you have not been pressured or coerced into this relationship Commander. We are trying to confirm that you, yourself, are safe. Anyone with eyes would know that you would never harm the Quatermaster. We need to be sure you are not being taken advantage of by a man who is technically your superior."

The colour drained from Bond's face and she was worried she had found an actual problem. But when he spoke it was quiet frozen steel. Subdued, hard, but brittle.

"So the only time anyone ever thinks to honestly check on me is when I'm finally happy, I'm in love." Bond got smoothly to his feet, his voice low and a bit robotic. "I'm am under no duress, I was not coerced to be with the man I love. I do not fear the Quatermaster nor does he show me any favour within our working relationship."

"Thank you Commander Bond." She had no idea where she found her voice, his eyes were full of ice and fire, a hot enough flame burns blue. "That will..."

"Be all." He finished for her with a small smile, a polite ghost of his usual charm. She kept her hands on her desk, no way should could finish the paperwork with them shaking. Every 00 signed thier lives over to MI6, but they were never supposed to feel Owned.

She could understand how 007 of all of them might feel a bit like property after all these years. A beautiful dangerous Thing with no life beyond the suits, the guns, and the missions.

But he Loved... there was no check box on the forms for that.

gotta be honest. gets me every time when *Bond* has to sign the paperwork that says he's not dating under duress, due to the fact that as a department head Q technically outranks him. very rare to see the paperwork discussed and even rarer to get this specific detail, but gets me every time

[zylphiacrowley]

A couple extra shots that I never ended up using.

[joshuamj]

The Links (+ a Zelda!) from all the LoZ games I've played

[sherlock-is-ace]

.

[zevrans-archive]

.

[wwinterwitch]

friendly banter — bucky barnes

summary: sam asks for your help on a mission. you're reunited with him, Joaquín and Bucky. the last one really likes to banter. you think it's just a friendly exchange. it's actually a bit more than that

pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader (+ platonic friendships with sam and joaquín)

word count: 5k

tags: friends to lovers, sharing feelings (awkward but cute), reader is a hacker and former S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, fluff, undisclosed feelings (mutual), kissing

note: this was kind of a mess but i'm back after a long time on not writing any fics! i'm currently in my last months of studying to become a lawyer (yay) and writing fics has proven to be very therapeutic during this time. this may or may not suck but i enjoyed writing it so i hope you enjoy it

please reblog and/or comment if you enjoy!

all masterlists | marvel masterlist | part 2 (features the thunderbolts* now)

"Got eyes on it?"

You stop walking as soon as you hear that question, staring ahead in disbelief. "You mean...the huge panel in the middle of the room?" you ask with obvious sarcasm, trying to speak as quietly as possible through your comm as you make your way further inside the darkened room.

It’s a typical security room with tons of cameras pointing to every corner of the building. To your relief, the presence of your group is apparently still unnoticed as your eyes wander across the various screens in front of you, noticing no commotion or an unnecessarily large group of unfriendly-looking guys rushing to find you. The large panel control installed in the middle of the desk before you is the thing that immediately gets your attention as you walk closer, always keeping in mind the task at hand.

All you really have to do is hack into the system to disable the security protocols long enough for Sam and Joaquín to sneak into the top floors of the building to retrieve the data that they wanted from the bad guy's records in order to find out more about the gang they'll be (hopefully) putting behind bars soon.

This is not the first and definitely not the last time you'll be doing these kinds of favors for Sam. Your friendship goes way back, when you were still a nobody at S.H.I.E.L.D. that somehow managed to get on Captain America's good graces after that whole Washington fiasco. You're still unsure why Steve always thought so highly of you. Then again, he was the type of guy who never failed to see the potential in other people, even when they couldn't quite see it themselves.

Now, you get to help the new Captain America, who's also as dear to you as the previous one was...perhaps just a tiny bit more annoying, but one of your dearest friends regardless.

As you rush over to the panel, you have to jump over the unconscious body of a security guard that Bucky (another dear friend you met thanks to Steve) took care of before you walked inside, quickly taking a seat in front of the large keyboard to start doing your part of the job.

You hear the unmistakable chuckle from Joaquín as you quickly type in a series of codes and commands. "Jeez, I missed having you on our missions!"

"Awwh!" you mutter with genuine endearment. "I missed being part of these missions too, buddy!"

"And we're still going out for drinks after this, right?"

"Are you genuinely asking me that, Joaquín Torres?" you ask, sounding overly offended on purpose.

You hear him laugh again, but before he can say anything back, you hear Bucky interrupting the exchange. "How about we focus on not getting caught here and then you guys can discuss your night plans?"

"Uh-oh, old man got upset," you joke soon after, finishing to type in the last few codes to fully disable the security system. Surely they have some backup protocol that would soon trigger the alarm to alert these guys of an unwanted visitor, but by then all of you will be long gone. It really is a very simple mission.

"He's jealous you're not taking him out for drinks," Sam jokes back, and then you immediately hear Joaquín agreeing with him.

It's a normal occurrence for Sam to be making those kinds of jokes involving you and Bucky. He has been making those types of remarks for as long as you can remember, fully convinced the two of you "have something going on" as he has put it before. You really try not to think too much about it because, first off, Sam loves to say shit just for the sake of pissing you and Bucky off and, second...you really don't want to let those comments get to your head.

You don't want to let yourself wonder about the what if's of that. There was a time in your life when you did allow yourself to fantasize about the possibility of actually "having something going on" with him, but you learnt to shut off that part of your brain in order to avoid getting your hopes up regarding a situation that just wouldn't happen outside your imagination. Hearing Sam’s silly remarks would only bring you back to those days.

Bucky has been one of your best friends for years and he has never shown the slightest of hints that he might be interested in you in the way you would like (at least not that you're aware of), and there was absolutely no way that you would ever make the first move and risk embarrassing yourself in front of him or, even worse, losing the friendship you two have. You eventually just got comfortable in the abyss of eternal friendzone and learned to accept it. If there was ever going to happen something between the two of you, surely it would've happened by now.

Still, Sam seems to be holding onto that rope for dear life and refuses to let it go. You can't deny it’s a bit uncomfortable to hear those jokes though. They somehow make you feel like somehow you got caught and everyone knows you have a secret crush on Bucky, but you've learned to adapt over the years.

"First part's done.” Leaning back on the chair, you watch the percentage bar on the screen before you, completely ignoring Sam's little joke. "A few more seconds and you're up guys!"

"Hallway’s clear," you hear Bucky say, still guarding the room where you're currently in. "How much time do we have to get out of here?"

"Uh...I can't say for sure. Anywhere near five to thirty, maybe?"

"Minutes?"

"Seconds."

"Oh, great," he mutters ironically.

"Well, I'm sorry. We're hacking into a very sophisticated system that I don't entirely know how it works!" you snap back at him. "Besides, the whole point of this is to give Joaquín and Sam enough time to sneak inside without having to deal with a bunch of guards going straight for them. Bad guys will know we're down here and they'll come looking for us first."

"Isn't hacking your whole thing? How do you not know how it works?" he asks, and just by the tone of his voice you know he's trying to piss you off, because he knows that's exactly the type of comments that would make you upset. If that type of comment came from a stranger you would be strangling them right now, but it’s Bucky, and he seems to enjoy annoying the shit out of you.

"Big talk coming from someone who still asks for my help because he barely knows how to unlock his own phone."

The sound of his faint chuckle immediately makes you smile, perfectly picturing the way he's probably rolling his eyes just barely right now, trying to suppress a smirk as if you could possibly see him right now, knowing he hates when you point it out to him.

"You have to give me some credit, though. I know how to program emails on that thing now. Soon enough I'll be taking your job, so you better watch out."

You can't help but laugh at his reply, slightly shaking your head as you realize you’re getting distracted by him, trying to keep your focus on what you're supposed to be doing right now rather than indulge in a never ending back-and-forth with him. As soon as you type the last codes and the large SECURITY SYSTEM: DISABLED alert pops on the monitor, you quickly rise up from your seat. "You're up guys, hurry!"

"On it!" Sam replies as you rush outside the room.

Before he even says anything to you, Bucky is quickly guiding you down the hallway with the intent of getting out of there as soon as possible, turning to look at you with a confused expression when you stop walking and, instead, start yanking his arm to go in the opposite direction.

"What are you doing?"

"The exit is that way," you point out as if it’s obvious.

He looks even more confused now, and slightly annoyed. "Don't think so. That's the way we entered, but there's another way of leaving this place a lot faster."

"No, we can't change the plan!"

He definitely looks annoyed now, trying not to snap at you. "I'm not changing the plan. Exiting that way has always been the plan. If we go that way, we'll-"

Before he can say anything else, the loud sound of an alarm blasts through the entire building, signaling that you've been discovered and you'll be having company very soon. As if that wasn't enough, the door of the room you were previously in opens violently, and the guard that was previously unconscious on the floor is frantically alerting more people through his radio.

“Oh, that’s great,” you point out, slightly panicking right now because you’re still inside the building. “You decided to wake up early, huh?”

Bucky immediately grabs the guy by his bulletproof vest to throw him against the wall, taking his barely regained consciousness to his advantage. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice about six other guys coming towards you, turning around the same corner you wanted to run towards as part of your escape plan. Sadly, that's when you realized maybe the direction Bucky was suggesting was better.

You’re unsure of what to do now. It's not like you haven't been taught how to take down a few bad guys, but your specialities have always involved computers rather than physical combat. Almost as if he could read your mind, Bucky turns towards you for a quick second. "Go! I'll catch up to you." Again, almost as if he knew that you'd try to ask if he was sure about it, he immediately shouts yet another "Go!" before you're finally deciding to do as he says, running down the hall in the direction he has intended to go before.

Hours later, second after second that passes by, you’re more and more convinced that you'll never hear the end of it. If only you could go back in time and just agree with Bucky's plan rather than trying to argue with him. It would have spared you a lifetime of him reminding you how he was right and you were wrong.

Turns out his exit plan was the one you should've followed all along, because it actually led to the engine room which immediately meant being in a much less crowded part of the building to escape without risking bumping into more people.

All of you had enough time to change into something more comfortable to go out for drinks. Initially it was something you and Joaquín had planned alone, but evidently the two of you didn’t hesitate to invite Sam and Bucky. Of course they accepted the invite, and of course Bucky has done his very best to keep reminding you of your little mistake.

"Listen, if you don't want shit like that to happen again, just let me know your plan beforehand."

"But I did let you know. The problem is that someone is not really a good listener."

"No. Letting me know- like, properly letting me know, would've been telling me before we got inside that building."

Bucky smirks as he leans back on his chair, and it's obvious to you he's really enjoying this banter. "Plan changed at the last minute. If you would've just followed my lead, we could've left that building a lot faster."

"Ah, so you do recognize that wasn't the original plan!" you exclaim with a triumphant grin, pointing an accusatory finger at him. "You changed it all by yourself and didn't tell me."

"Changed at the last minute," he repeats, as if to correct you. "You wanted me to stand there and explain every detail to you?"

"Oh, as if explaining it would've taken you hours! You’re always so dramatic."

"Children," Sam commented, interrupting the banter with an unamused expression. "I had to trust the operation to literal children."

Bucky scoffs at that comment, watching as Sam lets out a chuckle, shaking his head after witnessing this whole interaction between the two of you.

"Kinda makes you appreciate having an actual professional around, huh?" Joaquín says right after, flashing a charming smile in Sam's direction.

"Oh, please!" you, Bucky and Sam reply in unison, earning an offended look from Joaquín.

Soon after, Bucky is speaking again. "You know what? I'll give you some credit. You managed to do your part of the job…decently."

It’s obvious he wants a reaction from you, but even if your banter is entertaining, you know you can't keep bickering the entire night. Once again, you can’t help but to feel embarrassed, as if everyone at that table knows your little secret regarding your feelings towards Bucky. As if some innocent banter between friends could ever give it away. Besides, the four of you are here to celebrate your mission was a success, and the fact that you haven't seen the trio in a long time makes it the perfect opportunity to catch up.

Pretending to fully ignore his last comment, you turn to look at Sam from across the table. "You. I haven't seen your lovely face in a while," you start, watching him physically get ready for whatever silly comment you might come up with. "Tell me what you've been up to...I've seen the photos of you shaking hands with the President," the reference to Everett Ross sounding anything but endearing.

Sam sighs, shrugging. "Yeah, well, I guess you can say it's part of the job," he simply replies before taking a quick sip of his beer. "I can't say I'm thrilled about it, but I figured it's best to compromise a bit and keep the man happy. As long as he stays in line, I'll cooperate."

"Of course you're not thrilled about it, Sam. That's the same guy that put your ass in a prison in the middle of nowhere like you were some kind of top security criminal!" you reply almost immediately, still in disbelief at the revelation of any sort of alliance between him and Ross. Sam's expression lets you know that even he is still conflicted about it, not really knowing what to say. After taking a brief pause, you try to say something else to lighten the mood, not wanting him to think like you’re judging him for it. "Hey, I understand having to keep up appearances. I get it. And please accept my deepest condolences for having to deal with that piece of shit."

Your last comment makes the three of them laugh, and Bucky takes the opportunity to change the subject. "And what have you been up to?" he asks, sounding genuinely curious. "It's been a while since any of us has seen you."

"Well, my life has been all over the place the last few months. As all of you know, I moved into a new apartment. I loved my roommate, but I felt it was time to just live by myself, you know?"

"So no plans of leaving New York to move to D.C., huh?" Joaquín asks with a smile.

You return the smile immediately. "As fun as it would be to live closer to all of you weirdos, no. I plan to stay in New York for now. I'm just really comfortable there with the new apartment, the promotion I got a few months ago, the fact that most of my family and friends are there..."

"But not all your friends," Sam quickly points out, pretending to sound incredibly offended by your last statement. "But since we’re talking about friends and just social life in general...are you still single?"

"Why are you always so interested in my love life?" you joke with a playful grin, taking a sip of your margarita to leave him wondering the answer just a few seconds more. "Yes, I'm still single. Queen's full of creeps," you added shortly after. "Are any of you seeing anybody?"

"Proudly and happily single," Joaquín replies, raising his drink up as if to cheer before taking a sip.

Sam gives him a very visible side-eye. "Yikes," is all he says regarding that, turning back to you. "I'm not interested in dating right now, to be honest. I’m quite a busy gentleman, you know?" 

“And you say ‘yikes’ to me?” Joaquín says immediately after, looking dumbfounded.

You chime in before any of them could add anything else regarding that. “Bucky?” you ask, turning to look at him as you await his answer.

It was a bold move to directly ask him that question. On one hand, you know Bucky has always been a loner so you’re almost certain that he’s single. But there’s always that tiny percentage of probability that you’ll learn a truth you’re not sure how you’ll handle. He’s your best friend, of course you’ll be happy if he’s happy…but the idea of him revealing to you that he’s dating someone might actually make you physically sick.

You notice Bucky gets uncomfortable right away. “I’m single too.”

The pleasant feeling of relief lasts just a few seconds. The fact that Sam laughs at Bucky’s reply has your mind spinning, not understanding why he would laugh at that. Why the fuck is he laughing? Should you start panicking already?

"Actually, our buddy has been on a few dating apps, I believe."

Oh no. 

Even when you try to remind yourself not to care about anything remotely romantic involving Bucky- or at least, not to care more than a platonic friend would, you can deny the news of him possibly dating someone or even just randomly talking to any person in those apps makes your stomach turn. It really wouldn't be dramatic to claim that you could quite literally throw up right now at the thought of him and someone else right now.

It's not common to hear any sort of updates regarding Bucky's love life because...well, there's never any developments. He's never shown interest in anyone, and as far as you know he's never had any sort of relationship with anyone like that– serious or casual. What if he's interested in exploring that part of his life now? What if he has found someone already and you're about to hear him talk all about them? It makes you genuinely sick, but you try your best to act as unbothered as you possibly can, forcing you to mask your disgust and heartbreak with pleasant surprise.

"Is that so?" is all you say.

He looks even more uncomfortable by the subject, choosing to look down at his almost finished beer. "It's not...I was just trying to put myself out there," he says awkwardly, shrugging. "Long story short, online dating is not for me. I hated it."

You could tell he doesn’t really like talking about this subject, so you try to quickly ease the tension with a bit of humor. Besides, you're probably better off without hearing anything regarding that topic anyway. "It's because you couldn't figure out how the whole swiping thing worked, isn't it?"

Bucky immediately seems to relax with your joke, chuckling a bit. "It took me a few days actually." He takes a quick pause before continuing. "I probably should've asked you for help."

If there was any hidden message behind his last statement, it completely goes over your head because you genuinely thought it was just part of your playful banter regarding his lack of skills when it comes to technology. You laugh, and in return Bucky offers you a smile because that's as much hinting as he dares to do out loud, especially if Sam and Joaquín are sitting right there. He's incredibly used to you never getting his subtle implications anyway.

In front of you, the other two guys are watching this exchange unfold, and it's hard to tell which one of them has a bigger urge to tell you to stop being so fucking oblivious already. As subtle as he can be, Joaquín pokes Sam's side with his elbow to give him a quick heads-up before speaking. "Considering everyone's almost finished, Sam and I are getting another round of drinks."

The two of them are standing up when they notice you're grabbing your purse and standing up as well. "Oh, I can go with you. I have to go to the restroom anyway."

The two of them want to yet again yell at you to please get a grip on the situation, but Sam just silently takes a seat as you and Joaquín go over to the bar, quickly telling him what you want to order before heading towards the restroom.

A few drinks later the four of you are finally leaving the bar. Sam and Joaquín left to their respective houses while you and Bucky shared an Uber back to his own place. He was kind enough to let you crash in his spare room for the night. It's not like this is the first time you've ever stayed at his apartment when you visit the boys, but you can't deny the idea is both thrilling and terrifying- not like anything would happen to make you feel like that...you two are just friends...but, still...your silly head likes to get silly ideas sometimes.

Deciding not to indulge in your little fantasies, you decide to start a conversation. "Update on the food?" you ask, turning to look at Bucky, who sits comfortably on the sofa of his living room.

"Like ten minutes away," he says, taking a quick look at the screen. "How come you haven't congratulated me for knowing how to order food with this thing?" he added with evident surprise, making you chuckle.

"Because you keep saying 'this thing' like it's some mysterious device completely unknown to mankind," you reply, and before you can stop yourself, you continue. "It's cute, I guess, so congratulations."

Bucky's grin grows wider. "Oh, so it's cute?"

You try really hard not to panic, feeling incredibly embarrassed. The fact that he seems to be enjoying what you just said makes it even worse, because you know he’ll use that to tease you now. He just finds any possible excuse to do it. "Cute as in lame."

He chuckles. "Right."

Not knowing what else to say, you clear your throat before walking towards him, taking a seat next to him as you try to come up with something else to change the subject immediately. "I'm starving," is all you say, mentally scolding you for such a poor effort.

As soon as you're sitting, you unsuccessfully try to ignore the butterflies in your stomach when he leans just a bit closer...perhaps if you weren't hyper vigilant whenever the two of you are too near you might've missed it. And then, he stretches his arm across the back of the sofa, right behind you.

For a second, you even thought of mocking him for such a move, but bringing more attention to it would only make you that much nervous, and you really don't want to embarrass yourself. And most importantly, you don't want your silly mind and your silly heart to get their hopes up. You're just friends, nothing else.

"Me too," he agrees, the playful grin on his face still not disappearing. "Might have to steal a few fries from you."

"Oh, I'd really like to see you try stealing my food," you reply in the same playful tone, leaning just a little closer to him without even noticing that you were actually doing that.

"I think I deserve some compensation after what happened today. You know, for all the unnecessary ass-kicking I had to do."

"Just when I thought you had moved on from that!" you reply, jokingly slapping his knee. "It wasn't my fault, it was yours for not telling me the plan on time!"

"You should've just trusted me," he insists. "But you always have to be right on everything..."

You know he's joking. There's something about bantering with you that seems to absolutely fascinate him. "Yeah, and you always want to piss me off."

Bucky chuckles again, and that's when you feel his hand gently resting on your shoulder, his arm fully around you. What the actual fuck is going on. "What, you think I like pissing you off?" he asks, tone slightly lower than before, which inevitably makes the butterflies in your stomach multiply. "Is that why you think I do it?"

You were quiet for a moment, your brain not entirely registering what's happening. "I mean...yeah."

He stops for a second, and you almost see a hint of hesitation on his face before he speaks, letting out a frustrated sigh. "For someone who claims to be so much more clever than anyone else, I would've expected you to figure it out sooner," he starts, shaking his head with a soft smile. "I've been actually flirting with you, doll."

The comment evidently takes you by surprise and all you can do is to stare back at him like a complete fool. His arm around your shoulders, the proximity, the fact he had the fucking audacity to call you that nickname...did you somehow fall asleep on his couch without noticing and this is the type of oddly-realistic dream your brain decided to come up with? Are you still standing there like a fool just fantasizing and this one just got way too immersive? And did he really just say that he's been flirting with you?

Noticing you weren't saying anything, he decides to continue, looking a little hesitant and disappointed with your silence. "You know, it'd be really nice if you say something..."

"Awful way to flirt," is all you could come up with, which immediately makes him burst out laughing. 

"Maybe," he agrees. "But I can’t believe you didn’t figure it out. I mean…Sam and Joaquín did a long time ago."

"The three of you share the same brain cell, of course they figured it out a long time ago,” you reply, still in complete shock to be having this conversation with him. Were you really that blind? "You could’ve just asked me."

"You know I'm not direct like that," he replies, and the shy look on his face almost makes your heart melt. "Like I said, I was relying on your impressive intelligence to figure it out."

You let out a soft chuckle after his last comment, immediately giving him a warning look. "Don't." He looks back at you for a few seconds, almost wanting to challenge you after noticing the way you’re looking at him. Soon enough, he’s unable to hide his smirk anymore. "There it is," you point out, knowing he hates that.

Bucky lets out a soft grunt as a complaint, resting his head on your shoulder. Encouraged, you immediately move a hand up to his hair, affectionately playing with it. The two of you stay like that, simply enjoying being so close to each other. It feels incredibly right.

"So how do you feel?" he eventually asks, perhaps feeling braver to ask now that he doesn’t have to look into your eyes when he does.

You don’t reply right away, still feeling incredibly nervous despite knowing he does like you back. Eventually, you do build up the courage to say something. "I like you. Like, a lot."

Bucky moves back to look at you know. The look on his face gives you the impression that he wasn’t expecting you to be so honest with your answer, perhaps expecting another silly joke or sarcastic remark. And even though you thought about the possibility of choosing a more humorous approach, after keeping your feelings for him locked up and stored away for so long, you really needed to just say it.

Instead of saying something back, Bucky tightens his grip around your shoulders just enough, using his other hand to grab your chin right before kissing you. It certainly takes you by surprise, but you're quickly returning the kiss as you just completely melt in his arms, still trying to convince yourself that this is not some kind of hyper-realistic dream.

His hand swiftly moves to your cheek as the kiss continues, the gesture so incredibly delicate, a sharp contrast with the pure need he’s transmitting through the kiss. It’s desperate, passionate, intense…like he’s been waiting an entire lifetime to finally be able to experience this, grateful for the absolute privilege that it is to kiss you.

One of your hands moves up to the back of his neck and your touch seems to encourage him that much more because before you know it, he's taking the opportunity to gently bite your bottom lip, right before continuing to make out with you.

Much to yours and Bucky's disappointment, the sound of his apartment's doorbell echoes through the apartment, indicating the food you previously ordered has arrived.

He reluctantly pulls away with a soft grunt. "Food's here," he comments out loud, offering you a soft smile. He takes a brief moment to look at you, brushing his thumb against your cheek in an affectionate manner, dreading the idea of having to leave this couch. "I'll get it."

"I can help," you offer almost immediately.

Instead of replying right away, he leans in for a short kiss. "I'll get it," he insists, quickly making his way to the door after another buzz could be heard.

You sat in his living room in complete disbelief of what just happened, thankful that he's not here right now to see your goofy smile and blushed cheeks. He'd probably tease you to no end if he did see that.

Not knowing what else to do, you immediately reach for your phone, opening your messages. You knew exactly who would be the right people to share the news with.

'uhm so we just kissed??????' you texted, the first message in the group chat you just created with Sam and Joaquín.

Joaquín is the first one to reply. 'HELL YEAH!!!!!!!!!!!'

'FUCKING FINALLY.' Sam texts shortly after.

[prkhaven]

warnings: smut minors do not interact, unprotected sex, profanity, brother’s best friend!jay, spit, creampie, breeding kink, petnames (baby, bad girl, good girl, nasty girl) — wc: 1.2k

JAY promises his best friend time and time again that he isn’t seeing anyone because how can he even begin to admit that he’s fucking said best friend’s sister behind his back.

well simple, he doesn’t.

he admits nothing and denies any attempt of prying into his life by his best friend. that’s what happened just 5 minutes ago at the gym during one of their sets.

because he’s supposed to be cooped up in the gym with sunghoon, the best friend, for another hour but instead left the moment he got a text from you.

the dragged y of his name as you sent a picture of the soft pout he loved and his overstretched collar shirt daring to peak out your breast was more than enough for him to leave.

forced to give some poor excuse to sunghoon, he knew his friend didn’t believe but he didn’t have time to worry because you were waiting for him.

and that’s how he finds himself in your bed, ramming into you like no tomorrow, his cock dragging out of your soapy self with ease, droll trickling down your chin as your back arched with soft whines.

losing count of how many times you’ve came from the moment he entered your room to now, everything blurred together.

his calloused hands grip your hips to hold you in place, his breath hot against your skin, “so fucking needy baby, what am i going to do with you?”

you blabbed and blabbed incoherently and jay softly cooed at the state, his hand stroked your cheek in a manner that made butterflies erupt in your stomach.

he continued to piston himself into you, the wet warmed confinement was pure heaven that he could never part from it. his mind reeled watching how your mouth fell open with moans and whines leaving it.

the way your tits bounced with each thrust, his marks littered all over your body made his chest swell. your harden sore nipples on display, he flicked them between his fingers and twisted the nubs making you wail.

“couldn’t wait for me to finish my workout huh, just needed me to fill your lonely pussy”

“you’re such a bad girl for interrupting me” knowing that it was far from that because he could’ve easily ignored your message and stay with your brother

but instead he came running straight to you the moment you called.

you clenched around him making him groan, “knew you loved it when i talk to you like this” your hands reach for his biceps, your nails digging into the bulging flesh for support, jay stifles a strained noise as his free hand comes up to your throat

“talk to me baby, y’know i love to the hear that pretty voice of yours” he slurs and you weakly moan while throwing your head to the side

“jay. jay. jay! please want more” you chant his name like it’s the only thing you’ve ever know and his heart hammers against his chest at your weak pleas

his hand grips your chin, his thumb traces over your bottom lip before sliding in and pressing down your tongue. a small gag leaving you as you looked up at him to see the hooded darkness casting over his eyes.

he grinned but his hips never faltered, they slowed down for a second, each thrust sending him further and deeper into you. able to feel his tip protruding into your cervix, the stretch opening you up just for him alone.

neither of you broke contact as he brought your head up. stopping his movements as you lol your head back and jay hovered over your face.

with the perfect calculation, he pulls his thumb back to pull down on your bottom row of teeth as a glob of spit trickled from his mouth and inched closer to you.

sticking out your tongue to receive it, you darkly hummed and lightly chuckled when jay released your mouth. “such a nasty girl, but you’re my nasty one” he whispered making your pussy grip tighter around his length

his side grin only grew more, gripping your jaw to crash his lips onto yours. you squeaked at the sudden roughness but melted right into it. the slightly chapped lips scratching against yours but you loved it. your hands racking up and gripping onto the collar of his tanktop.

you pulled at it but instead of getting mad at it, he helped pulled it further down for you to stretch it out. his cold chain hitting against your hand, your mouths slotting perfectly together.

loudly moaning into the kiss, he drank up all your sounds. yet, holding onto his tanktop tightly when he thrusted up into you.

“jay move” you slurred against his mouth but he pressed harder down on your lips

“be nice now baby, how am i gonna breed your pussy when you’re being so mean to me” he joked making you roll your eyes when he pulled away

a string of saliva connecting the two of you making his mind hazy. looking at you, your eyes sparkled at him making his chest tighten in itself, he sticks out his tongue and lathers it over your mouth before swallowing your mouth back into his.

jay’s thrust grew erratic when you started clenching harder around him. “need to have you leaking for me. make you wear panties- the black lacy ones, my favorite… to plug my cum inside of you”

“if anything leaks out i need to fuck it back into you and even give you more to make up from the loss” he groaned loudly, his mind reeling as his breath grew heavier “have to fill you up- need to make sure you know you’re mine”

the possessive words fluttered something in you but the thought melted away as your strained moans grew louder, your hand gripping tighter onto his bicep as your body arched off the mattress.

jay scoffed as you came over him but his thrust didn’t stop. he continued to push his cock back in to slide out and repeat the motion, his finger traced over your clit before rubbing down at the bundle of nerves.

“jay- sensitive” you gripped his wrist yet he only slammed his hips harder into you

“take it for me baby- be a good girl and take it. this is what you wanted isn’t it?” he gritted through his teeth to look past the tightness around his shaft

wrapping your arms around his neck to drag him down and flush his body ontop of yours, he jolted at the closeness but his rough hands held your waist, slowly down his pace.

his thumb creasing at your side as he continued to hilt his hips upwards until you felt the twitch inside of you and he let out a low huff into your ear.

your fingers dug into his built back as you felt sudden warmth fill you. “take it for me baby- my sweet girl” he murmured while painting the velvet walls white of him

digging your head into the shell of his neck as he held you closely, he planted a soft kiss onto the side of your head and rubbed his hand up and down as he felt you flutter around him.

“jay” he softly hummed at the weak call his name but before you could say anything more, you heard the slam of your front door and the call out of your name

you both pulled away from each other and stared with wide eyes at the realization that sunghoon finished his workout earlier than expected or the two of you just took way longer than anticipated.

hurriedly, you both pulled away from each, tripping over another to grab the discarded articles of clothing. “uh- just a minute!” you yelled for your brother as you shoved jay’s headphones towards him

putting on the forgotten clothes and straightening yourself out to look decent in the mirror, you looked over to jay struggling to put his pants on.

but before he could fully put them on, he stopped midway when the door busted open and sunghoon’s ramble came to a halt as he stood at the door with wide eyes and horrid expression.

“what the- are you fucking my sister?!”

——

[abbotjack]

(18+ only) nsfw alphabet– michael robinavitch .𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪₊ ⊹˚

pairing : michael "robby" robinavitch x afab!reader

18+ MDNI—warning : explicit sexual content, use of cunt, rough sex, praise kink, post-sex intimacy, body worship, possessive language. this is just pure filth start to finish like oh my god...

a/n : no plot, just robby being hot, obsessed, and way too good at ruining your cunt. you're welcome. roughly 4,000 words... needless to say I was very passionate about this one as well. I also did one for dr. abbot!. anyways, happy pitt thursday & ty for 100 followers !

♡ A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He treats aftercare like it’s an extension of the act itself—just as intimate, just as necessary. He pulls you against his chest immediately after, and murmurs, “You alright?” His voice is low and hoarse, lips ghosting your temple. He doesn’t rush. You’ll feel his fingers smoothing across your skin, touching every place he left red or trembling.

He wipes you down gently with a warm cloth—he never makes you do it yourself—and then pulls the blanket up over both of you. There’s a certain reverence in the way he laces your fingers together afterward. He might not always say the words, but it’s there: You’re mine. I’ve got you.

♡ B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His favorite on himself : His hands because they get to touch you. He’s obsessed with how much he can make you feel with just his fingertips. “Tell me where you want me,” he’ll whisper against your throat while teasing a finger down your thigh.

On you : Your mouth. Not just for what it does, but how it moves. The curve when you smile, the little intake of breath when you’re trying not to moan, the way it parts when he slides a finger into you and whispers something filthy against your ear.

He’s obsessed with the way you whimper against his kiss. Sometimes he’ll press his thumb into your bottom lip and say, “Let me see how much you want it.” And then watch—ruthlessly—as you fall apart

♡ C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Robby finishes deep, every time. It’s instinctive. You clenching around him when he starts to lose control? That’s what does it. He’ll bury his face in your shoulder with a groan that sounds almost pained, holding you in place while he spills inside you. And afterward? He stays inside just a little too long. “Just… let me have this for a second.”

He loves watching it drip out of you after. Fingers gentle but greedy as he brushes it back in, eyes dark with a possessiveness he never voices out loud.

♡ D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He has a thing for catching you in the middle of it.

Not touching yourself for him—not some showy, performed thing. No. He wants to catch you when you think he’s not there. When it’s real. Quiet. Desperate. Private.

That’s his secret.

He’s walked in on you once—half-asleep, legs spread, hand between your thighs, whispering his name under your breath without even realizing it. You didn’t notice him right away.

But he noticed everything.

The way your hips stuttered. The little gasp you made when your fingers brushed just right. The slick sound of you trying to get yourself off like it wasn’t already too much. The blush that crept up your chest when you finally looked over and saw him standing there, hard in his jeans, eyes dark, watching.

He hasn’t stopped thinking about it since.

And sometimes—he doesn’t mean to—but he lingers outside the bedroom door when you don’t know he’s home. Just listening. Breathing slow. Letting his cock throb in his hand while you whimper his name with your fingers buried inside you.

He won’t ask you to stop. He won’t interrupt.

♡ E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Robby is the guy who doesn’t look like a heartbreaker, but you find out after that he could be. He’s had lovers—but he doesn’t throw it around casually. When he touches you, it’s obvious : he knows what he’s doing. His rhythm, his pressure, the way he reads your breath and adjusts in real time. Precision with heat.

And when you moan his name? His lips part, slow, like he’s drinking you in. “That’s it. Just like that. Good girl. Let me hear you.”

♡ F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

In the privacy of the bedroom, Robby's preferred position is classic missionary. He loves to have you lying beneath him, legs wrapped around his waist, allowing for deep penetration and full-body contact. This position enables him to maintain eye contact, reading every nuance of your expressions, and to kiss you deeply, muffling shared moans.

What elevates this position for him is the intimacy it fosters. He can feel your heartbeat against his chest, synchronize his breathing with yours, and whisper sweet or filthy nothings directly into your ear. The ability to have his hands free to explore your body, caress your sides, or intertwine fingers adds layers to the connection. It's not just about the physical pleasure but the profound emotional bond it reinforces each time.

♡ G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Not really goofy—more warm. He’s serious when it counts, but he has this soft, crooked smirk when you laugh mid-kiss. He’ll say something under his breath like “You’re trouble, you know that?” while flipping you over. The humor is subtle—intimate. Like you’re in on something private.

♡ H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He’s got a full bush, thick and dark, not out of neglect but because he doesn’t see the point in shaving something that feels natural. The hair down there is soft but dense, and when he’s hard? It frames his cock like it’s meant to be worshipped.

There’s a trail leading up from his pelvis—dark and straight. It’s the kind of thing you see once and can’t stop staring at, especially when his shirt rides up after a long shift and your eyes catch that line of hair leading down. He notices when you look. He always notices.

And let’s not skip the beard.

He loves burying his mouth between your thighs like it’s the only place he wants to be. His tongue is slow, deep, deliberate. His stubble drags across every tender inch, rough enough to leave you raw, just the way he knows you like it.

He shaved once.

He came out of the bathroom with a towel slung low, jaw bare, clean, pink in places where the razor caught. He looked at you—wet hair, smug expression, a glint in his eye like he thought he’d done something special.

Your eyes dragged over his face, down to the curve of his throat. Blank. Quiet. Then :

“You shaved.”

He nodded, a little too proud. “Figured I’d try something different.”

You didn’t answer. Just got under the covers, and faced the wall.

You didn’t fuck him for a week.

You still let him pull you close. Still let him kiss your neck. But your cunt stayed untouched, aching and slick in silence, because you chose to starve him with it. To remind him that this—you—has rules.

You waited until the stubble came back.

That night, you let him between your legs.

You didn’t speak. Just pulled him down and pressed your cunt to his mouth like something owed. He took it like an apology.

Now, he doesn’t forget. When he fucks you with his mouth, he does it slow. Thorough. Until you shake. Until you cry out. Until it’s more than just pleasure—it’s possession. His jaw works like he’s starving. Like he remembers every second of those nights you wouldn't let him have it.

When he pulls back—chin wet, lips parted—his breath ghosts over your skin. You’re flushed and trembling, still pulsing from the friction.

He looks up, voice wrecked, reverent.

“I won’t make that mistake again.”

You exhale, heavy, jaw slack.

“You won’t.”

♡ I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

When he’s in your bed, it’s not about sex—it’s about claiming space in your life. Every touch is intentional. Every glance lingers a second too long. Every thrust carries the weight of everything he doesn’t say out loud.

He gives his full attention, eyes locked on yours while his hands hold you still, and his voice drops in your ear :

“I want you to feel me tomorrow. I want you to remember this.”

And afterward? When your legs are still shaking and your mind’s gone foggy? He pulls you into his chest because you’re his. It's the kind of closeness that tells you—no one else gets this version of him.

♡ J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Robby jerks off only when it’s necessary—when he’s so hard it aches, or when he’s had a day that pressed every damn button and he needs you to take the edge off… but you’re not there.

He always does it the same way : Back against the headboard, hand braced on his thigh, one slow stroke at a time while his eyes are shut and you’re the only thing in his head. Sometimes it’s your voice. Sometimes it’s the way your body looked the last time you collapsed under him.

He finishes hard, jaw clenched, chest rising. And every time? He mutters your name under his breath, like a confession he’s still trying to outrun.

♡ K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

He doesn’t just want to fuck you—he wants to manage you. Override your thoughts. Rewire what you associate with pleasure until the only thing you crave is his voice, his rules, his cock.

And he does it slow. He makes you ask. Not because he’s into power trips—but because he wants to hear you break.

“You want something, you say it. Use your words.”

“That tone won’t get you what you need, sweetheart.”

And when you finally say it—broken, desperate, voice shaking—he rewards you by giving all of himself, rough hands, heavy weight, deliberate thrusts that make you sob.

He’s into positional control—knees spread wide, hands behind your back, chin tilted up with one thick hand under your jaw. Not to scare you. To focus you.

You don’t look away. You don’t squirm.

You listen. You obey.

And when you don’t? He’ll stop mid-thrust, press his body flush to yours, and growl :

“Try that again. See what it gets you.”

When he puts you where he wants you and says, “Stay still while I fuck you,” —you do. Every time.

That’s the kink : You, undone. And him, fully in control of everything.

♡ L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

He’s a bed man, 100%. Not because he’s boring—because he wants time, room, and access. Sheets pushed down. One knee between your thighs. He wants to make a mess.

But he does have a soft spot for the couch especially after a long day, when you curl into his side while watching something on TV, kiss his neck, and he doesn’t even bother pulling your pants all the way off before tugging you into his lap and sliding in from underneath.

♡ M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

What gets Robby going?

You. Wanting him.

It’s the way you shift closer when you speak—like your body can’t help but chase him. The brush of your leg against his under the table, slow and unthinking, but your breath always catches after. The way your eyes dilate when he says your name low.

It’s instinct. Want in its rawest form. Not loud. Not deliberate. Just something in you pulling toward something in him.

And he notices.

Feels it in the silence. In the way your thighs tense when he stands too close. In the heat radiating off you when you pretend you’re not thinking about his hands on your skin. But you are. And he knows it.

And when you do ask?

That’s what does it.

Just a soft little please—barely above a whisper. His cock’s already hard in his pants, jaw tight, breath low and steady, because if he moves too fast, he’ll lose it.

And if you’re already wet when he checks?

He groans—low, rough, wrecked.

“Yeah. That’s all I fuckin’ need.”

Because that’s what gets him. Not performance. Not noise. Just need. Honest, helpless, soaked-through need.

The kind that has your cunt dripping just from the thought of him.

That kind of power? That kind of want?

He’ll fuck you senseless for it. Every time.

♡ N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He won’t turn sex into something cold and punishing.

You can tease him. Push him. You can mouth off just to see how long it takes for him to press you into the mattress and make you sorry you started it. He likes that. He likes the challenge.

But he doesn’t want cruelty. Not from you, not toward you.

The first time it comes up, it’s not even in bed.

You say it offhandedly—half a joke, half testing the waters. Something you read in a post, or a thread, or some comment section that said men like him—older, quiet, in control—like it mean. That they get off on making you cry. That pain is the point. That it’s not real unless it hurts.

And his reaction is immediate. Not angry—just quiet. Controlled. Serious in that way he gets when he needs you to listen.

He touches your chin, gently, turns your face toward him. Thumb brushing your cheek. His eyes on yours.

“No, honey. We don’t do that here.”

His voice is low, even.

“You want to be taken apart? Fine. You want to be mine? Good. But not like that.”

Then he pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes.

He doesn’t care what you’ve read or what men like him are supposed to want—he’s not here to watch you cry just to feel powerful, not interested in pain that leaves you numb or pushing past what you can take just because you think that’s what gets him off.

He wants you honest, wanting, undone by pleasure. He’ll ruin you. Wreck you. Push you to the edge of something so intense it leaves you shaking.

But pain for pain’s sake? Anything that feels hollow, detached, or cruel?

That’s where he stops.

♡ O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Giving?

Devotional. He doesn’t rush. He doesn’t tease. He feasts. Like your thighs are the only place he wants to die.

One arm looped under your leg, the other gripping your hip. He’ll drag his tongue in deep, slow strokes until you’re begging. Not because he wants praise—because he wants you undone. Wants your thighs trembling, your voice high and ruined, your fingers scrabbling through his hair with desperate little gasps.

Receiving?

He loves it—but more because he likes watching you want it. The heat in your eyes, the way you look up while you suck him slow, spit slicking your lips. If you grip his thighs and choke a little, he’ll groan and push your hair back :

“Easy, sweetheart… take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”

♡ P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Controlled.

Not fast, not rough—measured. Like every thrust is calculated to make you feel exactly what he wants you to.

He’ll keep it slow until you’re practically begging, then snap his hips once—just once—and smirk when you whimper.

“That’s what you needed, huh?”

He’ll go harder when you ask. But his rhythm never loses that precision.

♡ Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Robby doesn’t like quickies. Not really.

He wants time—wants to press his mouth to every inch of your skin, listen to the way your breath shifts, draw your orgasm out like he’s conducting it. Quickies cut corners, and Robby? Doesn’t like cutting corners.

But you? You’re standing just a little too close during a quiet stretch in the ER—eyes wide, cheeks flushed, voice barely above a whisper: “Please. I need you. Right now.”

And when you reach for his hand, tug him gently by the wrist toward the back hallway— He knows where you’re going. And he doesn’t stop you.

You slip into the empty on-call room. He’s two steps behind you, shutting the door with a quiet click and turning the lock.

His voice is low, sharp, already strained:

“You really want this here?”

You nod, out of breath.

“Please, Robby… I need it. I don’t care if it’s quick. I just—fuck—I need you inside me.”

That’s all it takes.

He’s on you in a second—one hand at your throat, the other already pushing you back against the wall. His mouth crashes into yours—filthy, impatient—and he grabs your scrub pants, yanking them down just enough to expose your thighs.

Your underwear stays on.

He hooks a finger under the elastic, pulls it to the side, and groans when he sees you—slick, swollen, already soaked for him.

“You came in here like this?” His voice is gravel now. “Fucking desperate for it?”

You nod again. Barely.

“Robby—please. I need you—need to feel you—”

He growls low in his throat and presses two fingers into you hard and fast, feeling you stretch around him, already pulsing.

“God, you’re fucking dripping.”

He pulls his cock out fast—thick, flushed, angry—and lines himself up without another word. Then, still holding your underwear to the side, he drives into you in one brutal thrust.

You gasp—loud—and his hand’s at your mouth now, pinning you to the wall with his weight.

“Shhh. Be quiet for me. You wanted this so bad, now take it.”

The rhythm is relentless. Fast. Deep. Ruined in five minutes flat. Your hands scramble at his back. Your forehead presses to his collarbone. You’re so full, so fucked, all you can do is sob into his palm as your orgasm crashes over you way too soon.

He fucks you through it. Doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even slow down. Just grits out,

“That’s it. Just like that. Come around me. God, you feel fucking perfect—”

When he spills inside you, it’s with a broken moan into your shoulder, hips jerking, fingers gripping your waist like he’s trying to hold himself together.

After? He pulls out slow. Gently tucks himself away. Adjusts your underwear back into place and helps you with your pants. Then brushes his thumb along your lower lip where you bit down too hard.

“Next time? You wait until we’re off shift. So I can do that right.”

But you know—The next time you beg?

He’s going to cave again.

He doesn’t like quickies. But for you? He’ll fuck you like it’s the last five minutes of his life.

♡ R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Robby’s not reckless. But behind closed doors? He’ll try anything once—as long as it comes with trust.

You want to be tied up? He’ll get a rope. You want to try temperature play? He’s already warming the oil. But he needs to know you’re there with him, not playing a part.

♡ S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Two to three rounds, easily—if not more, depending on the day.

And in between rounds? He doesn’t check out. He kisses you. Runs his fingers through your hair. Stays in it.

You won’t even realize he’s hard again until he’s flipping you over, saying, “We're not done yet.”

♡ T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Selective. But curious. He keeps a viberator in the nightstand drawer—not for you to use alone, but for him to hold against you while he’s buried inside you.

“Let go. Come on. Let me feel it.”

He’s also into remote-control toys. The idea of having you wear one while you sit across the table at dinner? Knowing he could ruin you the second you tease him?

Yeah. He’s thought about it. A lot.

♡ U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He lives to tease. Not cruelly—strategically. He’ll keep you on the edge for hours. Pull away right before you come. Make you ride him slow until your voice breaks.

And the whole time? He’ll say shit like:

“You want to come? Say it. Say it like you mean it.”

And when you finally do? He’ll give it to you. Hard. Without hesitation. But only once he’s dragged every drop of want out of you first.

♡ V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Grunts. Groans. Low curses whispered into your neck. The sound he makes when he comes is rough.

And when you ride him, slow and deep? He’ll let out this low, desperate moan into your chest that sounds like he’s trying to hold himself back and failing.

That sound? It’s all because of you.

♡ W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He kept the first pair of underwear you left at his place. Not to be creepy. Not to sniff or jerk off to. Just… because.

They’re in the back of his drawer, folded neatly like he might give them back, but he won’t. It’s a memento. A reminder of the first night you stayed. The first night you were his.

♡ X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Thick. Heavy. Veined. He’s not porn-star long, but he doesn’t need to be—the girth alone is enough to make you gasp every time.

You feel him with your whole body. Even when he’s just rubbing the tip through your slick folds, your hips buck involuntarily, desperate for him to fill you. Stretch you. Keep you full until your thighs shake.

And he knows it. Smirks when he catches the way you hesitate right before he pushes in.

“Too much?” he’ll murmur, nudging at your entrance with slow, deliberate pressure.

“You can take it. You always do.”

He presses all the way in, holds there while your body adjusts. He doesn’t fuck like he’s showing off. He fucks like he’s memorizing you with it. Like he’s been thinking about it all day.

And when he pulls out, slow and slick and aching, you’re already sore. Already wanting it again.

♡ Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Robby can hold off for days. Weeks, even. But when he finally has you?

He’s starving.

He doesn’t just want your body. He wants you wrecked. Tearing up. Shaking. Pressing your mouth to his neck so no one hears how hard you come for him.

He wants you craving him just as badly. Not for show. Not for ego. Because that’s the part he hides from everyone else—how badly he needs you when he doesn’t have you.

And when he’s buried in you, deep and slow, holding your wrists down above your head, mouth at your throat, voice shaking from restraint?

That’s when you hear it : “I’ve needed this. You have no idea how fucking much.”

♡ Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

You fall asleep on your side, facing him. One arm draped over his chest, leg tangled between his, skin still hot from where your bodies were pressed tight.

You’re bare.

Still flushed.

Still soft all over, your thighs sticky, your cunt sore and slick from how deep he took you.

And Robby’s still wide awake. Lying flat on his back, one hand resting on the dip of your waist—but his eyes?

They’re on you.

He watches the way your breath slows, the way your mouth parts slightly, the way your fingers twitch against his ribs while you sleep. You’re loose now. Limp and warm and completely undone—and he still feels you, everywhere.

Your stomach rises and falls against him in slow, perfect rhythm. There’s a faint line on your hip—stretch mark, scar, something you used to try and hide.

He sees it.

He loves it.

He traces it lightly with his thumb, barely a touch.

He wants to move.

Wants to roll you onto your back, lick into your cunt until you're whimpering again, make you take him slow all over.

Wants to feel you twitch when he whispers things he never says out loud—like how badly he wants to keep you like this forever he literally has a ring hidden in his nightstand but that’s besides the point.

But he doesn’t. You’re asleep. Spent. Trusting him with your whole body.

So he shifts in a little closer. Presses a kiss to your shoulder. Lets his palm settle over your hip, wide and warm and claiming. Because for now, that’s enough.

Eventually, his eyes will close.

But not yet.

Not when you’re still glowing from what he did to you.

[yoyokslut]

Moody Rafe

pairing: boyfriend!rafe x reader.

warnings: angst with fluffy ending.

summary: rafe has been a little stressed and snaps at you making you cry.

a/n: english isn’t my first language so I apologize for any mistakes.

Rafe's been busy dealing with his business so he hasn’t payed that much of attention to you these past days, he’s also been stressed, anxious and cranky, somehow avoiding you because he doesn’t want to contagious you his mood.

You entered his office, trying to get his attention 'cause you’ve missed him so much and wanna see if you can convince him of taking a break of work this time.

“Hey, baby.” You said softly approaching him slow.

He looked up at you when he heard your voice and sighed. Of course he’s missed you too, but he really needed to take care of his business and didn’t want you to see him all moody.

“Baby… I’m not done yet with this.” He said in a plead voice tryna tell you, you shouldn’t be in his office right now.

“I know, I know. I didn’t want to distract you but it’s been a long week and I miss you, Rafe.”

You said unconsciously making a small pout.

His gaze softened noticing your pout. You’d always do it when you really wanted something.

He rubbed his neck looking at you knowing you weren’t gonna like that this time he couldn’t give in.

“I can’t right now. I really can’t. I have this.”

He said motioning to his laptop and you can visibly see the second he got all tensed by just mentioning it.

“But maybe just a min-“

You couldn’t even finished what you were saying when he interrupted you harshly.

“I said I can’t. Not everything will always go your way and you need to understand that.”

You started talking in a lower voice this time knowing he wasn’t in the mood.

“One minute won’t hurt-“

“Seriously. I’ve got shit to do. Can’t just fucking drop it to please your every whim.”

He said not looking at you but at the screen.

“Please, just need to cuddle for one moment, puppy-“

He groaned when you kept pushing and snapped at you.

“And now that stupid pet name. Stop fucking calling me that cheesy annoying shit and quit pushing it. I’m busy and don’t have time for this.”

He said in a sharp voice looking at the screen.

You stared at him frowning and with teary eyes, no matter how hard he was having it he had never talked to you like that… Until now. With a nod and a small okay in a broken voice you walked out his office making your way to the bedroom.

He recognized that tone in your voice and cursed himself for upsetting you. Took a couple of minutes to calm down before going to look for you.

He entered the room looking at you all curled up on bed. Your eyes slightly red and puffy from crying. His heart shrank at the sight of you like that because of him. He slowly walked towards the bed and said gently.

“Baby? I’m sorry I talked to you like that. You don’t deserve that. I’m just with so much going on right now, of course that’s no excuse. I was an ass for talking like that and if you don’t want to forgive me you have every right. Just wanted to say I’m so, so sorry.”

He mumbled kneeled in front of you on the edge of the bed.

You gazed at him with your bottom lip slightly out.

“Oh- and what I said about the pet name? Of course I like everything you call me, my precious girl.”

He cupped your cheek stroking it with his thumb.

“Sure, I don’t see the resemblance with a puppy but I like whatever you wanna call me, I promise.”

You chuckled softly before muttering.

“You’ve got puppy eyes, baby.”

He laughed nodding.

“Yes, love. Whatever my pretty girl says.”

He sat next to you stroking your hair.

“You gonna forgive me, hm?”

“You’ll have to earn it and make it up to me.”

You voiced quietly looking into his eyes giving him an amused smile.

“Anything, baby. Whatever you want. Just name it, sweet girl.”

[keithyp00]

•·.·´`·.·•• You're Lying (and other things Sam won't stop saying) ••·.·´`·.·•

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!reader

Warnings/Tags: language, mild suggestiveness, comedy, romance, light-angst, found family, slow burn payoff, excessive teasing, established relationship, Sam being annoying

Trope: Everyone thinks you're not really dating. You are. No one believes you.

Word Count: 2.0K

Author Note: Guys this is just like my last one, this is to help me mentally prep for an AP exam tomorrow morning so if this is bad I am so sorry. But I hope you enjoy this nonetheless <3

Please do not copy or translate any of my works. Thank you!

You and Bucky were dating.

Like- really dating.

In the 'he's seen you at your absolute worst and still kisses your cheek like he doesn't look at you any differently' kind of way. The 'you keep an extra toothbrush at his place and he makes your coffee how you like it without asking' kind of way. The 'he pulls you into his lap during team movie nights and smiles against your shoulder, murmuring words into your ear like it's not the most dangerous thing he could do' kind of way.

And no one believed you.

Especially not Sam.

"Oh, come one," he said, flatly, as he walked in on you and Bucky curled up on the couch. "This again?"

You blinked. "We're watching Pretty Woman, Sam."

"You're spooning."

"We're affectionate."

"You're not even kissing! He's probably just cold. You know he runs cold. Like a cyborg space lizard or something."

Bucky growled. "Cyborg space-?!"

"Right," Sam interrupted. "Sure. Keep telling people you're dating. I'll be over here living in reality."

You buried your face into Bucky's neck. "I hate him," you mumbled.

"You love him," Bucky corrected with a sigh. "You just want him to validate our relationship."

"I want him to believe in our relationship. There's a difference."

Sam, in the kitchen, called out: "I don't!"

Bucky flipped him off without looking.

~~~~~

The problem wasn't that you and Bucky didn't act like a couple.

The problem was that you didn't act like a normal couple.

You didn't post mushy selfies. You didn't wear matching shirts. You didn't coo pet names across conference tables. You just... existed. Comfortable. Quietly in sync. The kind of romance that felt more like a heartbeat than a firework.

Too subtle for people like Sam Wilson, apparently.

"You didn't even kiss when you got back from that mission," Sam pointed out, a few weeks later. "She was gone for five days, man."

Bucky, polishing a knife, didn't look up. "I kissed her afterward. In private."

"See, that's the problem! You hide it. Makes it look fake."

"I'm sorry," you snapped. "I didn't realize our love life was for public broadcast. Want us to livestream the next one?"

Sam looked delighted. "That's a strong reaction. I hit a nerve. This is faker than Tony's allergy to gluten."

Tony called from down the hall: "It's real, you bastard!"

~~~~~

At first, it was funny.

Then it got exhausting.

You weren't insecure about your relationship- Bucky made sure of that, every day, in a dozen quiet ways. He cooked for you. Kissed your temple. Held your hand under tables. Brushed his thumb along your jaw like it was the most precious part of you.

But still. No one believed it.

Not Nat, who called it "convenient physical proximity."

No Clint, who claimed he'd never seen you kiss with tongue (as id that were a valid benchmark).

Not even Steve, who offered a gentle "Are you sure he's not just emotionally dependent on you?"

It all came to a head one night at a bar.

You'd just finished a mission and everyone was letting off steam. Sam leaned against the bar counter beside you, a shit-eating grin on his face.

"So," he started. "You and Barnes still 'dating'?"

You narrowed your eyes. "Yes."

"Hmm. Okay." He sipped his beer. "So if I leaned in and kissed you right now, he wouldn't deck me?"

You stared at him.

"Try it," Bucky said darkly from behind, voice like cracked gravel.

Sam smiled. "Still not proof."

Bucky grabbed your hand. "You want proof?"

"Bucky-" you warned.

"No, no. He wants a show. Let's give him one."

He yanked you flush against him, hand cupping your jaw, and kissed you.

Not a polite kiss.

Not a we're-dating-I-swear kiss.

A I-know-every-inch-of-your-mouth-and-I-love-you kiss.

Hot. Possessive. Unapologetic.

You melted into it, clutched his shirt, kissed him back with something that sounded like a whimper because Jesus.

When he pulled away, Sam blinked. "...Okay. Damn."

"Believe us now?" Bucky raised a brow.

Sam blinked again. "Not really."

You grabbed a pretzel stick and stabbed it into the foam of Sam's beer. "I hope you step on RedWing."

~~~~~

Even after that, the teasing didn't stop.

Because of course it didn't.

"You probably practiced that," Sam said a few days later.

"What?"

"That kiss. You planned it. Just to throw me off."

Bucky rubbed his temples. "You are the most annoying man I've ever met."

"You're just mad I cracked the code."

"There is no code!"

You yanked open the fridge, pulled out a tub of frosting, and started eating it with a spoon. "I actually cannot live like this."

Sam pointed at the spoon. "See? No real girlfriend would let her boyfriend see that."

"Bucky bought me this frosting."

Bucky looked like he was about to get up and beat the shit out of Sam if he didn't start walking away.

~~~~~

Eventually, you gave up.

Let them believe what they wanted.

You and Bucky still kissed behind closed doors, curled together on the couch, whispered sleepy confessions after long days.

Until-

One night, you got sick.

Really sick. The kind of body-aching, fever-drenched flu that turned you into a grumpy, sniffling, corpse with a bag full of used tissues beside your bed.

And Bucky took care of everything.

He brought you soup. Rubbed your back. Helped you shower when you were too weak to stand. Brushed your hair out of your face. Slept beside you even when you told him not to.

Sam stopped by to check on you and walked in on Bucky holding your hand while you slept, forehead pressed to your wrist like he was praying.

He backed out slowly.

Didn't say anything.

Didn't tease.

Didn't breathe.

The next morning, there was a small gift basket on your nightstand.

From Sam.

With a card.

"Okay. You win. He loves you. I won't say another word. P.S. Please don't tell anyone I'm capable of this level of sincerity. I have a rep to protect."

~~~~~

You- of course- showed Bucky the card.

He smirked. "About damn time."

You kissed him with a smile.

And this time, no one questioned it.

~~~~~

The peace lasted exactly five days.

Five beautiful, uninterrupted days.

No teasing, no smug side-eyes, no Sam accusing you of being part of an elaborate CIA cover operation. Just you, Bucky, some early morning kisses over coffee, and one blessed evening where you somehow convinced him to slow dance in the kitchen to 40s music.

And then Sam broke into your new apartment. One you thought would give you full time peace compared to the Avengers compound.

(he claimed he "used the spare key." You knew he just picked the lock.)

"Morning, lovebirds," he smiled brightly, leaning against the doorframe like this wasn't the worst intrusion since Ross kissed someone else while he and Rachel were on a break.

You stared at him over Bucky's shoulder, still wrapped in his hoodie with sleep-mussed hair and a mug of tea between your palms. "It's 7:13 a.m."

"I brought bagels."

"And chaos."

Sam strolled in. "And relationship advice."

Bucky looked up from the couch, dead-eyed. "Why?"

"Because now that I know you two are the real deal, I gotta make sure you stay real."

You rubbed your temples. "We're not a gas leak, Sam."

"No, but you're both stubborn and weirdly avoidant and emotionally repressed, and frankly, I'm impressed it took me this long to be needed."

Bucky mumbled, "I'd rather be waterboarded."

Sam ignored him and slapped a notebook onto the table. "Step one: scheduled communication check-ins."

"Oh my god-"

~~~~~

You tried ignoring him.

Didn't work.

Because Sam became relentless. He started showing up with couple's quizzes.

Brought you a deck of 'relationship conversation starters.'

Installed an app on Bucky's phone called 'LoveTracker.'

("It's like Find My iPhone, but romantic," he said. Bucky installed it in twelve seconds.)

And worst of all- he documented everything.

"Bucky," he'd say mid-mission, "when was the last time you complimented her non-physically?"

You stared at him. "Non-physically?"

"Yeah. Like her intelligence. Or her moral compass. Or how she hasn't murdered me yet."

Bucky rolled his eyes. "I call her my girl every morning."

"That's possessive endearment, not a compliment."

"I tell her she's smarter than Tony."

~~~~~

Somewhere around Week 3 of Sam's Unsolicited Couples Therapy, something unexpected happened.

He stopped being annoying.

(Okay, no. He was definitely still annoying.)

But... he also started being kind of helpful.

Like the night you and Bucky got into your first real fight.

It wasn't explosive. Just sharp. Quiet. Full of jagged silences.

You'd been on back-to-back missions, and Bucky had started pulling away. Fewer cuddles. More brooding. Less talking. You tried to be patient- God, you tried- but when he snapped at you for asking what was wrong, it all unraveled.

"I'm trying to help," you said, voice trembling.

"I didn't ask for it," he muttered.

The room froze.

You didn't cry.

You never cried in front of him.

But that night, you shut your bedroom door behind you and curled up alone.

Bucky didn't come in.

Not until morning.

But Sam came over first.

~~~~~

He found you on the balcony, hoodie pulled over your knees, cold tea forgotten beside you.

He didn't say anything at first.

Just sat down next to you, offered a granola bar.

Then, quietly: "You know, when Sarah gets mad at me, I do this thing where I pretend I'm not scared I'll lose her. But I am. I always am."

You looked over. "You think Bucky's scared?"

Sam tilted his head. "That man loved you like it's gonna be taken away from him. Like he's holding something he thinks he shouldn't have. So yeah. He's scared."

You didn't cry.

But you breathed.

And it helped.

~~~~~

Bucky apologized that afternoon.

He stood in the doorway, fists clenched, breathing hard like it took everything in him to walk in.

"I'm sorry," he said. "For being a coward. For making you feel like you weren't wanted when you're the only thing I ever want."

You looked at him.

He stepped closer. "I never learned how to let myself be... this happy. It scared the hell out of me. But not as much as losing you."

You opened your arms, and he came apart in them.

That night, Bucky fell asleep with his hand on your heart.

And you whispered, "You're safe with me."

~~~~~

The next morning, Sam dropped off muffins.

"I told you you'd fight eventually," he said smugly.

You grabbed the muffins and shut the door in his face with a smile.

~~~~~

Over time, you adapted.

You didn't expect Sam to be a normal friend, he didn't know how to do that. But you did start to appreciate him as a part of your life. Your weird, overinvolved, chaotic platonic marriage therapist.

He became your sounding board.

Your crisis texter.

Your sarcastic but loyal brother figure who threatened anyone who looked at you funny and called Bucky 'lover boy' just to watch him twitch.

One night, you all sat around a campfire during a retreat mission. Quiet stars. Crickets. Steve snoring faintly in the background.

Sam looked over at you both.

"You know," he said, voice softer than usual, "you're actually really good together."

Bucky looked at him. "Took you long enough."

"Yeah, yeah. Shut up. But I mean it. You make him more human," he said to you. Then, to Bucky: "And you make her feel protected without caging her."

You blinked.

Bucky squeezed your hand.

Sam threw a marshmallow at you both. "Don't get soft on me. I'll revoke my own compliment."

~~~~~

Months later...

You stood at the edge of a field after a joint mission, hair tousled, laughing with Bucky as he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

Sam walked past, muttering into comms.

"She's in love, he's in denial, and I'm still unpaid for all their therapy."

You smiled to yourself.

You were real.

You were loved.

And you had the most chaotic friend group in the world.

Which honestly... was kind of perfect.