#and even if they did is not their problem

[flipflopmasterr]

I got so mad due to the fact that I couldn't draw mullet stans face properly (after app crashing out and reducing my hour or two progress) that I just scratched his face out all in one. Now it even seems kinda.... Simbolic. Chat I feel bad, genuinely guilty for doing this to my baby

[mydearzero]

After Hours | Robert 'Bob' Reynolds x fem!Reader

Summary: Clean shaven. That was how you knew Bob. But while you were away on a mission, he'd decided to change up his look. Who knew just a little facial hair was enough to shine a new light on the man and drive you absolutely insane?

Contents: SMUT, porn with some plot, fem!reader, No Y/N, thunderbolts!reader, Bob is taller than reader, reader has hair long enough to get in your face, matchmakers Ava and Yelena, shower sex, Oral (f receiving), Penetrative sex (p in v), slight overstimulation, unsafe sex (wrap it before you tap it!!), creampie. If I missed any warnings please let me know!

WC: 4.4K

18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Masterlist

A/N: As I've made very clear and made it everybody's problem, I'm currently going fucking insane over Lewis Pullman. Watched The Starling Girl, was not okay afterwards, wrote this. Bon Appétit.

Clean shaven, undetectable facial hair. That was how you knew Bob. You weren’t even sure he was able to grow any facial hair, until you’d spotted him in the bathroom one morning. Shaving was part of his morning routine. For a long time, he’d just preferred the look and feel.

Until last week. 

You’d been overseas for a mission, nothing unusual. You returned, debriefed and made your way back to the tower, just like you’d done many times before. Not everybody was at the tower, but then again, it was once in a blue moon everybody was there at the same time. It was just Ava, Yelena, Bob and you for today, it seemed. 

You took off your shoes, placing them on the rack next to the elevator. The sound of your heavy bag dropping to the floor caught the attention of the room’s occupants. Such dangerous people, yet they hadn’t heard the elevator? You met each of their eyes, giving them a tired but warm smile. Your smile faltered ever so slightly, eyebrows raising, at the sight of Bob. He looked different. 

He was wearing a black t-shirt. Short sleeves, you noted. Not something he wore often. He preferred to wear longer sleeves to cover some of the scarring on the inside of his elbows, understandably so. That was in the past. The shirt looked good on him. Very good. 

It was not the main attraction, though. He had stubble. More than a five o’clock shadow, but not a full beard. Probably a few days of growth, at most. But dear lord did it change his whole look. Bob noticed the extra attention you were paying him, insecurely rubbing his hand over the stubble and turning his attention back to the TV, away from you. 

“Hey guys…” you finally spoke. You tore your eyes off the back of Bob’s head, meeting Yelena’s amused gaze. “What’s going on?” 

“We were just watching a movie, you’re welcome to join, if you want,” Ava invited. 

“I’m just gonna go put my stuff in my room and change and then I’ll join you,” you agreed. Bob casually put his arm on the back of the couch, leaning back, and your eyes snapped to the exposed skin of his biceps. You knew he had some muscle on him, so why did you feel like a sinner seeing a woman’s ankles in the 1800’s? 

You grabbed your bag off the floor and hastily made your way to your room. God, what had gotten into you? Sure, Bob was very sweet. Why had your mouth gone dry at the sight of him, today of all days? 

You unpacked your bag, throwing the dirty clothes in the laundry hamper. You grabbed a change of comfy clothes and changed into them, finally being able to unwind after a week away. You already felt more relaxed just by being back in the tower. It had really become your home over these last few months on this new team. 

You walked into the kitchen to grab some snacks and a drink. Damn it. The one thing Walker and you had in common was your favourite brand of chips. Did he really have to put them on the tippy toppest of shelves? You were convinced he only put them there so you wouldn’t be able to reach them. Bastard. 

“Need a hand?” Startled, you whipped around. Bob was closer than his voice had sounded. He was already reaching over you for the chips. You were now faced with his chest and the new stubble on his chin. He put a hand on your waist to steady you. 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” he chuckled. He put the chips on the counter, grabbing a bag of M&M’s for himself. You took a deep breath to steady yourself as he moved away to the fridge. You followed his movements, frozen against the counter. 

“Thirsty?” He asked, holding up a bottle of soda. 

“Huh?” You blinked. You are a grown woman. Why are you getting distracted by him like this? 

“You want a drink?” He had grabbed a glass for himself, offering one to you, too. 

“Oh, yes, please. Thanks.” He poured two glasses to the brim. 

“How was the mission?” He asked. You grabbed the snacks and the both of you walked back into the living room, putting your stuff on the coffee table. 

“It was good. Quite uneventful, really. No wonder they sent me to go alone,” you shrugged. Surveillance for a full week without any real action. Boring. 

“Well, at least you didn’t get hurt,” Bob smiled. You returned it and sat down next to him on the couch, on the free spot between him and Yelena. If anybody were to hold you at gunpoint and ask what movie they’d been watching that night, they might as well shoot you. Your eyes were on the TV, but your mind and peripheral were preoccupied with the man to your right. 

You knew Yelena noticed. Ava too, probably. At this point, you didn’t care. You were enthralled. He looked so different. It had only been a week. Had someone dosed you with an aphrodisiac on the plane back or something? Because it sure felt like it. 

He absentmindedly ran a hand through his hair and pushed it out of his face, and just like that, you were done for. The nonchalant action was so hot, it wasn’t fair. You were starting to get angry with yourself, but also with him. Stupid Bob. Stupid beard. Stupid heart that won’t stop beating at a thousand BPM. 

“What did that bag of crisps ever do to you?” Ava asked, interrupting the silence. You looked down at your hands. You were grabbing the bag as if it had killed your family and owed you money. You had eaten one, maybe two hands of the stuff before your cravings had dwindled. Or shifted, more like. You were definitely craving something– someone else now. 

“Sorry,” you chuckled, releasing the bag and deciding to just put it on the table. “Probably still a bit tense from the mission.” 

“Hmmmm, right. I thought you said it was uneventful?” Yelena questioned. 

“Uhu,” your voice went up an octave, betraying your lie. Bob gave you a curious look. You refused to return it, scared what you might do if you made direct eye contact right now. 

Before you knew it, the credits rolled over the screen. Ava cleared the table and took everything to the kitchen, leaving you alone with Yelena and Bob. Yelena turned to you. 

“So, what do you think of Bob’s new look? Quite dashing, no?” She proposed. Smug little– You were so going to get her back for this one day. You slowly turned your eyes to Bob, who was patiently, though anxiously, awaiting your answer. 

“It uh– Looks good. Different,” you replied, scared to give yourself away. 

“Different? Is that a good thing? Or…” Bob’s face had fallen, though only a little. He was masking the insecurity, but you saw it either way. 

“No, no– I mean– Yes, it’s a good thing. Good different. Looks good,” you choked before he could feel any worse about it. 

“I’m not too sure about it, yet. Think I might shave it tonight.” 

“NO. I mean. Why don’t you give it a little longer? It’s only been what, a week? Just test it out for a while,” you laughed awkwardly. 

“Hmmm, I don’t know…” Bob pushed a hand through his hair again. It was getting long. You closed your eyes and turned back to Yelena. Anything to spare yourself this torture. Yelena was barely containing her laughter. If Bob had any clue as to what was happening, which was unlikely– the man was as dense as lead– he didn’t show it. 

“Well, I think it looks great. Makes him look a little more rugged. Don’t you agree?” You were going to kill Yelena Belova. It would be difficult. You would make it slow, torturous. 

“Yup! Definitely more rugged. Hey, where has Ava walked off to?” You changed the subject. Speaking of the devil, she walked back in with a cup of steaming tea. 

“I’m gonna go shower. I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but please don’t kill each other while I’m gone,” Bob joked. So he had noticed Yelena was pestering you. He got up off the couch and walked down the hallway towards the bedrooms. 

The second Bob turned the corner out of sight, you jumped Yelena, reaching for her throat. “I’m gonna fucking kill you,” you threatened. She wrangled your arms away from her throat and laughed loudly. 

“I think you have more important matters to concern yourself with,” Ava interjected. You stopped wrestling Yelena into the couch, though you kept your grip on her wrists tight. 

“Like what?” You asked Ava. Yelena took that opportunity to flip you around. You groaned as your back hit the couch.

“Well, first of all, I think we all know you’re underneath the wrong person right now,” Ava laughed. Yelena laughed too, having finally rendered you powerless. Damn Russian spies. 

“But I’m pretty sure a shower means a shave, too. There might still be time to stop him, if you hurry,” she shrugged, sipping her tea. 

“God, was I really that obvious?” You gave up. Yelena released your wrists, and you got up, brushing your hair out of your face. 

“I think if it had been any more obvious we’d have to call a plumber over to investigate a leak,” Yelena said, catching her breath. Your jaw dropped at her words. 

“What? It’s true. I mean we knew you were into Bob, but the heart eyes you gave him when you walked in? Astronomical.” 

“What do you mean ‘we knew you were into Bob’?” You put quotation marks around it. The thought had hardly even crossed your mind before tonight. Both women laughed as if you’d made the funniest joke imaginable. 

“What do you mean ‘What do you mean’? You’ve been drooling over him ever since–” Ava was going to spill, but Yelena held her hand up, stopped her. 

“You’re saying you weren’t into Bob before tonight?” 

“I mean, he’s cute. But… I don’t know. I hadn’t really thought about it, I guess.” 

“But we’ve been trying to–” Ava was once again cut off by Yelena. 

“The beard is all it took? That was all he had to do?” Her voice held a tone of disbelief. 

“The t-shirt helps, too…” you admitted sheepishly. It was only then that it registered what Ava had said. “FUCK, you’re right. He can’t go shave now!” Your eyes shot towards the hallway he’d disappeared into, before meeting Ava’s. 

“Well what are you waiting for? By all means, go stop him.” she gestured towards the hallway. 

“Go stop him?? I can’t just waltz into the bathroom and say ‘Hey, don’t shave because then I can’t imagine what your stubble will feel like between my thighs while you’re eating me out.’ I have no–” The amused shock on their faces spoke for them. You closed your eyes and turned around, where Bob stood with his jaw slack. 

“We’re out of towels…” was all he said. He quickly walked into the laundry room, grabbed towels and hurried back to the bathroom. You turned to Ava and Yelena, unsure of what to do. 

“Well he knows, now. What’s stopping you? Go climb him like a tree! Show him some of those wrestling moves you showed me just now, while you’re at it,” Yelena shoved you off the couch. 

“You guys are horrible and I hate you very much,” you grumbled, getting off the floor. 

“Yeah, yeah. You can thank us later,” Yelena got up and used all her weight to push you towards the hallway. You stumbled over your feet and dragged them to Bob’s door. You hesitated before knocking lightly. You held your breath as you heard him shuffling around before opening the door. 

Bob Reynolds stood before you with only a towel hanging dangerously low on his hips. In all the months you’d lived at the tower, you had yet to see him without a shirt. That in combination with the new facial hair? Murderous. Lethal. 

He was about to speak but was cut off as you decided to throw everything to all hell and just push into his room, place your hands on his face and pull him in for a kiss. He quickly recovered, putting an arm around you and using the other to quickly slam and lock the door behind you. The tenacity with which he kissed you was addicting. 

He finally pulled away to breathe. “If I’d known you liked it that much–” he started, interrupting himself with a soft moan as you kissed up his jawline. “I’d have grown it out months ago.” 

“Shut up,” you said breathlessly. You ran your fingers through his hair and pulled him against your lips once more. You gripped his locks tightly. His stubble felt rough against your face. He toyed with the hem of your shirt, unsure whether to take it off. You helped him take it off, making quick work of throwing it in a random corner. Your sweatpants followed, leaving you only in your bra and underwear. 

“I should–” Bob spoke between kisses. “–at least go turn the shower off.” It had been on all this time, steaming up the bathroom and in turn his bedroom. 

“We can shower together, if you want,” you suggested, fingering the edge of the towel still tightly wrapped around him. 

“Yeah– Yeah I pick that option,” he smiled, leading you into the bathroom and shutting the door. You took off your bra and shimmied your panties down your legs, kicking them into the corner. The towel around his waist was gone. You put a hand on his abdomen, softly passing over his abs down to his hard cock. 

“All for me?” You whispered. 

“Yeah, you painted quite the picture back there. Something something, me eating you out?” He cradled the back of your head and brought you in for a soft, sensual kiss. You lazily stroked him, getting a feel for his length. You didn’t know what you’d expected. He was big. 

He pushed you into the shower, soaking you with water. He brushed your hair away from your face, slicking it back so it wouldn’t get in the way as it got wet. His own hair fell in front of his eyes. He slicked it back once more before trailing kisses down to your chin. Your hands came up to his chest, steadying yourself. You leaned against the cold, wet tile of the shower when he kissed your neck hungrily. 

He mouthed at your body, quickly sinking to his knees. The water hit him so beautifully. He gently rubbed his chin against your thighs, teasing you. The stubble tickled, sending goosebumps up your spine. He moved on to the other thigh, holding both of them in his hands. He peppered kisses all the way up your legs, making sure to leave a trail of tingles behind wherever his beard had made contact with your skin. 

You were growing impatient, but he took his time. Your breathing was rapid, and he hadn’t even done anything yet. He tenderly pulled at your legs. “Open them for me, baby,” he sounded as breathless as you felt. You obliged, making room for him to nestle himself fully between your thighs. The higher he worked with his mouth, the more sensitive you became. He leaned his cheek against your thigh and gazed up. It was a hungry, depraved look. You ran your fingers through his hair again, silently begging him closer to where you needed him most. 

“Gorgeous,” he whispered, and placed a soft peck on your inner thigh. He was so close, yet he kept kissing around where you wanted him. He didn’t break eye contact when he finally placed the smallest of kisses on your pussy. You’d never seen him so confident as in that very moment, on his knees between your legs. He brought his face closer and started sucking your clit. Your knees felt weak at the sensation. The added coarseness of his beard was the perfect combination of soft and rough. 

Your head hit the wall harshly as you threw it back, a loud moan echoing from your lips. He made out with your cunt as if he was a man starving. Your grip on his hair tightened when he experimentally added a finger into the mix, circling your entrance. 

“Fuck, Bob,” you moaned, wishing he’d just put it inside. You bucked against his face, seeking more friction. His beard was going to leave a rash if you kept this up. Somehow, you didn’t care. 

A deep moan rumbled from his mouth against your clit. The sensation was so good, your other hand reached down to tug him closer against it. He chuckled, another sound that had no right feeling that good when being made against your skin. 

He pushed the finger inside, slowly working you open. Not that you needed it, at that point. You were soaked, and not just from the shower. The things this man did to you. Within no time he added a second finger, scissoring you open. 

Heat built in your core as you quickly got closer and closer to the edge. You no longer had any control of the soft noises escaping your lips or your fingers tightening in his hair. Your toes curled and you squeezed your eyes shut. He added another finger, then. 

You peeled your eyes open, enthralled by just him. He was humping the air absentmindedly at the same rhythm his fingers were working inside of you, desperate to be touched. He couldn’t touch himself though, one hand preoccupied holding you up, the other curling its fingers inside of you. He was dedicated to getting you to come in his mouth, and he was succeeding fast. 

He circled his tongue around your clit just right. A high pitched keen left you as he curled his fingers against your G-spot repeatedly. You could feel your legs starting to tremble. His grip on your thigh tightened, determined to keep you standing. You ground against his tongue, breathing erratically. 

“Shit, Bob. I’m gonna come,” you warned. He kept going, sucking and licking until you snapped. 

“Come for me,” he groaned. “Come on my mouth.” 

Your vision went blind for a second as you came, riding out your high on his fingers. 

“Fuck!” You moaned, uncaring of who’d overhear. 

Bob kept sucking, kept thrusting his fingers against that perfect spot. You hissed and tugged at his hair, trying to get him to get up. He didn’t relent. 

“Taste so good,” he groaned. “So wet.” 

He took his fingers out, leaving you feeling empty. You were glad for the break, but his lips worked overtime. A newfound passion arose inside him to get you to come again now that he had a hand wrapped around his cock. He stroked idly, more focussed on your pleasure than his own. 

“I– I can’t. Fuck,” you whined. Your body was on fire, the hot water pouring down on you not helping your case. How the man hadn’t drowned yet, whether from your pussy or the shower, was beyond you. 

“Yes you can,” he grumbled. “For me?” It sounded so innocent. His pupils were blown wide as he sought eye contact, pleading you to come again. It was building up quickly. You hadn’t even caught your breath from your previous orgasm. Just as you were about to tip over the edge again, he stopped abruptly, standing up. 

A frustrated sob escaped your lips, but it was cut off by a desperate kiss. You could taste yourself on his tongue. 

“Want you to come on my cock,” he mumbled. You nodded quickly, taking him in your hand and stroking him. He put his hands around your waist and lifted you up like you were a feather. God, that super strength was a turn-on. He pushed you against the wall of the shower and lined himself up. He didn’t waste any time, pushing himself to the hilt. 

He moaned loudly in your ear as he bottomed out. It was the sexiest sound you’d ever heard. 

“F-fuck. So tight– God,” he couldn’t complete a sentence as he began rhythmically pounding inside. You held onto him for dear life. You were still so, so close. He kissed you hard, like this was his only chance. You leaned your head against the wall, lips sputtering as the water hit your face. 

“Bob,” you moaned. He sucked harshly at the bottom of your jaw. His hips snapped harshly, the sound of skin against skin vulgarly echoing through the bathroom. You tightened your legs around his waist, trying to get him to go deeper. 

“Waited so long for this,” he gushed. “Wanted you so bad.” 

“Yeah?” you replied breathlessly. He was mesmerized by the way your tits bounced with every thrust. 

“Mmhmm. Didn’t think you wanted me,” he admitted, peppering more desperate kisses on your neck. 

“I do. Shit,” you whined. “So much.” 

“Fuck, baby. Come on my cock. Come for me, please,” he pleaded, hips speeding up. 

Your nails scratched at his back, no doubt leaving red trails behind. You dug into his shoulders, gripping them tightly. The muscles underneath your fingers were sturdy. 

You came again with a loud wail of his name. You put your hands on his face, tugging him against your mouth and kissing him deeply. You couldn’t stop kissing him. Couldn’t stop feeling that delicious stubble against your chin. It scratched your palms as you caressed his face. 

His hips stuttered against yours. You could only hope the sound of the shower drowned out the sound of his balls slapping against your cunt with every harsh thrust. 

“Cum inside me,” you begged. “Please, need it.” 

“Fuck, are you sure?” Bob asked, ever the gentleman. 

“Please, Bob.” That sent him over the edge, shooting his spend inside of you. 

“Shit,” he whimpered. His palm made contact with the tiles beside your head, cracking on impact. Neither of you seemed to care at that moment. Your eyes sought his, and you found them glowing. He held you tight as he rode out his orgasm, lazily pumping inside of you as the water washed away your sweat. 

He held you against him, still holding you up against the wall. He let his head fall against your shoulder as he caught his breath. Both of you gasped lightly when he finally pulled out, cum dripping to the floor of the shower, immediately washing down the drain. 

He gently put you back down, careful to not let you slip. Your legs felt weak. You wrapped your arms around his neck to keep yourself up. You tugged him down, craning your neck so you could steal another kiss. 

You kissed softly for a while, before deciding you’d wasted enough water. He took his 2-in-1 shampoo and squirted some on his hands. He put some in your hair, softly massaging your scalp. You held your arms around his waist as he worked the shampoo through your hair. 

“We’re going out tomorrow and buying you some actual proper products. Who still uses 2-in-1 shampoo?” You scoffed. He laughed and agreed. 

“Okay, boss.” You smiled up at him as you let the water wash away the suds. You took some of the shampoo and returned the favour, washing his hair. He had a dumb smile on his lips the entire time, looking down at you lovingly. 

The same process repeated with his body wash. It wasn’t anything special, but you loved the scent. It smelled like him. He roamed your body with his hands, massaging your shoulders as he went. He spent some extra time fondling your chest. You still hadn’t fully recovered from the heated session just now, yet you could feel the fire starting again. 

“Hmmm,” you moaned. “Don’t start something you can’t finish.” You washed down his abdomen, and already found him hard again. 

“Superhuman stamina, remember?” Bob grinned. 

“Amazing,” you sighed. You gave him a few experimental tugs, and he hissed, gently slapping your hand away. 

“Doesn’t mean I’m not sensitive.” 

You finished up in the shower and realized there was only the one towel to dry the both of you. You made do and walked into Bob’s room. 

He lent you a pair of boxers and a t-shirt. “I didn’t know you owned several short sleeved t-shirts,” you joked. 

“I don’t wear them very often,” he laughed, putting on some sweatpants and a sweater. He looked like his cozy self again, if you didn’t count the stubble. The very very sexy stubble. 

“Well, I like you in them. You should wear them more often. Really highlights your biceps.” You flexed yours as a joke. He rolled up the sleeves of his sweater and mirrored your pose. 

“God, if you do that we’re never going to make our way out of your bedroom,” you groaned. 

“Good. Then I’ll never have to shave again.” Bob wrapped an arm around your waist and placed a kiss on the top of your head. 

“Please never shave again. It’s so hot. Like. So hot.” 

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.” 

“Asshole,” you slapped his chest. 

You walked out to the living room together, ready to face the music. Ava and Yelena were still where you’d left them, on the couch. At the sight of you, both grinned. 

“About time, loverboy,” Ava commented. 

“Remind me to never buy a razor again,” Bob said as he plopped down on the couch. 

“I’m gonna personally shave your face in your sleep if this is gonna be a recurring thing. My poor, poor ears.” Yelena groaned. You threw a pillow at her face, which she caught, of course. 

“I’ll kill you for real if you do, Belova,” you threatened. 

“I’d love to see you try.” 

You were about to jump her again, but Bob pulled you against his side. You melted into his hold. You could get used to this. 

[captainpriceslilwife]

clearing out my drafts so uh....Simon Riley x reader who thinks she needs plastic surgery :P

CW: uhhhhh plastic surgery, insecurities, simon only knowing how to solve emotions through caveman means, i think that's it

He really hadn't meant to see it.

It's not like he was snooping, or anything. You had told him to look something up on your phone while you were busy cleaning the kitchen, and you were so focused that you didn't notice how still he had grown still as he stared down at those little black words already typed in the search bar.

Breast augmentation before and after

His eyes darted across the screen as he took in the various images that you had been meticulously studying the night before. Hundreds of women with breasts that he couldn't see a problem with, right beside a photo of them looking bright, happy, and pumped up like a little barbie doll.

Clearly you had forgotten to close out the tab. Or clear your history.

Which he couldn't stop himself from scrolling through.

How to increase breast size naturally? Supplements for bigger breasts? Exercises for bigger boobs reddit...How much do boob jobs cost? A trail of insecurity that led you to the final page that he's now staring at.

He feels like he's going to throw up.

Did he say something wrong? Did he not show you how much he loved you? Did someone else say something to you? Did he make you feel undesirable? Maybe he had zoned out and stared at some poor woman's tits without even realizing and you thought he wanted you to-

"Si?" Your voice breaks him out of his spiraling thoughts as you peek your head around the corner, completely unaware of the inner turmoil that's ripping him apart as he stands there like an idiot. "Are they open?"

He blinks slowly at you - his mind is spinning around so fast that all he can manage is a blank stare. "What?"

"Marco's." You say with a huff of amusement, but when he just continues to stare, your eyebrows furrow in confusion as you enunciate your words slowly. "The pizza place. Are they open?"

"I dunno." His tone is gruff, and he's trying to figure out how to say the million thoughts that are swirling around in his mind as you make your way over to him with an amused smile. "Si, what have you been doing this whole-"

"Why are you lookin' at this shit?" He had wanted it to come out a bit more...tactful that that, but he couldn't hold it in any longer. It's in that moment that you realize how tense he looks, and your smile immediately falters as you pause in front of him.

"...the pizza place?" You ask in a small voice, growing more uncertain by the second as he lets out a quiet scoff. It's only when he turns the phone back to you that you see what he's talking about - and your heart drops into your stomach.

"Oh."

"Yeah. Oh."

"I was just-" Your hand extends out to take the phone, but he moves it just out of your reach as his eyes continue to stare into yours. "I was just looking. I'm not actually going to do it." You mumble awkwardly, suddenly feeling too vulnerable to keep looking up at him. You let out a tight little laugh, trying to brush it off like a joke even though you know it's too late for that. "Plus, it's a bit out of my price range, so-"

"I'm not playin' with you, love." And it's true. You've never seen him look so unimpressed and disappointed in your entire relationship. "What even made you look this up, huh? Someone say somethin' to you?"

"No." You feel like you're shrinking under his scrutinizing gaze, but he doesn't let up any - just keeps scrolling through the pictures as he looks between you and the phone.

Another tense sigh. Then, he's murmuring a quiet, "Did I say somethin'?"

"No, Si. Of course not." Your voice grows even more quiet as you reach for his free hand, twiddling with his fingers in some subconscious attempt to soothe him. It seems to work slightly - and he lets out a huff as he drops your phone onto the table to pull you closer.

Your head hits his chest as he wraps his arms around you, and his hand automatically comes up to run through your hair - something he usually does to soothe you, though now it seems to be more for his sake. He presses a couple of kisses to the top of your head as he holds you in silence, trying to gather his thoughts well enough to express his feelings. Words have never been his strong suit. Maybe that's what got him into this mess.

"Gorgeous girl." He murmurs softly against your hair before bringing his hands to your cheeks to tilt your head up to face him. His thumbs brush over the soft skin as his eyes trail over your face so reverently in nearly takes your breath away. "I don't tell you tha' enough, do I? How beautiful I think you are."

"You don't have to tell me, Si...I know you think I'm beautiful." He's never once made you feel bad about your appearance, but it doesn't change all the years you spent hating what you saw in the mirror because you compared yourself to everyone else. "It's not your fault I don't like the way I look-"

"'Course it fuckin' is." He doesn't even let you finish before he's adamantly shaking his head, guilt flooding his features as he looks down at you. "Can't even make my girlfriend see how stunnin' she is. Wha' kind of a man am I, huh? A pathetic fuckin' excuse of one."

A lump begins to form in your throat at the thought of him taking the blame for your insecurities - ones that had bloomed long before you had ever met him. But you were at a loss for words now. He had never seemed so adamant about anything before, and it made your heart thud heavily against your ribs at the realization of just how much he loved you. "Simon..."

"I should be lovin' you so much that this shit doesn' even cross your mind. That's my job, yeah?" His jaw clenches tight as he looks over your face, and you can see a strange look settle over his features - a quiet acceptance of what he's about to do. "And I'm clockin' in. Right now."

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion, but before you can open your mouth to question what on earth he means, he's already bending over to grab you and haul you over his shoulder.

"Simon!" You let out a squeal of surprise as you're suddenly faced upside-down against his back, but you can't help the giggles that burst out of your mouth as he carries you down the hallway towards the bedroom. "What are you doing? Marco's is gonna close!"

"Fuck Marco's. I'm eatin' you for dinner, love."

[cathnospam]

You on occasion lay down on Bakugo’s chest just to hear his heartbeat.

Been 4 years since the war, and you can still remember the feeling you had when you seen Bakugo’s lifeless body on the field.

You couldn’t reach him, you couldn’t save him, but you seen his chest, the way his eyes slowly dimmed, tears and blood stained his cheeks, you felt a part of yourself die a little as well.

It was a difficult transition to see him from alive to dead to back alive again, you never got around to tell him how you really felt during the time of the war. How exhausted you were, not just physically but emotionally and mentally. How you been going to therapy for the past 2 years, because the nightmares came back.

You never told him about your internal struggles post war, because you felt guilty.

You wasn’t on the line like he and Deku was, but you still played your part, having a few battles of your own to fight and if Bakugo was there to see how you carried yourself he would have been so proud, but that small bit of comparison between you and him made your problems seem so minuscule.

It was silly, but honest.

He’s on the couch now , one arm over his eyes, and the other over his stomach taking a nap, or so you thought. You had another scare while thinking for way too long. That fear bubbling up inside your heart and mind like a cloud before a storm begins you physically try to shake it off, so you go to do what you knew best to help and that was to lie on his chest.

His chest was moving very shallow, his snorts was light as it was being covered by the rain outside the window. He looked so peaceful, you examine his figure , seeing the scars on his body, as well as the big one on his chest.

You approach him slowly, adjusting to climb and squeeze between his legs, he noticed your presence before even moving, he was just waiting for you to make a move and when you finally did he stretched himself out for you to get comfortable.

When your ears reach where his heart is you slowly shut your eyes to concentrate on his heartbeat. The quiet thumping increased slightly when he wrapped his arms around your waist.

It felt so much better now. His scent and sound immediately made your body relax.

You smile a little, weakly, seeing at the calming beats of his pulse soothes you like a heavy wave of water to help you fall asleep.

Bakugo pecked your forehead, a subconscious move he does when you’re near his lips, when he held you it was almost in a way of protection. His arms being a shield from anything around you, the same way he wished to have shield you all those years ago.

[husbandjoel]

we can’t be friends | bob reynolds

summary: bob always wondered why you didn’t favour him over the rest of your team. until he learned that you had unsettled the bones of the tva.

pairing: bob reynolds x fem!reader

word count: 4.1k

content: just a silly fic! heaaaavy amount of dialogue. bob is a yearner for readers attention, yelena being a menace, tva mentioned (not entirely accurate for the sake of the plot), a little bit of angst between two lost soulmates. finding nemo mcu crossover if u look into it

a/n: inspo taken from the we can’t be friends mv! i love a good invisible string soulmate trope. i have an idea for a pt 2 but idk if this is a good read to start off with

Bob didn’t understand.

There he was, swaddled in self-conscious agony, hands wrung when he stammered out to you to ‘break a leg’ for the upcoming mission that he and — on this occasion — Yelena Belova had been benched for. The widow sat at the alcove in the Living Quarters with her eyes glued to the New York City skyline when Bob queried if she would wave the rest of the team off.

She did not.

Courageous enough, Bob waited on the sidelines for you to finish the prep of your tactical gear, a faint smile on his features when you returned his gaze. It was on the cold side, your fleeting glance, that is, and Bob swallowed the lump of shyness in his throat to just talk to you.

The conversation concluded how it always had. You thanked Bob for his well wishes, a strained smile that never met your eyes and Bob couldn’t quite pinpoint what your problem with him was. You were never inherently mean to the guy, relatively polite in minimal conversation before scarpering off to the other end of the room before Bob could finish his sentence. He started to joke that you were his own version of an Irish Goodbye.

He awkwardly waved at your back, quick to make it look as if he was catching a fleck of dust when he noticed you didn’t spare him a look over your shoulder.

There was something niggling in the bones of his body about you. A magnetic force that kept drawing him to you, and yet, you would repel in the opposite direction and Bob was left gluttonous, the need to around you was much greater than any embarrassment he momentarily felt when you stepped away to leave him high and dry.

Of course, Bob wasn’t harassing you. In fact, you had your own little quirks that explained to him that you were happy to be situated in proximity to him; just not long enough to delve deeper into each other’s personal lives.

Valentina Allegra de Fontaine had recruited you out of the blue, and the Thunderbolts* — now reclaimed as the New Avengers — were left scratching their heads at the newest addition after New York Times had printed the heroes cemented in the group in black and white. She had hinted that you were potentially a temp, community service if you read between the lines.

Nobody had heard of another vigilante scouring the streets of New York. Yelena, naturally, wanted to peek at the cards close to your chest. Albeit a fond friendship that blossomed between Yelena and you, she hadn’t quite cracked the code to opening Pandora’s Box.

Whilst the perplexity of you weighed heavy on Bob’s shoulders, he retreated back to the Living Quarters to spend the time benched with his nose in a book for distraction. He supposed Yelena would still be brooding in the alcove, the injury sustained caused her to be seen as a liability when Bucky Barnes discussed tactics for their mission. Either way, Bob encouraged quiet time, even if he was in the same room as his friend.

“I’m bored.” Yelena spoke freely after thirty minutes of silence. Bob pinched the sentence he had read up to and looked up to the blonde. She exhaled deeply, knife twirled in her hand, “Can we do something fun?”

He’d bookmark the page for now.

Bob closed the book, “Are—Is this not fun?”

“No.” Yelena was truthful, he’d give her that. Her temple pressed against the glass of the window, “I want to move my limbs, Bob. You should to.”

“I did. I washed the dishes.” Bob said obliviously and Yelena scoffed. He added quickly, “What, uh, what do you wanna do then?”

Yelena sat up, “A little birdie told me there are a stack of confidential files in Valentina’s office. She’s not here. I say, let’s go have a look.” Bob shook his head and Yelena threw her hands up, “Come on, Bob. This is exposure therapy to adrenaline. Minimal chance of us getting caught but if we do, I’ll take the hit.”

The peer pressure was all too soul consuming and that led to Bob jittering behind Yelena whilst she picked the lock to Valentina’s office. He bounced on the balls of his feet, head almost turning 360 degrees at any sudden noises that alerted him of being caught red-handed. Yelena seemed to be taking her sweet time for being a trained assassin, although Bob knew it was partly to make him squirm.

Just as he began to form a sentence to usher Yelena along, he looked back to see the door click and the handle go down with ease — Yelena quick to throw a smug look over her shoulder. They crept in, Bob bumping into the back of Yelena with a mutter of an apology for not paying attention.

“Stop being so twitchy.” Yelena whispered, “It’s OK.”

“Sorry.” He apologised again and his eyes scanned the office for any obvious sign of stacked files that screamed confidential.

Yelena spotted it first. Manilla folders atop of the glass table she would occasionally sit at if genuinely required within the Watchtower, — much to John Walker’s dismay — Yelena pounced at the opportunity to have them in her grasp, fingers smoothed over the red stamp: CONFIDENTIAL.

Quick to open, she handed a random one carelessly to Bob as she flipped the first file in her hand open, eyes dropped down the page before scoffing and throwing it to the side.

“Boring.” She muttered continuously.

Bob stared down at the manilla file in his hand, hesitant to open it. There was something about a breach of privacy that made Bob’s skin crawl. Whoever, and whatever was within these files weren’t meant to be seen for his eyes. His sense of anxiety washed up to the feet of Yelena who halted her actions to stare up at him.

“You only have the one file, Bob.” Yelena explained the obvious, “You’re practically innocent with just one file. Read it and we can go.” Bob went to argue his case and Yelena held up a finger, “Uh-uh. Exposure therapy.”

“Right. . .” Bob heeded instruction and delicately opened to the front page. His throat constricting to see an image of you — no — a mugshot of you brandished in a beige jumpsuit with the letters TVA stamped across the right-side of the clothing. Your face struck with confusion in the photo, eyes wide with a collar round your neck. His brows pinched, “Yelena, what is the TVA?”

Yelena repeated, “The TVA? No idea.”

He went to look at your file again, your name typewritten along with other details of your being, your arrest ID and ultimately, your charge. It read: sequence violation and that meant nothing to Bob. Suddenly, he felt rather protective of your file, lifting his gaze to where Yelena sat with her feet up on the desk, invested in whomever it was in the sixth file she had picked up.

He went back to scanning the thick wad of pages in your file, counting his lucky stars that he was an avid reader and could retain information without dwelling on the page for too long at any given time.

Turns out, you had been arrested four times. For the same reason, a sequence violation. Page flipped, Bob felt his mouth run dry at what he could presume was a recitation of your words from the moment you had arrived at the facility where you had been arrested. It started off with questions, you were worried coated with confusion as to where you were. Then, like a sucker punch into his chest, the wind was knocked out of Bob when he read over the sentence in which you asked to be returned to him.

“Have you got anything good?” Bob slammed the file shut when Yelena snapped him back to reality.

A vigorous shake of his head, he stammered, “Uh, no. No I don’t. Just a low level criminal.” The file slowly went behind his back as he talked, “Why do you think Valentina has all these files?”

“I don’t know. I was kind of hoping I’d find something on you know who.” Yelena wiggled her brows and stood, the files slapped against the desk carelessly. Bob gulped as she rounded the desk, “Oh well. I’m going to go eat. . . You coming?”

“Sure.” Bob followed the blonde out, his eyes drifted back to the office as he fidgeted with your file tucked into the back of his pants.

Successful in not being caught, it had been hours since Yelena and Bob’s escapade with the Confidential Files which led Bob, to well, petty theft — but rightfully so — and three hours of endless reading of your script whilst contained at the so-called TVA facility. Things didn’t add up, you were talking in circles, begging to see Bob one more time before they pruned you. He didn’t know what any of it meant. It looked as if it were a knockoff time travel script for a television show.

He would have to ask you.

Once he returned the files to you.

That was also the other complication he faced. He had invaded your privacy, even if you didn’t have knowledge toward the said file. It would be a given that you wouldn’t welcome his questions with exceedingly overwhelming enthusiasm, but as Yelena Belova had boldly put it; it would be exposure therapy.

On the second last page, the elevator dinged and the doors slid open. The selected team bottle-necked out with nonchalant expressions, Alexei going to greet his daughter whilst the rest of you dispersed.

Bob caught you trudging alongside Bucky Barnes, your voices low before you split. On queue, you caught Bob’s attention aimed toward you and offered a meek smile that once again didn’t meet your eyes. He stood, file still tucked into the band of his pants. He was going to do it. Bob had to do it.

Feet shuffling, his body felt aflame when it came close to you. The air thickened with a tension that only he was aware of. Bob was so concentrated on achieving a subtle beeline to you, that his brain stopped sending signals to the movement of his feet, sending him flying across the floor after he tripped over his own foot.

Hands came out to brace the impact, a lot softer than anticipated, Bob looked up to see Alexei who gripped onto the collar of his favoured blue sweater, exposing his midriff and ultimately, the files hidden beneath the fabric.

Curiosity killed the cat and Alexei plucked the folder from Bob’s waistband.

“Now, what do we have here?” Alexei boomed as he held the folder that Bob had pickpocketed from the locked room. Pinched between two fingers, it dangled in front of Bob like bait. Alexei shook it a little and one sheet of paper floated to the floor.

Chaos ensued as Walker, Yelena and Bob went to grab the paper, two for inspection, one for protection. Bob felt Yelena push on him, her teeth grit from the force it took. Walker managed to grab the paper from Yelena’s weakened grasp, his hand crumpled it slightly as he snatched it; grunting as he stood tall with pride.

Bob immediately let Yelena out of his grasp, a protest formed on his lips when Walker smoothed out the page, his brows furrowed as he drank in the contents of the paper.

Blue eyes shot up from the page and to you.

You let out a nervous laugh and set your mug down on the countertop just as Yelena snatched it from Walker and scanned it briefly; her eyes matched John’s to stare at you.

“Have I got something on my face?” Your joke was weak, unnerved by the silence that was met after reading a bit of paper. Anxiety coiled up in your stomach, “Seriously guys, you’re starting to freak me out.”

Yelena plucked the page out, her glance not missing Bob as he cowered in shame when she passed. You watched her with worry as she crossed the gap and extended her hand, the crumpled page flimsy in structure as it exposed its contents to you with ease. Brows pinched, you took the paper and read through it, a flash of realisation crossed your face before it dissolved; replaced with a confident streak.

You huffed a falsified laugh, handing the paper back to Yelena, hands clasped around your mug — Bob not missing the way it shook — as you took a large swig of scolding hot tea, not phased.

“Are you going to explain that?” Walker prodded at your nonchalance.

“There is nothing to explain.” You replied, eyes flicked to Bob for a brief millisecond, “It’s a fake document. Valentina called it some Witness Protection decoy — I don’t know.”

“It’s quite specific.” Yelena added.

“Right. Specific in nonsense.” You slipped off of the barstool, “They’ll come up with anything these days—Bob? Can I speak to you about that Monstera plant you’re taking care of for me? I found some Classical music I’d like you to play it.”

“I don’t, I don’t have a Monstera—”

You spoke with urgency, “Shostakovich’s 11th Symphony.”

Bob didn’t get your reference, but he sensed it had some underlying code word for ‘We need to talk. Now’ and he adhered, muttering about how he did in fact have a Monstera plant and followed you out of the kitchen and into the hallway, where you were quick to yank him into the Cleaners cupboard.

Door slammed shut, you tugged at the light string and Bob jumped at the rage in your face illuminated by the weakened lightbulb above.

“What the fuck are you playing at, Bob?” You seethed in a whisper, your face red hot as you tried to comprehend the implications of your exposed files.

Bob held his hands up in surrender, “I—Yelena said it was exposure therapy. Breaking into Valentina’s office and looking through files.” He watched as your eyes nearly popped out of your skull, “I didn’t know your file was in there!”

“Why did you take it?”

“I don’t know!” Bob pressed the heel of his palms into his eyes. “I—I panicked when I saw that it was you. It felt wrong that anyone else had it aside from you. I was going to give it to you, I promise.”

You stared at him for a long minute. Eyes pinned him to the spot as you sussed his honesty. Bob, from what you had known, was a man of the incapability to lie. To you, that is. Weakened by your presence, in every Timeline, you could disarm the man with a minute long stare and he would fold easily.

Bob shifted from one foot to the other, lips pulled into a thin line as he awaited your response. Awkward under your gaze.

“OK.”

Bob repeated, “OK.”

“This is fine.” You breathed.

Bob nodded for reassurance. “Fine.” He felt himself emphasise the nod, “Could you maybe explain what it means?”

“Oh god, this is not fine!” The palm of your hand slapped to your forehead as panic weaved through your voice. You began to mutter incoherently and Bob tried to reign you back in which only flared your panic more. “You weren’t supposed to find out, Bob. I promised.”

“Promised who? Hey—That doesn’t matter.” Bob shook his head, “Hey, look at me. It’s OK. This is my fault. If you don’t want to explain it, then I can live with that.” You nodded along to Bob’s words, hanging onto every syllable. He smiled genuinely, “You don’t owe me an explanation.”

Your panic soothed, “I will explain it.” That took Bob by surprise as you added, “I can explain it to you.”

“OK. Great.”

“. . . I’m not explaining it in the Cleaners Cupboard, Bob.”

Bob felt his face grow hot, “Yeah, of course. That makes sense.” He caught your eye, “In your room?”

“The kitchen, preferably. I’d rather a neutral ground when I tell you.”

Foreboding. But, Bob respected your request. Head peered out of the Cleaners Cupboard, Bob ensured that the coast was clear before he ushered you out and he watched the back of your frame scarper off to your bedroom, head down as you ignored John Walker speaking directly to you on your way.

Neither of you peeked your heads from your rooms until much later after endless pacing performed by the pair of you, in every square footage of your bedrooms.

The sky grew dark, your ear pressed against the wood of your door as you heard the rest of the team retreat to their rooms for an early night after the escapades on the mission — minus Yelena who still went to bed early in a sulk. Once you had heard Ava’s door click shut, your door swung open at the same time as Bob’s; the pair of you warmed with embarrassment.

“Tea?” You offered once you had reached the kitchen in hushed tones and tip-toes.

Bob sat at the counter, ankles crossed as he tapped his index fingers against the marbled surface.

“No. Thanks.” He declined, his head crammed full with an abundance of questions to ask you. Tea was last on his list of priorities.

Once finished with your brew, the chair scraped against the flooring next to Bob and you took your perched with a weak smile — this is the longest you had spent within close proximity of Bob Reynolds.

It felt unnatural.

“Where do I even start?” You asked rhetorically, breaking the silence and Bob was quick to respond with ‘The beginning.’ with attentive wide eyes. Chest constricted with the weight of your woes, you exhaled and began your explanation, “OK. I suppose you read a lot of the—my files?” Bob nodded, “To water it down, the TVA, Time Variance Authority, preserve what they call the Sacred Timeline. There is one designated Timeline that exists and, on the occasion that it alternates, they enforce arrests and erasure of that said branched timeline for restoration purposes.”

You continued, “Something happened to me, that was viewed as a threat to the Sacred Timeline, and the next thing I know, people armed to the teeth appeared through a portal and took me with them where I was arrested on the charge of a sequence violation.”

“Which was?” Bob encouraged.

“Which was, after the Blip, I had found a company that could wipe memories. Wonder Inc. The Blip haunted me for years after. There was this impending doom that it would happen again, and I desperately wanted to erase those five years.” You paused as Bob slid your mug of hot tea toward you, “I went in, they made me sign a waiver and next thing I knew, the Blip never happened in my head. I came home—bang—TVA were in the house and I was taken away. From my life. And, from you.”

“I have spent years in this endless cycle with the TVA. They took my life away from me and I have chased it back down to where they can’t find me.” It was tedious to explain, but you maintained for Bob’s sake more than anything.

Bob cleared his throat, his heart thumping in his chest, “When you say your life, do you mean—” He gestured between you two and you nodded with a wince. Bob hummed his attention drifting beyond the existence between the pair of you, in the kitchen of the Watchtower at two in the morning.

It was a lot to digest. Even having read the pages — front to back — within your file. It seemed more palatable to Bob when he could read it in black and white. As if it were some conjured up fantasy that stretched beyond the limitations of his own imagination. There you were, explicitly beautiful under the warmth of the candlelight, mapping out a scenario that was far fetched but Bob drank every word you spoke dry.

There had been a life. You and Bob. Intertwined in a daily life and more to the point in love from what Bob assumed. It made his head spin as the steam from the tea you had made him made his face perspire. At least, that’s what he put it down to.

He was brought back when you waved a hand in front of his face. Features expressed concern, a little regret for unfolding a complex situation on a staggering level.

“We can leave it there.” You mumbled and Bob was quick to jump to your defence, his hands reached for yours in a plea, warmth spread through your body from his touch; as if you had been shocked.

“Please.” He almost begged, “I want to hear it.”

“OK. . .” You scratched your brow bone with your thumbnail, “Cruelly, they showed me tapes of my life from the Sacred Timeline, my What If. I was told that, in every lifetime, we are thread together. Defined as soulmates in the entirety of the universe. Every Variant of me, has a Variant of you.”

“Really?”

“We were—are Clownfish in one reality.” You shrugged, “Lifelong mates, with our first batch of eggs. They pruned me, and, well I suppose you’re having to raise a bunch of kids.” You blew into your hot mug of tea with a casualness that brought wonder to Bob. Actually; you sounded insane.

A memory bubbled to the front of his thoughts, “Is that why you got me that Clownfish mug for that holiday?”

“Yes.” As if you sensed his thoughts, you added, “This can all remain hypothetical to you.”

“How many, uh, Timelines, did you—did you go through to find this one?” He ignored your remark. He didn’t want to run on hypothesis. You held five fingers up and Bob swallowed, “And, how did you know this one would work?”

You kissed your teeth, “I didn’t.”

“But, this is as far as you’ve gotten to get back to. . . Me?” Bob pulled at his earlobe.

“Yes.” You leant back in your seat, “I guess — my idea is — there’s been no physical intimacy between us and that means we haven’t branched from the Sacred Timeline. Because, from what I’ve been shown, whenever one of my Variants has kissed you, the screens of the TVA almost blow out.”

Bob could feel himself sweat.

“Oh.” Kissed. You and him. Kissing.

The delicate subject thickened the air and you tapped at the ceramic of your mug, “Which is great news for you. You don’t have to kiss me—Yay!”

“Yay.” Bob stuttered. Was it great news? A little blurred on that one.

Regret filled your chest.

“On that note. I think I’m going to turn in. You should too after that overload of information.” You dropped from the stool and took your favoured mug to the sink. Bob stared at the back of your head, unable to make himself move from his cemented spot. You turned on your heel with a brow quirked, “Bob? You OK?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah. I’m—I’m OK.” He huffed out.

The pair of you said nothing else. A comfortable silence blanketed over your shoulders as you walked in unison through the darkened halls of the Watchtower — muffled snores heard from multiple rooms. Arms bumped as you walked, you let a soft smile grace your features from the relief of being able to finally speak to someone about your precarious circumstances.

You hadn’t anticipated that said person to be the very core of your being. Longed for from a distance, perhaps more cruel now that, plagued with the knowledge of your love in every lifetime; you could never fully pledge yourself to Bob Reynolds on Earth-616.

Hand on your door handle, you heard the faintest of clicks to inform you that your bedroom door was now unlocked. Door creaked open just a crack, your actions halted when Bob’s voice cut through the silent air.

“Hey—” He spoke your name and your heart jumped. You turned to look at him, his hair disheveled and eyes bright under the moonlight tones. Just as you remembered him in every lifetime. Bob continued with your devoted attention, “What did you mean by Shostakovich’s 11th Symphony?”

You let out a laugh, “Oh. It’s a piece of music that has slight restless urgency to it. I needed to speak to you urgently. It just coincided with the whole Classical music punch I threw at you.”

“Right. Smart.” Bob was impressed. His mouth moved before his brain, “Have we ever been Classical music lovers?”

“Goodnight, Bob.”

“OK. Goodnight.”

The pair of you beamed on the other side of your closed doors.

[snail-day]

Can't Sleep

Sum: You can't sleep and maybe it's about conversations that have been left unspoken. SatoSugu x Reader TW: Domestic Fluff, Soft Angst. a/n: It was a thought I had the other day where if Suguru didn't become a cult leader if they would still have to neglect some dreams due to the harsh truth that either of them could die at any point :( WC: 1.6k

Despite all your tossing and turning - counting sheep, flipping your pillow to the cool side - it’s no use. Your body aches, your skin is clammy, and your thoughts are far too loud for the late hours of the night.

You can’t sleep. It's frustrating beyond belief because you should be able to sleep.

Suguru is curled behind you, one sculpted arm draped lazily across your waist, heavy with exhaustion. He got home just a few hours ago from a three-day mission, hair still damp from a shower he barely stayed awake through. You barely managed a conversation before bed, mostly silence and a few tired smiles.

His breath fans softly against the back of your neck. A slow, even rhythm. He’s out cold. You could probably light the house on fire and he’d sleep through it.

Well. Except if you picked up your phone.

It’s sitting innocently beside you on the nightstand. All it would take is one little swipe, one guilty scroll through your feed until the screen’s glow dulls the noise in your head.

But Suguru has a rule. No phones in bed. He’s told you the reasons, shown you studies about blue light and dopamine, and the risk of fractured sleep cycles.

You’re allowed to grumble about it. Suguru finds it cute when you pout, brushing his thumb across your lower lip like he's tempted to kiss the argument away.

So instead you wait. Listening to the rise and fall of his breathing. The way his soft black hair brushes against your shoulder every time he shifts. And then - there. He turns over, arm falling away.

Your cue.

You slide out from under the blanket, careful not to let it rustle. Hands and knees on the floor, carpet bristling against your palms like you're trespassing in your own home. Phone clutched in your palm like contraband. Careful not to let any light slip free. You crawl across the room to the door because you never walk at night. Suguru wakes at the slightest creak, even in his sleep, and once dragged you back to bed with a sigh and a “c’mon, angel, not tonight.”

You make it.

It’s 12:01 a.m. The hallway is cool against skin. In a way, it feels like freedom. You curl up on the couch, tug the soft crocheted throw blanket over your legs, open your phone.

Satoru should be home in four hours. You tell yourself you’ll be back in bed before then. Before he finds you like this and starts asking questions you can’t answer.

You anxious? You okay? Want to break up? Did something happen? Is it me?

No. Nothing happened. And maybe that’s the problem.

You pull up Old Enough! on Netflix. It’s soft. Silly. Toddlers running errands, clumsy and proud, their tiny legs working overtime to carry baskets bigger than their torsos. It’s not gripping enough to binge, but it helps. Settles something.

You’re halfway through an episode when the door opens.

Click. Clatter.

Keys into the dish on the table by the door. A housewarming present, if you remember correctly. A soft sigh. The faint scrape of shoes kicked off.

You freeze.

Satoru stops in his tracks.

Satoru blinks at you across the room, his white hair rumpled and wind-tossed, still dressed in his crumpled uniform. His blindfold hangs loose around his neck, and the bags under his crystal blue eyes are deep enough to carry the weight of the week.

“Baby?”

His voice is quiet, still rough with fatigue. He crosses the room in a few long strides, then drops to his knees on the plush rug in front of you, cupping your face in his warm hands.

His thumbs stroke along your cheekbones. One slender finger catches on the skin beneath your eye…as if checking for something that isn’t there - sleep, tears, the pieces of you you haven’t said out loud. His lips press into a thin line, concern pulling at the corners.

“What’s wrong? Why aren’t you with Sugu?”

Satoru isn’t always soft. Not in the way Suguru is. His sweetness tends to come laced with far too much energy, jokes, a half-grin, and a nudge. But right now, he’s quiet. Gentle.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you murmur, voice barely above a whisper.

His baby blue eyes glance down at your phone, settled in your palm. Watches a child struggle with a bag of carrots. His eyes soften.

“Want me to watch with you?”

Though, like most things, he doesn’t wait for the answer. He just shifts onto the couch beside you, tugging you into the warmth of his side. Your cheek rests against his chest, where his heart beats steady beneath his jacket, faintly out of sync with the soft sounds from the show.

He smells like salt and ash. Like the ruins of some building he probably pulled down himself.

One arm curls around you, palm wide and settling over your waist. The other settles behind his head, fingers threading loosely into his white hair. He talks softly while the episode plays, snorts at the little kid falling over a cabbage, and kisses the top of your head.

And then, while the screen flickers blue shadows across his jaw, he says, “Y’know… Suguru would never let our kid do something like this. Not without a curse glued to them.”

You exhale through your nose. Sounds almost like a laugh.

“Do you want kids?” you ask, your hand slipping down to find his. You play with his fingers, long and clever, always moving. He’s tracing slow circles on your palm, absentminded.

His smile is tired. Beautiful. It tugs at the corners of his mouth but doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Scary thought,” he murmurs. “But yeah. If they looked like you? I’d risk it.”

The ache comes in quietly.

Because you both know what he’s really saying.

Sorcerers don’t get happy endings. Not the strongest ones. Not the ones who shoulder the world.

Suguru and Satoru talk about the future like it’s a fantasy. A busy kitchen with dishes left in the sink. Countertops that used to be pristine, now have child drawings and leftover snacks. A kid in footie pajamas is following you all around the house. A little dress tucked away in the closet.

But they also hang their uniforms every night, unaware of what horror is to come tomorrow. Memorize their wills. Have their goodbyes in the form of a letter.

Maybe the reason they dream with you is because you’re not like them. Because you’re still here when the battle ends.

The one they’re willing to try for.

Satoru’s fingers thread through yours. He exhales softly.

“I think Suguru would cry if we ever had a daughter,” he mumbles, smile growing. “He’d buy them anything, give them the world if he could.”

“He already tries,” you murmur. “He has a few clothing items hidden in the closet.”

You don't add that you've caught him looking at them during his cleaning spurts. How he smiles to himself. A smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

Satoru huffs a laugh, dragging you from your thoughts, the sound low and sleepy.

Eventually, his warmth seeping into your skin, makes your eyelids droop. You both manage to drift off there on the couch.

When morning comes, Suguru finds you like that. Satoru’s white hair mussed against your forehead. Your body curled into his. The dead phone screen resting on Satoru's tummy.

Suguru stands in the doorway for a long moment, violet eyes soft with something close to longing. He pads forward on bare feet, silent as can be. Carefully, lays another soft blanket over both of you. Then he leans down, brushing a kiss to your forehead, lingering, tender. Then one for Satoru. Just as gentle.

He doesn’t wake either of you. Doesn’t scold.

Chastising can wait.

For now, he just watches quietly. Let's himself pretend, just for a moment, that this is a future he might actually get to keep.

[sixeyesonathiel]

satoru thought this was gonna go differently.

like, way differently.

there was supposed to be sparkles. blushing. a dreamy sigh and you flinging yourself into his arms like, “satoru, that was the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me. i think i love you. i think i wanna marry you and have your absurdly pretty babies.”

but no.

you’re just standing there. blinking. in silence. on the private rooftop he rented. at sunset. where a live quartet is playing your favorite song in the background.

you look like you're still buffering.

he’s smiling on the outside but internally? he’s going through it. he’s sweating. he thinks his lungs collapsed five seconds ago. he might actually pass out.

because instead of melting into his arms and swooning like a lovestruck anime girl, you're staring at him like he’s grown two heads. (which—okay, to be fair—if he had, he’d still look majestic as hell.)

but that is not in his ten-step seduction plan.

“...so?” he says, trying to recover, giving you his best wink. “pretty romantic, huh? for our third date?”

you finally blink. you slowly tilt your head. “did you… rent a rooftop?”

“…yes.”

“and a live band?”

“yes?”

“…for dinner?”

“yes?!”

you keep staring. like you’re waiting for him to yell ‘gotcha!’ and reveal that this was all an elaborate prank. but it’s not. it’s real. he's real. he just wanted to see you smile.

and now he’s spiraling. because what if it’s too much? what if he overwhelmed you?? what if you’re like ew he's insane i just wanted ramen and a walk and you’re going to ghost him right after this and marry someone normal??

he fidgets. plays it cool. leans against the table casually like “haha unless it’s weird. is it weird? no pressure. i can cancel the shooting stars. i mean they’re just drones, not real stars, i didn’t bribe the universe or anything—unless that would’ve been more impressive, in which case, i’ll try harder next time—”

you blink again and finally, finally—you laugh. soft and breathless. a hand to your face like you can’t believe him. “...you’re insane.”

he thinks he might actually ascend from relief.

he breathes. barely. something uncurls in his chest. “yeah,” he murmurs, scratching the back of his neck, grinning like he doesn't know where to look, “but i’m your problem now, right?”

you roll your eyes and reach for his hand anyway. and that’s all he could ever need. he doesn’t care that the pasta’s gone cold or that the damn string quartet’s been playing the same song twice now. you smiled. you stayed.

he’ll call that a win.

(even if he does need to rethink the proposal plan because this woman clearly doesn’t rattle easy.)

[watchmegetobsessed]

UNDONE

A/N: i've started like 3 wips these past weeks but finally finished one! so here is some boss!harry for you, let me know if you want more of it, bc i feel like i could def add to this story!

WORD COUNT: 8.1k

WARNING: sexual content

SUMMARY: Harry is obsessed with Y/N. The only problem is that he is her boss, so he keeps this obsession to himself. But everything changes after one drunken night.

MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME!

Harry has a love-hate relationship with the glass-walled meeting rooms in the office. Aesthetically they are bringing that well-known, usual vibe of every corporate office, nothing new, nothing unusual. Often, he is irritated that people tend to peek inside as they walk past towards the coffee machine or the restroom. He knows it’s second nature, they don’t necessarily try to intrude, but it tends to frustrate him when he is in the middle of a meeting and a random guy is just staring him down from outside. He tried to get the glass covered, but HR declined, they said something about transparency that just pissed Harry off even more, then he just gave up.

But lately, there’s been an advantage of those see-through dividers, because if people from outside can see in, that means Harry can see everything and everyone outside.

Like right now, as he is sitting by the oval table, laptop in front of him while the lawyers are talking about all the legal documents that are needed for their next deal, it’s an important step and Harry is usually great at focusing on what matters, but today his attention is somewhere else.

Outside of the meeting room, right by Y/N’s desk. 

She is the latest addition in the department, a talented analyst who joined a little over three months ago. Harry knows she is great, because he was there at her interview. He is usually not one to attend interviews, but the hiring manager got sick and they needed someone from management to be there as well and Harry had a spare hour he wanted to use to get a little ahead on that tender he’d been working on, but that got thrown right out the window. 

It was the last thing he wanted to do, listen to some random analyst who probably never even saw a DWH system, they always think they are qualified to deal with anything, but then they see just how much data they need to work with and then freak out. Harry was convinced it would happen that time too, but he was wrong.

Y/N walked in there, seemingly nervous, fidgeting with the hem of her cardigan, looking like a frightened little rabbit, so innocent, so sweet, something surprising happened. 

Harry was in awe. 

He found himself being drawn towards her, interested in how she’d perform at the interview. He kept a straight face as the recruiter beside him asked her some basic questions and then he took over for the professional part. 

He gave her his hardest questions, things even seniors might not know, he quizzed her about topics that are way too specific to work around and… she excelled. She couldn’t answer every question, but she worked up a logic she would use to at least try to tackle the matter and Harry knew she would succeed if she had the right materials. 

She blew his mind away. Once she left, he turned to the recruiter and said:

“I want her. Get her to start next week.”

And she did. Next monday, she was holding her onboarding package, eyes bright as she got seated at her desk, ready to start working. 

Now she is sitting at the same spot, wearing her blue light glasses, her eyebrows slightly furrowed behind them as she is working on something on her computer. She is wearing a long sundress today with a yellow cardigan to cover her shoulders. Harry has noted her colorful outfits every morning when she strolled into the office, brightening the otherwise dull atmosphere. It’s a whole floor full of developers, analysts and other IT professionals, they are not known for their exquisite fashion taste, but Y/N is different. Her wardrobe is full of colors and pieces others wouldn’t consider as business casual, but somehow she always makes it work. 

She is the kind of person that has a nice word for everyone, she often brings coffee to Linda, whose desk is across from hers and they usually have lunch together, Harry has noted. She is always happy to help others, she is great at seeing problems differently and quick to come up with solutions. She is definitely a favorite among her colleagues.

Unlike Harry.

Not that he wants to be liked, he is head of IT, he needs to lead, keep everything under control and make hard decisions. He is not stupid, Harry knows most people in the department fear him, he is not known for being friendly and chatty. He usually has so much work he doesn’t have time left to get a coffee with anyone, not that he would have anyone to invite. He is the gruff boss who is always busy and people try not to cross paths with. 

He doesn’t mind it. He likes to be focused on his work and most people don’t realize how hard it is to be the one to decide about budget cuts, downsizing and restructuring, because they don’t see what goes down behind these decisions, they just want to blame someone and that’s usually him. They don’t want to be friends with the big boss who fired their work bestie, even if it was a known fact they never did their job.

It was never an issue for him how his employees saw him. Until her. 

Someone stops by Y/N’s desk and he watches her face light up as she gives them her attention. He can’t hear what she is saying, but when she laughs, it rings in his ears. He loves hearing her laugh.

“So what do you think?” one of the lawyers asks him and he snaps back, realizing he has no idea what they were talking about in the last five minutes. He quickly looks down at his notes so far, but there’s no use. 

“Uh, I’ll leave it to you. I have to go now, do you think you can have everything set by the end of next week? We need it for the next sprint.”

“Sure,” the guy nods, his name is something with a J, but Harry can’t remember what it is. 

He is relieved that he could dodge admitting he has no idea what was talked about, shutting his laptop he murmurs a thank you for the group and he is the first one to walk out of the room, heading towards his office. 

Y/N is not at her desk when he walks past and he looks for her, hoping he is not too obvious, but he sees no trace of her. Is she having coffee with that guy who walked up to her desk? Are they planning something outside of work? Does he want to date her?

Harry’s thoughts are racing as he closes the door behind him, shutting out the general buzz of the open office outside. With a sigh, he sits down in his chair, places his laptop onto the desk, but leaves it unopened for a bit as he rubs his face with his hands. 

He always has control. He plans and keeps himself to his plan, he gathers data, analyses and then makes a new plan. Easy as it is. This is why he likes his job, IT is usually exact, the problem might be deeply hidden, but it’s always exact, he just needs to find the data.

But he’s been feeling chaotic lately. He is disoriented, can’t focus at meetings and finds himself thinking about her when he is supposed to be working. He just can’t help it. 

“Fuck,” he breathes out, then rolls his head, his neck cracks and he lets out a groan before opening his laptop and trying his best to get back to working. The code opens in front of him and he focuses on the lines he’s been trying to rewrite, but right when he is about to start typing, there’s a knock on his door. For a second, he feels irritated that he was interrupted again, but then he looks past the screen and sees her.

Harry nods and Y/N walks through the glass door, holding her laptop to her chest, smiling shyly. Harry likes to think that this smile is for him only, that he is the reason to bring it to her lips, though he doubts he has such an effect on her. But still, it’s a nice thought. 

“Hey,” he greets her as she crosses the room and sits across from him. 

“Hi. Am I disturbing you?”

“No,” he shakes his head.

“I finished those tables you asked for yesterday, but I wanted to run a few things with you.”

“You… finished?” he asks as Y/N unfolds her laptop, nodding. 

“Yeah.” She places the laptop onto his desk and he leans closer, focusing on the screen as Y/N explains what she found unclear, but Harry is still stunned when she is done talking.

“Is it… Is it bad? Not what you thought of?” she asks, seeing his face.

“No, it’s… Y/N, you did this all by yourself?”

“Yes?” Her answer sounds unsure and panic settles in her visibly. “I-I’m sorry if it’s–”

“Y/N, this is brilliant.”

She is taken aback by his compliment, it wasn’t the first time, but it feels like a gift every time for her. 

“It is?”

“Yeah. I mean, I didn’t doubt you could do it, but I didn’t think it would turn out this great and you also finished so fast, I thought it would take you the entire week at least.”

“Well… I did stay in a little longer last night,” she admits with a soft chuckle and it tugs on his chest right away. He looks at her over the desk, their eyes meet and for a second, warmth spreads through his veins as he fights the urge to reach out and touch her. 

Clearing his throat he leans back in his chair.

“Send it over, I’ll leave comments on those sections and then you can start the migration.”

“Thank you,” she nods, taking her laptop and heading to the door.

“And well done, Y/N,” he calls after her. She just nods and smiles at him before walking out. 

Harry watches her return to her desk, takes some deep breaths and forces himself to return to the code on his own computer. 

***

Linda wiggles her eyebrows at Y/N once she is sat at her desk. 

“Did you two eye-fuck again?” she asks and Y/N gapes at her, quickly looking around to see if anyone heard her, but luckily, everyone is too busy.

“Linda! That’s–We don’t do that.”

“Oh please,” she scoffs, twirling her pen around between her fingers. 

“We just went over the tables. He said I did a good job.” She shrugs, but Linda doesn’t miss how the corners of her mouth curl up, though she tries to hide it. 

“You do realize you’re the only one in this whole department he has ever complimented, right?”

“That’s not true.”

“It is. Zach go the best reaction from him last spring, when he spent two weeks refactoring a fucked up code, Harry said it was acceptable. That’s all. The fact that he said you did a good job is just another proof that he is into you.”

“Would you stop talking about the head of IT being into me?” Y/N hisses. “Come on, let’s get a coffee before you start screaming it.”

They go down a floor where the coffee station has better options and once they both have a mug full of coffee, they settle by a high table in the common area. 

“I have a confession to make,” Y/N admits, but avoids looking her in the eyes. “Okay, go for it.”

“I’m meeting Archer today.”

“Y/N! Not your fucking ex! Why?!” Linda gasps. “Do you really hate yourself that much?”

“I don’t hate myself,” she gives her a look, before returning her gaze to her mug. “He texted me the other day.”

“And you texted him back?”

“Well, yes, of course.”

“Boo! You should have blocked his number a long time ago!”

Y/N has thought about that. A lot. Her asshole ex has come back a couple of times since they broke up about a year ago, they shared one or two nights, but it always ended with him disappearing and leaving her shattered. His comebacks slowed down the process of getting over him a lot and though she feels like she is finally okay, she couldn’t just ignore his text.

“That’s not like me,” she shrugs, ignoring the thought that she knows Linda is right. 

“Hun, what do you think will happen today that hasn’t happened before?”

The question stings, right in her chest, because she knows it’s true. Her logical side knows Archer won’t just magically apologize for the way he treated her, even though it’s the only thing she wants from him at this point. To admit that he was in the wrong. 

“We’ll talk. That’s it.”

“Please don’t sleep with him,” Linda sighs desperately. “He doesn’t deserve your time.”

“I won’t,” she says, though she is not entirely certain it’s the truth. 

“Uh-huh, okay.” Linda checks the time on her phone. “I gotta go, I have a meeting in ten.”

“I’m coming too, I have a lot to do.”

Grabbing their mugs they head out of the common area, back to the upper floor. 

***

Harry didn’t mean to eavesdrop. He is the last person to be interested in anyone’s private life in the office. 

But when he heard Y/N’s voice as he was about to walk into the room, he stopped and hid behind the wall, listening to a conversation that was truly not meant for his ears. 

Hearing the two women talk about Y/N’s ex has ignited something new in him, especially when it became clear that he has hurt her in the past. Harry is not one to become violent, he channels all his tendencies in the gym while boxing, but from what he heard of the guy, he would have gladly punched him in the face. A few times.

Maybe more than a few.

The short conversation tickled his curiosity about what happened, but when he heard that they were about to leave, he quickly walked away so they didn’t see him. 

Now as he is back by his desk he can’t focus on the code in front of him at all, his thoughts are only about this mysterious ex Y/N is apparently meeting today. At one point, he even considers giving her some extra work to keep her in late and preferably miss the meeting, but that would be too petty even for him. Instead, he spends the next hour pretending to work while he just keeps fantasizing about different scenarios of what happened between Y/N and the guy. 

Slowly, the office starts to empty out as the end of the day nears. Desks get abandoned, lights are turned off and Harry is still there, since he barely got anything done that day. 

He sees when Y/N packs up her stuff and leaves and his jaw almost breaks as he holds himself still and just watches her walk out. 

“I’m fucking insane,” he mumbles under his breath, willing himself to do some work now that he can’t get distracted by Y/N every time she leaves her desk. 

It’s all new to him. This obsession he’s been feeling since the moment he saw Y/N at the interview. An invisible string has been pulling him towards her and it’s unlike anything he has felt with his exes before. 

He wasn’t obsessed. He didn’t think of them all the time. He didn’t lose focus when he was seeing someone. But with Y/N, he is losing his precious control and it’s almost scary. 

He finally manages to lock in for some work and time flies by. Next time he looks up from his screen the whole office is empty, only his desk lamp giving light and the green haze of the exit signs. It’s past nine and he can hear the cleaner vacuuming somewhere on the floor, so with a tired smile he shuts his computer off, gathers his things and heads out. 

He moved less than a year ago and the place he bought is within walking distance of the office. He knows it might have been a stupid idea to get a place just because it’s close to his working place, he probably won’t work there his whole life, but he doesn’t see himself switching for a long time, so it’s convenient. 

With his backpack hanging off one shoulder he steps out into the warm evening, the afternoon rush is over, now the nearby bars and restaurants are full of workers desperately needing to let some steam off before heading home. 

There’s a small park he walks through before reaching his street and it has always been dear to him, a nice change in the scenery of concrete and glass in the middle of the city. There’s even a small pond along the path that takes him across the park with benches and a handful of ducks are usually circling in the water peacefully. 

Older people from around like to come here and sit or take a short walk and they are the only people Harry likes to watch. He admires their slow pace, no rush, just enjoying what they have, a state he dreams of reaching too. 

Tonight, as he passes by the pond his eyes spot a familiar figure sitting on one of the benches. He stops in his tracks, questioning if his sight is right, because the person sitting there with her head hanging low looks just like Y/N. As he slowly approaches he notices the soft shaking of her shoulders.

She’s crying. 

***

Y/N has been sitting on that bench for… God knows how long. Could have been minutes, could have been hours. She was planning to cry her eyes out at once, then move on by the time she gets home, but apparently, she needs more time to get herself over than she estimated. This spot seemed like a great one, it’s far enough from the lights so people don’t notice she is crying, but she definitely did not expect to be noticed by her boss.

“Y/N?”

Harry’s voice makes her jump and as her head snaps up, she finds herself staring up at the person she least expected to see. His eyebrows are furrowed, concern is written all over his face as he stands a few feet away from the bench, as if he can’t tell if it’s a good idea for him to get closer. 

“Oh, hi!” She quickly forces a smile on her face, but she knows she is fooling no one. She wipes her tear-soaked cheeks with the back of her hand and prays her mascara is not smudged all around her eyes in panda style. “What–What are you doing here?”

“I live nearby, I’m on my way home. What are you doing here? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just… I was just taking a walk and now I’m… not.”

Her brain does not function. She knows what she said didn’t make any sense, but she can’t think of something else to say. She is way too busy thinking about how Harry is standing right there just after her ex made her wait for him for an hour before texting her he is not coming and when she called him to confront, a woman answered his phone.

It didn’t take long for Y/N to draw the conclusions: Archer was only trying to hook up with her tonight, but apparently found someone else and ditched her. A classic move from an asshole like him, but that doesn’t make her feel less like shit. Mostly because she should have known better and not believe he would do anything other than hurting her. 

Harry just stands there for a few moments and Y/N is expecting him to walk away and pretend like he didn’t even see her, but he surprises her when he walks over to the bench and sits beside her. 

“Do you want to… talk about what happened?”

“Nothing happened,” she answers right away, but when she looks at him, it’s obvious he doesn’t believe her. With a sigh, she turns her gaze back towards the pond. She is hesitating between keeping it all to herself or just dumping it on Harry and then deal with the consequences later, but right when she is about to make up her mind, he speaks up.

“Is this about… your ex-boyfriend?”

She turns to him with wide eyes. 

“How do you…”

A guilty look takes over his face before he shrugs.

“I heard you talking about him earlier. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”

“I shouldn’t talk so freely with Linda in the office,” she chuckles, shaking her head. They sit in silence, when Harry peeks at her she seems deep in her thoughts and he is desperate to get her to talk, but doesn’t want to push her too much. 

As a last resort, he says:

“Do you want to have a drink?”

***

The tequila is burning her throat, she can’t help the frown as she bites into the lemon. When she looks at Harry, she is not even surprised he has the same, unbothered look on his face he had after the previous two shots. 

“Uh, how are you taking it so well?” she coughs and then takes a sip from her beer. They were lucky enough to find a table at a bar nearby and she was quick to accept that maybe getting drunk is what she needs right now, even if the alarms are still going off somewhere in the back of her mind, because doing it with Harry might not be her brightest idea. 

“I guess I still have some left of my college years,” he shrugs and she starts laughing. 

“Don’t tell me you were a party animal in college,” she snorts. The three shots and half a beer has definitely set her tongue free and took away her sense of embarrassment after saying everything that’s on her mind. She will surely regret it in the morning, but right now she couldn’t care less.

Harry likes this version of her. She is always bubbly and talkative, but in his presence he often senses her nervousness. Now there’s no trace of that and he is sinking in every moment of it.

“What do you think I was like in college?” he asks, tilting his head to the side. 

“I don’t know,” she shrugs, the words slurring a bit on her tongue. “Like a… hot nerd?”

He quirks an eyebrow at her and she realizes only then that she just called him hot. 

“I-I mean… I don’t–What I meant is–”

“I was a nerd,” he says, saving her from her rambling. “I was in the robotics club, spent a lot of time in the library, trying to hack their system so I didn’t have to return some books I wanted to keep.”

She can’t help, but laugh as Harry is smiling at the memory as well.

“Did you succeed?”

“What do you think?”

“For sure.”

“Correct,” he chuckles, taking a sip of his beer. “But I went to parties. I had this friend group from highschool, some of them were friends with the popular kids so we were always invited.”

“I can’t picture you with a red solo cup, filled with cheap booze.”

“But it happened,” he chuckles. “Luckily, photos have been deleted from social media.”

“Did you wipe the internet?” she asks, leaning closer as if she was asking him about a secret.

“No, but I did message those who had the photos posted when I was getting higher in my career.”

“Clever,” she nods and grabbing her beer, she takes a few swigs. Then her smile fades. “Maybe I should tell you what happened, right?”

“Only if you want to.”

Sighing she leans back, pursing her lips as she squints her eyes, looking back at him. She can’t think straight. Her thoughts are jumping, one moment she is thinking about Archer, the next all her attention is on how plump his lips look when they are wet from the beer, or the way his top two buttons of his shirt have come undone and she is seeing fucking tattoos, along his collarbones. 

She wants to kiss them. 

“I was stupid enough to think that I matter to him and he wouldn’t… hurt me. But he did. That’s it, lesson learned.”

She would love to look unbothered, like it doesn’t affect her, but she can’t. Her throat is closing up and when Harry calls out her name softly, she looks up at him with tears in her eyes and wobbling lips. 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be crying, I know. I’m sorry!”

“Don’t apologize,” Harry shakes his head, but it’s like she didn’t even hear him.

“I know it’s stupid, but I just thought it might be different this time, that he might apologize and I can finally… I don’t know.”

“It’s not stupid. It’s not. You’re allowed to hope, to want to be treated the right way.”

“But I should have learned my lesson before!”

“You could have, but it’s okay. You will now. You’re smart, smarter than you think. You’ll get over it, doesn’t matter how long it takes, you will get there. I know it.”

“How?” she asks in a whisper, unable to break the eye-contact. 

“I don’t know how you’ll do it, but–”

“No,” she shakes her head. “How do you know it?”

He slowly runs his tongue over his lips, thinking his words through before speaking them.

“I just do. Do you believe me?”

Without hesitation she nods.

“I do.”

***

“If someone said one day I would be waiting for an Uber with my boss, drunk out of my ass at two am, I would have laughed them in the face.”

Y/N is holding onto a lamp post with one hand, twirling around it like a little kid as Harry stands by the curb, one hand in his pocket, the other one holding his phone, tracking the Uber that’s supposed to pick Y/N up and take her home. He is watching her with a tiny smile, it’s great to see her so carefree after her breakdown earlier. 

“Which part is so unbelievable?” 

She stops and steps closer to him. She can’t stand still, keeps shifting her weight between her feet and Harry is on alert in case she loses her balance. 

“All of it,” she grins up at him, blinking lazily. “Except the drunk out of my ass. That happens sometimes.”

“Really?” 

“Ooh, maybe I shouldn’t have said that. Am I in trouble?”

“Because you get drunk sometimes? You’re an adult, you can do whatever you want.”

“Yeah, but… you’re my boss,” she giggles, then starts swaying as if she could hear some music. “It’s not professional to get drunk.”

“Not when you’re working. But you’re not at work right now.”

“Nope,” she shakes her head, popping the ‘p’ sound. “I’m on the street, with Harry Styles, after drinking with Harry Styles! And now I’m gonna go home in an Uber that Harry Styles ordered for me!”

“Are you enjoying saying my name?” he chuckles, glancing at his phone again, The car is five minutes away. He is already dreading the moment it arrives, because that means the night ends. But he knows she has to get home and sleep it off.

“I do,” she sings. “It has a nice ring to it. It’s a cool name for a cool guy.”

“Oh, so I’m cool?” He knows he shouldn’t take advantage of her drunken state and keep her talking, but he just can’t get himself to stop.

“Yeah. You’re cool and smart and scary sometimes and mysterious, but not tonight,” she giggles as she keeps swaying around, while Harry can’t take his eyes off her, not when she is talking about him. “People at the office are scared of you, but I think you’re great.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. You’re amazing, I always look forward to seeing you. Sometimes I…” She giggles at whatever she is thinking about, completely oblivious at how intently Harry is listening to her. “Sometimes I ask you about things I know just so we can talk.” She shakes her head with a chuckle, but it’s enough for her to lose balance.

She gasps when she starts falling, but he is quick to grab her by her arms, yanking her towards him to keep her from smashing against the concrete. She is not laughing anymore, especially when she realizes that her chest is pressed against his, hands still holding her arms firmly. And his eyes are piercing into her gaze in a way that takes her breath away. 

“I love when you come asking questions,” he admits. “That’s usually my favorite part of the day.”

Her eyes widen at his words and when his gaze shifts down to her lips, they part as she gasps for air. Her chest presses even more against his as she fills her lungs and she feels even more dizzy now than before. 

“I want to kiss you.”

The words blurt out of her before she could think them through, unaware of the effect they have on Harry. His gaze darkens and it moves down at her lips again. But before he could say or do anything, the Uber pulls up beside them. 

Harry lets go of her, then opens the door.

“Get some sleep, Y/N. I’ll see you on Monday.”

She blinks at him a few times as he just stands there, waiting for her to get inside. She is confused. Drunk and tired and the longer she stays there the more awkward she feels, so she finally gets into the car, then Harry shuts the door and the car starts moving. 

Y/N turns around and sees him still standing there, hands in his pockets, his head hanging low. Then she slides down in the seat, closes her eyes and then replays those couple of moments when she was pressed up against him over and over again until the car stops at her apartment building. 

***

Sunday evening Y/N contemplates calling in sick. Preferably with something that keeps her away from the office… forever. 

Once she woke in the afternoon of Saturday, sobered up, with a killer headache, memories from last night came crashing down on her and the embarrassment took over instantly. She spent the rest of the weekend in agony, cursing herself out for being so stupid. 

Did she really tell her boss she wanted to kiss him?

Yes, she in fact did. After getting drunk with him, crying about her ex and telling him all kinds of stuff she never planned on admitting to him. Like that she finds him cool and smart and sometimes scary. 

But the kissing part is obviously the worst.

No matter how badly she dreads Monday morning, time doesn’t stop or slows down, the week starts and she has to go to work and face the consequences of her actions. 

Maybe Harry won’t be there. But he is always there. 

Maybe she can hide all day and avoid him… until the rest of her life or until she finds a new job. Very unlikely, but whatever. 

Her palms are sweating as she swipes her card at the gates and heads up to her floor. She’s getting paranoid, thinking that everyone in the elevator knows what happened on Friday, even though no one even bats an eye in her direction. 

Luckily, as she logs into her computer at her desk, work swamps her and provides enough distraction to stop her from throwing up when she sees Harry for the first time.

It seems like he is having a busy day too, he is in and out of meetings for the most part of the noon, she only sees him passing by or sitting in his office with his AirPods in, a sign that he is in an online meeting. But even when he is free for a short time, Y/N makes sure she avoids facing him. She even considers moving to another floor’s common room with her laptop for the day if it means she can survive without running into him and God forbid, talking to him. 

But then comes an email. 

It’s a bit after lunch time when it pops up in her inbox and her stomach drops to the floor right away when she sees it’s from Harry. Then another wave of anxiety washes over her when she reads it.

FROM: Harry Styles

Come to my office at your earliest convenience. -H

“Oh shit,” she mumbles under her breath and it catches Linda’s ears across from her, who gives her a questioning look. “Nothing.” She just shakes her head, grabs her laptop and then heads to Harry’s office with shaking knees. 

Is this the part where he tells her behavior was unacceptable? Did he maybe report her to HR for what she said?

She knocks on the door with a sweaty hand, Harry looks up from his screen with a blank face and nods at her to go inside. 

“Hey. I got your email.” She sounds like a frightened little girl as she closes the door behind her and stills, hugging her laptop to her chest. 

“Thanks for coming right away.”

Harry pushes his chair back lazily, stands and rounds the desk before leaning against it leisurely, his eyes glued to Y/N who is still standing by the door, too scared to go further. He doesn’t like the distance.

“Come, sit,” he nods towards one of the chairs in front of his desk. 

Obediently, she walks over and takes a seat, blinking up at him with wide eyes while he looks unbothered and almost… bored. He squints his eyes at her, tilting his head to the side a bit before finally speaking up. 

“Is there a specific reason why you’re avoiding me all day?”

Her lips part at his question and her first instinct is to deny.

“I-I’m not–”

“Y/N, you are. Normally, you would have already asked me at least two questions, but instead you walk out of the office every time I step out of mine. You are avoiding me.”

She shuts her mouth, trying to come up with something to say that could save her, but nothing comes to her mind. 

“I’m sorry.” Her gaze drops to the floor, his stare is too intense for her. “I’m so ashamed about… everything I said on Friday, I didn’t know how to face you. I said all that… inappropriate stuff you definitely shouldn’t have heard. like… ever. I’m sorry.”

“Y/N,” he softly says, but her gaze remains on her shoes. “Y/N, look at me, please.”

Finally, she dares to move her eyes back to meet his and then he continues… in the most surprising way.

“What I’m about to say, it’s going to be fully unrelated to work. Can you treat it as something outside of this setting?” Y/N nods. “Use your words, I need to hear you say it. Do you understand that this conversation is outside of work?”

“I understand,” she answers weakly, her mouth running dry. 

“Good.” He nods and then continues. “Do not feel sorry for anything you said. I’m glad I know all of that. The only downside of it is that now I need every ounce of self-control not to bend you over this desk and fuck you until you forget your own name.”

This time her mouth hangs open. For a moment she is not entirely convinced she hasn’t just imagined it all. That it wasn’t just her sick mind playing tricks on her. But then he speaks again.

“Did you hear what I said? That I want to fuck you into oblivion on this desk?”

“Yes,” she breathes out, trembling. 

“Good. Now I want you to go back to your desk and think it through whether you want that too or not. If you decide that you feel the same way, stay late and come back here when everyone is gone. Understood?”

“Yes.”

She feels dizzy, but not the same kind she felt on Friday, this is entirely different. Turning around she walks out of the room, but she’s on auto pilot as she returns to her desk. She leans back in her chair and slowly looks around.

No one in the room knows what just happened. Everyone is just minding their own business while Y/N is on the verge of fainting.

“You alright?” Linda peeks out from behind her screen with a concerned look on her face. “What did he want?”

If only she knew! Y/N thinks. She is dying to share, to take the whole conversation apart and analyze every bit, but she can’t. Instead, she forces a smile to her face.

“Just checked in with me about the migration.”

Linda examines her suspiciously for a second, but then her phone rings and she returns to her work while Y/N opens her laptop as well, but as she stares at the document in front of her she was working on before Harry’s email, she can’t even make out a word. 

Instead, she is busy thinking about what happens when the office empties out. 

***

Harry was dragged into some urgent issue sometime in the afternoon and it gave him enough work to take his attention away from prying outside, impatiently waiting for everyone to leave while making sure Y/N is still there. 

He answers one call after the other while emails keep popping into his inbox and he loses track of Y/N. When he finally drags his gaze away from the screen he looks up and finds the whole floor empty. All of it.

Meaning that Y/N left as well. Groaning he stands from his desk and walks over to the window, staring out into the night that has slowly creeped up on him. He truly thought she would stay. That she felt the same desire and thirst as him and she wants to explore whatever it could be, but maybe he read it all wrong. 

How will this affect their work? He should have thought of that before telling her he wants to fuck her on his desk. Who even does that? He is supposed to be her boss, her mentor, this was so incredibly inappropriate, he is thinking about reporting himself to HR and–

There’s a knock on his door. 

Turning around he freezes when he sees Y/N standing there with doe-like eyes and with just one look she is already making his pulse jump. He nods, barely noticeably, but she sees it and lets herself inside, closing the door behind her even though it’s truly just the two of them now. 

“Hey,” she sheepishly says, stopping exactly where she did earlier when he wrote her that email. This time however, Harry is the one to cross the room and then stop just inches away from her. She wonders if he could hear the wild hammering of her heart in her chest, the dizziness is back and she hides her hands behind her back so he doesn’t notice them shaking. 

“Did you think about what I said?”

Harry talks slowly and clearly and she couldn’t tell just moments ago he was freaking out too. But now that she’s there, every racing thought is gone from his mind, all he is thinking about is… her. 

“Yes.”

“And what’s your conclusion?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” There’s a tiny bit of sassiness in her tone, just enough to start a fire in him. 

She catches the way one corner of his lips curls up as he takes another small step towards her, his hands come up to cup her jaw on either side and he gently tilts her head back, angling it perfectly. Then slowly, he leans closer until his lips are almost touching hers, but then stops. As if he is giving one last chance for her to change her mind, but she is still there, waiting for him to finally break down the wall between them and he gives in. 

He lets his hunger take over instantly. There’s no testing the waters, feeling each other up, he kisses her in a demanding, needy way that takes her breath away at first, but she is quick to react the same way. 

Her hands move to his shirt, grabbing the fabric at his stomach while his hands are still holding onto her face, but then they slide down her sides, settle on the back of her thighs and she knows exactly what he wants her to do. So without breaking them apart, she jumps up, he catches her with ease as she wraps her legs around his waist and he blindly carries her to the small sofa by the wall. 

He sinks into the cushion and she straddles him, giving her a bit of advantage in height this way, so now he is the one to crane his neck while she is leaning down to meet him. 

It’s a mess, lip biting, tongues crashing, soft moans and grunts, his palms wander over his thighs and ass and then he sneakily peels her soft pink shirt out of her tight jeans so his hands can slip under the fabric and feel her heated skin. 

She is desperate to feel more, to ease the aching throbbing between her legs, so when she starts rolling her hips and grinding against his rapidly growing bulge, he can’t help the moan that slips out of his mouth, right into hers. 

His head drops to the back of the sofa and she takes the chance to kiss her way down the column of his neck. After dozens of fantasies doing the same thing during meetings, now she is finally tasting his skin, gently nibbling on a spot that has his hands grab onto her ass, pushing her even more into him. 

When their lips meet again her fingers dance down his chest, feeling up his abdomen through his shirt and then settle on his belt, she starts undoing it, but he is quick to stop her, which breaks her out of her trance., scared that she did something wrong. 

Reading her from just one look, Harry shakes his head softly.

“I know I said I want to bend you over my desk, but I don’t want the first time I’m inside you to be here. So we are gonna do it differently for now.”

As he speaks, his fingers work the buttons of her shirt, one after the other until the white, lacy bra is revealed underneath. 

“Is it fucking Christmas?” he breathes out, hooking a finger into one of the cups and tugging it down so your breast spills out of it. An airy chuckle slips out of her, but it quickly turns into a gasp when he sucks her pebbled nipple into his mouth, even gently biting and tugging on it. Her fingers comb through his hair, his fingertips massaging his scalp as her grinding continues. 

“I’ll tell you what we’re gonna do,” he murmurs against her chest, one hand freeing her other breast from the bra as well, so he can pay equal attention to them both. “You’re gonna grind that needy cunt of yours against me until you come, just so you can see what it is like when you’re not even undressed and imagine what will happen once I get to unwrap you.” He smacks her ass gently, a moan slipping out through her parted lips. “And I’m gonna leave marks all over tits and suck your nipples until they are so tender you can barely touch them, so when you go home and see yourself in the mirror, you’ll remember every moment of what’s happening right now.”

His hands grab her hips and make her roll them harder, his erection and the seam of her jeans rubbing into her soaking wet cunt. She eagerly takes the pace he dictated, desperate to chase her release that’s building in the pit of her stomach rapidly. 

“Do you like that? Do you like my plan?” he asks, his lips brushing against her nipple, teasing her with his touch just enough to make her whine and ache for more. 

“Yes,” he nods eagerly, hands clasping the back of his head to pull him closer to her chest and feel his lips on her heated skin again and he complies happily. 

“Then let me feel how badly you want to come.”

If someone told Y/N in the morning, that tonight she would be dry humping her boss like a horny teenager, she would have checked that person into a mental hospital. Yet here she is, grinding against Harry’s massive bulge, shamelessly rubbing her cunt against his erection while his mouth is full of her breast. 

He has already left a few marks on her and she knows she’ll have to wear turtlenecks for the next 2 weeks, but she couldn’t care less. 

“Fuck, I’m so close,” she cries out when she finds just the right angle where the seam of her jeans and the tip of his restrained cock rub her clit perfectly, sending sparks through her nerves. 

“Go on, want to see you come undone.” He bites the side of her left breast and she hisses, but it feels so good, so fucking great she moans loudly, her head falling back at the sensation.

“Harry, I–Ah!”

His hands grab her ass and he pulls her in, making her fall forward, her chest pressing up against his as she buries her face into his neck, fastening her movements as her orgasm is nearing. 

“Come on, Y/N. Let me see you come undone.”

“Wanna feel you inside,” she whines, but keeps moving.

“I know and you will. Just not now.”

She whines again in a disapproving manner, but doesn’t stop and Harry’s hips start moving as well. He encourages her a few more times, his lips brushing against her ear, sending shivers down her spine and right when she thinks she can’t take it anymore, the bubble pops. 

She gasps and moans, her movements get dragged out and Harry forces her to look him in the eyes as she rides out her joy. She loses track of time, can’t tell if it lasts for seconds or hours. But when it’s over she collapses into his arms. 

“You did so good. So fucking good,” he murmurs into her ear, kissing the side of her face wherever he can reach. When she finally catches her breath she sits up straight and looking down she sees that he’s still hard underneath her. 

Instantly, she reaches down, ready to take him out and take care of him, but he stops her again. 

“Not now.”

“But you… didn’t–”

“I know,” he smiles softly. “But if we go further now, I won’t be able to stop and I told you, I want the first time I’m inside you in a different setting.”

She understands and it’s flattering knowing he wouldn’t be able to control himself if they continued, but it feels unbalanced now that only she came. 

“Are you sure?” she asks, hands flattening on his stomach. 

Smiling, he nods. “Very sure.”

She thinks to herself for a bit and reaching up Harry brushes a lock of hair behind her ear as a smile stretches slowly across her face.

“What is it?”

“So… this means there will be a next time?”

The playful glint in her eyes amuses him. She is sitting on his lap, her chest still exposed, lips swollen from his kisses while his erection is still straining against his pants and she asks if there will be a next time. 

“Oh yeah. I will watch you come undone over and over again in every possible way. If you let me.”

She bites into her bottom lip, sheepishly blinking down at him, but her answer surprises him for a moment.

“I’m not letting you.” His face falls and his heart drops into his stomach, but she is quick to continue: “I’m begging you.”

“Oh baby, for that, now I’m adding  spanking to when I’m bending you over my desk and fuck you.”

Her smile only grows wider.

“Please, Boss!”

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

[jinjoohaa]

JJK men when you tell them to sleep on the couch

CW: Suggestive content, sexual innuendos,possessive/filthy dialogue, mild degradation, brat-taming themes. Minors dni.

✷ Gojo Satoru

Starts whining immediately. “Whaaat? Why, baby? Tell me—what did I do?”

You ignore him, and he trails behind you like a kicked puppy. Then comes the switch. Suddenly he’s throwing himself onto the bed, arm over his eyes like he’s in a tragic romance. “Y’mean it? You really gon’ make me sleep cold and lonely… without even suckin’ on your tits first?”

He props himself up, messy hair, smirking now. “You know I can’t sleep without your thighs around my head, baby. Don’t do me like this.”

Starts listing all the filthy things he’d do if you let him stay—“I’ll eat it till you can’t remember why you were mad. I’ll be a good boy, promise. Wanna fall asleep with my face right here—” pats your inner thigh.

By the end of it, he’s wrapped around you like an octopus under the blanket, cocky grin against your neck. “See? I knew you couldn’t resist me.”

✷ Toji Fushiguro

“…Huh?” He deadpans. “The couch? For what?”

You mention him being late, and he scoffs. “Tch. That’s what you’re mad about?”

When you say it again, firmer this time, he runs a hand through his hair and stalks toward you. “You wanna punish me, that it? Make me sleep alone after a long fuckin’ day?”

You cross your arms. He grabs your waist, yanks you close. “Nah. Not happening, sweetheart.”

He leans down, voice rough. “I’ll fuck the attitude outta you, then you’ll beg me to stay. That sound better?”

You shove at his chest but he just chuckles. “I’ll be better. Sorry, mama. But I’m sleepin’ right here—with my hand between your thighs, like always.”

✷ Kento Nanami

“…Did I do something wrong?” His brow furrows immediately. “If I hurt you, even unintentionally, I’d like to understand it so I can make it right.”

He stands still, serious and calm, hands tucked in his pockets. “If it would help you feel better, I’ll take the couch. But I’d prefer to sleep next to you. I like holding you. It helps me rest.”

You feel bad now, obviously. He sees it in your face and adds softly, “But I understand if you need space.”

You melt. “I was just messing with you, Kento. You can sleep in the bed. I love you.”

He kisses your forehead like he knew it all along. “I love you too. Now come here.”

✷ Suguru Geto

He raises an eyebrow, lounging in the doorway with a lazy smirk. “You sure about that, princess?”

You cross your arms. “Yup. Couch.”

He tsks, steps forward, brushes your hair back with annoyingly gentle fingers. “That’s cruel. You really want me tossing and turning all night without my pretty girl in my arms?”

You try to keep a straight face. He leans in closer, lips brushing your ear. “Besides… you talk in your sleep, y’know? Say the filthiest things. Who’ll keep you warm if I’m not there to help?”

You stammer. He laughs softly, wraps an arm around your waist. “Thought so. Now be good and scoot over.”

✷ Ryomen Sukuna

Scoffs. “The fuck do you mean, sleep on the couch?”

You glare at him. He glares back harder. “I’m not sleeping on any goddamn couch. If you’ve got a problem, woman, say it to my face.”

You tell him you’re mad. He leans against the wall, arms crossed, jaw tight. “You get mad at stupid shit. Tch.”

But then—he’s in front of you. “You want space? Fine. But don’t come crawling back at 2 a.m. whining that you can’t sleep without me.”

Starts walking away… then turns, smug as hell. “Bet your pussy misses me more than your mouth does.”

You gasp. He grins. “Thought so.”

Sleeps in bed anyway. Doesn’t ask again.

Comment down to get tagged when i post any JJK content

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[rafeslvbug]

please do a military!rafe oneshot inspired by this tik tok pleaseeee!!!

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTjX1kL99/

“okay rafe you ready?” you asked, hand on the bonnet of your car, prepared to sprint down the road.

you had been scrolling on tiktok for too long yesterday, when you saw this trend : a foot pursuit challenge.

and who better to do that with than your military husband?

well, rafe thought of a few people when you raised the idea to him, making a few comments on how unfair it would be, and how dumb it all was.

but here he was.

sitting in the car, tapping his fingers against the wheel, rafe nodded, “ready when you are, baby.”

the camera was already set up and as per rafe’s orders, you didn’t give a countdown - just to make things harder for him, he said. instead, you shot down the road, years of pilates and yoga finally paying off with the speed you managed to acquire during the run.

you heard the slam of the car door as rafe jumped out, his heavy footsteps chasing after you. sparing a look over your shoulder, you saw him fast approaching, his face the picture of calm like he wasn’t even running full speed to get this close to you.

before you knew it, a pair of strong arms wrapped around your waist and hoisted you into the air, spinning you around and settling you to face him. “got ya,” he grunted, before a smile spread across his face.

“that was cute, baby, tryna outrun me,” he teased, pinching your cheek with two rough fingers.

“cute? i was runnin’ for my life there!” you gasp, hands on your hips as you steady your breathing.

rafe lets out a laugh, deep as he pulls you closer, tilting your head up to him. “well then bug, we gotta teach you to run a little faster, that was good but in real life..” he tuts, causing you to frown.

“well not everyone runs like you! i doubt i’m the problem,” you huff, pouting until he presses his lips to yours, forcing it away with a heavy kiss.

“so i’m not like other men, is what you’re saying,” he mumbles, pulling away with a smirk tugging at his lips.

“oh shut it, rafe,” you mutter, as he tucks you under his arm and leads you back towards the house.

“watch it, baby, other men would let that slide, but as we’ve established..” he drawls, turning his head to speak into your ear, nose brushing against your hair and causing you to chuckle.

hit with a sudden realisation, you stop. “wait- rafe my phone,” you say, turning to go back to the car where you set it up, only for rafe to pluck it out of his pocket.

“right here.”

“oh thank-“ you frown, not finding the video in your drafts. “rafe did you-“

“delete it? yes. all sorts of fuckin’ spies around here baby, can’t let ‘em see the road we live on, that’s a rookie mistake.”

“rafe!” you complain, giving him a look. “there’s no spies here!”

“that’s what they want you to think, bug, our neighbours are prolly spies, don’t be givin’ them any more of your brownies an’ shit, ‘kay?”

“okay,” you grumble, letting him ruffle your hair.

“atta girl.”

[slutzforbueckers]

when things change

♡— pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader

♡— warnings: smut

♡— synopsis: when things change between you and paige on a random friday evening.

♡— a/n: it wouldn’t let me respond normally for some reason so hopefully you see this anon!

❥•°❀°•༢

“what time does the movie start?”

you stood at the counter in the kitchen cutting strawberries to mix into your fruit salad. paige has been staying at your apartment for a couple days now. it started with just a sleepover but then when the next day came neither of you wanted her to leave.

paige was probably at your place more than she was her own, not that you had a problem with it. you looked down at your watch to check the time and paige walked up behind you, wrapping her arms around your waist and resting her chin on your shoulder. her scent invaded your senses and you had to mentally insult yourself to get those thoughts out of your head. “uhm—it’s—uh— it’s in like 4 hours.”

“that’s so long.” paige groaned and stepped back. she moved to stand beside you instead, her fingers tapping on the counter in a rhythmic pattern as she watched you start back slicing fruit. you could feel her watching you and it was making you more aware of everything. she leaned in a bit closer, her eyes flickering between the side of your face and your fingers holding the fruit. “can i help?”

you looked up at her and smiled, shrugging your shoulders with a small breathy laugh. “sure. the knives are over there, and there’s some mangoes in the fridge. cut those.”

“yes ma’am.” paige smiled and pushed off the counter, her hand grazed your waist as she passed to grab a knife. you tried not to think anything of it, paige was naturally clingy—handsy—but for some reason you were reacting to it differently today.

while paige got out another cutting board and got her “station” set up next to yours, you wiped your hands on a towel and pressed play on you and paige’s shared playlist. the music played low in the speakers but still loud enough you could hear without any problems. neither of you said anything for a while—just enjoyed each other’s presence while you shared a simple task.

she didn’t fill the air with unnecessary words; she hummed faintly under her breath to the beat of the music, her shoulder bumping into yours every now and then as she diced the mango. you tried to focus on the strawberries in front of you, but it was impossible to ignore how close she was.

the way her hip brushed yours, the way her fingers worked with the knife—precise, focused—and how her body naturally leaned in toward yours without even realizing it.

“is this small enough?” she asked, holding up a piece of mango. her voice was soft, innocent, but her fingers were sticky with juice, and your brain chose that exact moment to imagine her licking them clean.

you swallowed the lump in your throat and forced your eyes off her fingers. “yeah. that’s perfect.”

maybe paige caught the way you stared at her, a subtle smirk pulled at her lips and she went back to cutting. she moved a little bit closer and she emptied the mangoes into the bowl. she didn’t pick back up right away, instead she placed her hand on your hip and gently tugged you towards her.

you paused and looked up at her, your eyes searching hers for a answer to a question you didn’t even know. paige didn’t say anything and neither did you, but her eyes got a little bit softer and filled with something a little more deeper. you had to look away after a few seconds—paige had always been better at eye contact between you two, she always managed to make it feel more intimate.

“stop looking at me like that.” you muttered, your body getting hot from the inside out. paige threw her head back in a loud laugh but you couldn’t figure out what was funny when you were five seconds away from jumping your best friend's bones. she squeezed your hip gently and let her hand trail across your lower back as she pulled away.

“what, i can’t look at you now?” she asked, turning around and leaning back on the counter, her arms crossing over her chest. you glanced at her and rolled your eyes before emptying the last of the strawberries into the bowl. the fruit salad was complete now, all the fruit mixed into one big bowl, all you had to do was put it in the fridge.

paige watched your every move—her eyes traveled over the curve of your ass when you bent over to place the bowl on the lower shelf in the fridge. when you stood back up and looked at her she was biting her lip, her eyes still low.

“no—i mean you can but when you touch me like that and look at me like that—its a lot for a girl.” you laughed to deflect from the fact that it really was too much for you. you walked towards her and stopped in front of her, leaning against the island to keep some distance.

“you make me feel—” you stopped before you said something stupid, turning your head to avoid looking at her. paige smirked and stepped closer to you, caging you in against the hard surface. she placed her hand under your chin and directed your face back towards her, her eyes dropping to your lips.

“say it. how do i make you feel?” her voice was low, teasing–but you could tell she really wanted to know how she affected you. your breath caught in your throat, the space between you feeling impossibly tight. you shook your head, your hands dropping to your sides. paige stepped closer and now her body was flush against yours, her thigh sliding between your thighs. “c’mon, just say it. tell me how you feel.”

“you make me feel like giving myself up to you—letting you do whatever you wanted.” your voice was small, quiet, shaky in a way that you knew she heard it too. paige’s tongue wet her lips and your eyes followed its every move, she ran her hands down your sides. you met her eyes again and it was like the truth was being sucked out of you, your words spilled out before your brain could stop them. “i want you to kiss me, paige.”

paige didn’t need to be told twice—in a split second her hand was wrapped loosely around your throat and she kissed you like she’d been waiting for this moment her whole life. it wasn’t slow or hesitant, she was sure about this and now she knew you were too. your hands flew to her waist, fingers pressing into her skin as you pulled her closer—your hips rolled forward into her.

the kiss turned messy fast—tongue, teeth, the sound of heavy breathing and soft, desperate gasps filling the room. her hands slid under your shirt, cool fingers meeting hot skin. they traced the sides of your ribs, brushing under the band of your bra.

“you’re shaking,” she murmured into your mouth, not giving you a chance to speak before she was kissing you again. paige decided in that moment that kissing you had to be her new favorite thing—your lips were so soft against hers, you tasted like the fruit you’d been occasionally eating and the vanilla from your chapstick.

as much as you would’ve loved to keep kissing her, you needed a breath of air before you passed out. her lips dragged down your neck, sucking gently at the spot just below your jaw until you moaned. “i’ve wanted to do this for so long.”

“really?” you panted. paige grabbed your hips and lifted you onto the counter in one swift motion—like you weighed nothing. your breath hitched as the cool surface met the backs of your thighs. she stepped in between your legs, hands spreading your knees apart as she looked up at you, eyes blown wide.

“you don’t know how much i’ve been holding back—every time you walk out the bathroom with nothing on but a bra and panties, every time i want to let my hands go lower—.” paige stopped herself, closing her eyes for a brief second before leaning in and resting her forehead against yours. she let out a deep breath and ran her thumb over your jaw. “i need you so bad right now.” she whispered.

“take me—take me paige, right now. please.” you rushed out, not needing to think twice about it. your arms wrapped around her neck and you leaned into her. paige looked up at you with low eyes, her eyes searching yours for any sign you might’ve been kidding. when she didn’t saw that you were being serious her hands were under your ass immediately, pulling you off of the counter and carrying you to your bedroom.

she sat you down on the bed, immediately crawling over you and laying you down. her mouth was back on yours—hot and messy. her hands were a little rougher now, pushing your shirt up and tugging your bra down until your tits spilled out. her mouth kissed your collarbone, sucking bruises that’ll remind you she was there every time you take your clothes off.

your fingers tangled in her hair when she reached your breast, her lips wrapped around your hardened nipple—wet and warm. your breath came out ragged and fast, your back arching slightly as she swirled her tongue over your nipple. her hands cupped the other, her fingers pinching and rolling your nipple between her fingers. she switched sides after a while and gave the other the same amount of attention.

“fuck, paige,” you whispered, barely able to get her name out. she looked up from your chest, her mouth swollen and wet, eyes dark with want. your body was already trembling beneath her, hips instinctively rolling up into hers, needing more—needing her everywhere.

“you sound so pretty when you say my name like that,” she murmured, dragging her lips down your sternum, kissing each inch of skin delicately. paige took her time working her way down, she took her time with you. her hands were rough with callouses from basketball but somehow they still felt soft on your body. “you’re so damn pretty, i can’t believe it.”

you turned your head when her gaze lifted to your face—you were flustered, nervous, and completely comfortable all in one. paige trailed her fingertips down the dip of your stomach, a light touch that had your breathing getting heavier. your nails dragged along her scalp gently as you tilted your hips towards her. “touch me, please.”

paige knew that you were on a time crunch so even though she wanted to take her time with you, she went ahead and worked your shorts down your thighs. “i’ve dreamt about this—about tasting you, feeling you come apart on my tongue.”

your thighs instinctively pressed together, not from hesitation, but from how turned on you were. her words had you pulsing, aching with need. “then stop dreaming,” you whispered, voice breathless. “and do it.”

paige didn’t hesitate, she kissed the inside of your knee, trailing her lips up the soft skin of your thigh, biting gently as she got closer to where you wanted her most. her hands slid under your ass and tugged you closer, your legs falling open for her automatically. her breath ghosted over your soaked panties, and she groaned softly at the sight. “fuck, you’re soaked for me,”

“this is what you do to me.” you admitted softly, not caring about what you said anymore because you’d already crossed the line. her fingers hooked around your panties and she slowly pulled them down—her breath caught in her throat when she really saw you. she didn’t say anything at first—just stared like she really couldn’t believe that you were there, laid out for her to touch.

her thumbs brushed the inside of your thigh as she lifted your legs and placed them over her shoulders, her head dipping low. you held your breath as you could feel hers on your cunt—hot and quick.

“you’re so beautiful—so mine.” she cracked a lopsided smile and let her lips brush over our mound, not quite where you needed her but she was getting there. paige didn’t need you to tell her you were hers, you've known that for a while but now it was solidified—set in stone. you let out a breathy laugh and nodded your head in agreement.

her mouth was on you in the next second—warm and wet and consuming. she groaned the second her tongue met your cunt, your slick coating her taste buds and making her head spin like she’d just taken a drug, the sound vibrated straight through your core. her tongue slid through your folds in long, slow licks that had your eyes fluttering shut before she even really got started.

“jesus—paige,” you gasped, your hip lifting off the mattress as she moaned into you. her hands slid under your ass, keeping you close like she was scared you’d pull away. her tongue circed your clit slowly at first, then she got faster, messier. her lips wrapped around it and she sucked until you felt like your soul was leaving your body.

your thighs tried to close around her head but her hands held you open, strong and sure. she pulled back just enough to speak, her mouth glistening, her voice rough and low. “you taste so fucking good.”

she was back on you in a split second,not wanting to waste any time,and you took a chance and looked down at her. you moaned at the sight of her—blue eyes blown with lust and a certain hunger that had your stomach tensing, her face was slick with your arousal—she looked like a sin shaped into a 6’0, blue-eyed, blonde.

even though it was her first time touching you like this it seemed like she knew just how to work your body. where to touch, to kiss, to press—she knew it all like it was second nature. she licked through your folds like she was starving, like she needed you to survive.

paige slipped two fingers in without warning and your hand slammed down on the mattress, fingers curling into the sheets.

“fuck—paige—don’t stop,” you gasped, your voice breaking around the words. your body arched off the bed as her lips wrapped around your clit again, sucking like she wanted to pull the sound right out of your throat. her fingers pressed deeper, prodding at you until she found the spot that made your thighs tremble. she moaned against you again, louder this time, and the vibrations made your walls clench, your breath catching in your chest.

“you’re shaking,” she murmured against you, her fingers curling on the drag out, slow and lazy. “you close?”

“so close,” you moaned, your hand shooting down to her head. your thighs started to squeeze around her head, back arching. “don’t stop, please—please.”

paige squeezed her thighs together, groaning into you because your moans we’re like music to her ears. the ache between her own legs was starting to get too hard to ignore, she moved her hand down and shoved it down her shorts and boxers. she sucked harder on your clit as she pressed her fingers against her own.

your head fell back, hips rutting into her mouth, chasing that orgasm that was so close. her fingers hit that same spot perfectly each time—it was overwhelming, so much heat, pressure. “paige—im gonna—fuck, i’m—“

your voice cracked as your body curled in, you didn’t even get the full sentence out before your orgasm hit you like a freight train. she moaned into your cunt as you came, her tongue and fingers never relenting. paige’s eyes were locked on you— memorizing every face you made, every moan that came out of your mouth.

paige didn’t stop after you came, instead she pulled her fingers away and held your thighs apart. you whined as you tried to lift yourself up, your hips stuttering from not knowing whether to pull away or move closer. you called her name with a shaky voice but she didn’t let up, she whined and moved closer.

“please—one more. give me one more, baby, please.” her arms hooked under your legs to hold you in place. you try to squirm, try to lift your hips, but her grip is vice-like. she’s gone—completely pussydrunk, eyes fluttering shut as she eats you out like it’s the only thing keeping her alive. “you taste so good—so fucking good. can’t get enough.”

her voice was broken, desperate, and there’s was no way you could make her stop now. you gripped her hair tightly, keeping her head between your legs. you’re already coming undone again, tears prickling at your eyes from the overstimulation, your thighs twitching in her grip. “oh my god—don’t stop—“

your thighs were full out shaking now, your body buzzed with pleasure from your head to your toe, a pressure building up in your stomach that was soon to release.

“i’m gonna cum,” you warn, voice ragged, broken. “paige, i’m gonna—”

your back arched deep and you nearly screamed, your cunt gushing in her face. paige let out a noise that was low enough to be described as a growl, your cum flooded her face and she tried to suck up every last drop.

you were trembling under her, overstimulated and soaked, your body twitching as paige finally, finally lifts her mouth from your pussy with a gasp. her lips are swollen, chin glistening, and her face is flushed pink with arousal and effort. she looks wrecked— absolutely obsessed.

“i think—i think that was the hottest thing i’ve ever seen.” she panted. paige pressed a soft kiss to your clit before trailing them up your stomach. you laughed, your body feeling hazy as you came down. when paige reached your face she had a satisfied smile on her face. you wrapped your arms around her neck and pulled her into a kiss. she pulled back after a second and kissed the tip of your nose, smiling big when you scrunched your face. “you okay?”

“m’okay. although…you tried to take my soul.” you playfully slapped her back. you leaned forward and kissed her again, slower this time, the kind of kiss that said everything without words. when you pulled away, her forehead pressed to yours, and everything felt right.

you stayed like that for a moment, quiet, letting the silence say everything for you.

[itsaintmebabe]

he stands up for you in an interview (midsize!reader)

୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ drivers: charles leclerc, oscar piastri, lando norris, max verstappen and carlos sainz

notes: this kinda came to me during the spanish gp today, let me know how you guys feel about it cause i’m not entirely sure abt it so lmk!! <3

୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ masterlist

₊˚⊹ᰔ CHARLES LECLERC

He’d just come off the podium, drenched in champagne and Ferrari red, the hint of a smile still playing on his lips as he stepped into the media pen. Charles was running on adrenaline and pride until a journalist leaned in with a knowing look.

“Charles, you’ve been seen out with your girlfriend a lot lately. Some fans are saying she’s not what they expected from someone in your position. How do you respond to that kind of surprise?”

Charles blinked once.

“What they expected?”

His voice was calm, but the chill in it made the reporter hesitate.

“Yeah, just, you know… public figures usually date a certain ‘type’ and—”

Charles cut him off gently but firmly.

“She’s exactly my type.”

He folded his arms loosely, still not raising his voice, but something steel-like settled into his expression.

“She’s smart. She’s kind. She knows me better than anyone else, and she’s beautiful to me,” he emphasized. “If people are surprised, maybe they should spend less time imagining what kind of woman someone like me should be with, and more time questioning why they think they get a say at all.”

He gave the reporter a tight, diplomatic smile, the kind that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Next question, please.”

₊˚⊹ᰔ OSCAR PIASTRI

Oscar had just scored a clean P2 and was relaxed, arms crossed, posture easy. He was talking about race starts and tire temps, until someone slipped in a question that made his brow twitch.

“Oscar, some people think your girlfriend isn’t really the ‘look’ they associate with someone at the top of Formula 1. Does that kind of public reaction ever give you pause?”

Oscar’s entire body went still.

“No. It gives you pause, apparently.”

The reporter blinked. “Just saying, there’s a certain image that comes with being in your position—”

Oscar’s eyes narrowed.

“You know what image I care about? The one I see when I come home after a race. When she’s curled up with a book and one of my hoodies. That’s it.”

He shrugged, voice still even but there was a bite now.

“If that doesn’t fit into someone’s aesthetic fantasy, that’s their problem. Not mine. Not hers.”

He glanced at the camera with a smirk.

“And definitely not yours.”

₊˚⊹ᰔ LANDO NORRIS

Lando had just taken the win and was practically bouncing, messy curls, cheeky grin, and post-race glow. He was in a good mood… until someone tried to sour it.

“Lando, fans online have been debating whether your girlfriend’s the ‘right look’ for someone who’s becoming a brand icon. Do you ever think about image in that way?”

Lando laughed. He actually laughed.

“Are you for real?”

The reporter started to respond, but Lando shook his head.

“You think I’m dating someone because it looks good in a photoshoot? Mate, I date her because she’s wicked. She's hilarious. She's sharp. She's a bit stubborn sometimes—” he grinned, fond “—but she gets me. And yeah, she’s hot as hell.”

He leaned toward the mic, playful but very pointed.

“I’m not worried about my image. I’m more concerned with whether she’s gonna beat me at Mario Kart again tonight and talk shit about it for a week.”

Lando shot the camera a wink and gave the next interviewer a wave.

“Let’s talk about the race now, yeah?”

₊˚⊹ᰔ MAX VERSTAPPEN

Max wasn’t in the mood.

P2 felt like a loss, and the media pen was the last place he wanted to be. But he was standing there anyway stone-faced, giving short answers, until someone really pushed it.

“Max, your girlfriend’s not exactly what we expect from an F1 champion’s partner. Do you ever feel like you could be with someone who fits the image more?”

Silence.

Max stared at the reporter. No blink. No shift in expression. Just complete, icy stillness.

Then, very slowly.

“Did you just ask if I’d trade my girlfriend for a better… image?”

The reporter tried to reword, but Max held up one hand.

“No. Don’t backpedal. I heard what you said.”

He took a breath, voice low and flat.

“She doesn’t need to be anything other than who she is. I don’t date people to impress strangers. I date her because she makes me feel like myself. Because she’s brilliant. And yeah I think she’s stunning.”

Max looked the reporter straight in the eye.

“If that bothers you, I’d say that’s your issue. Not mine.”

Then he turned to walk away no fanfare, no press officer needed just gone.

₊˚⊹ᰔ CARLOS SAINZ

Carlos was in good spirits, having fought his way to a gritty P4. He was laughing with the Spanish press, animated and bright, when a British journalist edged in with a question that turned the air a little colder.

“Carlos, with so many drivers dating models and influencers, fans were surprised to see you with someone a bit different. Is that a deliberate choice, maybe to be more lowkey?”

Carlos tilted his head, smile still on his face but his eyes had narrowed just slightly.

“I didn’t know love was a PR strategy.”

The reporter coughed, flustered. “Well—of course not, but—”

Carlos raised a hand, cutting him off gently.

“Look. She’s not ‘lowkey.’ She’s just real. No filter. No act. She’s herself all the time. And to me, that’s rare.”

His voice softened, but not his resolve.

“I don’t care what anyone expects. She’s smart, she’s loyal, she’s beautiful and when I look at her, I don’t see a comparison. I see her. That’s enough.”

Then, in classic Sainz fashion, he smiled again calm and a little smug.

“And trust me, if you met her, you’d get it.”

[reasonsforhope]

"Kristina Smithe was running the California International Marathon in 2019, grabbing cups of water to stay hydrated, when she started to think about how much waste such events produce. On the flight home, she did the math: 9,000 runners, 17 aid stations and something like 150,000 cups used once and thrown away.

“I was just shocked that, even in California, it’s not sustainable,” Smithe said.

That sparked her idea for something more durable — a lightweight, pliable silicone cup that could be used again and again. After working out a design, Smithe ordered her first shipment and tested them at a race in 2021.

Now her business, Hiccup Earth, has 70,000 cups that Smithe rents out to interested races to replace the typical white paper cups that can pile up like snowdrifts at busy water stops.

Billions of disposable cups are used around the world each year. These cups are often made of plastic, but even if they are made of paper, they typically have a plastic lining that makes it difficult for them to biodegrade. And making these cups, and disposing or burning them, generates planet-warming greenhouse gas emissions.

“That’s just a small subset of the amount of plastic waste that we produce, but it’s a pretty visible one,” said Sarah Gleeson, solutions research manager and plastics waste expert at climate nonprofit Project Drawdown. “It’s something that generates a lot of waste, and waste — depending on what exactly it’s made of — can really last in landfills for hundreds of years.”

As she was getting her business off the ground, Smithe emailed race directors to ask if their event used disposable cups.

“The answer was always yes,” she said. Her response: “If you’re looking for a sustainable solution, I have one.”

Now, she rents out the cups by the thousand, driving them to events in massive totes and leaving bins with the company logo for collection after use. Smithe picks up the used cups and washes them in a proprietary dishwasher.

At the PNC Women Run the Cities race in Minneapolis and St. Paul, Minnesota, in early May, Smithe helped quench the thirst of thousands of runners, dropping off 17-gallon tote bags full of her flexible blue cups.

After that race, Smithe, 35, estimated she’s taken her cups to 137 races and spared 902,000 disposable ones from the landfill. She also says her washing process needs only 30 gallons (114 liters) of water per 1,500 cups. An average efficient household dishwasher uses 3 to 5 gallons (11 to 19 liters) for far fewer dishes.

“It’s just a solution to a problem that’s long overdue,” Smithe said.

One trade-off is that the cup rentals cost race directors more than other options. Disposable cups might run just a few cents each, while 10,000 Hiccup cups would rent for about 15 cents each. That price drops if more cups are needed.

Gleeson, of Project Drawdown, sees the reusable cups as just one of many ways that innovators are looking to cut down on waste. Such solutions often have to be rooted in convenience and grounded in local or small applications to get more people to adopt them. Some cities, for instance, are experimenting with reusable food takeout containers that customers return to nearby drop-off spots later on.

While no one solution can fully tackle the problem, “The scalability is there,” Gleeson said. “I think in general, high adoption of these kinds of solutions is what is able to bring costs down and really maximize environmental benefits that you could get.”"

-via AP News, May 27, 2025

[sparrows4bats]

Doctor Damian handles the medical needs of the Justice League and their children.

He is professional, competent, and kind. More importantly, he asks very few questions and is one of the few medical professionals who know how to treat metas and aliens without making them feel less than a person or some mythical saviour.

For the children and young heroes, he speaks to them like any adult. He may lecture them about ignoring his orders, but they have seen him do the same to Batman, so it doesn't feel as condescending. He keeps their secrets unless it's life threatening and doesn't judge.

He even brings in his pets on vaccination days and after big fights so they can act as therapy animals.

The doctor keeps drawers of snacks and food on hand for any who want them, and everyone who leaves his office does so with lollipops and stickers, so matter their age.

Superman especially likes the blue raspberry, and Batman gets little cow shaped stickers stuck to his cape.

Flash has to restock Damians snack drawer every time he or another member of his family empties it in a speedster snack emergency.

He is a very good doctor and the only one who can pull any JL member from duty at any time, no matter their seniority

His work and compassion earn him a fanclub.

Nightwing may be your favourite hero's favourite hero, but the entire Justice League will do just about anything for their doctor.

Damian is brought coffee after long shifts, and every hero team has his takeout orders memorised.

If he is out on the field, no one gets near him while he works on patients.

The kid heroes follow him like puppies, so Damian teaches them first aid and praises their progress in training.

Some even learn how to swordfight with the doctor.

Damian has snuck more than one into Gotham so they can volunteer at his childrens hospital like he did at that age.

Others join his siblings and hang out at his apartment when they need a safe space.

The younger heroes invite him to game nights and come to him for advice.

The older heroes treat him with more respect than Batman half the time.

Even Batman listens to his orders without question. He is the only one who can get away with lecturing the whole Bat clan without consequence.

Some newer members try to date him only to be met with a wall of protective clingy heroes with strong opinions.

One probationary member doesn't take Damians no as an answer and makes the mistake of bragging about how he will 'convince' him one way or another.

He is only alive because Black Canary caught them trying to sacrifice him to Santa Claus.

The guy is banned from League functions until he completely 200 hours of HR training and completes a pych eval.

He was not the only victim of the fan club but the one that taught the cape community a very important lesson.

Doctor Damian Wayne is to be handled extreme caution. He may have taken an oath to do no harm. His gremlins have no such mercy.

Needless to say, when Jonathan Kent realises he is in love with his best friend, he knows he will be in for the hardest fight of his life.

But Damian, who had managed to befriend even the surliest of heroes through the Alfred Pennyworth method of keeping them alive and well fed, was definitely worth it.

Jon asks Damian on a date when he is sure none of the man's baby heroes can hear them. 500 feet in the air.

Jon is bewitched by the way Damian blushes as he says yes.

Jon gets to kiss him after their first dinner, heart soaring as Damian deepens it.

As the weeks go on, Jon carefully starts to integrate himself into the hangouts Damian accidentally hosts at his apartment. He brings pizza and soft drinks.

Eventually, he is invited to game nights, earning respect and admiration through Ma Kents Pies and his gaming skills.

Jon teaches the younger heroes about mastering their powers and shares stories from the supersons, much to Damians embarrassment.

Slowly, the baby hereos comes to him with their problems. Come to him for comfort or just to use him as a not so human shield from a worried Damian.

When Jon slips up at a movie night and kisses Damian in front of the kids, he expects to be tackled or shot.

What he does not expect is for the young heroes to scrunch up their faces and shout ewwwww.

"Wait, You Knew!!"

"That you and Mom are together? Obviously"

"I am not a mother!" Damian shouts indignant.

Jon laughs "You kinda are though."

"You sleep on the couch tonight." He crosses his arms and walks away from them all.

"But Dames, Noooo," Jon whines as he gets up to follow.

"Mom and Dad are fighting!" One of the kids shout with all the other voicing their agreement.

[ifyouencounterwolf]

Normalize this normalize that, we as writers and ARTISTS need to normalize NOT to see any critiques/negative feedback of our WORKS as a critique of OURSELVES.

When your work is finished and posted, it is done. It marks the end of a unique creative process and is now by and large independent from you. No matter how much of a magnus opus you think of it, you will be creating something better in the near future. So how would that posted work serve you now? By getting the FEEDBACKS from your readers.

How did that make others feel? Did it do the job of disturbing people or comforting people that you have intended it to do? Do people feel something unintended from your work? Do people feel anything from your work? Those are things as authors, we needed to know about, in order to know more about ourselves, and that's not just about our current skill levels.

Believe it or not, there's no inherently bad feedback, the negative ones are not inherently different from positive ones. They are all. just. feedback. They don't define you as a person, they are not attacking you as a person. Even with the worst kind "I hate this so much hope you kys" you could either ignore or ask how they hate it and where do they hate the most. Hate supply is still supply as my narc self would say.

That is, unless you are creating something for money and engagement/attention, and getting criticized will destroy your so-called celebrity fame and break the illusion that you are a prodigy and you don't need efforts to improve like everyone else on this planet earth. But sis, that's your problem.

Writing is a way of communication and forming a discussion, conversations cannot happen if either side is not allowed to speak freely. That goes for both the bad readers who demand authors to stop writing certain topics that disturb them, and bad writers who demand special treatment from the world simply because they created something for free and they thought they have a certain moral superiority to the "free-loaders".

Yes. You did create something for free and you didn't ask for the criticism. But you did that out of love and passion didn't you? Because as human beings, we are privileged to have this creative mind and this desire to express ourselves through our artworks, we live inside our own world but sometimes we want others to take a look at it and therefore we write something or we draw something and they reflect our thoughts and experiences and imaginations.

So what do our readers owe us? ABSOLUTELY NOTHING.

No one had this moral obligation to only make compliments and really really really mild suggestions and they still have to live in fear thinking whether the authors are still going to get offended because they interpreted "Looking forward to updates" as a demand or "I thought I wouldn't like it but I did" as a jeer.

Damn, if I'm a reader I would just say FORGET IT. I like it or I don't like it, who cares about my opinion? One wrong word would get me in fandom jail.

Except we do fucking care. Do you know what a purgatory I'm living in when I wrote my heart and soul out and people are just not going to leave anything for me to know how I did?

The readers' silence and uncaring to artists is a much more cruel punishment than their hate.

We have talked so much about "don't like it don't click" as a gotcha for the readers, but how about "don't like it but still give it a chance and tell me about it even if you still don't like it"? Because I trust you as my audience, that you have sufficient levels of media literacy and you have good tastes, and you can engage with artworks responsibly... THAT'S WHY I POSTED IT.

I could have just shown my stuff to only a small friend circle and let them be the judge but I chose to put it out there. Because I wanted it to stir up something so I could engage in conversations with people who only know me through my work and I would prefer it to stay that way. If the conversation is just about my typos and my grammar be it that way. It's still better than nothing.

That being said, we should not make it a consensus that readers need to give only compliments or just shut up. We should make authors themselves decide whether they wanted to be criticized or not. Authors can absolutely set up boundaries on how their works should be engaged, authors could say that "I want feedback but please don't nitpick my grammar or typo" or "this is personal to me/I am a first time writer so please be more gentle with your feedback".

But if you don't say anything then consider your work a free game if you may. See who catches the most of your hidden details and symbolism and see who asks the most annoying questions. Damn. As a writer that would actually be my dream.

not to be controversial bc I know this is like…not in line with shifting opinions on fanfic comment culture but if there’s a glaring typo in my work I will NOT be offended by pointing it out. if ao3 fucks up the formatting…I will also not be offended by having this pointed out…

‘looking forward to the next update’ and ‘I hope you update soon!’ are different vibes than a demand, and should be read in good faith because a reader is finding their way to tell you how much they love it. I will not be mad at this.

‘I don’t usually like this ship but this fic made me feel something’ is also incredibly high praise. I’m not going to get mad at this.

even ‘I love this fic but I’m curious about why you made [x] choice’ is just another way a reader is engaging in and putting thought into your work.

I just feel like a lot of authors take any comment that’s not perfectly articulated glowing praise in the exact manner they’re hoping to receive it in bad faith.

fic engagement has been dropping across the board over the last several years, and yes it’s frustrating but it isn’t as though I can’t see how it happens. comment anxiety can be a real thing. the last thing anyone wants to do is offend an author they love, and that means sometimes people default to silence.

idk where I’m going with this I guess aside from saying unless a comment is outright attacking me I’m never going to get mad at it, and I think a lot of authors should feel the same way. ESPECIALLY TYPOS PLZ GOD POINT OUT MY TYPOS.

[sixeyesonathiel]

marriage is a battlefield, and satoru gojo refuses to lose. not to burnt toast. not to your gremlin hoodie theft. and definitely not in this petty domestic deathmatch where the first to file for divorce admits defeat. unfortunately, you're cute. and evil. and he’s starting to like it.

wc — 1.3k | masterlist.

satoru wakes up to the smell of something burning. which would be alarming if it hadn’t happened every single day since the government decided two powerful jujutsu clans should seal their fragile alliance with the unholy sacrament of marriage. his marriage. to you. a domestic horror show.

at first, he’d entertained the possibility that you were just a bad cook. a humble menace, if you will. but by day four of waking up to incinerated toast and the smoke alarm going off like a cursed tool crying for help, he’d realized the truth: you were doing this on purpose. and worse—you were good at it. eerily consistent. you even timed the alarm to scream exactly one minute before his dream about vacationing in okinawa could finish.

and satoru, being satoru, found that infuriatingly hot. which was, frankly, a problem. one he refused to admit, even as he glared at the ceiling and considered if his dignity had also melted in the toaster.

he pads into the kitchen wearing socks, judgment, and a grudge. the tile is cold beneath his feet, and his hair is sleep-ruffled in that charmingly tousled way that only makes his frown more dramatic. it flops over his eyes like he’s a suffering poet. your back is to him. the toaster is on fire. again. you’re humming the melody of satan—some j-pop tune suspiciously upbeat for a war crime. your robe is pink and fuzzy and has a suspicious stain he suspects you’ve preserved out of pure spite. maybe you even gave it a name. his left eye twitches like a cursed seal unraveling.

“you know,” he says, leaning against the doorframe like he’s posing for a sad husband magazine cover shoot, one arm braced overhead for effect, face set in weary suffering, “some husbands wake up to kisses. or, like, edible food.”

“then you should’ve married someone else,” you chirp, devil incarnate that you are. you don’t even look up. you just stir your suspiciously dark coffee with the spoon that clinks against the chipped mug like a ticking time bomb, and let the toaster burn like a war crime. your foot taps along to your little murder melody. casually. as if you weren’t desecrating breakfast.

“i’m starting to think you burned the prenup too,” he deadpans.

you finally glance at him. eyes sparkling like you were born to torment him specifically. and unfortunately, it’s doing things to him. terrible, weak-willed things. his stomach flips. he blames the smoke.

“i taped it to your mirror,” you say sweetly. “next to the note that said ‘cry about it.’ did you not find it?”

his soul leaves his body. he gasps. dramatically. insulted on a spiritual level. how dare you. he clutches at his chest like a betrayed prince in a historical drama. he stumbles back half a step, just for theatrics.

“you are trying to get me to file for divorce,” he hisses, holding up a spoon like a cursed weapon of vengeance. it glints under the kitchen light like it has seen war. “don’t lie to me. you want out so badly you’re staging breakfast-related psychological warfare.”

“oh, sweetie,” you coo, flipping blackened toast onto a plate with the smugness of a cat knocking a glass off a table. the plate already holds two other casualties. “i don’t want out. i want you to want out. i’m playing the long game.”

long game. she says. like this is chess. like she’s some evil strategist in a romance anime and he’s the fool who underestimated her power. (he did. and he regrets it daily.) his eye twitches again. he’s starting to suspect it’s permanent.

he sits down at the kitchen table like it personally offended him. he folds his arms with the poise of a man entering battle. he makes eye contact with the toast. it stares back, dark and crispy, like it knows what it did. like it enjoyed it.

revenge mode: activated.

by noon, he’s already replaced all the sugar with salt. moved your favorite mug to the top shelf—the one that says “world’s okayest spouse.” changed your alarm to 5:47am because that’s a cursed time. a liminal hour where nothing good happens. he even puts the bathroom mirror slightly off-center just to watch you suffer.

you retaliate by vacuuming at 3am. with jazz music. loudly. wearing heels that click like tiny war drums. you twirl the vacuum cord like a lasso and blow him a kiss when he opens the door, eyes bloodshot and betrayal deep in his bones.

he retaliates by changing your ringtone to a baby crying and calling you ten times in a row during your nap. it echoes through the apartment like a banshee. a cursed infant banshee.

you steal his hoodie. his favorite hoodie. the one that makes him feel safe. the one that smells like peace. and you wear it. with confidence. standing on the kitchen counter, sipping from the mug he moved, like a gremlin goddess claiming her throne. your ankles swing above the sink, feet bare, expression smug. your hair is messy, the hoodie swallowing you whole, sleeves flopping every time you lift your arm.

he walks in, sees you perched there, and feels something in his soul crack like bad porcelain. he’s still holding a toothbrush. his mouth is half-foamed. betrayal stings.

“that’s mine,” he says, offended. his hair is damp from the shower, sticking to his forehead in adorable defiance of gravity.

“we’re married,” you reply, sipping obnoxiously. “congrats. you played yourself.”

he dies a little. again.

she’s small. and evil. and currently drowning in his hoodie like some kind of adorable demon. and he hates it. he hates how cute you are. how tiny. how you always stand on tiptoe to reach things and refuse to ask for help because you’d rather fall off the counter than give him the satisfaction. your brows furrow every time you climb something. your nose scrunches when you pretend you’re fine. you grunt when you jump down like a dramatic toddler.

he buys a second stool just so he can hide the first one every morning. he even installs a mini security cam to watch you suffer in 1080p.

you retaliate by labeling all his skincare with wrong steps. “cleanser” is now “serum.” “toner” is now “shampoo.” he puts eye cream on his elbows and screams into the void. his pores are crying. his dignity is gone.

one day, he finds the marriage license in the freezer.

“why is this next to the fish sticks?”

“because that’s where frozen mistakes go.”

he doesn’t know if he wants to strangle you or kiss you or both. probably both. he’s losing.

he’s losing the war. the bickering, the pettiness, the coordinated chaos—it’s becoming a rhythm. something domestic. something dangerous. he starts waking up early just to watch you frown at the crooked painting he moves an inch every day. he hides the remote. you hide his socks. he calls you a gremlin. you call him a manchild. and the weirdest part?

he starts to like it.

the apartment smells like incense and burnt toast and cheap citrus cleaner. your slippers are always one step behind his on the welcome mat. there’s a pile of throw pillows you both pretend you don’t use but secretly nest into like raccoons. his sunglasses are missing again. you’re hoarding them. he knows it.

one day, he watches you pick a fight with the rice cooker because it beeped at you too aggressively, and something in him just clicks. you stab the buttons with a butter knife and hiss at it like a possum. your hair is sticking up from static. your sleeve is falling into the rice bowl. you’re swearing under your breath in three different dialects.

he’s doomed.

he’s going to fall in love with you. hard. embarrassingly. and when he does, you’re going to laugh in his face and steal the last dumpling. and he’ll let you. he’ll even give you dipping sauce.

but not yet.

because tomorrow, he’s painting your shampoo bottle with disappearing ink. and you’re going to hide his blindfolds. and maybe—just maybe—he’ll look forward to waking up to the smell of toast on fire again.