#JUST THE WHOLE IDEA OF A WORLD WITHOUT COLOR AND A WORLD WITH COLOR...

[seafoam-taide]

Gleefully imagining my ocs as more and more unwell and codependent and Not Okay

[lilacnothlit]

Most dedicated Larpers ever written.

Stephenie Meyer's sci-fi novel The Host is like. it's almost so much. the alien bodysnatchers at the center of the plot are like Animorph's yeerks if they got really into cottagecore. no, they don't want intergalactic war and domination! they want intergalactic peace and domination! they make every planet they visit a peaceful socialist utopia and like, okay, yes, they have to violently take over the bodies of a planet's native inhabitants to do it. yes, they have to suppress the unwilling minds of their host bodies. yes they are for all intents and purposes committing a genocide of their chosen planets' initial inhabitants and then puppeting their husks around playing at homogeneous, sanitized versions of the cultures they destroyed. the alien main character mentions that even episodes of the Brady Bunch were scrubbed because they were deemed too violent. and they call themselves souls, which is so loaded on so many levels. impossible not to read into the spiritual connotations, especially when written by an author coming from the mormon church which so highly values mission trips. just by sympathizing with humans who don't want to be possessed, by helping them hide out and stay free, our protagonist becomes a pariah, an outlaw from her own society. peace is valued above all else but not peace for the colonized, who are meat to be processed. it's better this way. they had so much potential but squandered it with foolish violence so now we have the right to overtake them and make them live correctly. isn't it beautiful now? isn't everything perfect? there's like almost so much happening in this story except Stephenie's a fucking mormon so she never draws any meaningful connections to anything and the happy ending is that the alien brain parasite protag is gifted the body of a beautiful coma patient that she can "ethically" puppet around, easy peasy problem solved. also there's a fucking love triangle.

[chronicbitchsyndrome]

i have been in community with profoundly developmentally disabled peers and peers with brain damage my whole life, bc i had a childhood diagnosis. i have also been leftist my whole life; my mother was a marxist and raised me that way, and while their politics were absolute dogshit, they were lefty dogshit.

my entire life, i have seen leftist educators throw mentally disabled people away as "lost causes" because they couldn't engage with the material the way it was being presented. leftist outreach and education does, genuinely, have a massive lack of accessible material. to be blunt, people are not interested in retrofitting their leftist outreach to be accessible to people who learn best through episodes of sesame street.

as in, i have repeatedly faced outright laughter and cruelty over the idea that this could be a priority. or even something that we consider doing at all.

"people who are that mentally disabled don't need to know about these things," the kindest interpretation goes. ("people who are that mentally disabled don't interact with the world, anyway, they're all in institutions or monitored 24/7 by their parents," the uncharitable underlying assumptions go. "they wouldn't be a worker who needs a union. or a library attendee. or a member of the community garden. or a volunteer at the food bank. or or or")

the people i have seen this hurt the worst, over and over again, are profoundly mentally disabled people of color whose lack of access to accessible antiracist education is causing real danger in their lives. institutionalized disabled people of color who have learned racist ideology and behaviors from white authority, whether they were adopted by white families or incarcerated in care institutions run by white staff. who are treated lower than garbage by leftist educators, who view them as "lost causes," as unworthy of time and effort and attention, as deserving of their abuses because they... what... internalized the abuses that make up every aspect of their lives since birth?

i see people saying things in this conversation like "disability isn't an excuse for racism or transphobia or whatever, people have the obligation to improve themselves." oh, believe me, i have seen again and again how many privileged disabled people utilize their disabilities to punch down on others, try to escape accountability for their punching down by citing disability. but individual weaponization of identity is just that: weaponization of identity.

the power structures at play are what they are. it is a noble and admirable goal to want leftist outreach and education to be more accessible to all. if that is truly your goal, you must eventually reckon with the existence of people who do, actually, really need it presented in a picture book. or an episode of bluey. or a conversation where you only use examples of people they know in real life, using things that happened to them personally. the existence of people who cannot grasp forms of abstract reasoning, who need information presented as rules, or as guidelines, or as categories. the idea that yes, fully grown adults who need daniel tiger to explain racism to them are human beings who not only deserve access to that very thing, but who also deserve to be a part of leftist spaces and benefit from leftist organizing. are people for whom it might be INTEGRAL they get to be a part of leftism. are victims of racism themselves and suffering without access to antiracist spaces and community and support.

and you will need to reckon with the abject cruelty of your peers who laugh and mock the very idea of this. you need to reckon with the fact that a lot of people you respect, a lot of leftists doing genuinely good work, will respond to this by making fun of the people you're serving, even outright telling you their violent fantasies about these people. that is the experience of organizing in leftist spaces for profoundly disabled people. that is why so many of us burn out so fast. there IS a structural problem with mentally disabled people being seen as disposable and not a part of community. and it is EXTREMELY present in leftist organizing and outreach efforts.

[theskywithin]

Birth Chart Breakdown: Venus in The Houses

Love is never just one thing. It takes different shapes, wears different masks, whispers through different corners of our lives. Sometimes it’s loud and consuming, other times it lingers in the background, shaping us in ways we don’t always recognize. Venus in the houses reveals where love finds you, how it teaches you, and the unspoken lessons it leaves behind.

Venus in the 1st House

Love moves through you before it moves toward you. With Venus in the 1st House, you don’t just love, you embody love. It lingers in your presence, woven into your gestures, your voice, the way you draw people in without even trying. You may find that admiration follows you easily, that attraction is effortless, and yet, beneath the charm, a question lingers: Do they love you, or do they love the idea of you?

It’s easy to become a mirror for others, reflecting back what they desire, slipping into the roles they assign you. But love, if built on performance, will never feel real. The challenge here is to be seen, not just adored. To let someone love you in the moments when you are not dazzling, not perfect, but simply human. The lesson: Let love see you, in the light and in the dark. Do not fear being known.

Venus in the 2nd House

Love, for you, is about worth, how it’s given, how it’s received, how it affirms your place in the world. With Venus in the 2nd House, relationships are tied to security, to stability, to the deep-rooted need to know that you are valued, not just in words but in actions. You seek love that feels dependable, steady, something you can hold onto. And yet, when love is too closely linked to validation, the search for security can turn into an endless chase.

If your self-worth depends on how much love you receive, you may find yourself overextending, proving, giving more than you should in the hope of being enough. But real love is not earned, it is met. The challenge here is to find that worth within yourself first, so love does not become a transaction. The lesson: Let love affirm you, not define you. What you carry within is already enough.

Venus in the 3rd House

Love is a language, a conversation, a thread woven through words. With Venus in the 3rd House, relationships are built on communication, on the way thoughts intertwine, on shared ideas, on the electricity of a well-placed sentence. You love through dialogue, through letters, through the rhythm of voices blending in harmony. But sometimes, love is quieter than that.

Not all emotions can be translated. Not every feeling can be spoken. And when you tie love too closely to words, you risk missing the love that exists in silence, in the spaces between, in the presence that does not need explanation. The challenge is to let love breathe beyond the need to define it. The lesson: Let love exist in all its forms, both spoken and unspoken.

Venus in the 4th House

Love is home, love is shelter, love is the feeling of belonging. With Venus in the 4th House, relationships are deeply personal, rooted in emotion, memory, and the longing to create something safe. You love with a kind of depth that seeks not just passion but refuge. But when love is expected to be a sanctuary, the weight of that expectation can become too much for any one person to hold.

If you rely on love to be the safe haven you never had, you may find yourself clinging, expecting a partner to heal wounds that only you can tend to. The challenge here is to build home within yourself first. The lesson: Let love be a choice, not a lifeline. True intimacy comes not from dependency, but from two people meeting from a place of wholeness.

Venus in the 5th House

Love is a story, a dance, a spark that refuses to fade. With Venus in the 5th House, romance is an art form, something to be celebrated, something that brings color and joy. You fall in love with the excitement, with the chase, with the beauty of connection before it asks too much of you. But when love is only about the beginning, what happens when the thrill settles?

If you seek love only for the high it provides, you may find yourself running when the deeper work begins. Love is not just fire, it is also the warmth that lingers when the flames die down. The challenge is to embrace both passion and permanence. The lesson: Love is not just about what excites you, but what remains after excitement fades.

Venus in the 6th House

Love is in the details, in the effort, in the quiet devotion of everyday life. With Venus in the 6th House, relationships are built on care, on the small, unspoken acts of service that say “I see you” without needing grand gestures. But when love is too closely tied to duty, it can begin to feel like something you must earn rather than something you receive.

If you only feel valuable when you are giving, you may find yourself depleted, pouring into others without leaving space for yourself. The challenge here is to receive, to trust that love does not require you to prove your worth through effort. The lesson: Love is not just what you do for others, it is also what you allow yourself to receive.

Venus in the 7th House

Love is a mirror, a reflection, a dance between two souls seeking balance. With Venus in the 7th House, relationships are the heartbeat of your life. You thrive in connection, in the art of partnership, in the beauty of being understood. But when love becomes the foundation of your identity, the risk is losing yourself in it.

If your happiness depends on another, if your sense of self is too closely tied to being loved, then love becomes a condition, not a freedom. The challenge here is to stand whole, to bring your full self into love rather than bending to fit into another’s shape. The lesson: Love deeply, but do not disappear within it.

Venus in the 8th House

Love is transformation, love is surrender, love is the fire that strips away illusion. With Venus in the 8th House, relationships are not light, they are depth, they are intensity, they are the things that shake you to your core. You crave love that changes you, that demands vulnerability, that breaks and rebuilds. But when love is tied to power, it can become a battle rather than a sanctuary.

If you fear losing control, you may hold on too tightly, mistaking possession for security. But love cannot be owned, nor can it be forced to stay. The challenge is to trust love enough to let it breathe. The lesson: Let love change you, but do not let it consume you.

Venus in the 9th House

Love is an open road, a horizon that never stops expanding. With Venus in the 9th House, relationships are about discovery, of the world, of new perspectives, of yourself. You are drawn to partners who challenge your thinking, who bring something unfamiliar into your life, who make love feel like an adventure rather than a destination. Love, to you, is a journey, one that must always offer something new.

But in your search for expansion, do you ever allow yourself to land? If love is always about growth, movement, and new experiences, you may struggle with the stillness of commitment. The risk is chasing the next high, the next revelation, without ever letting love settle into something real. The challenge is to find depth in what remains, not just in what is new. The lesson: Love is not just about where it takes you, it’s also about who you become when you stop running.

Venus in the 10th House

Love is legacy, love is purpose, love is the reflection of your ambitions. With Venus in the 10th House, relationships are rarely just personal, they are tied to what you are building in the world. You may seek a partner who aligns with your vision, who elevates your path, who helps you create something lasting. Love, to you, must be meaningful, something that carries weight beyond the personal.

But when love is tied too closely to achievement, it can become something to prove rather than something to experience. You may be drawn to relationships that "make sense" on paper, ones that align with your goals or expectations, but do they fulfill you emotionally? The challenge is to let love exist outside of what is practical or admirable. The lesson: Love is not a trophy, it is a feeling, a presence, something that holds you when everything else fades.

Venus in the 11th House

Love is friendship, love is connection, love is a shared dream of something greater. With Venus in the 11th House, relationships are about more than just two people, you seek love that is part of a larger vision, something that aligns with your ideals. You may find yourself drawn to partners who inspire you intellectually, who share your values, who feel like kindred spirits. Love, to you, is not just personal, it is collective, something that extends beyond intimacy and into purpose.

But when love is placed in the realm of ideals, emotional depth can sometimes be overlooked. You may crave a relationship that feels effortless, that is built on shared interests and mutual respect, but true love also requires vulnerability, the willingness to be seen not just as an idea, but as a person with flaws and fears. The challenge is to let love be human, imperfect, raw. The lesson: Love is not just about who shares your vision, it’s about who sees your soul.

Venus in the 12th House

Love is mystery, love is longing, love is something that moves through the unseen. With Venus in the 12th House, relationships often carry an air of the fated, the spiritual, the unspoken. You may be drawn to connections that feel karmic, as if you have known them before, as if love is something you must unravel rather than something you simply receive. Love, to you, is something deep, something sacred, something that exists in the spaces between words.

But when love lives too much in the shadows, it can become something you never fully grasp. You may lose yourself in a relationship, merging so deeply with another that you forget where you end and they begin. Or you may find yourself drawn to unavailable love, to relationships that exist in secrecy, in dreams rather than reality. The challenge is to bring love into the light, to let it exist in the present rather than in the imagined. The lesson: Love must be real, not just felt. Allow yourself to be chosen, seen, and held, not just in spirit, but in truth.

[the-shedevil-writes]

B-A-B-Y (Bob Floyd x Reader)

DESCRIPTION: On a Monday morning, Rooster and Hangman bring Bob and Phoenix to a local diner, and Bob’s instantly smitten with the waitress singing along to the jukebox. Next thing he knows, “Diner Mondays” become a squad tradition… and so does watching Bob fall harder every week while the rest of the Daggers try to get him to finally ask her out. WORD COUNT: 2.7k WARNINGS: Fluff. Tooth rotting fluff. Reader wears glasses. NOTES: Yes. Like Baby Driver. MY MASTERLIST - READ ON AO3!

It was an early Monday morning, and Bob was awake and ready earlier than he would’ve anticipated. He always woke up early for work, and on the weekend, out of habit. But that day, he had to wake up even earlier. Rooster and Hangman insisted on going to this diner with Phoenix and him. Bob wasn’t gonna turn down the idea of a real proper breakfast before their shifts, though he knew Phoenix was gonna be grumbling the whole time. 

He pulled up in his baby blue truck to Dot’s and Joe’s, a stout metal and red building not too far from base. The sun was just rising, and it painted the sky that sleepy light blue. Spotting Rooster’s Ford Bronco and Hangman’s Jeep, he pulled up next to them right as they were getting out. 

“Mornin’ Bob,” Rooster said. They were all dressed in their khaki uniforms, knowing they would change into flight suits once they arrived at training anyway.

Bob nodded with a small smile. “Mornin’ guys.”

Hangman stretched, “Where’s your pilot?”

He shrugged. “Phoenix isn’t a morning person.”

As if on cue, her black version of Rooster’s Ford Bronco pulled up and parked next to Bob’s truck. They watched as she got out of the car, grumbling and rubbing her eyes.

“Morning, sleeping beauty.” Hangman teased.

“Shut the fuck up, Hangman. It’s too early for your bullshit.” She groaned, making the rest of them laugh. Only she would cuss like a sailor at five in the morning. “Why on earth would you guys want to do this?”

Rooster started walking towards the doors of the place, and the rest followed. “They’ve got quite literally the best pancakes I’ve ever had. It’ll be worth it.”

They all walked in, and Bob looked around the interior. It was like they had hopped into a time machine. The classic 60s look was clean and colorful, even if the outside of the building seemed a little worn down. Red leather seats and silver table tops. Warm fluorescents wrapped around a countertop bar. Old movie posters and pin-up art hung up on every wall while a jukebox played oldies by the kitchen door.

Rooster and Hangman led them to a nearby booth, and they scooched in. 

“It’s nice,” Bob said, nodding with a small smile.

Hangman chuckled, “Figured you of all people would like it. You look like you would’ve gotten your lunch money taken in Back to the Future.”

That made Rooster let out a laugh heartily enough to capture the attention of the staff, and Bob rolled his eyes. But he couldn’t help the smile. Okay, fine. That one was good. More original than his usual quips.

At the sound of Rooster’s laugh, the kitchen door swung open by the jukebox. A soft voice rang out. It was quiet enough for almost nobody in the diner to notice… But Bob sure did. A beautiful voice sang along to a song he didn’t recognize playing on the juke.

“B-A-B-Y. Baby. B-A-B-Y. Baby.” 

His head turned over to see a waitress in a pink uniform and a little paper hat. In most cases, he’d just see the waitress and be excited to dig into some food. But for some reason, at the sight of her, his heart flipped in his chest. She was beautiful. In knee-high socks and glasses that were similar to his, though they weren’t nearly as big and awful-looking as his own. She swayed her head to the song without a care in the world as she held a notepad and pencil. 

He didn’t even notice the rest of the squadron trying not to laugh at Bob’s obvious gawking. 

“See something you like, Floyd?” Phoenix asked with a smirk.

Bob’s head whipped back around. “What? What do you mean?” He asked quickly, making the rest of them laugh harder.

When the waitress spotted the table, she smiled and walked over. 

“You two again.” She said, stopping by and looking at Hangman and Rooster, “And you’ve brought friends.” She smiled at him, and Phoenix and Bob could’ve sworn his heart stopped. 

“Yeah, well, we had to share how good this place was,” Hangman said casually.

Bob looked at the nametag pinned on her top. Y/n. God, he was practically melting, and he was trying to resist the wiggly Charlie Brown smile that wanted to appear.

She tapped her pencil. “What were your call signs again? I remember thinking they were cool, but I can’t for the life of me remember what they were.”

Rooster nodded and pointed to himself first. “Rooster. Hangman. Then those guys over there are Phoenix and Bob.”

She tilted her head with a smile as her eyes landed on Bob properly. “It’s Bob? What’s your real name then?”

With his heart beating out of his chest, he stammered, “B-bob. It’s just Bob.” He wished he could give another answer. He wished that his call sign wasn’t as simple as it was or that he had some sort of cool name like ‘Dagger’ or ‘Striker’... But he couldn’t even pretend like Bob didn’t fit him perfectly.

She laughed. “I like it. I like it a lot.” 

She liked his name.

Hangman cut in, “We’ve made it stand for Baby on Board. He’s a backseater.”

“Oh, so like a WSO?” 

She knew what that was? This conversation was just getting better and better, even with Hangman’s attempts to embarrass him.

Bob nodded, barely able to speak.

“That’s pretty awesome. My dad was Navy, so I like seeing ya’ll pop up here since we’re so close to North Island.” She explained, “Well, Rooster, Hangman, Phoenix, and Baby, what can I get started for ya?”

That wasn’t his call sign, and if it was, it would’ve been more embarrassing than just Bob. But having the beautiful waitress call him Baby? He could leap out of his skin. The massive blush that spread over his face was uncontrollable. 

“Just four hot coffees to get us started, will ya, Y/n?” Hangman said

She didn’t even write it down. “Simple enough. I’ll be back.”

Bob watched her walk away, completely mesmerized. Especially as she jumped back into the song.

“Just one look- in your eye. And my temperature goes sky hi-” And the kitchen door swung closed. 

There was a silence as the three pilots watched Bob, surprised as he sat there with a dreamy look on his face. 

“Jesus, Floyd. I’ve never seen you so whipped. And you usually are by most people.” Hangman smirked, leaning back.

Once again, he was sadly snapped back to reality by Hangman. A common occurrence. “N-no. No, I’m not. She was nice.” He cleared his throat, pretending to look over the menu, “Really nice.” 

Rooster made a little ‘Aw’-ing noise. “Buddy, it’s okay! I get it. She’s super cute.” He said, trying to be supportive, but Bob quickly shushed him, horrified at the prospect she might overhear.

“And she matches your dorkiness,” Hangman added

Bob shook his head, but he had that feeling, too. Their interaction had been so limited, yet he had a feeling they’d get along perfectly. He was already completely and totally captivated by her. 

They left the diner an hour later to make it to work on time, but Bob couldn’t shake the thoughts of her that graciously occupied his brain. The whole day, even as he was driving or flying or doing push-ups, he’d hear her calling him ‘baby’. Or he’d think about how, when he put in his order for strawberry french toast, she winked at him and said that was her favorite. It was both horrifying and the best distraction he could ever ask for.

Wanting to make it a tradition, Rooster dragged the three of them back to the diner the following Monday. It was a nice thought. Start the week out with a great breakfast and end it with a Friday night at The Hard Deck. 

Bob got out of his truck and looked over at Hangman, Rooster, and Phoenix, who were already there. 

“You’re here before me, Phoenix?” He asked, confused.

Phoenix chuckled even through tired eyes, “Couldn’t miss the Bob yearning show this morning.”

He practically choked on his own spit. “What?”

“Yeah, we’re surprised you weren’t the first one here to say hi to your little girlfriend.” Rooster teased.

He let out a little exasperated breath. “Can we go in now?”

Hangman walked towards the door, “Whatever you want, Baby.” He teased back, emphasizing the name the waitress had called him last time.

For the next few weeks, they had the same routine. They would sit down in their booth, and like clockwork, Y/n would strut out quietly singing along to whatever song was on the jukebox. It was like she had a Rolodex of 50s/'60s hits. The Supremes. Marvin Gaye. Aretha Franklin. Tom Jones. Even the songs he didn’t recognize sounded like his new favorite song coming from her.

Hangman, Rooster, and Phoenix would all watch him stumble and smile up at her. His face lit up like a Christmas tree. And they would all tease him or even subtly try to hype Bob up to her. The three noticed how she seemed to pay special interest to Bob, even though he remained oblivious. They noticed how she always complimented him or would point out his glasses. There were little things- like her making his paper plate of ketchup a winky face or a heart, while the rest got stars or smiley faces. The fact that she always addressed him as Baby was more than enough to convince them. It wasn’t Bob or Baby on Board. It was just Baby. 

But Bob was oblivious. He was completely convinced that she was just being friendly because she was being paid to be. He figured that a girl like that would already have a partner, and he didn’t want to be a creep. It wasn’t like him to hit on a girl while she was working. His mama taught him that it wasn’t appropriate. 

So even as the rest of them egged him on to ask her out, he didn’t. He stayed comfortable with the small talk and stammering banter he’d make with her on those Monday mornings. It got to a point where even the rest of the squadron knew about this. Fanboy, Payback, and Coyote wanted to come with and see for themselves, but for the first time- Bob vehemently rejected them from coming. It would be obvious if suddenly there was a crowd watching him try not to turn red in the face while talking. And she deserved better than that. 

One Monday, Y/n came back out singing that Carla Thomas song again. And when she reached the table, Bob couldn’t help himself.

“What’s that song playing? You’re always singing it.” He asked

Her eyes widened, “Oh goodness, I hope it’s not too cringy that I sing while working.” She said with a nervous smile.

All of them shook their heads, looking up at her. Rooster and Hangman went back to their menus with smirks while Phoenix looked down at her phone, as if they were all letting him have his moment. His favorite part of the week. 

“No. No. I- I like your voice. I’m just wondering what the song is.” He said with his typical bashful look.

Her nervous smile upturned to a genuine one. “Oh, well, it’s Baby by Carla Thomas, but the title is spelled out like B-A-B-Y… Hey, that’s like your call sign, isn’t it?” She asked excitedly.

Bob nodded. “Kinda. Kinda yeah.”

“Guess, I’ll be listening to this song even more then, Baby.” She said, which made Hangman and Rooster look at each other with raised brows that said ‘it’s so obvious’, “I’ll be right out with your guys’ coffee.”

As she walked away, he heard “Whenever the sun don’t shine.”

The kitchen door swung shut.

“Jesus Christ, Bob, this is torture.” Rooster groaned, leaning his head back.

He looked at him, confused with furrowed brows.

“Look, Bob, I was a whole proponent of the whole don’t ask her out at work thing, but this is getting ridiculous,” Phoenix said, grabbing her menu.

“I don’t know what you guys mean. She’s just being nice.” Bob said, looking around at his friend’s exasperated faces. 

Hangman dragged his hands down his face, “And calling you ‘baby’.” 

Bob shook his head. “She thinks that’s my call sign.”

“So… she’s going to ‘listen to the song with your call sign more now’ because…?” Rooster added. 

He couldn’t deny that. It was probably the most forward thing she had done besides smile and point out they were matching every Monday because of their glasses. 

Bob shook his head. “I shouldn’t.” 

Phoenix exchanged a look with Hangman… That couldn’t be good. Those two could barely stand each other, so if they were joining forces, something was up. Bob saw their stares. 

“What-what are you guys doing?” Bob asked.

Phoenix turned to him, “If you don’t ask her out, I’m gonna have Hangman kill us in every dogfight this week. 200 push-ups each.” 

He immediately groaned and put his head in his hands. The idea of that was pure torture. Not only did that mean he’d barely get to fly because he’d be tagged out every time they did, but 200 push-ups daily for a week. Look, Bob was strong… but his shoulders and biceps shivered at the thought. 

“You’re evil. You’re literally evil.” He said, looking over at Phoenix.

Rooster tapped the table. “You’ll thank us later.”

After they all paid, Rooster, Hangman, and Phoenix all walked out, leaving Bob still lingering behind inside. He felt awkward. Like he wasn’t supposed to be there anymore because it was outside of this routine. When Y/n came back out, his heart beat so hard he thought it might stop. It had gone from zero to sixty at just the sight of her. 

When she spotted him, her eyes brightened and she walked straight towards him. He swallowed anxiously.

“Hey, Baby! What are you still doing here? Need something?” She asked smiling

Oh god. Oh dear god.

“No, no, I was just uh, I was just-” Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his friends not so subtly watching him from outside the window. He scratched the back of his neck. “I just wanted to say thanks.” He nodded.

OH GOD WHAT WAS HE DOING? THANKS? A little confused, but still smiling, she nodded. “You’re welcome. Any time.”

He took a deep breath before spitting out, “I was just wondering if you’d like to… go out sometime. I- I know this isn’t appropriate when you’re working and all, but-”

“I’d love to.” Her face was the brightest he had seen it. It didn’t seem like forced hospitality. She seemed genuinely enthusiastic. “God, Bob, I was waiting for you to ask.”

He blinked and shook his head in disbelief, “You were?”

“I was worried you never would.” She said, “I’m free this weekend if you are.”

It felt like he was melting into the floor. “Yeah, yeah, I am. I’ll uh- here.”

He reached over to a table and grabbed a napkin, quickly scribbling his number on it. Handing it to her, he added, “And if you change your mind, I won’t be mad.”

She took it and folded it neatly before putting it in her pocket. “I would never.”

They stood there for a moment just looking at each other. She smiled, and Bob let out a nervous laugh. This felt like a dream, and he was still waiting to wake up. She didn’t have a boyfriend. She didn’t seem creeped out. And she had been waiting for him to ask her, despite being at work. 

“I’ll let you get back to work. I’ll see you.” He said, nodding.

“See ya soon, Baby.” She waved before going back into the kitchen.

Walking out, Bob’s legs felt like jelly. It was like he was on the aircraft carrier for the first time, and he couldn’t get his bearings. He fully wore the bashful smile now, unable to resist it. 

“So?” Phoenix asked, crossing her arms with a knowing smirk.

“She said yes.” He said breathlessly. 

[snail-day]

I fear my baby fever has taken over the past few days, so I present you with the JJK men as fathers headcanons.

TW: Babies, Fluff, mentions of pregnancy, slight yandere behaviors.

Characters: Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Sukuna

WC: 3k

a/n: I won’t get into the actual pregnancy details just yet—saving that for a later date (a rather soon date). Also wasn't expecting to yap so much about this. Enjoy!

Gojo Satoru

Oh dear. This poor man.

There are very few things in the world that can shake Satoru Gojo to his core. He has stared down curses beyond comprehension, fought battles that could wipe out cities, and held the weight of the world on his shoulders without so much as flinching.

But when he holds his baby for the first time?

Oh, he crumbles. Practically has to bite his lip to stop himself from outright sobbing, whole body stiff, breath caught in his throat, because how the hell is something so small, so warm, so unbelievably perfect? They’re not even cleaned off yet, and this man is already kissing their tiny head, his lips soft against their damp skin, murmuring thank yous like a prayer. To you, to the universe, to whatever god decided that he—a man who has lost too much—was allowed to have something this precious.

Don’t you worry, there will be a celebration. A sushi boat is being delivered as soon as possible (as if you weren’t already expecting that).

However, here’s the thing, Satoru was already clingy before.

Now? Now he’s unbearable. Words cannot describe how this man refuses to let you leave his eyesight for more than a moment. He adored you before, but now you’re the mother of his child. The woman who carried a piece of him inside her, who gave him something he never thought he could have. If you so much as disappear into another room? Satoru is ready to Hollow Purple the air itself.

Following you around like some puppy with his spawn that resembles him a little too much: ("Dumpling? Where’d you go?" "Satoru, I’m in the bathroom." "...Can I come in?")

Oh, and he takes such good care of you too. Sure, he teases—makes his usual dumb jokes, smirks like an idiot—but when it comes to postpartum recovery? This man is all in. You have to make that infamous diaper concoction after birth? He’s right there, handing you an ice pack for your bits, whispering, “I have never loved you more.” If you ask, hell, if you even hint at needing help with anything? He’s already doing it. Witch hazel wash? No hesitation. Helping you in and out of the bath? He’s got you. Bringing you food, making sure you drink water, physically tucking you into bed because you refuse to rest? He does it all. Yes, he will absolutely pick you up and put you back in bed if you try to do too much: ("Satoru, I can walk." "Oh, I know you can, but should you?" Cue him plopping you onto the couch with a smug grin, a fluffy blanket, and a kiss to your forehead.)

Now, as much as he loves his baby, he is deeply afraid of the newborn phase. Like, undeniably so. The idea of rolling over and crushing them in his sleep? A recurring nightmare. (Yes, he believes in skin-to-skin contact. Yes, he read a bunch of articles about it while out on missions. Yes, he panicked about every single one.) Trimming their tiny fingernails? His worst nightmare. And trust, your house is baby-proofed to the maximum.

But once they hit the toddler phase? Oh, he thrives. They're curious! They tell him the craziest stories, and he eats up every single one. He loves feeding them sweets, spoiling them rotten. He definitely brings them to the school with him, letting them color all over his mission logs (that he’s been avoiding anyway).

And when they start walking? Oh, this is where things get real.

Satoru Gojo is undeniably, unapologetically, shamelessly a leash dad. The first time his little one wobbles too far from him in public? Leash acquired. Not just any leash, oh no, it’s cute. He makes sure it matches their little outfits, maybe even gets custom ones with their initials embroidered on them (never their name, that's how they get kidnapped!) Safety first!

If anyone dares to give him a weird look? He dares them to say something. His sunglasses drop down the bridge of his nose as he grins, voice sickly sweet: "You got a problem?"

Unfortunately, probably gets one for you too. Just to be a menace of a husband, loops it around your wrist with a teasing smirk, leaning in close, "Can’t have my favorite person running off, now can I?"

("Satoru, take this off me." "Make me.")

Geto Suguru

Oh, Suguru, who definitely acts more like a mother than a father.

This man embodies nurturing (and controlling, but hey, he’s going to therapy… maybe). Sure, he technically runs a cult, but you and your twins? You don’t really need to know that. (His poor assistant, though, absolutely running damage control while he’s busy doting on you.)

From the moment you give birth, Suguru is relentless in his care. He follows every superstitious belief—some of them might be outdated, but he does not care. You will be sitting for a month. No cold foods, no heavy lifting. Okay, he’ll allow you to wash your hair, but standing in the shower? Absolutely not. Baths only. He’s drawing them for you, making sure the temperature is just right, ensuring you’re as comfortable as possible.

If he weren’t a cult leader, he’d make the perfect stay-at-home dad.

Oh, the birth itself? He refuses to trust non-sorcerers with your pregnancy. No hospital, no epidurals, no way. It’s a birthing pool, at home, the natural way. And the second those babies are in his arms? He is devoted. Just like Satoru, you’re not leaving his sight. Neither are those babies.

But the baby phase? He hates it.

Not the babies themselves, of course, but dear god, two at once is a nightmare. They’re constantly tugging on his dark hair, they somehow manage to unlock baby-proofed cabinets (how are they that smart already?), and the mess? The sleepless nights? The chaos? It’s almost enough to drive him insane. But even through his exhaustion, he’s never anything but soft with them. Always the nurturing, coddling one. Because even though this phase is hell, he still loves them more than anything.

But once they hit the toddler years? That’s when he shines.

Suguru is the epitome of patience, his voice always gentle, his hands always steady as he guides them through their little tantrums and misadventures. He isn’t a leash dad, he simply doesn’t need to be. His twins are always either in his arms or holding his hands, their little fingers wrapped around his own as they toddle beside him.

Sure, some people might call him a helicopter parent. But he’s raising two little girls. The world is a dangerous place, and he’s not taking any chances. Let someone even think about looking at them the wrong way—his smile might be soft, but his presence is terrifying. No one is getting near his babies. And if anyone dares to question his overprotectiveness? He simply tilts his head, that ever-calm voice carrying something dangerous beneath the surface:

"Would you rather I let them run loose? Hm?"

Suguru is a morning person, but not in the “up at dawn” kind of way. No, he savors the mornings, stretches them out as long as possible, slow and quiet, just the way he likes it. He wakes before you do. Always. Most mornings, he watches you sleep for a little while, fingers tracing slow patterns along your hip, your back, wherever he can touch (loves your stretch marks). Something is intoxicating about these quiet moments, the way you breathe so softly, the warmth of your skin against his. He tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear, presses the gentlest kiss to your temple.

You belong to him. It’s a dangerous thought, but one he doesn’t fight.

The twins usually wake up before you do, one always stirring the other, little giggles or babbling voices breaking the silence. Suguru moves without a hint of hesitation, careful not to wake you as he slips out of bed, padding softly toward their room. Suguru melts every single time. His girls, half-asleep, hair messy, rubbing their tiny fists against their eyes, reach for him instantly with little grabby hands. Lifts them with ease, one in each arm, pressing a kiss to both of their foreheads before settling them against his chest.

"Did my little princesses sleep well?"

Cue sleepy nods, little arms clinging to him as he carries them downstairs. He makes breakfast with one toddler perched on his hip, the other playing on the floor nearby. Feeds them, cleans them up, all before you even wake up. He wants you to rest, wants you to have the luxury of a slow morning. By the time you stir, he’s already setting a cup of tea on your bedside table, pressing a kiss to your forehead before murmuring, “Stay in bed. I’ll bring you breakfast.”

And if you dare try to get up? Oh, you better believe he’s scooping you back under the covers, lips ghosting against your ear as he hums, “You don’t want to upset me, do you?” Playful, teasing, but firm.

(Yeah, okay—maybe he’s a little possessive. But can you blame him? You gave him his whole world.)

Suguru is the definition of a doting husband. Not just in the classic ways. Sure, he makes sure you’re comfortable, that you’re taken care of, but it’s the smallest details that make it clear: this man worships you. He brushes your hair at night, fingers ghosting against your skin. “You’re so beautiful,” a soft murmur like it’s an afterthought. Like he just has to say it. Absolutely loves watching you with the twins. The way your voice softens when you talk to them, the way you hold them close. He lives for it. (It does something to him, something dangerous.) Insists on tucking you in every night. Even if you’re already comfortable, even if he’s exhausted, he needs to make sure you’re safe, warm, and content. It’s his job.

When it comes to you leaving his sight? Absolutely not. You get up to leave the room? He’s watching you (on the cameras in the house, that you definitely aren't aware of). Someone dares to ask for your attention when he’s near? His hand is on your lower back before you even notice, a soft smile on his lips, but the grip is tight. God help anyone who thinks they can come between him and his family.

Because Geto Suguru might be soft with you, but for everyone else?

He’s still a damn curse user.

Nanami Kento

If there’s any man built for family life, it’s Nanami. Sure, he’s stoic. Composed. A man of few words. But when it comes to his child? Dear god, he is so soft. He loves them in a way that feels fundamental, as natural as breathing. Loves you even more for giving him something so precious. He doesn’t say it often, but it’s in every glance, every touch, every sigh of appreciation when he looks at you holding his child.

And when he holds them? He feels whole.

He savors every little moment, tiny fingers reaching for his glasses, drooly kisses pressed against his cheeks as he spoon-feeds them baby food. And no matter how messy they get, no matter how much mashed-up fruit ends up on his tie (his good tie, at that), he never complains. He just exhales, wipes his cheek with the back of his hand, and murmurs, "You're a messy little thing, aren’t you?" before pressing a kiss to their forehead, regardless of the applesauce smeared across it.

Because for Nanami, this, his family, his home, the life he’s built with you, this is everything.

Nanami is an early riser. He always has been. But the difference now? He no longer rushes out the door and only lives for his work.

Instead, he takes his time.

Tends to wake up before you, slipping out of bed with careful movements so he doesn’t disturb you. The first thing he does is check on your little one—peering into their crib, watching their tiny chest rise and fall with soft, even breaths. It’s the only time he allows himself to just stand there, quietly admiring, drinking in the sight of the most important thing in his world.

If they stir, if they so much as whimper, he’s immediately reaching down, scooping them up with ease, holding them against his chest as he rubs slow circles on their back.

"It’s alright, little one. I’ve got you."

Mornings are meant to be spent slowly, feeding them breakfast (with a bib, he learned his lesson the hard way), wiping their tiny hands clean, and carrying them in one arm as he makes coffee with the other. If you’re still asleep, he lets you stay that way, keeping the house quiet, and making sure you get as much rest as possible. Because Nanami knows better than anyone, that being a parent is exhausting. And if he can shoulder some of the weight for you? He will.

Nanami isn’t possessive. Not in the way that Gojo or Geto might be.

But is he protective? Absolutely.

Taking his kid to the park is a mission. He doesn’t hover, per se, but he’s always watching. Sitting on a bench, arms crossed, eyes locked in. The second his child starts running a little too fast? He’s standing. Someone else’s kid gets a little too rough? He’s walking over. And if his child falls? He gives them a second—just one—to see if they’ll get up on their own. But the moment he hears a wobbly inhale, sees that little lip start to tremble—he’s already there. Kneeling beside them, checking them over with careful hands, murmuring, “You’re alright, sweetheart. Just a little scrape.” And then, with the gentlest look in his eyes:

"Do you want to keep playing, or do you need a hug first?"

(They always choose the hug.)

Nanami adores you. But not in a loud way. Not in the way that Gojo teases or the way Geto smothers. No, Nanami loves you in a way that feels steady. Like safety. Like home. Always makes sure you eat first, even if it means letting his food get cold. Takes care of the night feedings if you’re too exhausted. Rubs your shoulders when you look tense, presses a kiss to the back of your hand just because.

And when the baby’s asleep? That’s your time. Some nights, it’s just the two of you sitting in quiet conversation, his hand resting over yours, thumb rubbing absentmindedly against your skin. Other nights, he just holds you, silent, warm... present. When the exhaustion is heavy in your bones, when you sigh in a way that sounds just a little too much like overwhelmed, he cups your face, tilts your chin up so you meet his gaze.

"You’re doing an incredible job," he tells you, because if anyone deserves to be reassured, it’s you, and god help anyone who dares to make you doubt it.

Ryomen Sukuna

In a modern AU, if anything could fix Ryomen Sukuna, it would be a child. Not that the kid was planned, of course. But the moment he sees them—tiny, fragile, utterly defenseless—something inside him shifts. He won’t admit it, won’t say it outright, but watching his newborn slobber all over his hand while teething? Yeah, he crumples inside.

At first, he’s clueless. He’s never had to be gentle before. His hands, powerful and ruthless, were never meant for something so delicate. You have to show him how to hold them properly, how to support their head, how to not look at them like they’re a fragile piece of glass about to shatter.

And does he complain? Oh, absolutely. But he listens, he's trying.

Modern AU Sukuna is absolutely a CEO. And not just any CEO, a powerful, slightly (or very) corrupt one. The kind of man that has everyone terrified to breathe wrong in his presence. Yet, despite his intimidating reputation, there are certain days when his employees come to work to find something... unbelievable. Their ruthless, cutthroat boss—Ryomen Sukuna—sitting at the head of a massive conference table, looking utterly unbothered as his baby naps against his chest in a tiny carrier.

The first time it happened, his employees did not know how to react. The sight of their terrifying boss with a wobbly-headed infant suckling on his tie was so surreal that no one dared to acknowledge it. They just continued their meeting in absolute silence, stealing panicked glances at one another, unsure whether laughing would get them fired, killed, or both.

Sukuna however, oh, he knows what they’re thinking. He can feel the tension in the room, the way no one is making eye contact with him. So naturally, he makes it worse.

"If any of you wake them up," he drawls, voice dark and smooth, "I’ll fire you on the spot." Cue nervous sweating from every executive in the room. Despite his threats, you know he does this because he wants to give you a break. Of course, he acts like it’s no big deal, grumbling about how "You never shut up about needing rest, woman. If bringing the brat to work gives me some damn peace at home, then so be it."

(The truth is that he secretly enjoys it. The small weight of his child against him, the quiet little snores, the way their tiny fingers sometimes curl around his thumb mid-nap. Yeah… he might actually like this fatherhood thing.)

At home, Sukuna tries to maintain his usual cold, indifferent demeanor. But it’s hard when he’s got a wobbly toddler clinging to his leg, looking up at him with your eyes, babbling nonsense like he’s the most important person in the world.

Obviously, he can’t just ignore them. "Tch. What do you want, brat?" (Picks them up anyway)

You catch him napping on the couch with the baby on his chest, one hand protectively covering their back. If you so much as mention it, he glares at you like you’ve just committed treason. Bath time? He claims he hates it, but somehow, he’s always the one washing their hair, grumbling under his breath about how “You’re doing it wrong” as he takes over. If they cry? He’s terrible at comforting, but god forbid anyone else try to step in. That’s his kid, he’ll figure it out himself.

He’s not soft, he insists. Not in the way Nanami or Geto might be. But when he tucks them into bed at night, sitting on the edge of their tiny mattress, watching their little chest rise and fall…something inside him settles. Suddenly realized he’d burn the entire world to the ground for them.

[unadulteratedsoulsweets]

A DC X DP IDEA #43

Stitches

Imagine dis…

I was just cleaning my room when I came across an old stuffed toy of mine. It is full of stitches like an amateur trying surgery for the first time and flopping it. I just remembered sewing my stuffed toy together as a kid. Like I was playing on them too harshly or one of my younger siblings got a hold of it and roughed it all up. So when I noticed my mom had no time to help me stitch my toy, I did it myself and the results varied…

…

John Constantine, aka the Laughing Magician, wasn’t an idiot. A drunk? Absolutely. A smoker? You bet. Had the worst bloody taste in romantic or sexual partners? Well, that’s a given. But an idiot? Not a chance. He knew, better than most, that the world he lived in was held together by nothing more than spit, lies, and a hell of a lot of bloody stubbornness.

But lately, something felt off…

Every time some wanker in a bright-colored cape and spandex punched, both literally and figuratively, through time or ripped an open hole to another dimension, it began as if reality was fixing itself.

He still remembered the bloody heart attack he nearly had the first time he read those sodding reports on time travel and dimension hopping. The second his eyes skimmed over the first few lines, he buggered off without so much as a goodbye, diving headfirst into the mess to sniff out whatever godawful consequences those spandex-clad pillocks had left in their wake. So imagine his surprise when, after dragging his sorry arse across the whole damn world, he found… nothing.

Not a damn thing.

No lingering paradoxes, no dangerous tears leaking out eldritch nightmares. It wasn’t natural. And anything unnatural coming from the bastard that split his soul like some two-bit, overachieving Voldemort, made his skin crawl.

So, like any poor sod with a knack for bad decisions and a bloody inconvenient conscience, he followed the ripples.

And that’s how he ended up standing in the inky void between worlds, a cig hanging off his lips, watching some scrawny teenager go to the fabric of reality that was torn apart by yet another one of those bloody spandex-wearing tossers, with a needle, like the universe had personally pissed in his pint.

The kid sat cross-legged in the void, stabbing his bloody needle through the fabric of space-time, and from the looks of it he was fueled by nothing but caffeine and a serious dose of spite. The thread he was using was bright blue, flickering with silver and white specks. Like tiny stars in each thread. Each stitch yanked the frayed edges of existence together, a bit rougher than necessary, like he was pissed off at the whole damn universe.

Constantine blew out a long stream of smoke, taking in the mess around him with a grimace. A sorry bloody sight, that’s for sure.

The kid had already clocked the audience, rolling his eyes so hard it was a miracle he didn’t give himself whiplash. He didn’t even bother with a glance, clearly unimpressed.

The kid introduced himself as Danny, then stretched out another few feet of thread and got back to stitching, like he hadn’t a care in the world.

The kid, Danny, if Constantine heard right, grunted, clearly unimpressed. He didn’t stop working, shoulders hunched in exhaustion like he’d been doing this for far too long. The whole cosmic janitor routine: they rip holes, he stitches 'em up. Same old, same old.

Bloody typical.

Constantine crouched down, eyeing the erratic stitching with a mix of curiosity and skepticism. This wasn’t normal, not by a long shot.

Danny let out a sharp, humorless laugh, clearly fed up. He jabbed the needle into a particularly stubborn tear with all the force of someone who'd had enough. The sarcasm practically dripped from him. Seems he was well and truly done with his unglamorous role in this cosmic mess.

Constantine felt a prickle of unease, the kind that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He didn’t need to ask, but he did anyway.

What happens if you stop?

Danny’s response was all sarcasm and sass, if there was any doubt left, it was gone now. He didn’t even need to elaborate. The answer was bloody obvious if the kid, Danny, ever stopped stitching.

Danny snorted, flashing Constantine a wicked grin, all teeth and mischief. The kind of smile that made his gut twist.

Ah. Bugger.

Constantine didn’t need a bloody prophecy to know what that meant. If the kid stopped, the world wouldn’t just fall apart it would unravel, slow and steady, like a seamstress unpicking stitches, one by one, until nothing was left. And worse? There’d be no afterlife waiting to catch the poor sods caught in the collapse. No heaven, no hell, no second chances. Just the abyss, swallowing everything whole. No way in. No way out.

Now Constantine was scrambling, doing everything in his power to keep the kid from buggering off while there were still holes left to patch. And, just as importantly, making sure those spandex-clad pillocks finally got the memo, no more bloody time travel or dimension-hopping shenanigans.

The kid must’ve clocked what he was up to because, without a word, he handed Constantine a green-glowing bat with “Creepstick” printed on the side. He didn’t think much of it at first up until, after one particularly miserable day, he swung the thing in frustration and accidentally clocked Superman, who had just been reaching out to ask if he was alright.

For a second, Constantine felt guilty. Then he remembered that the Kryptonian had probably punched more holes in reality than anyone else. That guilt? Gone. Replaced by pure, unfiltered glee.

With renewed purpose, he set his sights on the next offender, the red spandex speedster responsible for most of the timeline’s headaches. The rest of the heroes caught on quickly that he was on some kind of unholy warpath. So when he casually knocked the Man of Steel on his arse with a single swing and grinned like a serial killer who’d just found his next victim, they did the smart thing they got the hell out of his way.

Some of the ones with super-hearing overheard his next target: one of the Flashes.

Constantine knew damn well he wasn’t getting into any afterlife, but for fuck’s sake, if they didn’t stop tearing holes in the bloody universe, none of them would have a place to go. No heaven, no hell just the abyss waiting to swallow them whole. And he wasn’t about to let that happen on his watch.

…

 PS: If someone out there wants to continue or make a fic about this you are free to do so, don’t forget to tag me though.

PPS: I tried using Constantine POV throughout the entire prompt and as you can see that I over did at the Brit slang.

PPPS: Though, how did I do?….

[an-au-blog]

I'm about to nerd-out about the Fan Letter project:

The one piece fan letter project is so genuinely beautiful. I'm not even talking about the jaw dropping animation and the comeback of the art style. The very idea of this - the perspective of civilians, non-power/haki users and just random people in a world that's already so wide is so cool. And the way we got to experience the main characters of the main series - their impact on the world and the collateral. I particularly loved how they were still there but in the way their faves were obscured, never fully shown (other than the last scene) you could tell they weren't the focus even if the whole episode was a tribute to them and their fans.

(This is what I mean by the faces thing)

This entire scene is just the girl and Usopp (I can talk about the symbolism in colors and shading/the parallels of the marine literally casting a shadow on her while one of the strawhats gives her a helping hand, but I digress) - the focus is still on her, regradless of the speaker and the camera is only following her movements and facial expressions. We only get a clear view of Usopp's face a second before the scene changes.

This too, Luffy is the only one on the screen but we don't get to see him, not fully(even in the closer shots), because it's not about him.

I also loved how funny they made the power scalers in the bar (and he way we saw Zoro and Sanji interact with them. As they are probably one of the usual ones to be compared by dude-bros, it was like an inside joke for the fandom and I love it to bits!)

Truly amazing.

Or the little fanboying moments, so cute!

And I can't believe I'm just now hearing of the theory that Chopper's bounty is always this low because the mariens love him so much they don't want the high bounty to put him in danger!

There's so much to be implied/confirmed! For example, we get to see how many people love Brook because for some reason we keep forgetting he's a world-famous rockstar. He has his own merch, he started a trend with afros and those glasses he has on the poster, his fans picked up his puns,

It was also touching how Luffy touched lives without even trying (not that he usually does), as the marine brothers. Even though the older one claims he doesn't like his brother, he loves him enough to appreciate him being alive when he witnessed an entire war for someone else's. Even if he doesn't want to admit it, it's clear he cares about his brother deeply. It's just so amazing seeing it :''))

(Bonus to this is the little monologue Nami's fangirl has that adds so much about their relationship :))

I'm so looking forward to more ;;--;;

[n0tamused]

Contents: Mydei x gn reader, fluff, mydei loves u, an idea on this topic has been stuck on my mind for a few days now, I needed to ramble about it, I love this guy lots, can you tell

Words: 564

Ko-fi - Masterlist

There is no word for love in the kremnoan language. 

Kremnoans hardly display their affections through words, and Mydei finds himself wondering if those that came before him felt the same. For why would he need words when he is coming back to you, every time the sun should have kissed the mountains goodbye, finding you waiting for him. When he’s joining you in bed and guiding your head to rest on top of his chest, smiling at the feeling of your own smile against his skin as you nose at his neck, throwing some odd comment out about the position or the way he cradles you so carefully. 

Why would he need words, when he can nose at the crown of your head before using one hand to guide your head up, letting him kiss your forehead, and then your nose, your cheek and then your lips.

Why would he need to say anything when you guide his head to your lap so easily, making him wonder if he ever had free will in regards to you in the first place. Your fingers card through his hair, undoing the braid at the side, easing the tension in his head. The world suddenly gains in color when he’s with you, and he grabs one of your hands to kiss the knuckles and inside of your palm.

Why would he need to say I love you when day after day he proves he wants you within his life - doesn’t matter how close or distant, in his settlement or not. ‘Just stay’ he says without speaking, holding your wrist in his hand, pulling you closer to him. In a similar way he grabs hold of you when a sudden  commotion stirs in the streets, and he’s already taking steps ahead of you to shield you from whatever threat sat before you. It’s the way he breathes a sigh of relief when it passes, a sound barely picked up on by a passerby or someone who doesn’t know him so well. It’s the way his eyes light up when he sees you. It’s the pink that dusts his cheeks when you surprise him with a kiss, and the gentle attempts to shoo you off of him to spare himself ‘the dignity of a Kremnoan’, but moments after he is waiting for more, you see it, feel it. Want is riddled in every motion of his body, each crevice full to bursting with want for you; to hold you, kiss you, caress you, keep you safe.

Was there ever a moment his action did not speak louder than words? Was there a moment you doubted him simply because his lips did not utter the phrase ‘I love you’ ?

Mydei wonders whether or not his ancestors felt the love he was feeling, if they did the same things he did, and perhaps chose not to name it for it meant displaying their softness to the whole world. Or perhaps they feared it. They chose not to name either feeling, fear or love. But not naming it does not erase it from existence.

So when Mydei verbalizes his love for you in the dark setting of your bedroom, whispering it in your ear, his heart is heavy, cracking in your hold and he only wishes to hear the acceptance from your end. Hold his heart, see how it beats for you. 

Ⓒ n0tamused/jarttavia_. Do not repost, translate, edit, and/or copy any of my works. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

[kxsagi]

HELLOOOO OK SO I JUST READ YOUR LATEST WRITING ABOUT READER LOVING FOOD AND I ABSOLUTELY DEVOURED THE WHOLE POST😋😋

so like now I've got an idea. what if now..it's a reader that eats less, like they don't like eating just because everyday they don't feel like it. and bllk boys being an athlete ofc prioritizes getting enough energy and nutrients from food so they ask the reader to eat more or prob they just learn how to cook for both. can I get this with isagi, kaiser, itoshi brothers, shidou, and karasu? THANK YOU SO MUCH AND BTW I CANT HELP BUT KEEP MENTIONING THAT I REALLY LOVE UR WRITING AND DONT FORGET TO REST WHEN NEEDED.

LOVE YOU!!!!!

“𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐛𝐟”

a/n: thank you so much!!! i'm getting emotional 😭😭😭 i'll rest when i need to and you do the same! love you!!! 🫶🏻

also side note, i really don’t promote unhealthy eating habits, and even if you don’t feel like eating, please make sure to eat and fuel your body because you deserve to be fed and feel good! 

ft. isagi yoichi, kaiser michael, itoshi rin, itoshi sae, shidou ryusei, karasu tabito

isagi yoichi

he finds out on accident. 

you casually say something like “oh, i didn’t eat today either” when he asks what you had for lunch, and the word “either” shatters his entire worldview. 

“what do you mean ‘either’? wait… wait wait wait, how long has this been a thing?” 

the boy goes from concerned boyfriend to a TED Talk nutritionist in three seconds flat. 

immediately pulls out a color-coded meal tracker app to “make it more fun” like it’s a game. 

and he will absolutely start meal prepping with you. thinks it’s kind of romantic, actually. he’ll sit at your counter with a blender and go “if we blend chicken and spinach together, you get all the protein and fiber without having to chew anything! win-win!” 

his mission becomes “get you to eat three times a day like it’s the world cup final.” 

“love, i swear on blue lock, just take one bite of this or i’ll start crying.” 

kaiser michael

kaiser’s first instinct is to mock you. 

“you’re not eating again? what are you, a plant? photosynthesizing your way through life?” 

but deep down he’s worried sick. 

he notices the way you get tired easily and how your hands are cold even in summer. and while he’s a little dramatic, he does care. 

so he starts learning how to cook – secretly. because if you found out he was doing all this for you, you'd probably get flustered and avoid it. 

next thing you know, there’s a very flustered kaiser in your kitchen at 8 AM, shirtless, aggressively googling “how to make cute bento boxes that will guilt-trip your girlfriend into eating.” 

tries to act cool when he presents it to you. 

“eat it. i didn’t spend an hour making smiley-face eggs for you to skip breakfast again.” 

if you say “i’m not hungry,” he fake gasps and goes, “i see. you hate my cooking. okay. noted. i’ll go cry in the shower now.” 

itoshi rin

rin is not subtle. 

the moment he catches you skipping meals or brushing it off, he just squints and goes, “that’s not healthy.” 

he’ll start leaving little plates of cut-up fruit, protein bars, or drinks with a sticky note like “eat this. now.” 

very “acts like he doesn’t care, but is cooking rice in your kitchen at midnight because you haven’t eaten.” 

if he sees you get dizzy or tired, he will pick you up bridal style without saying a word and place you on the couch like you’re a sims character about to pass out. 

“you can’t just run on vibes. you’re not a ghost.” 

but the cutest part? he starts copying recipes from youtube cooking channels, awkwardly learning how to make tamagoyaki or miso soup just because it’s light but filling. 

and when you actually eat something he made? he looks away all flushed like, “whatever. just don’t starve. dumbass.” 

itoshi sae

sae finds out when you casually mention you haven’t had an appetite in a few days. 

he stops chewing mid-bite. slowly lowers his chopsticks. 

“what do you mean… ‘a few days’?” 

he’s horrified. in a calm, dead-eyed, big-brother-knows-best way. 

immediately texts rin like “this is why i have trust issues.” 

he doesn’t make a big deal of it, but the next day he shows up at your place with groceries. fancy ones. imported olive oil. cuts of salmon. actual saffron. 

he cooks gourmet meals like he’s on a michelin-starred revenge arc. 

“you don’t like eating? then i’ll make something so good you’ll change your mind.” 

he casually drops phrases like, “this has slow-digesting carbs and omega-3s, so you won’t feel heavy,” like he’s in your stomach. 

bonus: he cuts up the food into small bite sizes so you don’t get overwhelmed. he’s smooth with it too. 

“you’re eating this one. no negotiation.” 

shidou ryusei

shidou finds out and goes FULL PANIC. 

“HUH???? YOU’RE STARVING YOURSELF FOR FUN?????? BABE, DO YOU KNOW HOW FOOD WORKS???” 

he’s being dramatic, but he’s actually very worried. 

and of course, his version of helping is… weird. 

he decides to cook, which is already a disaster. man made cereal with hot sauce once. 

“i’m gonna feed you with so much protein you’ll turn into a meatball.” 

he tries to make you “protein bombs,” which are just weird mixes of peanut butter, tuna, and pre-workout powder. 

you gag. he calls you ungrateful. 

eventually, he settles on bribery: “eat this, and i’ll let you sit on my lap while i do squats. hell, i’ll do push-ups with you on my back. anything. just eat.” 

he’s so in-your-face affectionate it’s hard to say no. especially when he hugs you from behind and goes, “babe, seriously. you’re perfect. but i want you to have energy to sass me back, y’know? it’s not fun if you’re fainting mid-roast.” 

karasu tabito

karasu notices everything. 

you’re talking about your day and casually mention “i had water and a banana” and he does a full slow turn like, “sorry. that was your meal???” 

turns into mom friend energy immediately. 

he’s a little annoying about it in a loving way. 

“okay, but hear me out… what if you did eat something with actual nutrients? revolutionary, i know.” 

he’ll start showing up with smoothies and snacks unprompted. 

hand-feeds you fries on the couch. 

and he can cook. surprisingly well. 

“i made you a lil something. don’t get used to it, though. unless you want to. actually, yeah. get used to it.” 

jokes aside, he’s really gentle about it. when you explain that it’s more of a lack of appetite than anything serious, he doesn’t push – just offers small, frequent snacks and praise every time you eat. 

“good girl. finish that rice and i’ll let you wear my hoodie tonight.” 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[vanteguccir]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤTIKTOK TREND: PRETENDING TO TAKE HIS PHONE * MATT STURNIOLO

SUMMARY　::　Where Y/N does the TikTok trend 'pretending to take my boyfriend's phone while he eats' with Matt just to see his reaction.

FEATURING　Matt Sturniolo x reader　REQUESTED?　yes.

WARNINGS　::　none.

AUTHOR'S NOTE　::　that is my work, I DON'T authorize any form of plagiarism; copy, "inspiration" or translation! | english isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

It was a dumb little TikTok trend. But Y/N wanted to try it so bad.

She had barely buckled herself in before her thumb was already tapping "record" and subtly slipping her phone into the holder stuck to the right side of the dashboard. It was angled just right to catch both her and Matt from the passenger seat.

Matt had no idea. And that was the whole point.

He had just pulled out of the McDonald’s drive-thru, balancing his food bag from the bottom with his right hand. The other hand was on the wheel, guiding them to the far corner of the lot, where the sun hit the dashboard just right to make the car a bit warmer and where they could eat without people walking past every two seconds.

She had her own bag in her lap, both hands clutching it, the scent of fries and fried everything filling up the car. She wiggled a little in her seat, letting her head fall back with the tiniest gasp.

"This is literally all I’ve been thinking about for the past hour."

Matt chuckled under his breath, parking with a soft click of the gear shift before moving to brush off a dark curl that fell on his eyes.

"I need a haircut."

Y/N’s head immediately snapped toward him.

"What?"

He was already unwrapping his burger, resting it casually on his left thigh by his phone side, which sat on his right one, glowing under the occasional sunbeam that made its way through the windshield.

"I’m getting one tomorrow." He added, like it wasn’t going to break her entire world.

She paused, still gripping her McNuggets box without opening it. Her lips pushed into the tiniest pout, bottom one sticking out just enough to be noticeable.

"But... I like it like this." She mumbled, her eyes tracing the ends of his hair, messier than usual with how much he'd been touching it.

Good day to forget his cap at home.

He didn’t even notice the heartbreak on her voice, reaching for his fries, his other hand pushing the burger wrapper slightly to the side on his thigh.

Y/N looked at her phone, just a flicker of her eyes to check the screen in front of her. Still recording.

Perfect.

She set her food down gently, wiping her fingers on the McDonald’s napkin and looking at Matt, who was mid-rant about how the last time he went to the barber was before tour.

As he ranted, she shifted her body slightly, leaning over the center console. Her hand slowly reached across, fingers floating a few inches above his thigh.

Matt saw the hand and the direction it was going to and panicked.

His entire body flinched.

The poor boy didn’t even think.

His hand darted, snatched the burger off his leg, and shoved a massive bite into his mouth like he had mere seconds to live. His whole body pivoted to protect his food, smushing himself against the door and holding the burger next to the closed window like he was shielding it.

His cheeks were full, eyes wide and darting at her with pure shock and instinct.

Y/N froze halfway across the console, blinking at him.

There was a full two seconds of silence.

Just the sound of Matt’s chewing struggling to begin because his mouth was too full from that huge bite.

Then she grinned before biting her bottom lip to keep herself from cracking up way too loud.

Wordlessly, still holding in the laughter threatening to escape, she lifted the object of her true desire - his phone - off his thigh.

The screen lit up for a second, flashing the time paired with a too colorful picture of her grinning wide, nose a little scrunched, eyes all crinkled in the way that made her look genuinely, stupidly happy.

She sighed through her small smile, unlocking it smoothly.

"I was just gonna take your phone, you psycho." She finally revealed, her voice lilting with so much amusement it practically sparkled in the air between them.

Matt paused, chewing finally kicking into gear, though still in slow-mo. He looked at her, cheeks still kind of puffed out, jaw moving sluggishly as he processed her words and his own reaction.

"Oh."

He swallowed, visibly and audibly, like his throat was dry from the embarrassment. He gently returned his burger to his thigh, clearing his throat, trying to play it cool.

"Well, I mean... my phone’s yours too anyway." He mumbled, fake-casual as he wiped a nonexistent crumb off his jeans. "Take it. Do whatever. I don’t care. Just don't touch my food."

It was then that Y/N lost it. Her laughter burst out, soft and uncontainable, making her shoulders shake. She leaned back in her seat, looking at him like he was the funniest person she’d ever met, which, let’s be honest, he kinda was.

"You really thought I was gonna steal your lunch?" She asked, still holding his phone in one hand and resting her other against the console.

He didn’t answer right away. Just raised an eyebrow and shot her a fake-serious glare.

"You’re not above it." He said, squinting at her. "You’ve done it before. Too many times to count. Like last week. My last nugget? Ring a bell?"

"That was a shared meal!"

"No, that was stealing."

She leaned over and brushed her fingers on his beard covered jaw, cleaning up bread crumbs that remained there even after all his movements.

"You’re dramatic."

"I’m traumatized."

She narrowed her eyes at him, eyes drifting ever-so-slightly down to the cheeseburger. He noticed and immediately picked it back up and pointed the bitten side toward her.

"Do you want a bite?" He asked, the most pained expression painted across his face. "Because I will let you. But I need you to understand how much it hurts me emotionally to share this."

Y/N burst into laughter again, leaning her head against the seat, shoulders shaking.

"You’re so dramatic." She repeated, turning her eyes to him. "I don't want it, baby. I have mine, it's okay."

A smile stretched across her face when she leaned over again to press a quick kiss to his cheek, adoring the delicious burn from his facial hair against her skin.

"You’re cute, you know that?"

Matt tried not to smile but absolutely failed.

"You are cute when you try to gaslight me into thinking you didn’t just almost ruin my lunch."

Y/N wiggled her brows.

"You’re gonna die when you see this video later."

"Video? What video-" He looked around, finally seeing the red recording light blinking from her phone in the holder. His mouth dropped open. "You were filming this whole time?!"

"It's a huge trend right now." She grinned, unapologetic. "And I wanted to see your reaction."

He leaned back in the seat, closing his eyes.

"I'm not even surprised anymore."

Y/N just laughed, readjusted her body above her seat, and finally took a bite of her own burger, satisfied.

Matt was still fake-moping, but the corner of his mouth twitched, betraying the smile he was trying to hide.

"You’re lucky I like you."

"You’re lucky I didn’t actually want your sandwich."

He turned to her, giving in to the laughter now, eyes full of the soft kind of love that made her chest feel warm.

"You know what? I’ll buy you ten cheeseburgers. Just- just don’t touch mine ever again."

Y/N reached over and took one fry from his bag, innocently looking at his through her lashes.

"No promises."

extra :: comments;

"NAH THE WAY HE CLUTCHED THAT CHEESEBURGER LIKE IT WAS THE MOST PRECIOUS THING 😭😭😭 i’m screaming"

"matt really said ✨ fight or flight ✨ and chose violence to protect a sandwich 💀"

"'my phone is yours' BUT NOT GIVE A BITE OF HIS SANDWICH 😭 love language? nonexistent"

"the way she looked at the burger and he INSTANTLY offered it in pain 😭😭 this is PEAK couple content"

"not matt protecting the burger like it’s a baby and then acting like nothing happened 😭 he’s so unserious i love them"

"THE LOCKSCREEN BEING HER PIC AND HER UNLOCKING IT LIKE IT’S HER OWN PHONE 🥹 they’re so married idc"

"the way his soul LEFT HIS BODY when she moved her hand 😭😭 bro thought he was about to be robbed or smt"

"yall are so funny and perfect together, please never die 😭🙏🏻"

© vanteguccir

[adelliet]

Bob Reynolds x f!reader

DREAMY VACATION

Summary: You've been sent on vacation to take a break from saving the world, but there's no hiding from your emotions that will eventually take over.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, strong language, alcohol consumption, body insecurity, Sentry awakening (just for a second), erection, breast play, oral sex (m & f receiving), unprotected sex (p i v), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, hickeys

A/n: Hii! So uhm this is LONG AS FUCK, like a literal novel so I am warning you. Anyways I wanted to thank you for 1k followers?! How?! You have no idea how much this means to me. I am grateful for each and every one of you and I will try my best to improve my writing. Hopefully you will like my future projects as much as you've liked the ones I have done so far. Anyway if you have any ideas, suggestions, or anything else, feel free to text me. Also, I apologize for any grammar mistakes or phrases that might not make sense—English isn’t my first language :3 But I hope you enjoy the story! <3

Masterlist

You and the rest of the Thunderbolts had been deployed to Spain on what was supposed to be a critical mission. The briefing was vague but urgent, something about a potential global threat developing near the coast.

On the plane to Alicante, you sat down next to Bob. He looked tense. Really tense. He was gripping the armrest like it might fly off on its own. His face was pale, and his shoulders stiff as stone.

“Hey,” you said gently, nudging him with your elbow as you got settled. “You okay?”

Bob didn’t answer right away. He blinked, clearly trying not to throw up, and then murmured, “Um… do you maybe wanna sit by the window instead?” He didn’t look at you, just stared straight ahead like a man facing death.

Without missing a beat, you nodded. “Sure. Come on.”

You stood up and let him shuffle over into your seat. The second he sat down, he let out a deep belch, followed by a hoarse, “Oh God…”

You were already leaning closer, scanning his face with concern. “You good?”

Your hand found his knee, giving it a comforting rub. His eyes were squeezed shut, his hands now gripping the tray table for dear life.

He nodded slowly, jaw clenched. “I’m okay. Just… hate flying.”

You offered a soft smile and stayed close. “I’ll be right here the whole time, okay? Just breathe.”

He nodded again, and despite how miserable he looked, his posture softened slightly, just enough to tell you that your presence was doing what your words couldn’t.

“I’ll go get some water and a bag, just in case,” you told him gently, already sliding out of your seat. Bob gave a tiny nod, eyes still shut, lips tight as if even opening them would invite disaster. You made your way down the aisle, stopping a flight attendant with a polite smile and a quick explanation.

She gave you a knowing look. “Nervous flyer?”

“Something like that,” you chuckled.

A minute later, you returned to your row, holding a small bottle of water and one of those crinkly, shame-colored paper bags. Bob looked slightly less pale than before—his hands weren’t as white-knuckled on the armrests, and his breathing had calmed a little. But he still had that I-might-hurl-any-second look going on.

“Here,” you said, sitting back down and offering both the water and the bag. “Just in case. Don’t worry, it’s only a few hours.”

The moment the word “hours” left your mouth, Bob visibly tensed. He choked on his own spit and shot you a wide-eyed stare like you’d just told him he’d have to wrestle an alligator.

You raised your hands defensively. “Okay, wrong choice of words—ignore me.”

Before either of you could say more, the engines began to roar and the plane started rolling forward. Bob immediately slumped into his seat like a melting popsicle, shut his mouth and eyes, and gripped the tray table as if it were the only thing anchoring him to this dimension.

You couldn’t help a soft smile. He looked a bit ridiculous and miserable at the same time.

“This is the worst part,” you said soothingly, glancing out the window as the runway sped beneath you. “It gets better after takeoff.”

As the plane began to lift from the ground, your heart fluttered with excitement. A new mission in Europe. A whole new landscape, new memories. Even if you weren’t saving the world, part of you loved the thrill of the unknown.

You inhaled deeply, a soft smile on your lips… until you felt a touch.

You turned your head just in time to see Bob—eyes still closed, jaw clenched—reach out blindly and grab your hand in his. He didn’t say a word, didn’t look at you. He just held on. Tightly.

You looked down at your interlaced fingers. He was basically crushing your hand, but you didn’t pull away. If this helped him even a little, you weren’t going anywhere.

Your thumb brushed over his knuckles in quiet reassurance. You didn’t say anything. He didn’t either. But something in the weight of his grip, the vulnerability of that small action, felt more genuine than a thousand words.

Sure, your hand might be useless for the next few hours, but somehow that didn’t matter. It was Bob. That’s what made it okay.

The flight dragged on peacefully, and at some point, exhaustion won.

By the time the pilot announced the descent, both you and Bob were fast asleep. The flight attendant’s gentle voice over the intercom was what stirred you.

“Excuse me—we’ll be landing shortly.”

You blinked groggily, and as your senses slowly returned, you realized that you and Bob were still holding hands. The entire flight. Neither of you had let go, not even in your sleep.

You turned your head at the same time he did, both of you blinking at each other in a dazed, half-dream state. Then you both released your grips at once, slowly, carefully.

You cleared your throat, trying to play it cool. Bob straightened his seat and adjusted his hoodie like he could hide in it.

“…Feeling better?” you asked softly, keeping your voice low enough so only he could hear. He nodded, and for the first time that day, smiled at you—not the nervous, half-broken kind, but something real.

“Y-Yeah. Thank you.” His voice was quiet, but sincere.

You smiled back before you even realized it, heart tugging in that dangerous, stupid way it did whenever he looked at you like that.

Sometimes you wondered if Bob Reynolds was even real. Maybe he was a highly advanced hologram, or worse, a social experiment where you were the test subject. Because if he was a trap, a trick, or an illusion… well, you’d already fallen in pretty deep.

The moment you landed at the airport in a sunny seaside city called Alicante, your adrenaline was high, ready to face whatever was waiting for you.

But instead of military vehicles or local agents waiting on the tarmac, there was a giant banner reading “SURPRISE!” flapping in the Mediterranean breeze. An agent, smiling way too much for someone who usually briefed on extinction-level events, greeted you all with the bombshell: “There is no mission. You’re here on vacation for one full week. Fully paid. Mandatory.”

Everyone had a different reaction. Some of the team burst out laughing. A few gave each other looks of disbelief. Alexei screamed, “HELL YES, BEACH TIME!” and fist-pumped the air. Yelena already had sunglasses on. But not everyone was thrilled.

Bucky Barnes, for one, looked like someone had just kicked his dog. Twice. He crossed his arms and muttered, “This is ridiculous. I don’t do beaches.”

“Well, now you do,” said Ava with a smirk. “Welcome to bonding camp, grumpy.”

You were all told this wasn’t just a vacation, it was a “team-building retreat.” You were going to be forced to relax together, apparently to grow stronger as a unit. And no one was allowed to bail.

Despite the chaos of your missions and all the tension in the beginning, over the past few months of cohabitating in Stark Tower, you’d all grown… closer. There were still arguments, sure—someone was always stealing snacks, using someone else’s mug, or playing music too loud at 3AM—but you knew each other now. Knew who liked what, who needed quiet mornings, who hogged the bathroom, and who cried during certain movie scenes (spoiler: it’s more of them than you expected).

But the bond between you and Bob Reynolds stood out most.

Everyone saw it. From the moment you helped rescue him, you’d never left his side. You were the first to check if he was injured, the first to speak to him like a human being and not a walking nuclear reactor. You made sure he was okay. Like some stray dog the world had tossed aside—and you just quietly decided he was yours now.

And the team followed your lead. Despite what he’d done, despite nearly destroying the world and ripping open old wounds in everyone’s psyche, they welcomed him with open arms. Because you did.

“Vacation?” Bob raised an eyebrow, looking genuinely confused.

“Yup,” John said with a grin, giving him a playful nudge. “That’s when you don’t do anything and it’s totally fine. You should try it sometime.”

Bob didn’t look convinced. If anything, he looked suspicious of the concept. His whole life had been built around duty, damage control, and trying not to explode. The idea of just… existing with no expectations felt foreign. Maybe even dangerous.

“Alright folks, let’s move out,” Yelena called, hoisting her bag over her shoulder with that bossy tone everyone obeyed without question. She might’ve shared the leadership role with Bucky, but she had the charisma of someone who got things done.

Like a herd of reluctant high schoolers on a mandatory field trip, the team followed—grumbling, joking, dragging their feet, but moving.

The drive wasn’t long.

A sleek black limousine pulled up to your destination within the hour. A row of elegant, private beach cottages spread out before you, nestled in a secluded cove just outside Alicante.

The sand was pale gold, soft as powdered sugar, stretching out toward the turquoise horizon. The sea shimmered beneath the sunlight, waves gentle and lazy. Palm trees lined the perimeter, their leaves rustling with every breeze, casting just enough shade to make the heat feel like a pleasant hug instead of a punishment.

The place felt untouched. Quiet.

Not exactly deserted—but exclusive. You could see why no ordinary tourists were lounging here. It wasn’t just the off-hour, it was the price. This was the kind of luxury reserved for diplomats and billionaires. For people who’d seen too much, done too much, and needed the world to shut up for five minutes.

For the first time, you felt the weight of silence around the team. Not the awkward kind—just a collective breath being held, like everyone was realizing at once how damn beautiful it was here.

The agent who’d escorted you out of the airport handed over two keycards with a charming smile. “One cabin for four men, and one for three ladies,” he said, giving them to Bucky and Yelena respectively.

“Enjoy yourselves.”

And just like that, he was gone, limousine and all, leaving you standing under the cloudless sky, surrounded by the scent of salt and coconut sunscreen.

You glanced around, soaking it all in. Then your gaze shifted to Bob. He was already looking at you. The moment your eyes met, he flinched and immediately turned his head, pretending to be very interested in a nearby bush.

You snorted quietly to yourself, lips twitching with amusement.

“This one’s ours, I guess,” Yelena said, pointing toward the cottage just a few steps away. Even from a distance, the place looked like it belonged in a luxury travel magazine. Creamy-white walls, light wooden trim, huge windows, and a little porch with hanging hammocks swaying lazily in the breeze. A dream come true.

You, Yelena and Ava made your way over with your bags. Yelena slid the keycard, and the door clicked open. The inside was even more stunning.

It was like stepping into a Pinterest board. The walls were painted in soft seafoam greens and sun-washed whites. Rattan furniture, pastel cushions, and airy curtains gave the space a coastal, boho vibe. There was a faint scent of lavender and driftwood in the air—relaxing, expensive, comforting.

Sunlight poured through the huge windows, illuminating a common area with plush couches, a breakfast bar stocked with fruits and snacks, and wide glass doors that opened directly onto the beach. You could hear the waves as if the ocean was whispering, You’re safe here.

“Holy shit,” Ava breathed out, spinning in a slow circle like she couldn’t believe this wasn’t CGI. “This is nicer than my actual apartment.”

Yelena dropped her bag on the nearest bed with a satisfied smirk. “This is acceptable.”

You couldn’t help but smile. A real, easy smile, the kind that felt rare lately. Everything about this place felt… right and peaceful.

And as you peeked out the back window and saw the boys dragging their bags toward their own cottage, you knew this week was going to be something different. Maybe even healing.

A few hours had passed since you arrived. You’d unpacked, showered, explored the fridge, which was magically stocked with mouthwatering, chef-level food, and finally settled into that post-travel stillness.

The late afternoon sun blanketed everything in golden light as you lounged on the front veranda of your cottage. Yelena had claimed the hammock and was swinging gently, sunglasses on, arms behind her head, looking like a war-hardened goddess pretending to be chill.

You and Ava had claimed two of the hanging lounge chairs, gently swaying as you soaked in the sun. Both of you had sunglasses perched on your noses, and the soft breeze kept the heat from being overwhelming.

“What are we even supposed to do here?” Ava asked, not bothering to open her eyes. Her voice was lazy, relaxed, a perfect match for the quiet waves in the distance.

It was a simple question. One you should’ve been able to answer. But you paused. Because… you honestly didn’t know.

Before you could respond with something vague, Yelena chimed in with a deadpan comment that made both you and Ava snort with laughter. It was something about team bonding meaning “not-murdering each other in close quarters,” and that this counted.

Then you added, perfectly flat, “I didn’t even bring a swimsuit.”

Ava blinked, then looked over at you. “Wait, me neither.”

“Didn’t expect this,” you muttered. “Was packing for death, not tanning.”

Yelena groaned. “Okay great. Let’s go buy swimsuits now. Or we’ll end up stuck here melting like idiots on a porch for the rest of the week.”

She was right, so without much debate, the three of you grabbed your canvas totes, wallets, and phones. None of you were wearing anything particularly beach-shopping-appropriate, but it didn’t matter. The streets near the coast would be casual, laid-back—just like the air already felt.

Of course, this wasn’t just a swimsuit run.

You were three women, unsupervised, in a beach town, surrounded by potential sales racks, accessory stands, cafés, and tourist traps. There was no way you were only coming back with swimwear.

As you walked past the guys’ cabin, Yelena suddenly veered off toward the door.

“I’m gonna see if any of the boys want to come with us,” she said casually.

You and Ava paused, hanging back by the path and watching her disappear into the house. After a beat of silence, Ava tilted her head toward you, voice sly behind her shades.

“So… are you two dating?”

You frowned, confused. “What?”

She shifted her sunglasses down her nose just enough to raise her brows. “You and Bob.”

Your eyes went wide. Your mouth dropped into a dramatic, perfect “O.”

“What— no, pffft, no! We’re just… friends. Like you and me.”

Ava laughed softly, but her gaze stayed locked on you, way too perceptive for your comfort.

“Then why don’t you look at me the way you look at him?”

The question hit harder than expected. You froze. Your heart did that thing where it picked up speed, like it was trying to run away before your brain could even catch up.

You opened your mouth to respond—but didn’t get the chance. Yelena reappeared, walking toward you like she owned the world, flanked by Johnny and Alexei, who looked far too amused to be joining a swimsuit shopping trip.

“They’re coming,” she said with a smirk. “Apparently the boys need suits too. And they want to pick out something ridiculous for Bucky.” That got a laugh out of all of you.

You glanced past them, half-hoping Bob would be in the group.

He wasn’t.

A tiny sting settled in your chest—nothing sharp, just that quiet flicker of disappointment. Maybe he needed rest. Maybe he didn’t feel like going out. Maybe… you were overthinking again.

You shook the thought away and caught up with the group, quickly weaving yourself into the casual chatter about the town, the ocean, and just how absurdly gorgeous these beach houses were.

Still… you couldn’t help but glance back, just once, at the boys’ cabin. Maybe he was watching. Maybe he wasn’t. But part of you hoped he’d noticed you were gone.

The shop you found wasn’t some cheap tourist trap. It was small, chic, and clearly catered to high-end beachgoers with taste. White walls, light wood floors, soft acoustic music playing in the background, and racks of curated swimsuits arranged by style, not size. It even smelled nice, like sunscreen and coconuts and fresh linen.

You, Yelena, and Ava wandered through the racks like hunters in the wild, each with your own goal. Ava leaned toward white or black prints. Yelena made a beeline for anything tactical-looking or black. You? You didn’t know what you were looking for, until you saw it.

A white two-piece bikini, delicate but bold.

The top had thin, adjustable straps and a soft triangle cut that showed just enough while still keeping you comfortable. The fabric was smooth, almost pearly under the light, and hugged your shape in a way that felt way too flattering. The bottoms were high-cut at the hips, elongating your legs, and dipped just enough in the front to make you feel sexy.

You held it up, biting your lip.

The fitting rooms were individual little cabins with thick curtains and full mirrors, and for a moment, you just stood inside yours, staring at yourself.

The bikini really did fit, almost suspiciously well. The white stood out against your skin like it was made for you. It hugged your waist, shaped your chest, gave just enough curve to make you hesitate. You adjusted the straps, turned sideways, checked again.

You weren’t sure if you felt powerful or exposed.

Still undecided, you pulled the curtain back and stepped out barefoot onto the cool wooden floor. Yelena was standing just outside, holding a one-piece camo-pattern swimsuit that looked like it belonged in some military-themed Sports Illustrated shoot.

When she turned to look at you, her face froze for a second. And then she blinked. Twice.

“Oh my god,” she said loudly. “Bob’s going to get an erection so hard he’s gonna pass out.”

You stared at her, completely stunned. “Yelena!”

She shrugged, utterly unbothered. “What? It’s true. That bikini is illegal. You look like someone who knows how hot she is.”

You couldn’t help it, you laughed. That loud, shocked kind of laugh that felt like it echoed off your ribs.

“I’m not getting it just because of Bob!” you protested.

“Sure. Of course,” Yelena said, already turning to hang her swimsuit back on a rack. “You’re getting it because of you. Which happens to be the same you that wants Bob to think about you every time he blinks.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but nothing came out. Because maybe she wasn’t totally wrong.

You looked back at yourself in the big mirror. Your fingers lightly touched the strap on your hip. Yeah, part of you wanted Bob to notice. And part of you was absolutely terrified he would.

“…Okay,” you said quietly. “I’ll take it.”

The walk back from town was filled with laughter and light teasing. John and Alexei were leading the way, both proudly swinging shopping bags, one of which contained a ridiculous pair of swim trunks Alexei had picked for Bucky, covered in pineapples and flamingos, while Bob’s were thankfully simple and classic.

You held a bag in one hand and kept your eyes on your feet, but no matter what, you couldn’t stop your thoughts from drifting.

What’s Bob gonna do when he sees you in this bikini?

You hadn’t meant to obsess over it. The idea had just settled in your mind. Naturally. Like it belonged there. And now it was stuck. Even as Ava was telling a story about how she accidentally bought three identical sarongs, your mind wandered right back to Bob.

The moment you and Ava set the bags down on the porch with a thud, Yelena clapped her hands like a general calling her troops.

“Alright, troops! Try on your swimsuits, we’re playing beach volleyball in ten!”

You exchanged an amused glance with Ava. You were all tired, even Yelena was complaining on the way back how well she'll be sleeping. Guess that thought was gone now.

Still, the energy in the air was contagious and none of you had the heart to say no, so Yelena texted the guys while the rest of you headed to change.

When you stepped outside, the sun was warm on your skin and the sound of the ocean made everything feel like a dream. Bucky and Alexei were already out there, stretching and tying up the net between two poles. John stood nearby, casually tossing the volleyball between his hands.

But Bob wasn’t there.

Your breath hitched slightly, but before you could spiral, Ava appeared behind you and gave you a sharp slap on the butt.

“Relax, your loverboy probably just got distracted picking the perfect outfit,” she teased.

You rolled your eyes with a groan, but your heart was beating just a little faster. You walked over to the group, the sand soft under your feet.

Bucky noticed you first. His eyes lingered for a second longer than they probably should have, but he kept his expression locked down – soldier mode. Alexei, on the other hand, had zero filters.

“WOW, GIRL, LOOK AT YOU!” he shouted across the beach. “YOU LOOK LIKE A GODDESS! AND YOU TOO! AND YOU TOO!!”

He even stumbled into the net and collapsed dramatically, like your beauty had physically floored him. All of you burst out laughing. It was ridiculous, but sweet.

Walker stood back, saying nothing, just calmly observing like always, the ball still rotating between his palms.

“Let me help you with this,” you offered, moving to Bucky’s side and helping him secure the net to the post. You worked silently for a moment until he glanced at you and said, in his typical stern voice: “You look good.”

You smiled. “Thanks.”

Then, behind you, you heard the soft click of the cabin door opening. Your head instantly turned.

Bob stepped out. He wore a plain green T-shirt and simple black swim shorts. His hair was a little tousled from the wind, and the second his eyes landed on you, he froze.

You gave him a small, friendly wave.

He just stood there. His brows twitched. His jaw tensed. Then, as if his legs had remembered how to move, he took a step forward and tripped a little in the sand. Your heart did a backflip.

“See?” Yelena appeared beside you, slapping your shoulder. “Told you he’d be wrecked when he saw you.”

You laughed, half in embarrassment, half in disbelief, and shook your head. “Shut up.”

“Alright, LET’S GOOO!” Alexei yelled, clapping loudly before peeling off his shirt in one dramatic motion. The dude was built like a Greek statue.

Then Bucky followed suit, revealing defined abs and a torso clearly sculpted through years of combat training. All of you fell into stunned silence for a moment.

Even Walker, who hadn’t said a word, took off his shirt and casually joined the group. His body was lean, defined, quiet strength. Bob arrived near the group, awkwardly raising a hand.

“Hey,” he mumbled with a sheepish smile. All eyes slowly turned to him waiting. Expectant.

He looked around nervously. “What? Did I—?”

And then he realized. He looked down at his own shirt, then back up at the group.

“Oh! Uh… I think I’ll keep the shirt on. I’m kinda cold,” he laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck.

You blinked. Cold? You didn’t believe him for a second, and you were pretty sure no one else did either. Still, no one pushed him. It was Bob. If he needed to keep his shirt on, he could.

Yelena turned to split the teams. “Alright, someone from the guys can join us, but anyone except Ale—”

“GOING WITH MY GORGEOUS LADIES!” Alexei yelled, cutting her off and dashing over to your side like a golden retriever on espresso.

Yelena let out the longest, most defeated sigh and rubbed her temples.

Teams were decided, and as fate would have it, you and Bob ended up on opposing sides. The game was lighthearted at first, filled with laughter and playful banter. But then John raised the stakes.

“How about this? Winning team gets treated to a round of rum by the losers!”

A collective cheer erupted, and the game intensified. The air buzzed with laughter, the sounds of sneakers shuffling and palms slapping against the volleyball echoing across the beach.

You were focused, at least, you were trying to be. But every time your eyes met Bob’s across the court, something fluttered in your chest. It wasn’t just the look he gave you, it was everything about him.

The way his green shirt clung to his chest, damp from sweat, outlining the gentle definition of his torso; the way his dark hair was slightly tousled, sticking to his forehead; the way he kept glancing at you when he thought you weren’t looking.

And he was looking.

Almost every single time you looked over at him, his eyes were already on you. And every single time, without fail, he’d catch himself and look away. Fast. Like a startled animal. His Adam’s apple would bob slightly as he swallowed hard, clearly rattled by something—by you, maybe.

But then came the moment he didn’t look away.

You looked across the net, searching for Bob again, and there he was, watching you. He didn’t flinch this time. He didn’t look down or pretend to scratch his face. He stared. And you, feeling just a little bold, gave him a playful wink.

That did it.

Even from across the sand, you saw the way his face lit up red. Not just a hint of blush, but full-on, ear-to-ear crimson. His lips curved upward in a tiny, embarrassed smile—so small you might’ve missed it if you weren’t watching for it.

And of course you were watching. The next serve came. Fast. Too fast. You turned just a moment too late, the ball whizzing past your shoulder and hitting the sand behind you.

Point lost.

Your teammates groaned in playful frustration, and you raised your hand apologetically. “My bad,” you laughed, even though inside, your stomach was doing backflips. Bob was still watching. Except now, he looked like he was having a different kind of crisis.

He shifted his weight from foot to foot, his fingers tugging at the hem of his shirt nervously. His jaw clenched. His chest was visibly rising and falling faster than it should. His arms were tense. His fingers curled into fist, his knuckles white. His eyes were definitely not on the ball.

They were on you.

Suddenly, he took a deep breath and bent slightly forward. “Uh—sorry! I just need a… quick break!” he blurted out, turning so fast he almost tripped on his own foot. Without another word, he jogged off the court and toward the cabins, his shirt bunched up slightly at the back and clinging tighter at the front than before.

Everyone kind of paused.

“Everything alright?” John called after him, spinning the ball on his finger.

“Yeah! Yeah, all good!” Bob replied quickly, too quickly, his voice cracking slightly as he disappeared around the corner.

The group exchanged glances, some shrugged, some laughed. Yelena rolled her eyes. “He probably has bad stamina.”

But your heart dropped just a bit. Something felt off. You didn’t even think, you tossed the ball aside, murmured a quick, “I’ll go check on him,” and broke into a quick jog, sand kicking up around your ankles as you made your way toward the cabins.

Bob barely made it into the room before slamming the door shut behind him, chest heaving, face flushed and mind spinning. He pressed his back to the wood as if trying to barricade himself from the outside world, from you. His breathing was erratic. He glanced down.

“Oh no no no…”

The situation in his swim trunks was unignorable. His erection was pushing painfully against the fabric, a direct result of the way you looked—sweaty, flushed from the game, laughing with your hair a mess, skin kissed by sunlight. The way your bikini hugged your curves. The way your chest rose and fell when you ran. The way you winked at him.

He buried his face in his hands and groaned. This was not supposed to happen.

He tried to steady his breath and think about anything else, but it was useless. All he could think about was you. How close you’d gotten. How dangerous it felt to even have you in the same game, let alone within touching distance.

Then came the knock.

“Bob?” Your voice was gentle, concerned. “Are you okay?”

He froze. Your voice was the last thing he needed right now. It sent a fresh wave of heat through him. His hands curled into fists.

“Yeah! I’m—uh—I’m fine. Just a headache,” he called out quickly, praying you’d leave.

But you didn’t.

“I can come in, I’ll bring you water or—”

“NO!” he shouted. Too loud, too harsh. The silence that followed was gutting. You stood on the other side of the door, frozen in place. “…Bob?”

He could hear it. The confusion in your voice. The hesitation. He hated himself instantly.

“I just—I need to be alone, okay?” His voice was muffled now, pressed into the crook of his elbow as he paced the room. He could feel his heart pounding, his frustration mounting—not just with the situation, but with himself. “Just leave. Please.”

You didn’t speak. He imagined your face, how hurt you probably looked, how your brows might have creased, how your mouth might’ve opened to argue before you stopped yourself.

Then… footsteps. Soft. Fading. Gone.

He felt the loss immediately. Like something had been torn out of him. He let out a heavy breath and leaned forward, pressing his forehead against the door.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, too late. “I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean to yell.”

No answer.

“Please don’t be mad… I just—I didn’t know what to do, okay? You—you do things to me, and I panicked. Please, come back.” But the hallway was empty and the only response was silence.

As you stepped out of the cabin, your eyes burned with unshed tears. You quickly wiped them away with the back of your hand, forcing a shaky breath through your nose.

“Hey, is Bob okay?” Ava asked, glancing toward the cabin you’d just exited.

You hesitated for a second, then nodded with a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “He just said he had a headache,” you replied, your voice carefully even.

You walked toward the volleyball net and joined the opposite team—the one now short a player with Bob gone. “Let’s keep playing,” you added cheerfully, hoping no one would question it further.

To your surprise, the game was good. Fast-paced. Fun.

Even with the ache in your chest, you gave it your all. Maybe even because of it. Every hit, every run across the sand, every cheer was your way of forcing yourself to focus on something else—anything else.

And in the end, your team won.

Yelena, Ava, and Alexei groaned in dramatic defeat while you, John, and Bucky raised your arms in victory. “Winners get the drinks!” Walker grinned.

“Fine,” Yelena rolled her eyes. “But we’re picking the place.”

The sun had dipped lower in the sky now, casting a soft golden glow over the beach. The heat lingered though, a warm comfort against your skin. Everyone decided to freshen up a bit before heading out, and you slipped into something light—a black fishnet-style dress over your swimsuit, barely-there but airy enough to keep cool.

The girls whistled playfully at you as you walked out, and you returned their teasing with a twirl and a wink. But your heart still felt heavy.

The bar you ended up in was cozy, loud with laughter, music humming low in the background. The lights were warm and soft, casting shadows across everyone’s faces. You weren’t drunk—just a little lightheaded from the rum, the kind that made your thoughts buzz and your limbs a bit too loose.

Yelena stuck by your side most of the evening. She laughed with you, poked fun at Walker, and even made a show of challenging Alexei to a drinking contest. But at one point, she leaned in, her gaze a little too knowing.

“You’re smiling,” she said gently, “but your eyes are somewhere else.” You blinked and looked away, sipping from your drink.

“I’m fine,” you murmured.

Yelena sighed and gave you a long look. “I’m gonna go talk to Ava for a bit, okay? You good here?”

You nodded. “Yeah. I think I need some time alone anyway.” She gave your hand a light squeeze, then disappeared into the crowd.

You sat in silence for a while, swirling your drink, the taste of sugar and burn lingering on your tongue. Your gaze drifted around the room, but you weren’t really seeing anyone. The voices blended together. The laughter felt far away. Until one voice didn’t.

“Hey…”

You froze. Slowly, your eyes shifted to the side.

Bob.

He stood just beside you, looking awkward, guilty, and entirely out of place. His hair was a little messy, his green shirt slightly wrinkled like he’d been sitting in one place too long before deciding to come. His voice was soft. Tentative.

“…Can I sit?”

You just nodded faintly and let out a small, wordless hum of agreement.

He took the seat next to you, cautious, like he wasn’t sure if he really had the right to be there. You could feel his nervous energy radiating off him. His fingers fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. His leg bounced subtly beneath the bar. It was obvious he’d been overthinking every second since earlier.

There was a long pause before he finally spoke.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his voice strained but sincere. “About before. I didn’t mean to—” He hesitated, sighed. “I panicked. That’s all. I didn’t want to shout at you like that. I don’t even know why I did. I just… freaked out.”

You were still leaning against the bar, your head tilted slightly sideways, cheek resting on your folded arm. With your other hand, you absently played with the rim of your empty glass, turning it slowly between your fingers. You didn’t look at him, but your shoulders rose in a small shrug. It wasn’t cold—it just said I hear you. But I’m still processing.

He bit the inside of his cheek, clearly frustrated with himself, then tried again.

“I really am sorry. You didn’t deserve that. Can I… can I buy you another drink? Something strong, maybe? Vodka?”

That finally got a soft sound out of you—a short breath that wasn’t quite a laugh. You sat up properly, brushing your hair back and meeting his eyes, just briefly.

“No thanks,” you murmured. “I don’t wanna get drunk.”

He nodded, looking down at his hands, embarrassed. “Right. Of course. Sorry.”

The quiet between you stretched again, but it didn’t feel quite so heavy now. Just… tentative. Cautious. Slowly, your expression softened, even though the sadness still lingered. You could see how hard he was trying—how guilty he looked, how much he regretted that brief flash of temper. And even if it still hurt, you knew it hadn’t come from a place of cruelty. Just fear.

You sighed gently, then gave him a tiny nod. “It’s okay,” you said at last. “I get it.”

His eyes flicked up to you in relief, and he nodded eagerly. A beat passed before you tilted your head slightly. “Are you having anything?”

He blinked. “Uh… no. Acohol— I don’t really— It doesn’t go well with me.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he chuckled, a little shyly. “I’m not exactly the fun drunk type. More like the ‘embarrass myself and then cry about it later’ type.”

That finally earned a genuine smile from you. A small, honest one. “Alright,” you said.

“What if we uh…drink something sweet? Like juice?” Bob suggested cautiously and you nodded with a hum.

Bob grinned sheepishly and waved at the bartender, ordering two fruity, alcohol-free drinks. When he slid yours toward you and caught the way you looked at him, smile soft, eyes warm, his ears turned a little pink. You raised your glass and clinked it gently against his.

As the conversation carried on, whatever tension had existed between the two of you earlier slowly dissolved, like mist in the morning sun. You laughed together, genuine, unguarded laughter, and it felt easy again. Comfortable.

Before long, you completely forgot why you’d been upset in the first place. Bob was being his awkward, charming self, and it was disarming in the best way. He made a silly comment about the drink being too fruity for a “manly guy like him,” and you rolled your eyes so hard it made him laugh. You teased him back, and time began to slip by, unnoticed and unchecked.

Eventually, Bucky appeared at the entrance of the bar, a little sweaty, clearly ready to call it a night. “We’re heading out,” he called over the soft hum of music and clinking glasses. “You two coming?”

You glanced at Bob and then shook your head with a smile. “We’ll stay a little longer.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow knowingly, gave a short wave, and disappeared with the rest of the group. That “little longer” quickly became several hours. The sky outside deepened into full night, the noise of the bar gradually quieted as the crowd thinned out, and you and Bob were still there, talking and laughing like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Then, suddenly, a voice broke through the moment, gentle but firm. The bartender leaned over and said something in Spanish, “Cerramos.”

Your eyes widened, and you let out a soft gasp. “Oh! They're closing.” You jumped off the barstool with a flurry of movement, grabbing your things quickly and tossing an apologetic smile toward the bartender. You replied: “Lo siento!” then turned to Bob.

He was still sitting there, watching you with a puzzled look on his face. Then he glanced at the bartender, and back to you, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“You speak Spanish?” he asked, a bit of awe in his voice.

You laughed and shook your head. “Nooo,” you admitted, grinning. “But it’s not that hard to guess what he said.”

Bob smiled as the realization hit him. “Right… yeah. That makes sense.” He stood up, stretching a little, and pulled a few bills from his wallet to leave on the counter for the drinks. Together, the two of you stepped out into the warm night.

Outside, the air was rich with the scent of saltwater and distant blossoms. The sky was a canvas of stars, crisp and clear, glittering like tiny diamonds. The moon hung low, casting a soft silver glow over the beach. The waves rolled in and out in a slow, steady rhythm, their gentle crash against the shore creating a peaceful, natural soundtrack that filled the quiet spaces between your laughter.

You walked side by side along the sand, your bare feet leaving prints behind you that the tide would soon claim. Every so often you’d bump shoulders slightly, accidentally-on-purpose, and Bob would smile that sweet, crooked smile of his. Conversation flowed as effortlessly as the breeze around you.

Then, your tone shifted—just a little softer, more curious. “Can I ask you something?”

Bob glanced over at you and gave a small nod, already bracing himself for whatever was coming.

“Why didn’t you take off your shirt?” you asked gently. “Back when we played volleyball?”

He inhaled deeply through his nose, then scratched the back of his neck, suddenly looking uncomfortable. His fingers tugged slightly at the fabric of his shirt. When he finally spoke, it was in a quiet voice, and he avoided your gaze.

“I guess I’m just… not that confident. About my body, I mean.”

He let out a soft, nervous snort through his lips, something between a sigh and the sound horses make when they’re annoyed, and looked down at the sand as if it had the answers.

He paused, then looked up at you, his eyes full of something vulnerable, raw, and honest. “But I’ll get there. One day.” A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Just… not yet.”

You nodded slowly, not saying anything at first. You looked down, watching the way your feet pressed into the sand, how your steps left soft imprints that trailed behind. You understood. Completely. And more importantly, you respected it.

Your silence wasn’t judgment, it was empathy. And as the two of you walked on, bathed in moonlight and ocean air, it was clear that even unspoken things had a way of being heard between you.

Bob walked you back to your cabin, the two of you moving a little slower than before, as if neither of you truly wanted the night to end. When you reached the steps, there was that moment, an awkward little giggle shared between you as your eyes both dropped to the ground, trying to avoid the tension hanging in the air. But it was there, unspoken and electric. You felt it in your chest, and judging by the way Bob was fiddling with his fingers and nervously rocking on his heels, he did too.

Maybe it was the rum still lingering in your system, or maybe it was the feeling of confidence bubbling up from the hours of honest conversation and gentle laughter. Either way, you found yourself standing a little taller, just bold enough to speak your mind.

“I don’t think you have anything to be ashamed of,” you said, your voice soft but sure, a small smile playing on your lips as you looked at him. Bob lifted his gaze, eyes wide with something between surprise and fragile hope, like a puppy waiting to be told it’s a good boy.

“I think you have a beautiful body,” you added gently.

The moment the words landed, his eyes locked with yours, and the connection was intense. Warm. Heavy. It hung in the air between you like a string pulled tight.

You could see it in his face that he felt it too. His lips parted slightly, as if he was about to say something, but then his nervousness took over again. He let out a small, breathy laugh, looked to the side, and scratched the back of his head. His cheeks turned a brilliant shade of red, and his voice came out unsure and stammered.

“You too… you have a nice body. Not like—in a creepy way or anything! Just, uh… like, you know…”

He was tangling himself in his own compliment, flailing to land it gracefully, and it made your heart melt just a little more. Smiling softly, you lifted both hands in a surrendering gesture, giving a single nod with a calming expression.

“I get it,” you assured him gently. “Thank you.”

Relief washed over his face, and both of you started to laugh again, this time more naturally, more connected. The night felt sweet, even a little magical. You didn’t want to go inside. You didn’t want this to be the part where he left, where things faded into goodnights and what-ifs.

Something in you, maybe the remnants of courage, maybe the warmth still blooming from that last drink, refused to let him go. So, you decided to take a risk. A brave one.

“Can I kiss you?”

The words came out direct, sincere, without apology or hesitation. They hit Bob like a thunderclap. His eyes went wide and fractured with shock. You could see his heart stop and start again just by the way his chest moved. Goosebumps appeared along his arms, his breath caught in his throat, and his entire face flushed deeper than ever before.

“I-I… I mean—I… um,” he stumbled, blinking rapidly, completely overwhelmed.

You didn’t push, but you did move closer, stepping into the space between you, your hands slowly, carefully, rising to his chest. You placed them there gently, barely a touch, more of a whisper than a grip, and you could feel his heartbeat fluttering beneath your fingertips, pounding like a wild drum. The moment you touched him, he froze. His whole body stiffened, eyes locked on you, his lips slightly parted in stunned silence.

You tilted your head up, catching his gaze with a bold, flirtatious glint in your eye. Then you bit your lip, slowly and deliberately, giving him that look—the kind that stripped away all doubt.

“May I?” you whispered again, your voice lower, breathier, your fingertips brushing against his shirt as your palms moved slightly over his chest.

He inhaled sharply, the sound trembling through his lips, and after a second that felt like forever, he nodded—quickly, wordlessly, his entire body trembling with anticipation.

A sly, satisfied smile crept onto your face at his permission. You rose onto your toes as he instinctively leaned down to meet you halfway. And when your lips finally met his, it was as though the world simply fell away.

The background noise, the wind, the waves, the sound of cicadas, melted into silence. There was only warmth, only him.

His lips were soft, tinged with sweetness from the drinks you’d shared, and you felt a wave of heat roll through your body.

At first, he kissed you carefully, cautiously, almost as if he wasn’t sure if this was real. But the moment you leaned in hungrily for another kiss, something shifted in him, he melted into you completely.

Your arms slid around his neck, pulling him in closer, anchoring him to you. He responded instinctively, his hands finding your waist with gentle hesitance, holding you like you were delicate and precious, like the wrong touch might break the spell. His fingers traced small circles against your back, sliding slightly higher as he began to kiss you deeper, more surely.

And then you started to sigh—soft, involuntary little sounds escaping your lips, muffled between kisses. That was it. That was all it took to make Bob shudder slightly against you, his grip tightening just a little as he buried himself more completely in the moment.

For a man so shy, so careful with his words, his body was now telling you everything you needed to know. Your lips danced together under the stars, wrapped in each other’s arms, feeling the warmth of each other's bodies.

The kiss between you and Bob deepened quickly, the heat building with every brush of lips, every inhale that seemed too sharp, too needy.

Bob began to let out these quiet, helpless little moans—soft, desperate sounds that made your heart stutter and your core clench with hunger. His breath was hot, uneven, as if he couldn’t quite keep up with what he was feeling.

But then, just when things began to slip into something hotter, more dangerous, you pulled away.

Your lips left his with a quiet, breathy pop, and Bob’s eyes fluttered open in confusion, his brows furrowing as you took a small step back. You reached into your bag, rummaging clumsily, fingers searching for your keys. His expression was adorably baffled—eyes wide, lips parted, his chest still rising and falling too fast.

He didn’t even get the chance to ask what you were doing. Before he could speak, you found the keys, turned, and unlocked the door with a soft grunt of effort. The handle resisted for a moment—just long enough to make you curse under your breath. But then it gave way, and without a word, you grabbed a handful of Bob’s shirt and yanked him inside with you.

The door slammed shut behind you.

And then you were on him again.

You pushed him up against the wall before he could even blink, your lips crashing onto his like you’d been starved of him for hours instead of minutes. He let out a muffled gasp, taken completely off guard, but your mouth, your touch, the fire burning through you, it overwhelmed him. It shut off whatever part of his brain had been trying to stay grounded.

He melted into you, hands clinging to your waist like it was the only thing anchoring him to reality. But you weren’t slowing down.

You pressed your body hard against his, clutching at his shirt like it was the only thing keeping you from falling apart, pinning him to the wall with a surprising strength, despite your smaller frame. Your kiss was ravenous, unrelenting. Every time his breath hitched, it only drove you more.

But Bob still had some part of him trying to be responsible.

“Wait—wait, what about the others?” he asked, panting between kisses, his voice shaky, his lips still brushing yours. His hands remained at your hips, uncertain but not resisting.

“They’re asleep,” you breathed without hesitation, already leaning in again.

You kissed him hard, and he let out a startled noise in the back of his throat, half protest, half surrender. But just as your hands started trailing lower down his sides, he gently pulled back again, his eyes wide, his whole body trembling like he was barely holding on.

“I-I mean, I—” he stammered, clearly overwhelmed, caught in the tug-of-war between nerves and need.

But you were on fire. Every pulse in your body throbbed with want, and the heat between your thighs was unmistakable, impossible to ignore. You leaned in closer, placing a hand flat against his chest, feeling the frantic beat of his heart. Your eyes locked on his and your voice dropped into something sultry, something that made his breath hitch.

“Do you want me?” you whispered, your words low, teasing, soaked in longing.

Bob’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. His lips parted, but no sound came out. He was frozen, wide-eyed, staring at you like you were made of fire and he couldn’t decide whether to run or let himself burn.

So you stepped in closer. Your bodies were touching now, pressed chest to chest, and your mouth hovered barely a breath from his. You tilted your head, eyes fluttering half-shut, your voice dipping into a softer, flirtier murmur.

“Do you want me, Bob?”

This time he nodded. Hard. His breath caught in his throat, and a deep, shaky sound escaped him. His hands clutched tighter at your waist like he was afraid you might vanish.

Then you gave him the final push—the one that made everything else fall away.

“Do you want me… right now?”

His answer wasn’t words. It was a low, desperate sound from deep in his chest and another frantic nod, his eyes burning with need. That was all the answer you needed. All the answer he could give.

And then your lips were on his again, fiercer this time, hungry and hot, and whatever doubts had been in his head melted away with each breathless kiss.

But the kisses between you and Bob grew messier, deeper, more desperate. There was no longer any hesitation, only raw, breathless need. Soft, pleading moans slipped from both your lips between every frantic brush of your mouths, and each sound only made the other crave more.

Bob’s hands fumbled at your waist, your neck, your hips, trying to be everywhere at once but still so careful. His swim trunks were starting to grow tight again, and the heat in your own body was unbearable. Your swimsuit clung to you, soaked through with arousal, even tho all you had done was kiss.

Stumbling into your room was chaotic, clumsy. Bob bumped into the wall, you tripped on your own feet, giggles and gasps filling the space between frantic kisses. But somehow, with limbs tangled and hearts racing, you made it to your room. You barely managed to shut the door behind you before dragging both of you toward the bed.

With one firm but gentle push, you toppled Bob onto the mattress and let yourself fall with him. You landed on his chest with a bounce, both of you breathless and grinning, and then, before he could even process it, you rolled off and stood quickly. You turned back toward the door, locking it with a soft click. Then, you turned around again and froze for a beat.

Bob was sitting at the edge of your bed, completely still, his chest rising and falling in fast, shallow breaths. His hair was messy from your fingers, his lips red and swollen from your kisses and his eyes were glassy with lust, with longing. His pupils were huge. His face was flushed. And lower down, his erection was unmistakably visible.

You had never felt like this about any man before. Not like this.

You let your purse fall to the floor without a second thought, fingers slipping under the hem of your fishnet dress. With a slow, deliberate tug, you pulled it up and over your head, tossing it somewhere onto the floor.

Now, standing there in only your swimsuit, you began to approach him. Slowly, like a predator circling prey. The hunger in your eyes was impossible to miss.

Bob didn’t move. He couldn’t. He watched you the entire time, mouth slightly open, hands resting on the bed like he needed the mattress to ground himself.

You stopped in front of him and brought your hands up to cup his face, leaning in to kiss him again—but this time it was slower. Gentler. A soft, intimate prelude.

His hands found your cheeks too, fingers stroking your skin, and he tried to pull you back down onto him. But you resisted. You pulled back just far enough to look him in the eyes.

“Can we… get rid of this?” you asked with a playful smile, tapping a finger against the center of his chest.

His eyes dropped to your finger, then flicked back up to your face. He swallowed hard, clearly nervous.

“We don’t have to,” you whispered, your tone low and teasing. “But how about a deal?”

You licked your lips slowly, letting your gaze drop to his mouth before lifting it back to his eyes.

“If we take this off,” you said, finger still resting on his chest, “then we also take this off…” Your hand drifted up, motioning briefly toward the top of your swimsuit.

That was all it took.

Whatever fear had still lingered in him melted away instantly. His fingers gripped the hem of his shirt and, without a single pause, he pulled it over his head in one swift, fluid movement and tossed it aside. No hesitation. No second-guessing. He wanted this. He wanted you. Badly enough to show you a part of himself he’d just admitted he was ashamed of.

But the moment your eyes dropped to his now bare torso… your jaw practically hit the floor.

He was stunning. Broad chest, strong shoulders, abs like something sculpted by a god, toned arms with just the right amount of muscle, exactly how you liked it. Your breath caught in your throat. You hadn’t expected this. Not from someone as shy and self-conscious as him.

You looked back up at him, wide-eyed with a mix of disbelief and awe. Your lips parted slightly, but no words came.

Bob sat there, half-nervous, half-burning, unsure how you’d react—until he saw your expression. And even though your reaction was silent, it told him everything. The look on your face said it all.

You knelt down slowly, your eyes still locked onto his body as if mesmerized, and began showering him with a cascade of kisses. They rained down over his skin, his chest, his stomach, his sides, each kiss playful, some lingering, others accompanied by soft, teasing licks or the occasional gentle bite.

It tickled him a little, making him laugh under his breath, his abs tightening instinctively. He wanted to reach out, to touch your hair, cradle your face, pull you close—but he hesitated. He didn’t want to startle you, didn’t want to break the moment or push too far. So he kept his hands behind him, gripping the mattress like an anchor.

“You’re beautiful,” you murmured in between kisses, your lips brushing against his skin with every word. Your hands rested firmly on his thighs, fingers splayed out, grounding yourself as you explored him with both touch and mouth.

“So beautiful,” you repeated, almost breathless with admiration. You couldn’t get enough of him. You kissed every inch of skin you could reach, tasting the warmth of his sun-kissed body, losing yourself in the way he squirmed slightly beneath your lips.

Eventually, the hunger in you built beyond just kisses.

You looked up at Bob, meeting his eyes. He looked dazed, utterly blissed out, but beneath the surface, there was something else. He was waiting. For your part of the deal.

A mischievous smile curled on your lips.

Still on your knees, you slowly straightened up and reached behind your back, fingers deftly untying the knot of your bikini top. With a small motion, you let it slip off your shoulders, revealing your bare breasts to him.

Bob’s jaw literally dropped. His eyes widened and locked on you like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. His hands dug into the mattress, and through his swim trunks, you could see the very visible twitch of his hard-on as it reacted to the sight.

He wanted to touch you so badly. You could see it. The craving in his eyes. But he still held back, being a gentleman, respecting your pace, refusing to make a move without permission.

“Wanna touch?” you asked, tilting your head and giving him a knowing smirk.

His face lit up like you’d just handed him the keys to heaven. He nodded eagerly, licking his lips, his hands already twitching to move. He slowly reached out but paused again, eyes flicking to yours, searching for that last bit of reassurance.

You gave him a small nod.

And then he touched you.

Gently, reverently, like you were something sacred. His hands cupped your breasts with a mixture of awe and need, his thumbs brushing softly over your skin. His touch was warm, tender—curious yet careful.

He didn’t grope. He explored. Played. Worshipped. One hand cradled the underside while the other traced slow circles around your nipple, sending delicious shivers down your spine. He was in heaven, and judging by the way his breath caught every time you so much as sighed, he wanted you to feel that same bliss too.

Bob looked up at you, his hands still cradling your breasts as if he were holding something fragile and precious. Then his gaze flicked to your face, a bit hesitant.

“Is this okay?” he asked softly, voice low and tender.

You smiled, nodding, and that smile alone seemed to ease something in him. You weren’t just okay—you were glowing. It felt good, the way his fingers explored you with such care, and the look in his eyes made it all the more intense.

And it definitely did something to him. You could tell from the way his chest rose with every breath, how his eyes occasionally fluttered shut like he was overwhelmed. Still, after a moment, he pulled his hands away, clearly not wanting to get too carried away without your lead.

You leaned in again and kissed him.

It was slower, deeper. Your hands roamed his body, savoring the shape of him, the tension in his muscles, the way he melted under your touch. His hands were verywhere. Moving over your back, your hips, your sides, as if trying to memorize every inch of your body.

But you remained on your knees, just slightly lower than him, even as the kiss grew hotter.

Then one of your hands started to travel—leaving his neck, gliding down over his chest, his stomach, until it reached the waistband of his swim trunks. You paused there. Not moving or rushing. You stopped kissing him and looked up at his face.

Bob’s eyes followed your hand, then quickly returned to yours. There was a storm behind those eyes—desire, definitely, but also uncertainty.

You gave him a slow, sultry smile, tilting your head ever so slightly as if to say, It’s okay. I want this too. He exhaled shakily, his lips parting, and after a moment, he nodded.

With the same care he’d shown you earlier, you hooked your fingers into the waistband and began to pull them down. Painfully slow. Your eyes never left his face, watching his expression shift—excitement, nervousness, and that unmistakable tension of anticipation.

As the fabric slid down his thighs and hit the ground, your breath caught audibly. You gasped so loud that even Bob flinched a little, startled. You hadn’t expected… that.

There it was—thick, veined, heavy, and already so hard it twitched in the cool air. The way it stood against his toned stomach, pulsing gently, made your pulse echo right along with it.

You couldn’t help but whisper in disbelief, “And you’ve been hiding this the whole time?”

Bob let out an awkward little laugh, clearly flustered. His cheeks flushed deep red, not just from arousal, but from your stunned compliment. He looked away for a second, bashful, and mumbled something incoherent.

Carefully, you reached out and brushed your fingers against him. The moment your skin made contact, his body jolted, just a little, and he let out the softest whimper, almost a sigh.

You looked up again, eyes wide and a little wicked, and bit your bottom lip.

Slowly, your hand began to move, gentle at first, as though you were still getting to know this part of him. He trembled beneath your touch, trying to stay quiet, but his hips shifted involuntarily, betraying how sensitive he was.

His hand gripped the sheets tightly, knuckles pale. He was trying so hard not to make a sound—to keep still so he wouldn’t wake the girls in the next room—but you weren’t making that easy.

The pressure, the rhythm… it was enough to undo him. But then, before he could fully process what was happening, you leaned forward and kissed the tip. Bob let out a strangled sound and tensed, as if his whole body was about to short-circuit.

You looked up at him, holding eye contact the entire time. At first, you were teasing—pressing soft kisses to the sensitive head, letting your tongue glide around it lazily, deliberately. His thighs trembled. He bit down on his lip so hard it turned white.

Then you got more serious.

You took him in slowly, still holding his gaze. Bob’s lips parted, his eyes fluttering half-shut, and a shaky breath escaped him like it had been trapped in his chest for hours. His entire body tensed as if overwhelmed by the sensation.

He tried to stay quiet, tried to keep his hips still, but sometimes his body moved on its own, bucking up just slightly, and he immediately muttered a breathless apology every time it happened.

You didn’t rush. You let the anticipation burn slowly, letting him feel everything.

“God—” he whispered under his breath, hips twitching slightly, and then—“I’m sorry,” he added instantly, as if ashamed of reacting too strongly. You didn’t mind. In fact, it made your heart race.

The way he melted for you, how his body surrendered so easily, he wasn’t trying to be dominant or in control. He wasn’t trying to hide how much it affected him. And that vulnerability? It was intoxicating.

You could hear how much it meant to him in every breathy sound, every shaky exhale, every stifled moan. He whimpered again, high and desperate, and the sound echoed in your mind like a reward.

His fingers were digging into the mattress, every muscle tight with restraint. He whimpered again, soft and broken, and your innocent gaze stayed locked on his, only intensifying everything he felt.

Then slowly, deliberately, you reached up and took his hand—guiding it to your head. He hesitated at first, breath shaky, eyes wide with uncertainty. But you gave him a sweet calm look that said it’s okay. That you trusted him. That he could touch.

His hand accidentally tangled in your hair, gripping a bit too tight, and when he realized, he gasped and immediately loosened his fingers.

“Shit—I’m sorry—are you okay?” he stammered, guilt flashing in his eyes.

You looked up at him again, lips still wrapped around him, and gave the tiniest nod, reassuring him you were fine. More than fine. You loved seeing him like this. Raw, undone, his tough exterior peeling away one soft moan at a time.

And it hit you, too. That fluttering heat in your chest. That ache between your legs. The feeling of being wanted this much. Of making someone feel this good. His reactions lit a fire inside you. Every twitch of his thighs, every tremor in his voice—it all made you feel powerful and delicate at the same time.

Bob’s hands were restless now. One gripped the sheets, the other hovered near your head again, as if unsure whether he was allowed to touch. You leaned into it, and he gently threaded his fingers through your hair, this time softer, more reverent. But his voice was breaking. Little, helpless gasps.

Whispers of your name.

And once or twice—a shaky, choked-off moan that sounded like he might cry if you kept going. But you didn’t stop. Not yet.

Because the way he trembled under you, the way his stomach clenched and his legs shifted, the way he sounded like he was falling apart, that was everything.

Bob was right on the edge, his whole body was trembling, his hands clenching the sheets like he was holding on for dear life. And when he finally came, gasping your name like a whispered prayer, you didn’t pull away.

You stayed with him. Took everything he gave you.

He let out a sound somewhere between a cry and a moan, overwhelmed beyond words, his hips twitching from overstimulation as you gently helped him through the last waves. You even cleaned the rest of him up with soft, careful kisses, and that alone nearly made him whimper again.

“Jesus…” he breathed out, barely able to speak, a hand running through his tousled hair as he looked down at you with wide, dazed eyes. “I– I’m sorry.”

You tilted your head slightly, surprised. “What for?”

His voice was small. Fragile. “For… everything? For that being too fast? For—” he swallowed, looking embarrassed, “—for not lasting longer. I didn’t mean to be so…”

You climbed up to him and silenced him with a kiss. Not hurried, not demanding, just soft. Tender. Full of comfort.

Your hands cupped his cheeks, thumbs stroking his flushed skin.

“You don’t have to apologize for feeling good,” you whispered against his lips. “That was perfect.”

His eyes closed, his breath catching. He looked like he might cry for a whole different reason now.

You gently straddled his waist, not quite there yet, but close enough that the shift in energy was obvious. Your thighs pressing lightly against his sides, his hands flew instinctively to your hips. Not in a needy grip, but gentle, hesitant. Your body was warm and ready, and you were preparing to fully connect, but before you could guide him further, Bob stopped you.

“Wait,” he whispered, voice still hoarse.

You paused, blinking down at him, your brows gently furrowing. “What’s wrong?”

His eyes met yours, and something was different. The nervousness that had clouded his gaze earlier was gone. What replaced it was soft but firm, confidence built not from ego, but devotion.

“I want to take care of you now,” he said.

A small smile curved your lips, your heart skipping a beat at how genuine he sounded. “You don’t have to, really—”

But Bob shook his head. “No. I want to. I need to.”

There was something so deeply sincere in his voice it made your chest ache.

You gave him a soft nod, and he smiled, one of those rare, crooked, bashful smiles that melted you inside. Then, with gentle hands, he shifted you. Slowly, carefully, he rolled your body so you lay on your back in the center of the bed, like he was positioning you at the heart of a sacred space. His arms hovered around you, cradling your movement so you never felt dropped, never out of control.

He knelt between your legs, just watching you for a moment. You were laid out beneath him, chest rising and falling, hair fanned out across the pillow. He looked awestruck.

His hand came to your side. “Can I touch you?”

You nodded, lips parted, your voice caught somewhere between breath and heartbeat. “Yes.”

His hand slid up along your ribcage, following the natural shape of you with reverence. He wasn’t just touching—he was memorizing. Like every inch of your skin mattered. Like you were art.

He kissed you again, slow, coaxing, warm. And as the kiss deepened, he murmured against your lips: “Can I take these off?”

His fingers were resting lightly at the waistband of your swimsuit bottoms.

You nodded. “Please.”

Bob peeled the fabric down slowly, as if every inch was a treasure to be revealed, not a secret to be rushed. His eyes never left your body, and his hands trembled just a little.

Once the swimsuit was off, he let his fingers trace lightly along your inner thighs, but never without looking up at you first.

“Is this okay?” he asked softly, his breath brushing over your bare skin.

You nodded again, heart pounding. “Yes.”

And then he lowered his mouth to you.

The moment his lips met your most sensitive spot, your whole body arched. But it wasn’t just the touch—it was the tenderness, the intention. Bob wasn’t careless or clumsy. He listened. He adjusted every motion based on how you sighed, how your breath caught, how your fingers curled in the sheets.

His movements were soft, exploring. He let his tongue move in long, unhurried strokes, drawing out your reactions—your sighs, your tiny gasps, the way your fingers curled into the sheets. You felt your body start to unravel under the attention, your hips shifting instinctively, needing more.

His hands held your thighs, steadying you but never trapping you. He let you move against him. Let you guide him with nothing more than the sound of your breath. His tongue moved slow, experimental, reverent. And as he began to read your body, he grew more confident.

Every flick, every gentle suck, was delivered with the knowledge that he was giving you pleasure, not taking it. He wasn’t doing this to prove something. He was doing it because he wanted to worship you.

“God, Bob…” you whispered, voice cracking as your fingers found his hair.

He hummed at the sound, and the vibration sent another shiver racing through you.

He learned quickly. How you liked it slower, how a certain flick of his tongue made your whole body twitch. How your voice caught every time he sucked softly at just the right spot.

“Yes… yes—so good,” you breathed, your hips moving almost without permission.

The way he reacted to your pleasure, how eager he was to see you fall apart, made everything more intense. He was moaning softly too, like just tasting you made him dizzy with need. He liked knowing you wanted him there. That you trusted him there. He never once looked away from you, not even when he grew bolder, more confident.

He explored every inch of you with his mouth like you were something to be adored, not conquered. And every sound you made, every shiver in your body, only spurred him on.

Your breath started to catch, your thighs tightening around his shoulders as the pressure inside you coiled tighter and tighter. He felt it. Saw it. Knew it.

And he didn’t let up.

His hands squeezed your hips gently, anchoring you as he focused entirely on giving you what you needed. He stayed right there, lips and tongue working with delicious rhythm, sending shockwaves through you with every stroke.

You were close. So close it scared you.

“Bob,” you gasped, voice breaking. “I’m— I’m gonna—”

But he didn’t stop. He didn’t even hesitate. He wanted this for you.

The wave crashed over you so suddenly, so completely, it stole the breath from your lungs. Your back arched, a sharp cry escaping your lips as you came—shaking, pulsing, everything unraveling under his touch.

Bob held you through it. Never pulling away, never letting you feel alone. Even as you trembled and gasped and whimpered his name, he stayed with you, riding the waves with the same quiet patience he always gave you.

And only when your body finally relaxed, chest heaving and limbs limp, did he slowly lift his head.

His mouth was glistening, cheeks flushed, eyes wide and shining. And when he saw you looking at him, completely undone and breathless, he smiled the softest smile you’d ever seen.

“You okay?” he asked gently, his thumb brushing along your thigh. You nodded, dazed and glowing, trying to catch your breath.

Bob slowly crawled back up your body, leaving a warm trail of kisses across your skin. He moved as if afraid to disturb the peace settling over you, like he was returning to you from a place of worship. When his face hovered above yours, he looked into your eyes for a long, quiet moment.

Then he leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead.

His hand came up to your hair, brushing it back with slow fingers, like he couldn’t quite believe you were real. Your heart squeezed.

You reached up to cup his face and pulled him into a soft, lingering kiss—sweet at first, but quickly deepening. The electricity between you hadn’t faded. If anything, it had only grown stronger now that there was nothing between you but skin and trust.

Still breathless, you moved, shifting your hips just enough to push him onto his back. He let out a surprised little laugh as you rolled with him, your bodies twisting together until you were on top of him, straddling his hips. The heat between you flared instantly.

He looked up at you with wide, reverent eyes, his hands resting gently on your waist as if asking silently for permission to hold you there.

You leaned down and kissed him again—slow, deep, melting into each other with every heartbeat. Your fingers ran along his chest, down his sides, grounding yourself in the solid warmth of his body. You could feel him against you, hard and throbbing, and it sent shivers down your spine.

This was it. The moment you’d both been tiptoeing toward.

You pulled back just enough to look into his eyes. “Are you ready?” you whispered.

Bob nodded, cheeks flushed, his eyes glassy with emotion. “Only if you are.”

“I am,” you said softly, and meant every word.

Your hand found him again, guiding him with care, your breath hitching as the tip pressed against you. You moved slowly, lowering yourself with a careful rhythm, taking him in inch by inch. Both of you gasped—Bob’s hands gripped your hips tightly, trying not to buck up into you.

The stretch made your whole body burn, but it was a sweet, full ache, one that had been building from the first time he looked at you like you were the sun.

Once he was fully inside, you stilled, letting your body adjust, both of you panting softly. Bob’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment, his jaw clenched, as if overwhelmed by how deep it all felt—emotionally and physically.

“You okay?” he asked, breathless, voice barely a whisper.

You nodded, your hands braced against his chest, your body trembling slightly. “You feel… amazing.”

A shaky laugh left his throat. “So do you. God, so do you.”

You started to move—slow, steady, your bodies learning each other. Every thrust, every sigh, every soft gasp between kisses told its own story. It wasn’t just sex. It was connection. It was trust. It was two people baring everything, souls and skin, just to be close.

You moved together in perfect rhythm, hips rising and falling in sync, his hands mapping your body like he never wanted to forget a single inch. And with every moan, every whispered name, every breath you shared, love wrapped tighter and tighter around you both.

Your rhythm picked up—slow and deep giving way to something needier, hungrier. The friction between your bodies grew more intense, breaths turning to gasps, gasps to moans. The sounds of skin against skin, the creaking of the mattress beneath you, the soft rustle of sheets, it all blended into a symphony of desire that filled the space around you like firelight.

Bob’s hands roamed your back, your hips, your thighs—desperate to hold you, ground you, memorize you. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you. You were glowing. You were everything.

And then he sat up, his arms wrapping around you as you stayed straddled on his lap. Your chest pressed tightly against his, your lips meeting his in a fevered kiss. He held you there, anchored you to him like he was terrified of letting you go.

You clung to him just as tightly.

Your mouths moved together like you were breathing the same air. His tongue tangled with yours, his hand cupped the back of your head, pulling you even closer. But then his grip on your waist tightened.

Hard.

You gasped softly at the pressure, your hips pausing. You pulled back just slightly, your forehead still resting against his, trying to catch your breath. And that’s when you saw it.

For a split second, just a flash, his eyes glowed. Golden. Not metaphorically, a actually glowing. And then it was gone. Blink, and you might’ve thought you imagined it. But you didn’t.

Bob froze. His arms loosened immediately, and panic flooded his face. “Shit—did I hurt you? I didn’t mean to—I’m sorry, I just—”

“Hey,” you said gently, your hands coming to rest on either side of his face. “You didn’t hurt me.”

He was breathing fast, his brows drawn tight, clearly shaken by the moment. “I felt something… I didn’t mean to grip you that hard.”

You nodded slowly. “It's okay.”

He winced. “I- I'm sorry, I don’t want to scare you, or—God—I don’t want to lose control around you.”

You leaned in, pressing your forehead to his again. “You didn’t scare me, Bob. You trusting me with that… it means more than I can say.”

His breath hitched and before he could say anything else, you kissed him again, before guiding his hands back to your waist. This time, his grip was steady. Gentle. Confident.

And then you moved again.

The pleasure hit like a wave crashing into shore, harder than before, deeper. His hands gripped you tighter, not in fear this time, but in raw need, in love, in reverence.

You kissed his neck, his collarbone, his shoulder, whispering his name like a prayer.

You rocked against him, and he met every motion, your bodies tangled in something that went beyond skin and muscle, it was soul-deep. The sounds coming from him, breathy moans, quiet whimpers, your name, drove you wild.

And then it happened. You felt your climax building again, hot and fast and unstoppable.

“Bob,” you gasped, nails digging gently into his back.

He was right there with you, sweat beading at his brow, jaw tight, voice strained. “I—I’m gonna—”

“Me too,” you breathed.

You crashed into release together—messy, overwhelming. You held each other through it, limbs trembling, lips finding each other again and again, clinging to the moment like it was all you’d ever need.

You collapsed against his chest, your limbs heavy and warm, your cheek pressing into the sweat-slick skin of his shoulder. Both of you were still catching your breath, chests rising and falling rapidly in sync. His arms wrapped around you protectively, and you let yourself sink into him, feeling completely safe and full.

There was a moment of perfect silence, just the sound of breathing, soft and human and real.

Then you shifted slightly, curling up beside him and resting your head against his chest. You could hear his heartbeat, still racing, but slowly calming beneath your ear.

You smiled lazily. “Okay… serious question.”

Bob tilted his head to look at you, already smiling like a complete goof. “Shoot.”

You looked up at him with narrowed, mock-suspicious eyes. “Where did you learn to do that with your tongue?”

Immediately, Bob’s face flushed. He tried to play it cool, but his voice cracked. “I—uh—I watched a couple things.”

You squinted. “What kind of ‘things,’ Bob?”

He swallowed hard. “Just like—like, y’know. Tutorials.”

You pulled back, eyebrows rising. “You watched porn?!”

Bob’s entire face turned bright red. “No! I mean—it was educational! There were diagrams!”

You blinked. “There were diagrams in your porn?”

He let out a strangled sound and covered his face with his hands. “Okay, I regret everything.”

You burst out laughing, the sound echoing through the quiet room. “Bob Reynolds, you little nerd.”

He peeked at you through his fingers, totally mortified but smiling. “I just wanted to be good at it. For you.”

You leaned in and kissed him sweetly. “You were.”

A comfortable silence settled over you again, warm and soft like a blanket. You traced idle shapes on his chest with your fingertips, still smiling, still glowing.

Then Bob’s voice broke the quiet, a little more cautious this time. “Hey… do you… remember the volleyball game? When I kinda bailed and told you not to come?”

You glanced up at him. “Yeah?”

He hesitated, biting his lip. “Well… I sorta… had a situation. In my swim trunks.” He exhaled, long and painful.

Your mouth fell open slightly. “You got a boner?!”

Bob winced, covering his face again. “I’m sorry! It just—happened! You were in that swimsuit and laughing and I don’t know, my brain just… betrayed me!”

You were quiet for a moment. Not judging. Not laughing. Just watching him squirm. Then you reached up and gently brushed a lock of hair away from his eyes. “Bob.”

He looked at you through his fingers again, completely sheepish.

You leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “That’s totally normal.”

His eyes widened a little. “It is?”

You nodded. “Yeah…and honestly, kind of sweet.“ You smiled teasingly. He laughed, relieved, and pulled you close again, resting his chin on top of your head. “God, I like you so much.”

You nestled into him, your fingers laced together on his chest. “Good. Because I really, really like you back.”

The two of you lay there for a long time, tangled together, breathing slower now, hearts lighter. The night was quiet, soft, and full of something that felt a lot like the start of forever.

The golden morning sun filtered through the thin curtains, dancing lazily over tangled limbs and a rumpled blanket. You and Bob were still wrapped around each other—bare skin against bare skin, your head on his chest, his arm draped protectively over you. Your legs tangled, breaths slow, hearts steady.

A knock. Sharp. Three times.

“Hey, you coming to breakfast or are you dead?” Yelena’s voice chirped from behind the door.

Your eyes snapped open in panic. You bolted upright under the blanket, your heart immediately in your throat. Bob groaned quietly, still groggy, eyes not fully open yet.

You whispered, “What time is it?!” your voice barely audible and full of dread.

Bob blinked, looked around helplessly, and shrugged. “I—uh… no clue.”

You covered your face with both hands. “We’re dead. We’re actually dead.”

Yelena knocked again, softer this time. “We're going now, just letting you know.”

You scrambled to respond, “Yeah! I’ll be there! In a sec!”

Bob turned to you, now slowly realizing the situation. The blanket slid down his chest, revealing faint marks from your mouth the night before.

You stared at him. “We need to get dressed. Now.”

It was mayhem. You both jumped out of bed, frantically looking for clothes. You grabbed your swimsuit top, which had ended up halfway across the room, and pulled on a hoodie over it. Bob, on the other hand, was still stumbling, holding only his swim trunks in one hand, his shirt nowhere to be found.

“You can’t go out the door!” you hissed. “Someone could see you!”

“Then what do I do?!”

You gestured to the window. “Jump out.”

“Are you serious?”

You gave him a deadpan look. “Bob. You’re a superhero. I think you can survive this.”

He groaned dramatically, pulled on his swim trunks and shirt, then paused before the window. You rushed over, stood on your tiptoes, and gave him a rushed, smiling kiss. “Go. Before someone sees you.”

He opened the window, one leg already out, then looked back with a crooked grin. “You’re chaos.”

You grinned. “You love it.”

With that, he slipped out and disappeared into the early morning light.

Later that morning, everyone gathered at a nearby rustic café for breakfast. You sat at a corner table, sipping coffee, trying not to look suspicious. Yelena sat beside you. Bob was diagonally across, seated next to John. The chatter around the table was casual—about the lake, someone’s forgotten towel, who burned marshmallows last night.

You and Bob exchanged occasional, brief glances. Not long. Just enough to pass a message between you. A silent, thrilling electricity. You could still feel the echo of last night under your skin, and judging by the way Bob nervously rubbed the back of his neck, so could he.

“Dude…” John leaned closer to Bob, squinting. “What the hell happened to your neck?”

Bob blinked. “Huh?”

“You’ve got like, bruises or something. All over here.” He pointed.

Bob’s brows furrowed and instinctively reached for the spot. “What are you talking about?”

He tilted his head, clearly unaware. Your fork froze mid-air. You looked straight down at your plate. Yelena turned to you. Her eyes widened slowly. Then, lips barely moving, she mouthed with a dramatic grin:

“You. Fucked. Bob.”

You nearly inhaled your scrambled eggs. Your face heated like wildfire. You avoided everyone’s eyes, especially Bob’s. Meanwhile, Bob was trying to deflect. “Maybe I slept weird or—uh—bug bites?”

“Mmhmm,” John muttered, unconvinced.

You dared a glance at Bob. And that was it—your eyes met, and he knew. His brows lifted just slightly. His lips parted. You both quickly looked away.

Yelena leaned into closer to you and whispered, “I knew it. I heard really weird noises last night.” “Yelena, shut up.” She just chuckled into her cup of tea.

As the conversation drifted elsewhere, your face still radiated heat. Across the table, Bob leaned his elbow against the table and rested his cheek on his hand, sneaking one last look at you. You caught it—and gave him the tiniest smile.

This week was going to be… very interesting.

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING!

I hope you guys enjoyed it! If you have any suggestions, don’t hesitate to let me know! I’d also be super happy for any feedback; whether it’s a reblog, comment, like, or even a follow.

HAVE A LOVELY DAY,

BYEEE📙🦋

[m4tthewmurd0ck]

a love that makes sense

── bucky barnes x fem!reader (former avenger, currently part of the thunderbolts*)

word count: 3.7k

clearing up a few things timeline wise, to avoid confusion. infinity war happens in 2018, thunderbolts* in 2027. the events of the winter soldier happen in 2014 so when i eventually mention how long reader and bucky have known each other, its 13 years.

no use of y/n but i do use she / her. no physical descriptors other than reader being shorter than bucky (sebastian is 5’11 - 6’ so do with that what you will). powers are similar to that of wanda maximoff, but i don’t write about them in this part. hero name is Dark Surge (where wanda’s powers have a red energy, your color is black, hence the name). readers parents are both dead.

baby girl is back on the big screen and my writing gears are turning again. inspired by @aquaticmercy! their entire masterlist is stunningggggg, and brb im gonna go re-read right now. this is my take on the secret wife trope with thunderbolts* bucky, but someone on the team already knows 👀

*NOTE: benjamin poindexter is not bullseye in this. i just need a name that’s easy to associate being a piece of shit with hshxjsidnxfj

also i am a slut for a backstory, so sorry if you hate long pieces but get a snack and get comfortable

SPOILERS FOR THUNDERBOLTS* BELOW THE CUT!!!

Bucky hated the idea of a gala to introduce the (rich) world to the team.

To the new Avengers.

Valentina said it would be good for you to show face, that it would be the first planned public outing as a group.

Sam Wilson had made it known he didn’t like you all using the Avengers as your team name, what with him trying to sue for copyright, and Valentina was a little too quick to point out that now was the time for a united front. The public needed to see that not only were you heroes, but that you were also a real team.

None of you could see how dressing up and playing nice with the upper class would prove that, but you all discussed and decided it was better not to argue.

Yelena pointed out that the Thunderbolts, or Avengers, or whatever the team name was, basically owned Valentina. Bob was on your side again, and even Valentina knew that all it would take was one of you going to the press to expose her.

But it was Alexei who said Valentina was right. The world knew who you all were as individuals, but they’d yet to see you as a team in a somewhat normal setting.

You suspected he just wanted a chance to dress up and have people admire him, but kept quiet about that.

But back to why Bucky hated the gala.

It wasn’t for him. It was true, he didn’t like the idea of having to put on a show, even though he was used to it since becoming a congressman. And he hated that he could hear the whispers of the general public, who often referred to him as the Winter Soldier behind his back.

No, he hated this for you.

Of everyone on the new team, you were the only one of the original Avengers. You’d joined shortly before Loki and the whole attack on New York, having been recruited by Steve.

And as the only original Avenger, people tended to pay extra attention to you. He knew without a doubt, you’d be smiling for more photos and answering more questions than any of them.

You loved what you did, that you got to help people. But you didn’t like how public it all was. You missed when you were an unknown vigilante working (mostly) alongside the law. When you took on smaller problems like robberies or attempted shootings. Because no one knew who you were back then, you weren’t often praised. And that was exactly how you wished it could’ve stayed.

What Bucky hated most, was how he wouldn’t be able to comfort you tonight.

He’s known he loves you since before he could even remember what love was. You tracked him down to his tiny apartment in Romania, but didn’t tell Steve right away. You gave him 6 additional months of peace, while slowly inserting yourself into his life.

And while his memory was foggy, he wasn’t stupid. He knew who you were when you approached him at that outdoor market he used to frequent, but he believed you when you said you had no intention of alerting Steve, yet. That you needed some peace and quiet too.

The first time you helped him through a nightmare, and held him as he sobbed and said he wanted the pain to end, that was it for him. When he woke up the next morning to see you curled up next to him, your hand on his chest as if you needed the reassurance his heart was beating, he knew he didn’t ever want a life without you.

And when you finally opened your eyes and smiled at him, for a brief moment it felt like all was right in the world. You seemed to know how he felt, because you simply moved closer and spoke softly as you told him everything was going to be okay, and that the 2 of you didn’t have to discuss feelings, but you felt the same way.

With all that went down once you finally did have to tell Steve where Bucky was, and all that happened after, your relationship was obviously kept a secret from, well, everyone.

Eventually the 2 of you felt comfortable enough to tell Steve, who smiled as if he already knew. And you then confessed that Nat knew, and had known for a long time because you needed someone outside of the relationship to talk to.

As time went on, the rest of the team each found out in their own way.

Tony found out when he overheard you talking to Nat about how you were terrified to tell him about you and Bucky. Tony was the closest thing you had to a dad, and you didn’t think you could handle him being disappointed in you.

Thankfully, he and Bucky had long ago sorted everything out, and he told you that he overheard you, but you had nothing to worry about. If you were happy, so was he.

Clint found out at the same time as Thor and Bruce, when the 3 of them had taken the elevator up to your floor of the tower to ask about an upcoming mission. They froze as soon as they got off of the elevator, and were met with the sight of you fast asleep, your head on Bucky’s chest as he lazily scrolled to find something good to watch. By then he was genuinely friends with everyone on the team, so he didn’t have much of a reaction to them.

But he sighed, knowing you wanted to tell them yourself. You’d just gotten back from a solo mission though, and were more tired than he’d seen you in a long time. So he simply looked at them and mouthed if you wake her, I will kill you.

All you had to do was mention to everyone that you both wanted to keep the relationship out of the public, and that was it. You trusted them, and knew nobody would ever say anything.

That was a long time ago, though. You didn’t know most of your teammates that well.

You were still on the fence about John. With the recent string of events that had taken place, he’d proven himself to be a good teammate and valuable asset to the team. And knowing what he saw in the void, you felt bad.

But that still didn’t erase the things he’d done in the past. You remembered all too well, what happened when you were working with Bucky and Sam and the wannabe Captain America showed up.

As for the other members of the team, well all except 1, they were nice enough, but you weren’t close enough with them (yet) for you and Bucky to feel comfortable revealing your relationship.

It wasn’t unusual to everyone else that the 2 of you spent more time with each other than any of them, after all you’d known each other longer. But you were worried that one day, someone would catch on before you had a chance to tell them yourself.

Which was how you found yourself in this unfortunate position, wandering around the massive room Valentina rented for the night. She instructed everyone on the team to go off on their own, mingle with the people. And do not stick together like a pack of wild animals being cornered.

Of course, it wasn’t lost Bucky that if your relationship was public, he could ignore her suggestions and just walk around with you, arm in arm. He could pull you in for a kiss, maybe even ask you to dance if these fancy galas did that sort of thing.

And it wasn’t lost on you that if people knew the 2 of you were together, you could comfort Bucky. Like right now, you can tell by the way he’s walking around with his metal hand in his pants pocket and his right hand holding a glass of champagne, the way he keeps looking around as if a threat is close by, that he’s anxious. And anxious probably isn’t even a strong enough word, because you know he hates these public events as much as you do.

“You always come to these things alone?”

You had enhanced hearing, but still felt like you were going to have a heart attack at the sound of an unexpected voice. How had someone managed to sneak up on you? You really had to work on not zoning out in public.

“Pardon?” Not wanting to seem rude, you put on a smile and turned to face the man on your left.

He was tall, and not bad looking. But something about the way he smirked at you put you on edge. He stared as if you were a prize to be won, or he needed time in the spotlight so he spoke to you, hoping one of the few invited members of the press would soon walk by.

“I just asked if you always come to Valentina’s galas by yourself.”

You hoped you didn’t sound as annoyed as you felt.

“Well this is the first event being thrown by Valentina, so no. It’s been a few years since the Avengers have thrown a gala. And even then, Tony only invited respected individuals that we worked with closely.”

The man scoffed. “Right. Guess my invites always got lost in the mail.”

“Guess so,” you shrugged.

“Now that I’m here though, I can keep you company.”

This guy needs to work on his subtlety, you thought to yourself.

You briefly surveyed the room, and found that Bucky’s eyes were already on you. You suspected that he’d been watching since the man first approached you.

You okay? He mouthed. You gave a slight nod, and he turned back to the person he was speaking with, though you knew he’d look back at you once you looked away.

“I’m actually meant to mingle with everyone, but I appreciate the offer…”

“Benjamin Poindexter,” he held his hand out. You hoped your smile was convincing as you shook his hand. He held on just a little too tight, for a little too long.

Before you could step back, you and Benjamin were both startled as a hand not at all gently gave him a pat on the shoulder. You looked to see Alexei, and were never more relieved to see him than you were in that moment.

“How are we doing this evening, huh?”

Benjamin opened his mouth to answer, but Alexei had already put his arm around you and had begun leading you in another direction. Almost as an afterthought, he turned back around.

“Sorry I need her for official superhero business, you understand.”

Only when you were nearly across the room, did Alexei finally stop walking. “Should I kill him?”

You laughed, but had to stifle it when you saw his completely serious facial expression.

“I— no. Hey look at me, no killing him, right?”

“Maybe I just accidentally—”

“No. I really appreciate you saving the day, but I think he was just a weird fan who managed to sneak his way in. Promise me he’ll leave here alive.”

“Oh okay okay, I get you. I wait until he leaves and then—”

“Alexei!”

Yelena approaches, having heard the tail end of your conversation.

“Trust me, I wish I could kill men simply for being creepy as well. But the public won’t love Red Guardian so much for killing a man out in public just for being a creep.” She turned and whispered in your ear, “he won’t be able make it l look like an accident. But I can. We’ll talk later.”

🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋

What feels like a lifetime later, but is really maybe an hour, you’re all seated at dinner. And of course in another effort to whore you all out to the public make people think the Avengers were just like everyone else, the entire team were sat at different tables.

“Well well well, guess it’s my lucky night.”

Oh fuck me, you thought as Benjamin took the seat next to you. How had you not noticed his name on the place cards?

“Hello,” you gave him a nod and tight lipped smile, before turning to survey the room once again.

Alexei held up a steak knife and motioned to Benjamin when he wasn’t looking. When you shook your head, he sighed and resumed conversation with the man he’d been talking to.

You were sad that Bucky was on the other side of the room, so you wouldn’t be able to see him after this long and boring dinner was over.

Ava and Alexei were the only ones who lucked out with table mates.

You turned to your right and saw John sat between 2 men who both seemed to be vying for his attention. He caught your eye, and you laughed and mouthed having fun?, and had to force yourself to not laugh when he slowly raised his hand to flip you off.

Yelena was a few tables away, resisting the urge to grab her steak knife and shove it in the throat of the man speaking to her. He clearly just loved the sound of his own voice, and she hadn’t even gotten a word in. The topic? Himself, of course. And how he could’ve been a hero too if life had dealt him better cards.

Bob was the only one who’d been excused from tonight. Understandably, as he was still recovering from recent events.

Earlier you offered to stay back and hang out with him. The rest of the team agreed that might be a good idea, until Valentina swooped in and immediately said no. That everyone would be wondering where the only original Avenger on the team was.

“So being an Avenger and all that, do you have a lot of free time?” Benjamin asked.

“Umm no, not really. Between missions and writing the reports and training, I don’t have a lot of time for myself.”

“That’s a shame. I was hoping to take you out some time,” he put an arm around your chair while also scooting his closer.

That’s when you finally stood up. “I’m not dating anymore, but again I appreciate the offer. If you’ll excuse me.” You didn’t give him a chance to say anything else before you started to walk away.

Valentina unintentionally saved the day, calling you over to talk to a mayor of some city a few states away. Why he was at this dinner, you had no idea. But after only a minute of conversation, you could tell he was genuinely a nice guy, so this was already a lot better than talking to Benjamin.

After everyone finished eating, the team mingled with guests for another hour before things finally started to wind down. Half an hour after that, and only a handful of people remained.

“Ready to head home? I’m exhausted,” Ava was the last of the group to approach the table you’d all gathered at.

“Yeah,” you looked around the table, “shit. I think I left my phone in the bathroom. I’ll meet you guys at the car.”

Everyone slowly stood up and gathered their things, but Bucky lingered near you. “I can wait for you,” he offered.

You could see he was just as mentally exhausted as you were, maybe even a little more. “It’s okay, I’ll meet you at the car in a minute, I think my phones on the counter by the sinks.”

After double checking, he nodded and turned around to look at the team. They were all talking amongst themselves as they headed to the doors, so Bucky took the opportunity to take your hand in his. “You did good tonight doll, proud of you.”

“Right back at ya’ Sarge,” you smiled.

You held hands a few seconds more, before expertly letting go and making it seem as if you just walked side-by-side. Unbeknownst to each other, you were both thinking that you couldn’t wait until the day came where you didn’t have to do that.

Once exiting the ballroom / banquet room, Bucky turned left and made his way to the exits, while you went right and headed for the restroom.

When you saw your phone sitting exactly where you thought it’d be, you felt relief. As you walked back out, you scrolled through your missed messages and calls, not looking up from your phone.

“There you are.”

You’d later swear your heart stopped when you heard Benjamin’s voice again. And you mentally cursed yourself for not paying attention to your surroundings. This was now 3 times the same man managed to sneak up on you.

“Hi,” you quickly nodded before taking a step towards the doors.

“Not so fast,” his hand reached out to grab your arm, and he wasn’t at all gentle.

You sighed as you tried to remove your arm from his grip, but fear quickly replaced annoyance when you realized he was stronger than he looked. And when he looked up, gone was that smug smile. Now he only looked angry.

“All night you’ve been such a fucking bitch to me, and for what?”

“Let go of me. You clearly know who I am, so you know what my powers are. I don’t want to hurt you.”

He laughed, then leaned down so his face was only inches from yours.

“You think you’re too good for me, because you’re an Avenger and I’m not? I could’ve been a hero too, you know.” He laughed, although there was no humor behind it. His grip on your wrist tightened as he gave you that sick smile. “I can—”

You didn’t get to find out what it was he could do, before a hand reached from behind you and wrapped around Benjamin’s throat. In seconds, he was pinned against the wall.

And even if the hand around Benjamin’s throat wasn’t metal, you still would’ve known who it was that was behind you.

“James,” you turned around and smiled. “I could’ve handled him.”

“Oh I know you could’ve,” he tightened his grip as Benjamin tried to speak and continued to try and remove Bucky’s hand. “You could’ve kicked his ass, but you shouldn’t have to.”

By then, the rest of the team had all come back into the room. Benjamin looked to them as if to silently ask for help, but suddenly they were all preoccupied with the floors and ceilings. Alexei even went so far as to whistle and brush invisible crumbs off of his suit jacket.

Bucky shook his head as he finally dropped his left hand, allowing Benjamin to breathe properly for the first time in a couple of minutes. Any relief he felt was short lived though, because Bucky almost immediately used his right hand to slam him back against the wall.

“You’ve been bothering her all night. And I know exactly who you are. Dishonorable discharge from the Army for sexual misconduct against female superiors. Looked into you after you bothered her the first time. And she,” he nodded towards you while never taking his eyes off of Benjamin. “Has been too polite to tell you to fuck off, but I’m not. If you so much as breathe in my wife’s direction again, it’ll be the last breath you ever take. And if you tell anyone about what’s going on right now, I can promise you that you’ll only wish you were dead.”

With that, he let go, and Benjamin fell to the ground as he tried to catch his breath. He got up after a moment, a hand on his neck as he scrambled for the doors.

“You’re all fucking psychopaths!” He yelled. Yelena took a step towards him, causing Benjamin to yank the doors open, probably running faster than he had in his entire life.

“You okay doll? I knew something was off when you were gone longer than a minute. I meant what I said, I know you could’ve handled it, I just—”

“It’s okay,” you placed your right hand in Bucky’s left. “I kinda like when you come to my rescue.”

You took a deep breath before turning to face the team, all staring at you with wide eyes and open mouths. “I know you have questions, and I promise we’ll answer them all… eventually. Let’s just get home first.”

Alexei immediately opens his mouth. “So you two—”

He was stopped by Yelena, who grabbed his arm and began walking towards the car. “Chop chop let’s go people I have a lot of questions.”

Only a few minutes later, you all finally slumped back in your seats.

“Former Winter Soldier and vigilante both turned Avenger, meet and fall in love. Beautiful!” Alexei grins, giving you a thumbs up in the rear view mirror.

Bucky takes your hand in his, apologizing once again for letting the cat out of the bag.

“Seriously though,” Ava leans forward in her seat. “Does no one know about you two?”

You shrug, “the… original Avengers, is that what we call them? Anyway, they all found out a long time ago. Natasha was actually the first one I told.”

Hearing that you confided in her sister brings a smile to Yelena’s face.

The rest of the ride to the tower is silent. And you end up falling asleep leaning on Bucky’s arm. At one point, he turns and places a soft kiss on your head. The team all turn to look at each other, as if silently asking if they were really all that blind. How had they missed this??

You wake up just as Alexei not so delicately comes to a stop as he waits for the gate to the parking structure to open.

“At least I can finally do this now,” Bucky smiles as he walks next to you, slipping his hand into yours as you head into the tower.

When you all walk into the downstairs lobby area, Bob is there.

“Saw you guys pull in on the cameras. Figured I’d wait to see how the night went.” He looks at you and Bucky holding hands, and smiles. “Oh you guys finally told them!”

All eyes are on you again.

“What the fuck!”

“Wait BOB knew?!”

You and Bucky turn to look at each other. “This is gonna be a looong night.”

why this is called “a love that makes sense” is coming in part 2!

TAG LIST FOR PART 2 ── 10 of 50 spots taken. if you’d like to be added, let me know!!

@rafesgurl | @julesandgems | @escapismurmom | @emmyrietveld0 | @xynnzzzzzzzz | @theb0mbdotcom | @qvynrand | @wasalreadyhere | @teewon | @limitlessxxx

[woncheolisms]

purple and pink. (rafayel x reader)

summary: you and rafayel cover yourselves in paint and (redacted).

word count: 3450

warnings: porn without plot, smut, swearing, nsfw, mdni, fem!reader

tags: @keiva1000 @kindnessspreads @msbyomimi

a/n: my brain is rotting for this man so this is just self indulgent crap atp

You weren’t exactly an artistic person.

You just never indulged in art before. Of course, you admired the craft and thought it was extremely difficult to actually create meaningful art. But you didn’t think you were a particularly creative person, nor did you think you had an eye for such stuff.

Ever since you began dating Rafayel, you would say your appreciation for art had definitely improved. How could it not, considering he spent all day creating it, and in the time he wasn’t, his world was still colored by the lens of it. Rafayel saw art everywhere he went, in the gentle roll of the water where it rippled in fountains, or the timid but pinpoint light of a lone star in a dark sky. He loved describing it to you, and the way he put it would make you look around twice. He had really changed the way you viewed the world.

What you were about to do now wasn’t exactly the kind of art that made you think deeply of the universe, but hey, not all art can make you question your existence. Sometimes you need to create….. lighter pieces.

Stepping back, you stared down at the bed sheet sized canvas you had stuck to the floor, sure that you had used enough adhesive to keep it temporarily in place. The clock on the far wall of the studio told you that Rafayel would be home in a little while, which meant you needed to start the next phase of your plan shortly. But first things first, you needed lighter clothes.

After you had switched your jeans and button down shirt for a thin, short robe, you began pulling down buckets of paint from the storage closet connecting to the main studio. You chose only two, a light purple and a light pink. Both colors you knew Rafayel liked using in his pieces. You might not know a whole lot about art, but you knew him inside out. And you also knew he would love this idea.

You spent the next few minutes going over the canvas with the two buckets, pouring a few globs of paint over it. Small, but dense, with lots of blank canvas around them so they could be spread. You decided to only do two or three globs of each color. After all, wasn’t the art in how the colors would move and slide on the canvas? This should be enough paint for that purpose.

Your face was heating up at the thought of what was about to happen, and you felt almost giddy. When was he going to be home? You couldn’t wait to get started.

As if on cue, the door of the studio clicked open, not making a single sound as your boyfriend lumbered in, closing the door behind him. His white shirt was loose, black pants tight, and you couldn’t help but admire his ass when he turned around to shut the door with a light snap.

“Hey-” He stopped almost immediately upon seeing you, eyeing the half empty paint can you were setting down and the flimsy robe covering your body. A body that was definitely naked under it.

“What are you doing?” You saw his eyes flick over you and then behind to eye the massive canvas you had laid out, along with the little circles of paint looking fresh and shiny on it. You gave him a grin.

“I was hoping we could collaborate for your next piece.” You tugged at his shirt until you both stood closer to the canvas, taking special joy in how confused he looked. His eyes kept darting all over the place to try and make sense of what was going on, and you had to stifle a giggle.

You thought to elaborate on your suggestion by slowly unbuttoning his crisp white shirt. Rafayel raised his eyebrows but didn’t stop you, probably curious to see what you were cooking. You tugged his shirt off his toned shoulders, before going to work on his pants. His hand finally seized yours, tilting his head so your eyes would meet his.

“You wanna tell me what’s going on?” His tone was amused. You hummed almost in thought, pulling your hand away. You tugged on the belt of your robe until it slipped free, and the front fell open. You saw the tips of Rafayel’s ears turn red, and his expression blanked a bit.

“You have paint. You have a canvas. And you have me.” Your voice was a low whisper. You reached into the bucket next to you, palms stretched, until they were both covered in paint. Then you reached one hand up and dragged your fingertips over his bare abs.

The cool paint made them contract a bit, and you heard the way his breath hitched under the touch. Four long streaks of pink now stood out against his pale skin. Finally, you looked back up to meet his gaze, his face inches from yours.

Rafayel’s blush had extended from his ears down to his neck, but the corner of his lip twitched up into a slow grin. His hands were eager as he undid the button of his pants, and you felt a thrill run up your spine. You watched him undress quickly. He was slow, smooth, as he lifted one precise hand to tug on the shoulder of your loose robe until it was falling off your shoulders and pooling at your feet.

He looked around and his eyes caught the second can of paint. Purple. He dipped his hands into it, and you watched him walk back over to you.

“Where did you get this idea, baby?” His voice had lost its confusion, coated in honey now, sultry and low, nearly a whisper, and you shivered when his breath hit your bare neck. He took advantage of the fact that your hair was pulled up and away from your shoulders, tracing gentle lips over the slope of your shoulder. Instinctively, your hands smoothed over his torso, and you were reminded of the paint on them, still wet, now swiped onto the man before you.

Rafayel hummed at the feeling and proceeded to return the favor, his hands set on your hips. The paint was cool on your skin, and you almost jumped at the temperature if it weren’t for his warm hands taking the feeling away in the next second. Your boyfriend gave your naked bodies a gentle tug backwards until you were stepping on paper, slight crinkling noises hitting your ears.

Gentle lips now made contact with yours, and you sighed in relief. You had missed this, just the feeling of him kissing you. You had been thinking about it- and other things- all day, and you were so excited to start. Hands caressed over each other slowly but eagerly, and you couldn’t even begin to imagine how much paint you had managed to get on each other.

Your kisses became more hurried, more firm, and you could feel Rafayel’s body temperature rise a bit. His breath stuttered when you moaned into his mouth, tongues dancing together in a synchronized battle. He nibbled at your bottom lip and you arched deeply into him, nails digging into his biceps.

“Fuck, the paint is drying.” You managed to gasp out when your lips separated, his mouth finding the skin behind your ear immediately. He sucked hard on it, until you shivered and let out a long, shaky breath. Your knees were so weak, and you were glad for his strong arms wrapped around your waist, since it was the only thing currently holding you up.

He hummed against your skin, not letting up on the marks he was marring it with. You had discovered pretty early on that Rafayel was a biter, and marks on your skin was another way he created art. It just so happened that you enjoyed the feeling more than you could ever think to describe.

“Good thing you laid more out for us then.” He responded, referring to the globs just below your feet, before tugging you down until you were sprawled on the canvas below you. It was cool under your skin, and you felt something wet just under your shoulder. Oh. Your eyes met Rafayel’s before they finally traveled down his body for the first time since you two had started. You gulped in a deep breath.

His pale skin was covered in purple and pink streaks, like smooth color streaked over brilliant porcelain. The ridges and bumps of his muscles stood out even more under the paint, and you could tell in a few places the exact route your hands had taken, pink running over his waist and down his V-line. The remnants of the journey your fingers took stood before you, proud on his skin. You felt a thrill run through you at the sight, something stirred in your core.

“This is turning you on.” Rafayel observed, a light smirk resting on his face. You felt your body burn at the teasing lilt of his voice.

“As if this isn’t something you’ve dreamed of doing.” You retaliated, opening your legs so he could fit himself between them, resting his elbows on either side of you so your faces were a hairbreadth away. He hummed and sighed, lowering his body until his erection grazed right over your center, making you gasp.

“Believe me, I’ve dreamed of this.” He sighed, reached for the paint to the left and just above your head. You watched him cover his palm with it before he reached down, hooking a hand under your knee and pulling it up until it folded against your torso. The paint was wet on your skin, and you were learning to love the feeling more and more. His cock prodded your entrance, now on full display for him. He gave you another mischievous smirk.

“Baby I’m about to ruin you so bad.”

The first slide of him inside you had you crying out and arching into him, his cock carving its way through your unprepped hole and bringing with it a burn so delicious it made your head spin. When he bottomed out, he moaned unabashedly into your ear, hot breath hitting the shell of it and sending shivers through your spine. Your core clenched and unclenched rapidly, trying to adjust to the glorious intrusion. Your brain screamed at him to move, to slide in and out, do anything at all. You needed to feel him rock into you. Your hips twitched and jerked, making your boyfriend moan before he finally started moving.

His thrusts started out languid, smooth, gliding in and out of you at a reasonable pace. You sighed, head leaned back and reveling in the feeling it brought, leg tensing under his grip. Little tendrils of pleasure zipped up from where you were connected, heavy cock stretching you open until your pussy was adequately wet, ready to take the pounding you knew was inevitably coming your way.

And oh, did you receive it.

Slowly, steadily, Rafayel picked up the pace until his hips were smacking hard into your pelvis, knocking every breath from your lungs. You cried out, one arm thrown over his shoulder while the other seeked desperate purchase under you, used to the feeling of silk sheets but now met with nothing but smooth, stretched out canvas and the wet sensation of sticky color. Rafayel used the grip he had on your knee to twist your leg out further, inviting him to hit that one spot that made you see stars. A broken wail left your mouth and your back arched impossibly high, hearing a low moan hit your ear when you clenched tight around the cock pounding into you.

“F-fuck, Rafi-” His head lifted, just enough to connect your lips in a desperate slurry of rushed kisses, sucking and biting on your lips as his pace didn’t so much as stutter. Your moans dissolved straight into his mouth, little pornographic ‘yeah, yeah, yeah’s slipping out with every thrust. You didn’t bother muffling them, knowing exactly what the noises did for Rafayel’s ego, and with how he was ravishing you currently, you were okay with giving him a little ego boost.

(You would deal with the consequences of that later.)

“Gonna cum-” You managed to choke out just as your orgasm rammed into you with no warning, effectively silencing any other words as you cried and shook through it, muscles seized tight and legs kicking in the air.

“God- fuck,” Rafayel’s first words. “There you go. Fuck, that’s it.”

He fucked you through the last vestiges of your high before his arms slipped under your arched waist and lifted you up, rolling over until you were perched on his hips, throbbing cock still nestled inside you. The change in position made him slide in deeper, and you let out a broken moan. Your orgasm was still lingering around the edges, encouraging you to prolong the feeling, to chase after it again. And so you did. You rolled your hips, placing your hands on Rafayel’s abs as leverage to push your body up and down. You finally took a good look at your boyfriend.

His chest was heaving with exertion, shining under the glow of the lights above you, catching on the swirling mixes of purple and pink. Under the paint, his skin glistened with sweat, tensing and straining under his movements. The paint had reached all the way up the side of his neck, and even into his hair, blending with the purple tresses. The purple complimented his eyes, half lidded and heavy with lust, his lip was tucked under his teeth.

He was a vision.

“Baby, you’re so fucking beautiful.” His voice was fractured and strained, and in your staring you had forgotten that you were also the object of his gaze. You couldn’t imagine how you looked right now, slathered with paint and hot under the stimulation you were receiving, strands of hair leaving your bun and trailing down over your face and neck. You rolled your hips and tightened hard around his cock, watching the way his jaw slackened and eyes rolled shut. Another zip of pleasure ran through you, and you couldn’t help but keen, pushing yourself to go faster, to make him feel even better.

“I’m- I’m so close.” You could feel your vision swim, tears gathering in your lash line as his cock dug deep into your core, prodding into your spongy walls in all the right ways. Rafayel grabbed both your wrists off his chest, pulling them behind your back and then tugging you down until your body was pinned tight against his. You let him do as he pleased, planting his feet on the canvas before he started thrusting hard and fast up into your sopping cunt.

You screamed and arched, body tensing at the pace he set, chin resting on his shoulder and head thrown back as you let him carry you face first into another orgasm, gushing around him until the sounds of his thrusts grew impossibly wetter, sloppier than the paint around you and covering you, blabbering incoherent phrases and curses as tears poured from your eyes. With every thrust, the ecstasy prolonged itself, like an endless high that came with intense drugs, except all you needed was him, and he would get you there if it was the last thing he did.

Your perspective was shifting, Rafayel’s cock leaving you until you felt cold and empty. He maneuvered you onto your hands and knees, or rather, arms and knees since you felt that you couldn’t even hold yourself up at this point. A firm hand pushed on your back until it arched to his liking, spreading you until he could slide his massive length back into you with little to no resistance. You whimpered pathetically, eyes rolling unhindered in your head, cheek smushed into the paper beneath you. Briefly, you felt like you could almost taste the paint, but the thought left your brain faster than cigarette smoke dissipating on a windy day when Rafayel started moving again.

“Stop me if you can’t take it.”

You could never, would never stop him, not when your pussy keened at the feeling of his cock filling you up to fulfillment once more. Especially not when he planted a foot on your side that gave him leverage to thrust harder and stronger into you. Your body buzzed and reveled under the feeling of being used like this, basking in the sounds coming from Rafayel getting heavier and choppier as he finally chased his own orgasm instead of yours. You wanted nothing more than for him to warm you up, fill you with his seed until you couldn’t take any more of it. Your depraved mind was wiped blank of everything else except that crushing need.

“Cum in me.” You managed to whine, clenching hard around him. Rafayel moaned and his hips stuttered.

“Fuck. I’m gonna- I’m cumming baby, take it, take it, take it, take it-” Your body jostled at the strength of his thrusts, once, twice, and then he was slamming his cock deep into you and holding it there, hot spurts of cum hitting your walls. Painting your insides white like your bodies had painted your outsides purple and pink.

Your entire body collapsed on itself when Rafayel pulled out, dropping onto the paper heavily as you tried to catch your breath. Your vision was swimming and so was your head, unable to do anything but focus on the faint buzz in your muscles. You could hear shuffling somewhere behind you before you were being lifted into strong arms. You sighed and curled into them, seeking the warmth of your boyfriend after the beating your body just took. And he was happy to provide it- in the tub he ran for you while both of you settled into warm water.

You dozed in and out of sleep as Rafayel cleaned you up, giggling and humming along with whatever little anecdotes he was telling you. He knew you would barely remember most of it later, considering how dopey and spacey you got after sex. You pouted and leaned up to him every few minutes, stealing tiny kisses from his lips. And afterwards, you let him pat you dry and put you to bed in the usual “princess treatment” he gave you after one of your sessions. The only time he backed off from teasing you relentlessly and instead doted on you properly.

You couldn’t tell how long you slept, but you woke up feeling well rested. The bed next to you was empty but still slightly warm, and you could hear quiet shuffling outside in the studio.

Your muscles screamed when you forced them to move, your hips and thighs feeling like particular sore spots. You ignored the feeling in favor of pulling a shirt off the floor to throw over your body, realizing it was your boyfriend’s when it fell all the way to your thighs. You trudged out of the room while rubbing the sleep from your eyes. You saw him standing with his back to you, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers. The muscles of his bare back shifted as he moved, now clear of all the paint you two had slathered on it. Oh right, the paint.

Your eyes shifted behind him to the canvas, which Rafayel had propped up against the wall now, and was observing silently. You walked closer to admire the streaks of pink and purple on it, watching it carefully. Somehow, the choppy strokes showed your desperation, your passion, and you felt your face heat up at the thought.

“Looks pretty.” Your voice was slightly rough. Rafayel turned around at the sound and gave you a soft smile, pulling you closer and wrapping his arms around you from behind as you both stared. You settled into his warmth as you swayed gently back and forth.

“Why’re you thinking so hard about it?” You asked.

You turned your head to watch as he huffed and pouted a bit. He looked so cute, you bit back the urge to squish his cheeks.

“Pretty sure there’s some cum in there somewhere.”

Aaaaaand the urge was gone.

You smacked his chest hard, making him jerk back and laugh, but not releasing his hold on you.

“You’re disgusting.”

“Not more than you.”

He kissed you before you could land another smack, hand cupping your jaw to tilt your head back. You fought to keep a grin down, but failed when you felt his lips stretch with a smile of his own, erupting into giggles.

[rapplesart]

Random fic idea

Tim drake but instead of loosing his spleen he lost part of his leg.

Tim thought it was obvious he was missing his right leg from the knee down. It was a whole leg that was missing after all. Sure he was wearing a prosthetic made by Ra's' best people.

One he painfully earned after that crazy fucker made him fight a bunch of his assassins one legged in order to "proof himself as the true heir of the bat he saw in him" or something. So sure, the leg might be more advanced than most, and it imitated natural steps a lot easier and even made it possible to easily run without switching to a different leg. Truly it was a perfect leg be vigilante with. But he never even bothered to give it human like appearances.

But apparently the Fam didn't notice. When he returned with Bruce everyone was too reliefed to give Tim a closer look and it just never came up afterwards.

Tim thought they just didn't want to ask about it in a weird attempt of being polite or even caring. Bruce surely did enough research on how it happened on his own. The man spend the whole travel back to Gotham with Tim after all. Tim truly believed the world's greatest detective would have noticed his missing leg.

Except he didn't. Not if he interpreted the way they looked so incredibly disturbed by is nonchalant way of handlinh the boiling hot chemicals that landed on his metal leg. He just brushed it off, the battle continued and since nothing seemed to be injured no one pressed him when he said "Must've missed me after all"

Now, how do you deal with a family that didn't notice you're missing a leg? That's right you fuck with them.

First thing he did was buy himself a few more realistic looking prosthetic leg. It had to be custom made to fit his stump so it took a whole but it was a worthwhile investment.

The first one was Jason. Call it a twisted revenge for trying to kill him but Tim just really wanted him to be messed with the most. So one day when he knew it was only Jason and him on patrol he strategically set himself down to fall. Crunching some spaghettis to ass in a sickening way only to stand up and walk away as if nothing ever happened.... With his foot toned the wrong way around. Insisting on nothing being wrong and Jason being delusional whenever the older boy tried to get him to get medical treatment. He switched it up the whole evening, whenever he was out of sight he turned the fool right and wrong. Driving the guy insane.

Jason did not sleep well that night. He was also top weirded out and unsure if what he saw was real to talk about it with anyone else.

Then, he challenged dick to a flexibility contest seeing how far they han bend their knees and feet. Even Mr bones are a social construct gymnast Richard Grayson looked horrified as Tim stood there, food bend almost in half, knee twisted to the impossible and what looked lihe a bend in the middle of his leg. Dick claimed cheating except the thing that greeted him when he demanded Tim to puch up his pant leg to expose his trick was a normal looking leg. The first Robin did lots of stretches in the following weeks. His pride was hurt after all.

Finding a way to mess with Damian was a bit more difficult. The brat still made a bunch of harsh comments again and again and he really wasn't close enough with Tim to be easily gaslit. The kid was a trained assassin and was probably used to a bunch of weird shit considering everything Ra's. So Tim decided he could go a bit more gory on Robin than the others. So one night he sat in front of Damians room, in the dark hallway and waited till one of his pets passed him. Once Alfred the Cat came along he made some louder coping noise that would Definetly make the kid look out to check on his animals. It worked just as planned, Damian peeked out his door to see Tim, crosslegged and barefoot on the floor, seemingly cutting off his toe to feed the cat. In reality it was nothing more than a cat treat and carefully picked, animal safe food coloring.

The kid scremed at him, threatened to stab him, punched him real good for harming his cat and took off with said cat to find Alfred so the older man could check on the poor kitten. Of course not beforeaking sure Tim was in an adequate amount of pain on the floor, with his 'injured' food secured to the floor with another knife. Only to return with a worried Alfred on tow to see Tim, standing two whole bare feet with a confused expression and a bag of cat treats in the hall.

Tim got a broken nose for it but it surely was worth it. Especially once he quietly whispered a 'no one will ever belief you' to the kid in passing. He might have traumatised the boy a little but Tim fought it justified for all the attempted murder he suffered.

[redhoodsdeer]

on wheels (tired!reader x mechanic jason)

civil!reader x jason todd

prompt: where the reader's car decides to mess it up on the worst day possible, fortunately the mechanic jason was quite willing to help.

a/n: i finally posted again, and tbh, i didn't really like this one, but i have a thing for mechanic jason that just can't be put into words, i hope you guys love this as much as i love mechanic jason.

It was 10pm on what seemed like the most stressful day of your entire life, everything you wanted was to get home and take a shower long enough for your neighbors to think you were dead, but since this was definitely the worst day of the year, of course you couldn't, and of course your car broke down on a dark Gotham street at 10pm.

Every little thing that could go wrong today, did. Your ran out of coffee and you were way too late to stop by a coffee shop, your work clothes that you were supposed to pick up at the dry cleaners yesterday? still stuck there, your important meeting with your boss? the biggest disaster of your whole career.

All you wanted to do was curl up in an fetal position and cry on the floor until this day became a really distant memory, but instead, you were calling the tow truck at 10pm on a terribly suspicious street in Gotham.

After what seemed like hours of no one answering your calls, you finally got an answer and arrived at the garage, which seemed to be the only 24-hour garage in town, and you were infinitely grateful for that.

Okay, now, you were expecting a mechanic twice your father's age, on a dirty white tank top and a beer belly, you didn't expect that at ten o'clock at night on the day that seemed endless, you would come face to face with a greek god who had escaped from Olympus.

Biceps so big they could break you in two (and you kinda wished they did), the most angelic face you've ever seen, not to mention the white streak in his hair, because of course your mechanic had to be absolutely divine, on the day you were absolutely mundane, your tight skirt stained with coffee (which wasn't even yours!), your face as tired as a construction worker's on the end of the day, and your makeup had abandoned you three disasters ago.

"Ma'am, so what's the deal with the big guy here?" he asks, his voice so deep you thought you might melt. Your voice barely came out, your eyes struggling to stay on the car between you two.

"I don't know, I was on my way home when it broke down, I have no idea what happened, my dad was the one who used to take my car to the mechanic."

And of course the perfect day for you to get used to going to the mechanic by yourself was the same day you tripped in a mud puddle on your way to work and had to walk three blocks back just to take a shower.

He stares at you like you're from another world, before shaking his head and lifting the hood of the car, looking for whatever was wrong with your car.

Your eyes followed every move of his methodically, as if, if you looked away he would disappear and be replaced by a regular mechanic with a beer belly and a bad attitude.

And when he took his grease-stained hands off the hood of the car and turned his blue-gray eyes to you, you felt like you might faint.

"Lucky for you, it's nothing really bad, you've just been a while without an oil change and it's easy to fix." The raspy voice echoes through the shop and you feel your heart beat faster as you slowly nod your head to show that you understood.

"And how much will this cost?" Your voice asks, politely, already searching through your bag for your wallet, which was a bright pink, because you simply felt like everything around you was black, white and gray, and you wanted to have something colorful to remind you of the existence of colors.

As he walked around the workshop, just before he put his grease-stained hands on the hood to open it and change the oil, he gave a little laugh that could have been mistaken for a smirk, and coming from that man, you felt like you needed to lean on something to keep your composure, more specifically, him.

He finished and closed the hood of your car, wiping his hands on a cloth that was lying on a shelf, it might have just been because it was him doing it, but every movement he made sent a wave of heat over you, because everything looked so fucking hot.

But before you could even find your card inside the colorful wallet, a smirk appeared on the man's face, who was now leaning against the side of your car, looking as attractive as humanly possible.

"Chill, it's just some oil change, it's already 11pm on a Tuesday night, you look exhausted, it's on the house, maybe that way you'll become a regular customer" His voice teases and you swear you just felt your heart entangle with your lungs.

There was no way this divinity in human form was flirting with you, of all people, you, at your worst, you were sure your hair that you had delicately styled the night before had given up a long time ago, and you swore you looked as much of a disaster as you could.

But still, there he was, openly flirting with you. "In the face of such an irresistible proposal, maybe my car will break down more often around here, who knows, maybe I'll forget to change the oil again." You shrug, putting your wallet back at your purse and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you smiled at him.

A chuckle escaped his lips as he tossed your car keys back to you. “Maybe you should get my number in case you need help and you’re too far from the shop.” He shrugged, just before writing his number on a worn-sided post-it note that was stuck to the counter and handing it to you.

Your hands touched for least than half a second, and as cheesy as it may sound, you swear you felt an electric wave run through your body the moment your hands touched.

And right there, on the scribbled paper, was 'Jason' written in a sloppy handwriting that made you smile to yourself as you read it.

"Jason, huh?" You ask, looking up from the small note. He just shrugs, a silly smile on his face.

"You'll have to call to find out."

As you drove out of the garage, driving your now, not-quite-broken car, with a smile so big they might think you were leaving a casino after winning a jackpot, finally get to you that this interaction had actually happened, and that the neatly folded post-it note inside your pink wallet really had the number of the hottest guy you had ever seen.

And now, you were hopefuly waiting for your car to break down, willing to even crash into a tree if it would make him appear faster.

It turns out, in the end, your day wasn't so bad after all.