#and so I would have to draw way back. and when I did time would pass and life would unfold

[em1i2a3]

I’ll Believe In Anything

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The Void x Thunderbolts!Fem!Reader

Summary: You book a beach getaway for the team, only to realize that it would be harder than expected to hide you and Bob's relationship from the others.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! Smut (a lot of it…kinda just purely self indulgent, promise next time I’ll have way more plot), and pure Fluffiness. Bob and Reader are in a secret relationship together, and it is relatively new (about two months in, though they were extremely close prior to this)

Smut Warnings: Unprotected P in V Sex (wrap it up y’all…please), Fingering, Oral Sex (Female and Male Receiving), Hands Covering Mouths to Muffle Moans…But like…In a nice way? (I feel like that might need a warning for some reason), Dirty talk, Teasing, The use of the name ‘good girl’ is scattered throughout this, Overstimulation, Squirting

Author's Note: I took the request of a beach day with Bob and I thought of a beach weekend with Bob and the rest of the Thunderbolts with the trope of a secret relationship and it being in peak honeymoon phase where reader and Bob/Sentry just can’t get enough of each other. Thank you Anon for suggesting a beach day with Bob…Because it got out of hand lol

Word Count: 15,200

You were supposed to be on the road by noon.

Instead, it was nearly 2:30 and you were still in Bob’s bedroom–sitting cross-legged on the floor, folding his t-shirts while he tried to seduce you with forehead kisses and absolutely no concept of urgency–while the others were already on their way to the beach house.

“Bob. I need you to focus!” You said, voice muffling through a laugh as he nuzzled against your neck, “You were supposed to be packed yesterday, and we were supposed to be halfway down the coast by now!” Bob, who had his arms looped loosely around your waist and his chin resting on your shoulder, sighed dramatically.

”B-But you smell so good…It’s l-like you bathed in the tropics or something. I-I can’t think straight when you smell like that.”

“You never think straight when I’m around.” You shot back. He turned his head and kissed your jaw, then your cheek, then the tip of your nose.

”That’s b-because you’ve ruined me.” He murmured. You grinned as he kissed the apples of your cheeks, his breath fanning over your skin. His arms tightened around your waist like he was trying to physically keep you from packing, while his whole body curled around yours, pulling you onto his lap slightly. Despite your better judgement, you leaned into him just a little.

”Actually,” You started, reaching for another t-shirt that you had thrown on the floor, “You were just secretly harbouring a high sex drive and didn’t realize it until we finally did it.” Bob let out a flustered breath–half-laugh, half-gasp.

”I-I was not…” Your eyebrows raised.

”Oh, really?” He leaned back a bit so he could look at you fully, with feigned innocence playing in his eyes.

”I-I mean…Fine. I didn’t know it was that b-bad until you. I-It’s not like I ever…I mean, no one’s ever…” He paused and tried to get his words back, taking in a deep breath because his voice almost got carried away with him “Y-You’re the one who makes it a whole different e-experience for me.” You sighed, surrendering to his words.

”I’ll take the blame for opening the floodgates,” You said, tossing another folded t-shirt into his duffel bag. Bob let out a soft laugh that reverberated through your back, warm and full in your ear.

”A-At least you’re a-admitting to it.” You rolled your eyes, reaching for a hoodie you had dug out from the corner of his closet.

”That doesn’t absolve you from having the highest sex drive I’ve ever encountered.” He groaned into your neck, kissing the sensitive flesh there as his arms tightened around you again.

”T-Technically,” He started, drawing the word out, “I’m trying to satiate three different sex d-drives here…” You froze mid-fold, raising your eyebrows at him again.

”Excuse me?” He lifted his head, like he was explaining simple math to you.

”Well…You can’t just put this all on m-me when there’s…Y’know…Two other entities l-living in here.” You immediately started shaking your head at him, giggling slightly in disbelief.

”You are not blaming your libido on Sentry and The Void.” He shrugged, smiling helplessly.

”I-I’m just saying…T-They have opinions too.” You hummed, fighting against the grin on your lips.

”I’m sure they do…But I never thought The Void was needy.” Bob nodded with mock solemnity.

”You’re right, h-he does tend to stay q-quiet unless he really wants to surprise y-you.” You threw his hoodie into the duffel bag.

”Sentry, though…”

“D-Don’t say his name…” Bob cut in quickly, “O-Or else he might be summoned.” He whispered. Which immediately made you double over with a laugh as Bob collapsed back onto the carpet beneath you, his large arms taking you down with him.

You both laid there for a second, tangled in each other and soft cotton, letting the laughter settle in your chests like a weight you wanted to carry. It had only been two months since you started going out with each other–officially. But it hadn’t exactly come out of nowhere.

From the second the Thunderbolts moved into the compound together, you had been drawn to Bob. You didn’t know why at first. He was quiet, hesitant, and always outside the room even when he was inside it. He was your total opposite. But he looked at you like you owned the moon and the stars–and that kind of gaze stuck with you.

It wasn’t long before you started orbiting each other in a way that felt deliberate. Every mission debrief, you found yourself sitting closer to one another. Every team meal, you would share your food with him, and he would do the same with you. Every long hallway walk back from training, he held the door for you with flushed cheeks and twitching hands. He loved the way you smiled, and that was all he wanted to make you do, all the time.

Then, two months ago, it happened. A soft moment. A long look. A kiss in the quiet of your room after a late-night movie together, and then–

You were his. And he was yours.

Now you found yourself in the dangerous phase where everything felt like fire under your skin. You couldn’t keep your hands off each other. He touched you constantly. Kissed you at red lights when it was only you and him in the car. Fell asleep with his fingers curled in your shirt. And snuck into your room at midnight and left your sheets twisted by the morning.

And yet–no one knew.

Not Bucky, nor Yelena, or Ava or Walker…Not even Alexei, even though he had his suspicions. You had both agreed to keep things under wraps until you were ready. Until it wasn’t so new. Until Bob was sure he could be looked at without being seen as a danger to you by the rest of the group. It was not like they didn’t trust him, but in the midst of everything going on with The Void and Sentry, it was easy for them to baby him and treat him like he was always on the brink of exploding, even though that wasn’t the case–mostly because you grounded him.

But both of you were able to admit it was getting harder and harder to keep your relationship under wraps, especially with how much you were sneaking around.

Bob turned his head and kissed your cheek again–slow and soft, right in that spot where he knew it would make you sigh. His lips lingered a second longer than necessary, and it was so sweet it was almost infuriating.

You groaned, flopping your head back against his shoulder. “Okay. We’re getting off-task again. Can you please contribute to the packing so we can get on our way?” He pouted, eyes wide and glistening, still reflecting the sea blue that always put you in a trance.

”A-Alright…Alright. But I want one more kiss.” He said sheepishly. You stared at him for a beat, then leaned in and kissed him on the mouth–firm but brief, something halfway between a promise and a bribe. He chased it for a second when you pulled away, but you were already on your feet, dusting off your thighs and grabbing the half empty duffel.

”Now, help me find those flip flops we bought for you last week,” You said pointing toward his closet.

————————

Thirty minutes later, you were finally on the road.

The sun had begun its slow descent, dipping low and gold behind the treetops as you pulled out of the compound’s gravel lot. The world beyond the gate opened up wide and free–the start of the real sky, of long stretches of road and salt tinged air rising up from the distant coast.

It was warm in the car. That perfect kind of summer heat–the one that lingered on your skin without stifling you. Your hand rested lightly on the wheel, guiding the car through curves and straightaways with practiced ease, in your other hand, condensation clung to your iced coffee cup as you sipped slowly, the straw catching slightly between your lips every now and again.

Beside you, Bob was quiet. Legs drawn up a little, barefoot, with sun streaking through the passenger-side window. His hair was still a little damp from his earlier shower, curling slightly at the edges and shining in the glow of the beams that cascaded over the light brown crown of his head. He wore the black soft cotton t-shirt you liked stealing, and his body had settled into that familiar, lazy sprawl that only happened when he was truly content.

The compound was behind you, and the beach was straight ahead. And for the first time all day, you allowed yourself to exhale. This was the start of something nice and soft, a time to actually relax and not think about anything other than your found family and your secret lover.

Then you felt Bob’s warm hand spreading across your thigh.

At first it was casual, his fingers brushing lightly over your skin, resting just above your knee. You didn’t even glance at him, because Bob always did this–it was his way to soothe himself.

But then his thumb started to move.

A slow, deliberate drag along the inside of your thigh. It certainly wasn’t innocent, and it had alternative intentions.

You shot him a warning glance.

”Bob–“ He didn’t look at you, he just kept his eyes forward, with a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, and then you caught the glow in his irises. It was very faint, but you knew the signs better than anyone else.

“Oh, for the love of god.” Sentry’s fingers crept a little higher on your thigh, just enough to make your breath hitch around the straw of your coffee.

”Come on…” He said deeply. Sentry’s voice was silkier, and lower. Touched by something celestial and smug, “Don’t act like you didn’t know I was going to make an appearance.” You groaned, putting your drink down into the cup holder, before dragging your damp hand down your face.

”Sentry…Now is definitely not the time. We literally just got on the road.” You said sternly. He leaned in, not touching you beyond the dangerously warm hand on your thigh, but close enough that you could feel the heat of his gaze.

”Yet, I’ve been waiting patiently. I watched you pack up his bag, and bend over and kiss his cheek as if I wasn’t even there.” His thumb made another slow sweep, dragging a little higher now, just an inch–but an inch too far, “You’re lucky I didn’t ruin the folding party,” He added, grinning now. Your jaw tensed as you kept your eyes on the road, trying very hard not to give him the reaction he was digging for.

”You’re not ruining this road trip fifteen minutes in,” You said firmly.

”Mmm,” He hummed, “I’m sure there’s a lookout space somewhere nearby. We’re already late, what’s another half hour going to do?” You shot him a withering glance.

”Sentry,” You warned, “You know it’s going to be suspicious if we show up super late. I know how you are. It won’t be half an hour. It’ll be half the damn evening and we won’t get to the beach house until midnight or something.” He bit the inside of his cheek before letting the corner of his mouth tilt.

”All I want is a little taste,” He said, voice dark with promise, “Fifteen minutes. We pull off, throw ourselves in the back on top of our bags. I go down on you quickly, then we get back on the road and nobody will know a thing.” You stared ahead, feeling your heart thudding against your chest. His hand hadn’t moved, it just burned against you like a promise waiting to be claimed.

”And hey…We can even pick up something from a market along the way and pretend we made a quick stop to cover up our trail,” He added helpfully, “A 24 case of beer will definitely be a good peace offering…It would be believable.” The hand on your thigh squeezed–gently, but with purpose. Just enough to make your pulse skip and your breath falter.

“I can hear your heartbeat, you know,” Sentry murmured, voice low and amused, like it thrilled him. “It’s stuttering. All fluttery and sweet. It does that when you’re thinking about me.” His thumb resumed its slow, teasing pass along the inside of your leg, brushing higher this time–so close to dangerous territory it made your stomach clench. You pressed your thighs together instinctively, and that was your downfall, because of course…He felt it.

”Oh, sweetheart…” He drawled, his voice smooth and coaxing, “Don’t do that. You’ll have all that friction and it won’t be able to go anywhere…You’ll make yourself ache. Let me fix it for you…” His hand inched slightly higher, fingertips ghosting the hem of your shorts, toying with the edge like he was already imagining sliding them down your legs in the backseat. You let out a sharp exhale and kept your eyes forward, but he leaned in closer, voice dropping to something deep and honeyed as he whispered:

“You know…I can smell your pheromones right? I can smell everything. I’ve barely touched you and you’re already tempting the divine…Don’t make me beg.” You swallowed hard, jaw clenched, and glanced down at your phone where it sat in the center console with the maps app still open. Estimated arrival time: 7:04 PM.

You didn’t even care about being late. But the team would care. And so would Bob, mostly because he would think you almost blew your covers, but at this point…You were putting that off to the side.

Your voice came out rougher than you intended–strained, but full of warning, “I’m going to set a fucking timer, Sentry.” He stilled slightly, his brows raising in curiosity. You glanced over at him just enough to see his eyes–those shimmering, celestial irises already brightening with every breath you took, devouring every word you were about to say.

”I’ll give you fifteen minutes, not a second more. We can have our little backseat romp session, but then I want Bob back so we can get to the beach house without another stunt like this. Deal?” He didn’t hesitate. He raised his free hand, as if he was swearing a divine oath.

”I will keep my promise,” He purred, lips tilting into something between appreciation and mischief. You groaned, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter before flipping on your turn signal.

“Let me find a fucking exit…”

Sentry reclined smugly in his seat, already victorious. “Good girl.” You rolled your eyes.

”You’re lucky the back windows are tinted.” Sentry didn’t move his hand–just let it linger, warm and steady on your thigh as you guided the car down the exit ramp toward a small turnout nestled beneath a canopy of trees. The kind of hidden roadside clearing that was perfect for a quick stop…Or a god-tier rendezvous. He was watching you with that look again. The one that belonged solely to him, not Bob. All gleam and heat and slow-moving hunger. He looked like temptation itself–bathed in the soft, dusky glow bleeding in through the windshield, his smirk half-wicked, half-worshipful.

“I could’ve asked to do it in front of a window without a tint,” he said softly, leaning back like he wasn’t plotting sin, “And you still would’ve said yes.” Your breath caught, “You like my tongue too much to care about an audience.” Your knuckles tightened on the steering wheel. You made a strained noise of disbelief in the back of your throat and gave a low grunt.

“Text the group chat,” You growled, eyes flicking to the parked gravel lot ahead, shaded and deserted. “Tell them there’s traffic, that we’re behind. Say we’re stopping to grab a case of beer. Make it sound casual.”

Sentry made a pleased little sound in his throat, already unlocking Bob’s phone with one swipe. “I love when you get like this,” He murmured as he thumbed out a message.

“Bob: Hey srry, we hit some crappy traffic, gonna be a bit late, going to stop and grab beer so no one complains ❤️❤️❤️”

”You’re putting too many hearts,” You muttered.

”I’m in a loving mood,” He replied, “Or maybe I’m just…Warming up.” He commented, returning his hand back to your thigh, giving it a squeeze. You pulled into the shaded turnout, tires crunching slowly over gravel as you eased the car to a stop beneath a thick curtain of trees. The sound of the highway faded, replaced by the gentle hum of nature and the distant whisper of the coast.

You turned off the ignition and grabbed your phone off the console, flicking to the clock app to put in the timer. You set it for fifteen minutes, and pressed start, before dropping it into the cupholder with a thunk.

Sentry was already shifting toward you in his seat, his pupils blown, and his mouth already watering in anticipation.

“Backseat. Now.” You ordered.

He obeyed without hesitation. But not before dragging his palm slowly up your inner thigh one last time, a promise etched into that final touch.

“Don’t worry,” He murmured as he unbuckled, voice dark and sweet as sin, “I’ll make every second count.” You didn’t wait for another cue. In one smooth motion, you shifted your weight and climbed between the seats–knee first, then twisting your hips as you hauled yourself into the back without ever leaving the car. It wasn’t graceful, but it was efficient–and Sentry made a sound the second your ass brushed past his face.

“Fuck,” He muttered low, and before you even had both feet off the console, his hand came down in a playful smack against your backside. You jolted, letting out a sharp gasp as you turned to glare over your shoulder.

“Seriously?”

“You’re the one waving it in my face like an invitation,” He purred, gaze locked on your curves like he was already halfway undressing you with just his stare. “You expect me not to say hello?” You flopped back onto the bags, thighs spreading automatically as you settled into the soft, uneven pile. The duffels creaked under your weight, but they cradled you perfectly–your legs open, head tipped back, heart already hammering.

Sentry followed in a slow, almost stalk-like crawl. His eyes were molten gold, his mouth parted slightly like he could already taste you.

And the moment he was between your legs, he didn’t speak.

He went straight for your shorts.

His fingers hooked into the waistband, tugging them down with one smooth pull—and your underwear followed, sliding down your thighs and calves and off with a gentle rustle. He bunched them up in his hand, then casually tossed them into the front seat like one would toss a bouquet at a wedding.

“I love this seat now,” He muttered.

You didn’t get a chance to retort–he was already back on you.

Sentry’s mouth descended onto your belly first–hot, slow kisses pressed just beneath your navel, where your shirt had rode up and exposed your skin. He worshipped his way down: lips dragging, breath heavy, hands stroking your sides like he wanted to memorize every inch before devouring the center of you.

You parted your thighs even more for him and his breath hitched.

“God, yes,” He breathed, reverent and aching, like the sight of you made him lose all of his thoughts for a second. Sentry exhaled hard through his nose as you opened yourself wider for him. His hands gripped your thighs, spreading you further like he needed to see every inch, and his gaze–bright, golden, hungry–burned a trail straight to your core.

Then he dipped his head.

The first stroke of his tongue was filthy.

A long, unrestrained lick from your entrance all the way up through your folds, ending in a slow, devastating flick against your clit that made your back arch off the bags. He moaned into you like he’d been craving this for days, like you were his personal religion.

“Fucking perfect,” he breathed against you, and then he was all mouth.

Lips, tongue, teeth–he worshipped you with all of it. He lapped at you like he was trying to memorize your taste, then sealed his mouth around your clit and sucked with a precision that made your hips jerk. You cried out, grabbing a fistful of his hair and pulling, hard, as your other hand reached out blindly and was promptly pinned to the seat.

He held you there. Just enough pressure to keep you grounded, trembling beneath the mouth of a god.

He looked up at you as he worked–eyes locked to yours, glowing with unfiltered desire. Your hips began to grind instinctively, rutting against his tongue, and he groaned–loud and guttural–at the feel of it. The vibration shot through your entire body, igniting the tension building in your gut like it was being called forward.

And just when you were about to fall apart, he pulled back.

His mouth was slick, chin shining, lips red and parted as he stared up at you with a sinful kind of reverence.

“Look at you,” He rasped, voice thick and ruined, “Already grinding on my face like a good little thing. I knew you missed this.”

You whimpered, and he grinned like he’d won a war.

Then he dove back in.

His tongue was relentless this time–messier, wetter, devouring you like you were the last thing he’d ever taste. Your legs trembled, your hips stuttered and rolled against his face, and his moans only got louder. His tongue circled your clit and sucked hard, and you shattered–with a cry and a full-body jerk as the orgasm ripped through you, fast and merciless.

Your legs clamped around his head, and still he kept going, licking through it, eyes fluttering half shut as he groaned into your core like your pleasure was the most delicious thing in existence.

You collapsed back against the duffels, panting, twitching, vision swimming.

And he still didn’t move.

Not until your thighs loosened and your hand slipped from his hair.

Then he slowly pulled back, breath heavy, lips wet, and reached casually over the seat to tap the screen of your phone.

Seven minutes left.

He looked back at you, eyes flashing.

“Plenty of time.”

Before you could catch your breath, he was on you again–this time with a low growl, gripping your hips and dragging you closer until your thighs were slung over his shoulders. You barely had time to inhale before he buried his mouth in you again, and this time, he didn’t ease in.

He was ruthless.

Sentry licked and sucked with feverish intensity, tongue working your already sensitive clit until you were writhing–overstimulated, gasping, body trying to get away even as your hips betrayed you, chasing more friction. He held you still, strong arms wrapped around your thighs, anchoring you as his tongue danced through you like he owned your pleasure.

“Please–fuck, please–” You sobbed, not even knowing what you were begging for.

“You can take it,” He murmured against you, mouth hot and sticky, “Be good for me. Come on, sweet thing…Give me one more.”

You didn’t even realize you were grinding on him again until you felt how tightly you were rocking against his face–hips pulsing, chasing that high you swore had already ruined you. Your hand reached back to the seat, desperately clutching for leverage, and your thighs began to tremble.

Sentry moaned again. Louder. Hungrier. He followed your movements, let you grind against his face while he kept sucking your clit, letting you fuck yourself on his mouth like he was starving for it.

The orgasm ripped through you even harder than the first–violent, blinding, stars behind your eyes as your entire body locked up, a cry catching in your throat as your hips seized against him. You sobbed, gasped, twitched, and he kept licking until you slumped back against the bags, shaking.

Then he pulled off slowly, tongue sliding with one last lazy lick, and kissed the inside of your thigh.

He sighed like he was full.

“You’re unbelievable,”He whispered, voice low and worshipful. “Fucking gorgeous. So good for me. Such a perfect little thing, letting me ruin you like that.”

You were still panting, barely able to lift your head.

“Sentry…” You breathed, voice hoarse. “You’re insane.”

“Mm. Maybe. But you’re glowing, and I’m proud of my work.”

He licked his lips, still tasting you, and looked dazed with pleasure.

Then he leaned up, slowly, and kissed your mouth.

It was deep, slow, and messy–your taste was still fresh on his lips, and you moaned against him without meaning to. He kissed you until you couldn’t breathe again, then finally pulled back just enough to murmur against your mouth:

“Hopefully,” He whispered, smug and tender, “You can recover for a minute or two…Before you get back to driving.” His eyes–bright and swirling with hints of caramel beneath the glow–scanned over you like he was taking inventory. Your hair was mussed, your shirt rumpled, your thighs still twitching faintly as your breath fought to steady itself. He looked proud. Not smug. Proud–like he’d just completed the holiest task of his life.

Then, gently, he reached down and smoothed his hands on the outside of your thighs, giving you one more kiss before saying:

”Let me help.” You gave him a small nod, watching as he reached toward the front seat and grabbed your discarded shorts and underwear. Carefully, he slipped your underwear back on–guiding each foot through the holes and sliding the fabric back up your thighs with featherlight fingers. His knuckles brushed your hips as he tugged the waistband gently into place. Then he leaned forward and kissed your stomach, right above the hem.

“So beautiful.” He murmured against your skin. You let out a long exhale, watching him closely as he did the same thing with your shorts–lifting and fitting them over your legs, being as gentle as possible. He let his fingers linger for just an extra second at your hips before pulling back, offering you both his hands.

”Come on,” He said softly, his voice now hinting with the familiar cadence of Bob returning beneath the surface. “Let’s get you up front before he wakes up and before your legs decide to go on strike.” You let him haul you up, giggling breathlessly as you stumbled a bit and collapsed into his chest. He steadied you with both arms wrapped around your back, holding you there as your head rested on his shoulder.

“You okay?” He asked, and you nodded into his neck.

”Yeah, just dating a guy who has a menace living inside him.” And he let out a small laugh.

————————

The car still smelled like you.

Even with the windows cracked to let the salt air in and the case of beer tucked safely in the trunk, the interior held the faintest trace of heat and sweat and you–like citrus and sugar and something warm he couldn’t name. The radio was low now, playing a soft stretch of guitar through the static as the trees thinned around you, and the narrow road shifted into something more golden. Sunlight spilled like honey through the canopy overhead, dappling the long gravel drive leading to the beach house with flickering, buttery light.

Bob leaned forward slightly in the passenger seat, eyes wide and quiet as the house came into view–wood-paneled, two-storied, all soft cedar and wide windows that caught the last of the sun and bounced it back into the sea below. You could hear waves in the distance already, even with the engine still humming beneath you. A long wraparound porch stretched across the front of the house, framed by tall grasses and uneven dunes, and parked cars were scattered along the side like lazy footprints. You recognized Walker’s truck immediately, and Alexei’s SUV beside it. Farther up, Bucky’s bike leaned half in shadow near the porch, its chrome handlebars still catching the last low light.

“Almost there,” You murmured, easing off the gas as the tires crunched softly over the gravel. You reached for your iced coffee again, now mostly melted and watered down, the condensation ring still etched into the center console.

Bob, still barefoot, tugged slightly at the hem of his black t-shirt and glanced sideways at you, his voice quieter now. “S-So…How’re we gonna pull this off?” He scratched at the back of his neck, hair still slightly mussed from the backseat, and you could see the concern flickering beneath his tone–half nerves, half anticipation. “R-Rooming together, I mean. W-We’re gonna need a story, right? Or else…”

You raised your eyebrows and cut him off with a soft, sly smile, “I just ‘accidentally’ booked a house with one less room.”

Bob blinked. “You what?”

You shrugged, eyes forward again as you navigated the last turn into the long curve of the driveway. The house loomed larger now, golden in the dying sun. “We’re the last to arrive. Someone was going to get the short end of the straw either way. This way, it just happens to be us.”

His mouth parted slightly, brow lifting with astonished admiration. “Y-You’re very clever…” He breathed, voice warm with affection. Then he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your cheek–quick and soft, just before the car came to a full stop at the base of the porch stairs.

Your skin tingled where his lips had landed, but you didn’t let yourself react visibly. Instead, you reached down and turned off the engine.

The car fell silent, and for a moment, all you could hear was the ocean.

Bob stared up at the house like it might swallow him whole. You could feel the weight of his anxiety settle behind his chest, even though he was trying to play it cool. You slipped your hand over his, gave it a quick squeeze.

“Hey,” you whispered, “We’re going to have fun. That’s the whole point of this weekend, remember?” You raised a brow. “You know…Vacation? No missions. No compound stress. Just the beach. Board games. Barbecue. Bad drinks.”

His lips twitched. “A-And maybe some bad ideas,” He added, rubbing his thumb over the top of your hand.

“Definitely,” You agreed, grabbing your phone and slipping it into your pocket. You both got out of the car at the same time.

The air outside was humid, but not heavy—salt-kissed and breezy, laced with the low rhythmic hush of the tide. You stretched your arms overhead, your shirt lifting slightly to reveal a sliver of skin, and you caught the way Bob glanced at you before looking away quickly. Still flustered. Still sweet.

He grabbed the case of beer from the trunk while you took the small overnight bags. The sand crunched softly beneath your boots as you made your way up the porch steps, and the wooden boards creaked gently under your weight. Laughter spilled from inside–Yelena, unmistakably, and then a deeper voice you recognized as Alexei’s. The screen door rattled in the frame, propped open by a flip-flop.

You paused just before stepping inside, glancing at Bob one more time. His eyes met yours with something soft–nervous, but steady.

“We got this,” You said, nudging your shoulder into his.

He nodded. “O-One less room, huh?”

You smiled.

“Short end of the straw.”

And with that, you pushed open the door.

Inside, the beach house was warm with light–wood-paneled ceilings, string lights draped along the beams, and the cozy smell of something cooking already wafting in from the kitchen. The living room was scattered with mismatched throw pillows, a huge sectional wrapped around a coffee table stacked with snacks and card games. Someone had brought a Bluetooth speaker that was playing an old Rolling Stones song under the chatter. Walker was barefoot, sitting on the edge of the couch drinking a beer with his arm flung over the back, while Ava lay sideways across the cushions on her phone. Yelena was perched on the kitchen counter with a handful of kettle chips, and Alexei was in an apron, aggressively stirring whatever was inside a pot.

The room turned the second the screen door clicked shut behind you.

“Finally!” Yelena shouted, hopping down from the counter. “What the hell took you so long? You miss a turn and wind up in another state?”

”G-Guess there’s no service up here…G-Got stuck in traffic,” Bob explained, lifting the beer up, “A-And we decided to stop for t-this as a peace offering.” He placed the case on the island counter with a thud. Yelena narrowed her eyes.

”Mmm…Well that’s nice…But they’re warm.”

“They’re not warm,” Ava called from the couch. “They’re body temperature. Like they’ve been sweating in a hot car for hours.”

You kicked off your boots, smirking. “Then someone better put them in the fridge if you want to be hydrated by nightfall.”

Alexei gave a loud cheer and clapped Bob on the back hard enough to jostle him. “Bob! You pack swim trunk, or are we going to encourage skinny dipping?”

Bob blushed so violently it touched the tips of his ears. “I-I packed,” He said quickly.

You reached for your bag and motioned casually to the stairs. “Which room are we getting?”

Bucky appeared from the hallway, arms crossed, already looking like he’d claimed the bedroom with the best view. “There’s one left. Top of the stairs, last door on your right. Double bed. Sucks to be the last ones here…”

You nodded, keeping your expression even.

“Guess we drew the short straw Bob…Hope you like sleeping on the floor.” You joked.

You followed Bob up the narrow, creaky staircase, the wood groaning under your footsteps and the hum of laughter still trailing from the kitchen behind you. The upstairs hallway smelled like cedar and sea salt. A tall window at the end of the corridor cast a rectangle of gold light across the hardwood, and you could hear the distant, rhythmic crash of waves through the thin summer walls.

“L-Last door on the right,” Bob said softly, glancing back at you over his shoulder. His voice was still a little hoarse–quiet from nerves or from what had happened earlier in the car, you couldn’t quite tell. Probably both.

The room wasn’t big, but it was perfect.

A double bed was pressed against the wall, low and wide, with fresh white sheets and a faded blue quilt that looked like it had been dried in the sun one too many times. The window above the bed was cracked open, letting in a soft breeze that lifted the edges of the curtains gently like breath. Through the slats, you could see the glittering edge of the ocean just beyond the trees, gold sun sinking into darkening blue. A small dresser sat in one corner, its top empty except for a lone seashell bowl and a lamp that hadn’t been turned on. A fan clacked softly in the ceiling overhead.

Bob hovered in the doorway for a second, like he didn’t quite believe this was real.

You stepped past him, tossing your bag onto the foot of the bed and letting yourself take a slow, indulgent breath.

“Not bad,” You said, turning back to face him with a playful tilt of your mouth. “Definitely cozy.”

Bob let out a breathy laugh, finally crossing the threshold and closing the door behind him with a quiet click. “I-It’s perfect,” He murmured. His eyes drifted to the bed, then back to you. “D-Do you think…W-We’ll be okay sharing that?”

You raised your eyebrows. “I’ve seen you take up more space on a couch than that bed,” you teased, “I think we’ll manage.”

He smiled, stepping closer, his hands still fiddling with the hem of his shirt like he wasn’t sure what to do with them.

The tension was different now–softer, quieter. The chaos of arriving was behind you. The shared room was secured. The door was closed. The window was open to the salt air and the hush of waves.

And you were alone.

Bob reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his fingers barely grazing your skin.

“Y-You were amazing earlier…In the car,” He said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I-I know it’s not always easy when he comes out in my moments of happiness like that. I just–wanted you to know I’m grateful. F-For you. For…Everything.”

Your chest ached at the way he said it. Honest. Bare. Like you were holding his whole heart. You stepped in, wrapping your arms loosely around his waist. He folded into you like a tide, resting his chin gently on your shoulder, his arms sliding around you in return. His breath was warm against your neck as he kissed the smooth skin there. You turned your head slightly, just enough to let your nose brush against his jaw, and then you whispered:

“I love every piece of you, Bob. Every single one. The quiet parts, the powerful parts, even the ones that scare you a little. They’re all you—and I love them all.” His breath hitched ever so slightly, and his arms tightened around you in that way that always made your heart ache a little, because it was like he was trying to make sure you didn’t float away.

Then you added, just a little softer, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips:

“And, hey… it’s also kind of a perk that when you’re at peak Sentry, you’re practically putty in my hands.”

Bob huffed a quiet laugh—half embarrassed, half endeared—his forehead tipping against yours. “Th-That’s not fair,” he murmured, grinning shyly, “Y-You already have me wrapped around your finger without any celestial interference…” You opened your mouth to respond, only to be interrupted by Yelena.

”DINNER IS IN TEN!” Her voice carried like a bombshell from the kitchen, followed by the distinct clatter of a pot lid being thrown into the sink.

”STOP THROWING THINGS, WE’RE RENTING THIS PLACE!” Ava yelled. You let out a little groan, and pressed your forehead to his, hearing a soft laugh escape his throat.

“W-We should go down before she comes up here with a spatula…”

”Or worse…A truth serum.” You added, taking a step back, “Let’s go, pretty boy.”

———————

After dinner, everyone moved in slow, satisfied motions–bellies full, limbs relaxed. Alexei’s strange but oddly delicious pasta had vanished quickly, and someone had cracked open the beer before it could fully chill. The plates were stacked haphazardly beside the sink, and instead of drawing straws or assigning chores, a quiet sort of rhythm formed.

Bob washed.

You dried.

Yelena stacked the dishes with unnecessary aggression while muttering under her breath about how she always got “dish-duty by proximity.” Ava supervised, occasionally leaning over to correct the stacking form while sipping wine from a novelty mug. Bucky wandered in halfway through the clean-up with a dish towel over his shoulder and somehow managed to avoid doing anything except drying one fork and then disappearing again. You didn’t even know where Walker had gone, but the open back door suggested he’d escaped onto the porch with the Bluetooth speaker and a fresh beer, and Alexei had sprawled out on the couch.

Eventually, with the kitchen cleaned and the sink no longer threatening to overflow, the group gathered in the living room. Someone dimmed the lights. Bob claimed a spot on the corner of the couch, and you casually sank down beside him. A blanket was draped over the back cushions–threadbare and too warm for the weather, but you tugged it down anyway, letting it spill across your lap and his.

You didn’t say a word.

You just reached for his hand beneath it.

He let you take it, let your fingers lace with his, and his thumb drew slow, steady circles against your palm as the movie began to play. Something old. Familiar. Background noise for a room full of ex-operatives pretending to be ordinary.

No one noticed you. No one questioned the blanket. Maybe they were too full, or too tired. Maybe they didn’t care. But Bob’s breathing slowed the second your hand found his, and you could feel the way his shoulders eased against the cushions, just from that simple, hidden touch.

The movie ran long. People started peeling off one by one. First Walker, then Ava. Alexei disappeared upstairs muttering something about needing to “test the mattress.” Yelena stayed the longest–curled up in a chair with her hoodie pulled tight–before eventually yawning, retreating to her room soon after.

That left just you and Bob.

The TV still played–now quiet, some after-midnight rerun that neither of you were watching.

Bob shifted slightly, his hand still linked with yours under the blanket, and you could see the way the light touched the soft parts of his face, casting long shadows under his lashes and along the slope of his cheekbone.

You turned your head toward him, voice low.

“Hey,” You murmured, “Wanna go for a walk?”

He blinked slowly, like you’d caught him in the middle of a thought, then nodded. “Y-Yeah…It’s cooler now, right?”

“Much.” You smiled, pulling the blanket off and rising to your feet. “Tomorrow we’ll be roasting in the sun. Let’s take advantage while we can.”

You grabbed a hoodie from the back of a chair and slipped it over your head as Bob did the same, and together, you padded barefoot across the wooden floors, out the back door, and down the stairs that led through the grass-covered dunes toward the shoreline.

The sky had settled into a deep indigo, the last hints of twilight drained away, and the stars had begun to peek through the clouds above. The moon was just enough–silver-bright and low, casting its glow across the dark stretch of water. The tide dragged in slow and lazy, brushing against the shore with a soft shush-shush that sounded like breathing.

You and Bob walked in silence for a while, shoulders occasionally brushing, your steps syncing as if you’d done this a hundred times before. There were no footprints ahead of you, only the ones you left behind.

Eventually, you stopped near a slope of dry sand that overlooked the water. You sat first, tucking your legs up loosely beneath you. Bob dropped beside you, not too close, but not far–like his gravity always pulled just slightly toward yours.

You tilted your head back, looking at the stars, breathing in the fresh air, the saltiness of the ocean stinging your lungs slightly.

“I could stay here forever,” You whispered.

Bob glanced over, eyes warm. “T-The beach?”

You nodded. “The quiet. The breeze. The water…All of it. It’s peaceful.”

He was quiet for a moment, watching your profile.

“D-Do you think about that a lot?” He asked softly, “L-Leaving the Thunderbolts and just h-having a normal life?” Your fingers curled into the sand.

“Sometimes,” You admitted. “Not in a running-away kind of way. Just in a…‘What would life be like if it wasn’t chaos all the time’ kind of way.”

He nodded slowly. “Y-Yeah…”

You turned your head toward him, the wind catching the tips of your hair. “You ever think about what you’d do if you weren’t on the team?” He reached up and scratched the back of his neck, shifting a little bit so he was a bit closer to you.

His shoulders rose with a breath, and he let it out slowly–like he was weighing something, choosing the words carefully before letting them go.

“Well…” He said quietly, “I-I think…if I never met you guys, I probably would’ve still been in that b-box in the vault…”

You turned your head to look at him. His voice didn’t shake, but the words held a kind of weight that settled between you, soft but immense. “O-Or most likely dead and forgotten,” He added, more gently now, like the thought had been lingering for a long time. “But…If I wasn’t trapped in that b-box, or if I didn’t volunteer for the Sentry serum… I probably still would be on meth. S-Still strung out. N-Not really contributing to the world l-like I am now.” He gave a soft laugh, small and humorless, but not bitter. Just…real. Then, without another word, Bob leaned back into the sand, stretching his long limbs out with a soft grunt, his eyes fixed on the sky overhead. He looked younger like this–bathed in moonlight, barefaced and barefoot, his silhouette framed by starlight and the faint shimmer of ocean spray.

You followed him down, shifting to lay beside him so your heads were level, your hair brushing the edge of his shoulder. You turned your face toward his, and after a moment, reached for his hand. He gave it willingly–alway-sand your fingers threaded easily through his. The warmth of him, even now, pulsed steady and grounding against your skin.

There was a pause before he spoke again. When he did, his voice was quieter, more vulnerable.

“But I… I’m glad everything happened the way it did,” He whispered, eyes still on the stars, “C-Cause I wouldn’t have met you.”

Your heart squeezed. His thumb was trembling slightly against your palm, like the gravity of what he was saying was pushing through his whole body. And still, his voice held that stunned sort of wonder, like he still couldn’t believe you were real.

You turned to him fully, propping yourself on your elbow as you leaned over, brushing his light brown hair gently back from his forehead. He blinked slowly, his eyes finding yours in the dark, and you saw everything in them. The gratitude. The ache. The awe.

Then you kissed him.

Soft. Gentle. Like the moonlight itself had dipped between you and pressed your mouths together.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t lustful. It was slow and full–like every word he couldn’t find was poured into that one, quiet connection. And when you pulled back, you kept your hand against his cheek, letting your thumb brush along the high arc of it, just beneath his eye.

“I’m glad too,” you whispered, your voice low, full of a warm, aching kind of honesty. “I’m glad you’re here. I’m glad you found us. And I’m really…really glad you found me.”

His breath hitched. You felt it under your fingertips. But his smile was soft, full of something steady and glowing.

“I’d choose you,” You added, gently. “In any timeline. On any team. With or without the serum…I’d still fall for you.”

Bob turned his face into your hand a little, eyes fluttering closed, as he whispered back:

“I’d fall for you too. A-Again and again.”

You lay down beside him fully now, your head on his shoulder, your hand still holding his. The waves whispered in the distance. The stars blinked above you. And for a little while, there was nothing else in the world but the two of you–quiet, safe, and absolutely seen.

——————

The room was still dark, kissed only by a faint, early gray light leaking in through the slats of the blinds. Outside, the sound of the tide had softened into something gentler–just the hush-hush rhythm of saltwater sliding over sand.

Inside, the air was warm. Heavy with body heat. Still.

You blinked slowly awake, muscles stiff from sleep, and realized almost instantly that you hadn’t moved in hours.

Bob was wrapped around you like a blanket.

One long arm curved over your waist, the other curled under your head like a makeshift pillow. His chest was pressed to your back, bare and slow with each breath, and his legs were tangled with yours beneath the sun-dried quilt. His forehead rested against the top of your shoulder, and his mouth was half-open against your skin—breathing hot little puffs that clung to your collarbone, sticky with sleep.

You let out a quiet sigh, shifting just enough to test the weight of his grip.

He didn’t stir.

You tried again, this time with a little more effort–attempting to slide your leg out from between his–but the second you moved, his arm tightened around you instinctively. A low, sleepy sound rumbled from his throat, not quite a groan… more like a murmur. His hips shifted a little, like he was seeking you out.

That’s when you felt his erection through his soft jersey sleep shorts, pressed flush against your lower back. He didn’t even seem aware of it yet–he was still snoring lightly, his mouth sticking slightly against your skin with each breath–but the heat of it, the weight, was undeniable. And growing.

You let your eyes slip closed for a second and tried to breathe through the flare of arousal that pulsed low in your core.

Then you felt his nose nuzzle against your shoulder.

Followed by a kiss.

Slow. Barely-there. Like his body was already making decisions his mind hadn’t caught up with yet. Another kiss came next, right where your shoulder met your neck–and this time, his hips twitched forward, just a subtle roll, like instinct.

You let out a soft, accidental sound–something between a sigh and a quiet gasp–and felt him tense behind you.

Bob’s breath caught.

And then you felt his erection twitch against you, pulsing hot through the barriers between you both.

“…Crap,” He whispered hoarsely, voice thick with sleep. His hand flexed against your stomach, like he just realized he was holding you that tightly. “S-Sorry…”

You smiled softly, still facing away, voice barely audible. “Don’t apologize.” You turned your head slightly, just enough for your nose to brush his cheek. His breath stuffered, and he let out a quiet, fragile sound–a mix between a sigh and a groan–as his hips rolled forward again. The heat of him pressed fully into the curve of your backside this time, unmistakably eager now, and definitely awake.

His hand slipped up your torso, fingers smoothing gently along your stomach.

”Y-You know, I was just d-dreaming about you…” He rolled his hips again–slow, sweet pressure that sent a flush of heat straight through your belly. You hummed.

”Well…Now I’m right in front of you, so what are you going to do?” You asked, your bottom lip slipping between your teeth. He groaned and nuzzled into the crook of your neck, kissing just below your ear as his hand slid lower, gently tugging at the waistband of your sleep shorts.

”I-I’m gonna take care of you.” He replied, breath catching as he pulled them down slowly, being extra careful not to pull away from the heat of your body. You lifted your hips slightly to help him, and the material slipped down over your thighs, pooling beneath the covers.

Then you felt him shifting behind you–his own sleep shorts sliding down just enough for skin to meet skin. He pressed a kiss between your shoulder blades as he brought your leg over his thigh, guiding you open with gentle, trembling fingers.

You could feel the tip of him, hot and slow, sliding through your wetness–teasing, and patient. And then, with a quiet exhale, he eased himself in.

The stretch was slow and aching–every inch of him pressing deeper until he was fully buried inside you, his forehead resting against your shoulder, his breathing shallow and unsteady.

You gasped, eyes fluttering, and he immediately reached up, covering your mouth with his hand. His palm was warm, a little shaky, but careful–pressing just enough to muffle you without smothering.

“Shh…” He whispered, kissing your neck as his hips began to move, slow and deep, “Y-You’ll wake the whole house…”

His voice was wrecked already–raspy and breathless, full of longing. His movements were steady but aching with restraint, his body coiled tightly behind yours as he rocked into you with each measured thrust.

“You f-feel so good,” He cooed against your shoulder, voice almost broken, “So warm…So soft around me…”

Your back arched involuntarily, your body melting into his as he moved inside you, breath brushing over your skin like a prayer.

“I–I dream about this,” He confessed, his hand tightening just a little over your mouth when he felt you moan. “Every night, I dream about being inside you like this…” His other hand gripped your thigh where it was draped over his, holding you open for him as he pressed deeper, grinding instead of thrusting, like he needed every second of contact.

“You’re my favorite feeling in the world,” He breathed, voice cracking as he kissed the curve of your shoulder, “N-Nothing else even comes close…”

You whimpered behind his hand, and he felt it–your sound against his palm, your body trembling as you clenched around him. It made him groan, a soft broken sound he buried against your skin.

“G-God,” He gasped, “You’re perfect, you’re everything…”

His hips stuttered, and you felt him shiver behind you–he was close. So close. And trying so hard to keep it together.

But the way you felt around him, the way your body rocked back to meet him with each slow push, the way your legs trembled and your hands clenched the sheets…

It was unraveling him.

“Come for me,” He whispered, muffling another moan against your skin. “P-Please… Let me feel it…”

You didn’t need much more.

The combination of his voice, the press of his hips, the hand over your mouth holding you in that secret, quiet space–it sent you over the edge. You arched into him, muffled cries caught in his palm as your body clenched and shuddered with pleasure.

He groaned when he felt you fall apart, hips jerking as he buried himself deeper one last time, then stilled–shuddering, gasping softly into the hollow of your shoulder as he let go filling you up with warm hot ropes of cum. The room was silent, save for the sound of your breath mingling with his.

He didn’t move for a long moment, he just stayed there, inside you, holding you close with one arm wrapped tightly around your waist, the other still gently covering your mouth until your breathing slowed.

Then, with a soft hum, he kissed your shoulder one more time, and pulled out slowly, hearing a muffled gasp leave your throat. His hand dropped from your mouth, and his fingers brushed your cheek gentle before going down to rest on your waist. You turned in his arms, curling toward him, and he shifted back instinctively, giving you space–but not distance.

His face was flushed, glowing faintly in the dim early light. His lips were kiss-swollen, his hair a mess of soft strands sticking to his forehead. And those eyes–half-lidded, shining, still dazed with the echo of your body around him–blinked slowly as he met your gaze.

You leaned in, brushing your mouth against his, slow and sweet, lingering just long enough to taste the sleep still on his lips. When you pulled back, your voice was low, your words tinted with something warm and teasing.

“Y’know,” You murmured, “It sucks we can’t do that more often.”Bob huffed a quiet laugh, cheeks tinting even deeper pink.

“Y-Yeah…” He mumbled, then kissed you again, quick and tender. “H-Hopefully when we’re ready to t-tell them…It’ll give us more time to do this.”You smiled against his mouth and reached up to brush your fingers along the side of his face, thumb stroking just beneath his cheekbone.

“You’ll be moving your stuff into my room, I hope.” He nodded immediately, voice barely a whisper.

“O-Of course. A-All of it.” You tucked your head beneath his chin, letting your fingers trace light circles across his bare chest.

“Good,” You whispered. “Then maybe we won’t have to sneak around anymore. Bob let out a soft, breathy laugh, and tightened his arms around you, pulling you closer.

“I-I don’t mind sneaking around, but having more mornings like this with you would be so much b-better.” You sighed contentedly into his chest, then tilted your head up and kissed the underside of his jaw.

”As romantic as that is,” You started, “I have to pee.” A groggy whine escaped his throat the moment you tried to wiggle out of his hold, but he released you–albeit reluctantly–letting his arms fall away with a dramatic sigh.

“Such a sour puss,” You teased, with a smile as you stood and grabbed a fresh pair of shorts from your bag. He mumbled something incoherent into the pillow, as you disappeared into the small adjoining bathroom, flicking on the light before sitting down on the toilet with a sigh. You stayed there for a moment, letting his cum drip out of you, while your muscles began to ache slightly in the most satisfying way. You waited a few minutes there, until you wiped, flushed, slipped on your fresh pair of shorts and went to wash your hands, splashing some cold water on your face to shake the sleep off of it. When you glanced in the mirror, you saw your reflection looking flushed and soft, your lips swollen and your hair slightly mussed.

You smiled.

Moments later, you tiptoed downstairs barefoot, the old wooden steps creaking softly beneath your weight. The morning light was barely creeping into the beach house, casting long shadows through the kitchen windows and illuminating the dust in the air like glitter suspended in water.

You were alone for about ten seconds.

Then–

“Morning.”

You startled a little, glancing toward the living room, where Bucky sat slouched at the edge of the couch, already halfway through a mug of coffee. His hair was tied back, a few loose strands falling around his face, and his voice was scratchy with sleep. He was wearing sweatpants and a black t-shirt which allowed his vibranium arm to refract the morning light that shined through the windows.

“Morning,” You said smoothly after you caught your breath, opening the cupboard to grab a mug and filling it at the tap before reaching for the coffee pot. The smell was heavenly–dark and rich and blessedly bitter. He watched you for a moment, then cleared his throat.

”Long night?” You froze with the coffee pot tilted halfway to your mug.

Just for a second.

Then, slowly—calmly—you finished pouring, set the pot back on the burner, and turned around, your mug cradled casually in your hands.

“Yeah,” you said, letting your voice stay light, breezy. “A little. Bob and I stayed up for a bit after everyone went to bed.”

Bucky’s eyes didn’t waver. He took another slow sip of his coffee, and when he lowered the mug, there was a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I know,” he said.

Your breath caught.

“I saw you guys on the beach, actually.” You didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch. Because you didn’t know what he meant by that, was he watching for long? Or did he just catch a glimpse of the both of you? Those were the burning questions that lingered in your mind. But your poker face didn’t falter. Not yet. You took a slow sip of your coffee.

“Oh?”

“Mm-hmm,” He nodded, swirling the liquid in his mug. “You were sitting real close. Talking. Then lying down together for a while.” His voice was still scratchy with sleep, but his tone was deliberate. Easy. Controlled. Testing.

“I figured it was one of those ‘Thunderbolts trauma-bond’ kind of talks,” He added, voice edged with amusement. “Until you kissed him.” The heat in your cheeks crawled down your neck like a slow steady burn, and you swallowed hard, eyes flicking away from Bucky’s unreadable gaze, attempting to play it off.

“Chalk it up to…a heat of the moment thing,” you said lightly, forcing a shrug as you stared down into your coffee. “It was a nice night. Things just…Felt right, and we y’know kissed, that’s all…”

But Bucky didn’t budge.

He just stared at you–calm, patient, eyes sharp even through the softness of morning light–and took another sip of his coffee.

“Y’know…” He started, tone deceptively casual, “I had my suspicions for a while, especially with the way he gets all boyish and giddy around you…But I never had proof, though…Till I saw your location yesterday when you two were supposedly stuck in traffic.” You glanced up sharply, your heartbeat thundering in your chest. He didn’t look angry, it was just a glance of knowing.

”And I saw you weren’t on the highway anymore, you’d pulled off. And about twenty minutes went by before your pin started moving again…Then with the kiss, everything really clicked…” You felt the blood drain from your face only to rush back hotter than before. Your pulse hammered in your ears. Slowly, shakily, you set your coffee mug down on the counter with a quiet clink, hands trembling slightly.

“So…How long have you and him been seeing each other like that?” He asked.

”…Two months,” You admitted, barely above a whisper. Bucky nodded once, taking that in. His jaw ticked, and he exhaled through his nose.

“How long are you planning to hide it from us?” He asked, not accusing–just…Curious. Honest. You looked up at him, your eyes meeting his.

“We just wanted to keep it a thing between us…Until we were ready,” You said, your voice thin, your throat tight. “Until it wasn’t so new. Until we weren’t worried that…If it went public, people would start treating him like a bomb again.” Bucky’s shoulders sank a little, his eyes flicking away for just a second–guilt passing like a cloud over his expression. He nodded slowly, rubbing a hand over his jaw.

“I get that,” He said finally. Then he sighed, the weight of it long and tired. “But…Are you gonna tell the rest of the team?” You hesitated.

”Are you?” You retorted, which made him shake his head.

”That’s not my call…That’s up to you two. I just…I feel bad that you think you can’t tell us. That it’s something you gotta hide.” He set his mug down, bracing his hands loosely on the counter.

“I mean, most of us have our suspicions. Hell, Ava’s been keeping score on who catches the most looks between you two. But that’s different than hearing it straight from you.” His eyes flicked to yours again, gentler this time. “It’s different when it’s confirmed.” Your mouth was dry. Your heart still raced. But something in your chest eased–just a little.

“…Are you mad?” You asked softly.

He shook his head again. “No. Just…I wish you felt like you could trust us with something that clearly means a lot to you.”

You swallowed thickly, nodding. “It does,” You whispered. “He does.”

“Then maybe it’s time to stop pretending,” He said, pushing away from the counter. “Because if he’s yours…Then you deserve to be honest about it and be proud about it.” You nodded, staring down at your mug again. Bucky turned to head back toward the living room, then paused.

“For what it’s worth…” He said without looking back, “I think you’re good for each other. Might even be the first damn bit of softness either of you has ever had.” Then he left the conversation.

——————

The sun was already high by the time the house started to stir again. Someone had opened the screen door to let the breeze through, and the smell of sunscreen and brewing coffee lingered in the warm air.

Back upstairs, you stood near the dresser, slipping into your bikini with your back to the bed. It was a modest one–navy, with a soft scoop neckline and high-rise bottoms. Comfortable. Secure. Practical. And Bob was watching you like you were peeling the sun itself from the sky.

He sat propped against the pillows, his soft black t-shirt wrinkled, his bare legs still stretched out across the quilt. He didn’t speak at first–just blinked slowly, jaw slack, like he hadn’t quite recovered from waking up with you in his arms. But then he smiled. A slow, crooked thing.

“You look…” He started, then cleared his throat, his voice catching a little. “R-Really good in that.”

You slipped your coverup over your head–a breezy white linen thing that barely touched your thighs–and turned to face him with a raised brow.

“You mean I don’t look like a walking sunscreen ad?” You teased.

He shook his head, grinning. “Y-You look like a goddess…In a very modest disguise.”

You chuckled, padding over to the bed and grabbing your sunglasses. “Well, modest disguise or not… I was thinking,” You said, more seriously now, “Maybe we should tell them tonight…About us…” Bob’s smile softened.

“If you feel like that’s what you want to do,” He said gently, shifting to sit upright. “I’ll follow your lead…Whatever you want.”

You stepped closer, and he leaned up, brushing a kiss over your lips–slowly mirroring the softness of yours. Just enough to make your shoulders melt a little.

“B-But if you’re feeling off about it,” He murmured against your mouth, “We don’t have to. We can w-wait.” You sighed, resting your forehead against his for a beat.

“Well…There’s no point in keeping it a secret if Bucky already knows.” Bob nodded, fingers brushing lightly over your hip.

“Okay. So…We’ll tell them tonight. O-Or tomorrow. Whenever you want. Like I said.”

You gave him a small smile, kissed his cheek, and grabbed the sunscreen from the nightstand.

”This is why I love you so much.”

—————————

Outside, the beach was a sun-drenched haze.

The heat was intense–sharp and golden, radiating off the sand in visible waves. Everyone had already claimed their spots along the shore: Ava and Yelena were sprawled on towels like lizards, Walker was playing a vaguely competitive game of paddle ball with Alexei, and Bucky had parked himself under a battered umbrella with a book and a massive bottle of water.

You and Bob set up beneath a second umbrella, tucked in the shade where the breeze still managed to kiss your skin.

Bob flopped down beside you on the oversized beach towel, already tugging at the collar of his shirt. “T-The heat is already too much for me,” he muttered, sweeping his damp hair off his forehead. “A-Add the sun on top of it all though? It’s like I’m going to suffocate.”

You laughed, sipping from your bottle of water. “You literally have a sun god in you. I’m not surprised you haven’t gotten heat stroke yet.” He shook his head solemnly. “D-Don’t take it off the table. That might still happen.” You both laughed, your heads tilting together like magnets. After a few quiet moments of comfortable lounging, you stretched your legs out and let your head tip back.

“Hey,” You said casually, offering him the sunscreen. “Think you could do my back?” Bob took the bottle without hesitation, twisting the cap and squirting some into his palm before warming it between his hands. You pulled your coverup off slowly, letting it pool behind you, and turned so your back faced him. His hands were warm–steady as ever–as he spread the lotion across your shoulders, down the length of your spine in slow, tender strokes.

Then, as he leaned in to reach the small of your back, his breath ghosted over your ear.

“You know…” He murmured, his voice low and teasing, “If we weren’t out in public…I’d be making you moan into the sand right now.” You froze, eyes widening slightly. Your breath caught in your throat, and you turned just enough to glare over your shoulder.

“You can’t say that out here,” You hissed, cheeks flushing with warmth that had nothing to do with the sun. “You’re being a horn dog.” Bob smiled, slow and wicked, his hands still dangerously close to your hips.

“C-Can’t help it,” He whispered, secretly brushing his lips against your shoulder, a move that nobody noticed before pulling back like he didn’t just say something absolutely filthy, “You s-started it with the modest disguise.” You reached for the sunscreen and smacked him lightly in the chest with it.

“Keep it up,” you warned, “And I’m gonna make you wrestle Walker in the sand just to get all that energy out.” He grinned.

”I-It wouldn’t be the same as rolling around in it with you though…” You laughed again–loud and bright–and tucked yourself into his side as he pulled the umbrella down a little lower to block the worst of the glare. And for a moment, you just sat there–hidden in the shade, hidden in plain sight–wrapped in sunscreen and secrecy and a kind of love you both knew wouldn’t stay secret much longer.

———————

Dinner that night was loud.

The long driftwood table was crowded with mismatched chairs, benches, and half-sand-dusted Thunderbolts wearing tank tops and oversized hoodies. The sky outside had softened into a dusky lavender, and the kitchen was warm with the scent of grilled shrimp, charred corn, and garlic butter. Ava had taken the lead on the stove this time, refusing help and swatting away every wandering hand that got near her skillet. Alexei had uncorked a bottle of cheap white wine and was pouring it generously for everyone, and Walker was arguing over playlist control with Yelena, who had threatened to smash his phone with a meat tenderizer if he didn’t leave the music alone.

You sat beside Bob, as usual.

Close enough that your thighs brushed when you shifted. Close enough that your elbows bumped whenever you reached for the same thing. You waited until the table was full–until everyone had food and was midway through their first drink. Then you reached over, slid your hand into Bob’s under the table, and gave it a quick squeeze.

He looked at you with wide eyes, his fingers instinctively curling around yours, and you offered him a soft, steady nod.

He cleared his throat.

“I–um.” He glanced around the table. “S-Sorry to interrupt, I just–uh, w-we had something we wanted to tell you.”

The table quieted. Forks paused mid-air. Conversations slowed. All eyes slowly turned toward you both. You exhaled, heart thudding, and looked around the room.

“Bob and I are together,” You said simply. “Like…For real. And we have been…For a couple months now.” The silence lasted for a full beat.

Then—

“Thank God,” Ava groaned, tossing her napkin onto the table. “I thought I was going insane watching you two eye-fuck each other every day like nobody was noticing.”

“Finally!” Yelena barked, pointing a chip at you. “I said it three missions ago. I said, those two are absolutely sneaking off during recon debrief, and everyone thought I was being dramatic.”

“You are dramatic,” Walker muttered into his glass.

“But also right,” Bucky added, voice dry. “It was obvious.” Alexei beamed and reached across the table to smack Bob’s shoulder.

“You little sneaks…I respect dedication.” Bob flushed crimson from the ears down.

“Y-You guys are not…Mad?” He asked, looking around the table, voice tentative. Yelena rolled her eyes at him.

”Bob. Come on…You think we wouldn’t accept you dating someone who clearly loves the shit out of you?”

Walker pointed his fork at you. “Honestly, we’d have accepted it even if we had doubts. But we don’t. You’re good together. It’s obvious.”

You felt your chest tighten with sudden emotion. Bob’s hand was still wrapped around yours under the table, his thumb rubbing slow, nervous circles against your palm, but now…It felt steady. Reassured. Warm in a way that made your ribs ache.

“W-We just wanted to keep it between us until we were sure,” He said softly. “Until it felt…safe.”

Bucky nodded slowly. “We get that. But for the record? It was always safe.”

Yelena leaned in, smirking. “Okay but we need details now.”

“Oh my god,” You groaned, “Absolutely not.”

“Wait, wait–who made the first move?” Ava asked, chin propped on her hand like she was taking notes.

“I bet it was you,” Walker pointed his fork directly to you, “You seem like the type who would take the reins.” You rolled your eyes.

”It was actually a fairly mutual decision.” And everyone bursted out into an array of other questions.

——————

The bedroom door clicked softly shut behind you.

Outside, the house had finally settled into silence–punctuated only by distant waves and the creak of cooling floorboards. Inside, the room was wrapped in that velvety kind of darkness only a summer night could offer, lit just barely by the moon spilling through the open window, catching on the rumpled folds of the quilt and casting the softest glow across Bob’s bare chest.

He was sitting at the edge of the bed, wearing a t-shirt and boxers, with his legs spread and elbows resting on his knees. His fingers intertwined loosely between them. He glanced up as you entered, eyes soft, tired, and full of something that you were still processing. You padded over, barefoot and warm from the day, and settled beside him.

For a while, neither of you said anything. You just sat there in the quiet, breathing the same salt-laced air.

Then Bob exhaled slowly.

“T-That went…way better than I thought it would,” he said, his voice a little hoarse from wine and nerves.

You nodded, leaning your shoulder into his. “Told you.”

He gave a soft laugh–one of those short, breathless ones that still sounded like disbelief. His hand reached for yours, fingers curling around your knuckles.

“I-I’m still not used to people reacting like that…Like I’m not something they have to tiptoe around.”

You squeezed his hand gently. “You’re not a liability, Bob. You’re ours. And you’re mine. That means something to them.”

His lips parted slightly, like he didn’t have the right words.

“I’m serious,” You whispered, turning more fully toward him. “They saw how happy you are. And maybe…They saw how much I need you too.”

His throat bobbed. He blinked slowly.

“You make everything feel easier,” He said finally. “T-Talking. Existing. Being me.” His voice cracked just a little on that last word, and his eyes dropped to where your hands were still joined.

“Y-You’ve handled everything so well. Hiding us, balancing missions, b-being my anchor even when things get hard…” He glanced up again, his gaze glassy but steady. “I’m just…I can’t stop being a-amazed by you.” You leaned in and kissed him–soft and slow, your nose brushing his cheek.

“I love you Bob.” You whispered, against his lips, as he gently kissed yours.

”I love you too.” He replied, before kissing you again. It deepened before either of you could take another breath. It started soft–gentle and reverent, like the words that had just passed between you–but it didn’t stay that way.

Bob groaned against your mouth when you pushed him back gently by the shoulders, guiding him down until he was flat on his back against the cool quilt. His hands instinctively found your hips as you climbed over him, settling on his lap. Your thighs bracketed his, and the weight of you on top of him made his breath hitch, chest rising hard beneath his thin shirt.

“God,” He whispered, eyes wide, pupils blown. “Y-You look…”

You didn’t give him a chance to finish. You kissed him again–wet, open-mouthed, and slow–licking into his mouth until he gasped. You swallowed the sound eagerly, rolling your hips just enough to make him groan. His fingers gripped your waist tighter, already trembling.

“I want to go down on you,” You murmured against his lips, voice low and teasing. His whole body jolted.

“Y-Yeah?” His voice broke like it couldn’t contain the need. “P-Please–I mean–y-you d-don’t have to but I–” He nodded too fast, already breathless, already desperate.

You smiled as you slid down his body, leaving a trail of kisses over his clothed chest, and his stomach, pausing just above the waistband of his boxers. You could feel how hard he was–thick and twitching beneath the fabric–and when you pulled the waistband down, he nearly whimpered.

He was flushed and already leaking.

”All this…From just a little kissing hmm?” You whispered, your voice thick with play, with hunger, with affection.

Bob’s breath caught in his throat as your hand wrapped around the base of him, slow and deliberate. You gave him one lazy stroke, then another, your thumb swiping over the bead of slick at the tip. He trembled beneath you–hips twitching slightly, fingers knotted in the quilt beside his thighs.

And when you leaned in and dragged your tongue up the underside of him again, he gasped–loud and sharp–his body tensing so hard you could feel the pulse hammering through him.

You wrapped your lips around the head, sealing him in the wet heat of your mouth.

Bob choked on a moan.

“F-Fuck–oh my god–” His voice cracked, ragged and breathless.

You eased down slowly, taking more of him in, letting your tongue glide along every ridge and vein as your lips slipped lower. He was big–too big to take all at once without effort–and your jaw ached almost instantly, but you didn’t stop. You wanted this. You wanted to see him fall apart.

You bobbed your head with slow precision, using your hand to stroke what your mouth couldn’t reach, slick and steady. The sounds he made–desperate, soft groans and whispered gasps–were the most beautiful thing you’d ever heard. He was so sensitive, so responsive, his hips jerking up involuntarily every time you took him deeper.

One thrust caught you off guard–sharp, too sudden–and you gagged softly around him.

Bob froze.

“I-I’m sorry–I didn’t mean to–”

You moaned around him, eyes flicking up to his, and kept going.

The moment your throat relaxed and you pushed yourself lower, he completely lost it.

“F-Fuck, baby–oh god, please–” His hand came down, gripping your hair gently but tight enough to anchor him. His voice was wrecked, trembling with need. “D-Don’t stop–I’m s-so close–”

Your lips slid over him faster now, your mouth a mess of spit and warmth, your hand stroking him in rhythm as you hollowed your cheeks and sucked harder. You could feel him twitching, his thighs tensing, his hips stuttering as he neared the edge.

“G-Gonna–oh fuck, I–” He cried out suddenly, loud and sharp as his hips jolted once, then again–

He came hard, deep down your throat, his whole body arching off the bed as you swallowed him greedily.

You didn’t pull away. You stayed there, lips sealed tight, swallowing every hot pulse of him as it spilled into your mouth. He was shaking beneath you–his thighs trembling, his fingers tangled in your hair, a broken litany of your name falling from his lips like a prayer.

Only when he finally sagged back against the mattress, panting, did you ease off of him–your lips slick, your mouth swollen, and your eyes dark with want.

You wiped the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand, then crawled back up his body–slow, deliberate, predatory.

Bob’s chest was still heaving when you kissed him.

The moment your mouth met his again, he groaned deep in his throat–like the taste of himself on your tongue shattered whatever composure he had left. His hand slid into your hair and pulled you closer, kissing you hard, deep, messy. Your lips crashed over each other, mouths open and slick, breathing each other in like you couldn’t get enough.

“F-Fuck,” He whispered against your mouth, still panting. “You’re…You’re u-unreal.” You kissed him again–slow this time, letting your tongue slide over his, letting the aftertaste of him linger between you as his hands moved up your sides. Your hips rolled instinctively against his, your shorts damp and clinging between your legs, your whole body strung tight with need.

Bob pulled back just enough to look at you.

His pupils were blown wide, cheeks flushed, lips wet and swollen. “Y-You’re soaked,” He said, voice gone low and reverent as his hand slid down your side. “I didn’t even…D-Do anything..”

You smiled, almost smug, still straddling his lap. “Well,” you whispered, brushing your nose against his, “Maybe you should fix that.” That wrecked little breath he let out made your whole body thrum.

His hand slipped down, trailing over your waistband, fingers playing at the hem of your shorts. And then–slowly, teasingly–he dipped inside. You gasped at the contact, your hips jolting forward slightly. Bob groaned, head tipping back for a second as his fingers found you.

“Jesus Christ…” He muttered. “You’re dripping.” You bit your lip, breath catching as he stroked through your folds, spreading your arousal around on his fingers. “Y-You’re already m-making a mess…” You whimpered against his mouth, “But I know w-what to do to really make things even messier.” And with that, his fingers plunged inside you.

You gasped–a raw, breathless sound–arching hard into his hand as he filled you deep and fast. His fingers were thick and curled just right, stroking against that spot inside you that made your legs tremble.

Your hips rolled down onto his hand, grinding against his palm.

“Th-That’s it,” He breathed, curling his fingers harder, faster. “There you go…You feel that?”

You nodded, breath shallow. “Bob–f-fuck–!” Your body clenched around his fingers as he pumped them fast, unrelenting, his palm dragging over your clit with each thrust. He leaned in and kissed you again, tongue deep and messy in your mouth as you moaned into him.

Then he pulled back just slightly, his breath brushing over your lips.

“I wanna see it,” He whispered. “Wanna see you fall apart for me. Right here. I want you to make a mess in these shorts.”

The words alone nearly made you come.

His fingers slammed into you faster, harder, his hand relentless, your shorts now completely soaked as the squelch of wetness grew louder–filthy and raw and so intimate in the silence of the room.

“I can feel you—Y/N, you’re s-so close, aren’t you?”

“Y-Yes–yes!”

“C-Come for me, baby. Let go.”

And you did.

You cried out as your body convulsed, thighs trembling violently as you squirted into his hand, soaking your shorts and his wrist. Your vision went white around the edges, your breath punched out of your lungs, and Bob never stopped–working you through it, whispering praise the whole time.

“That’s it,” He gasped. “That’s my good g-girl–god, look at you.”

You collapsed forward against his chest, trembling, dizzy from the intensity.

But Bob–sweet, soft, ravenous Bob–pulled his fingers from your soaked shorts and stared at them for half a second, glistening and slick with you.

Then he licked them clean, keeping his eyes on you as he did it. Like he was entranced by the way you were breathing.

And his voice dropped lower.

“I need more.”

He laid you back against the bed before you could recover, tugging your shorts off in one smooth pull, your panties with them. You were still shaking when he dropped to his stomach and spread your legs with both hands.

He groaned at the sight of you.

“Messy little thing,” He murmured, and then he buried his face between your thighs.

His tongue was everywhere–lapping, sucking, tasting you with frenzied devotion. You were already oversensitive, your thighs twitching, your whole body squirming as he licked through the aftermath of your orgasm like a man starved.

He groaned into you, licking deeper, and you realized–

He was touching himself. You could tell by the rhythmic movements of his arm, matching the way his tongue moved against your clit.

“I-I can’t–I’m too sensitive–”

“You c-can,” he murmured, voice vibrating against your cunt. “You’re gonna come for me again. I-I can’t stop. Not when you taste this f-fucking good.”

He sucked hard, tongue circling your clit, and your hips shot up off the bed with a cry.

Your hands fisted the sheets, your body completely out of your control, twitching and writhing beneath him as he groaned and licked harder, dirtier, hungrier.

You sobbed his name as the second orgasm crashed over you–violent and wet, your body spasming as he licked you through it, relentless.

Even when you pushed at his shoulders weakly, begging for a pause, he didn’t stop until he’d wrung every drop from you and licked it from your skin.

When he finally lifted his head, his lips and chin were soaked with you. His hair was tousled, damp with sweat at the temples, and his eyes were completely blown-dark blue and glistening. like something unholy had just been fed and still wasn’t satisfied.

But when he looked at you–shaking, flushed, chest rising in uneven bursts–something softened.

Something melted.

He crawled up slowly, body moving over yours with a reverent kind of slowness, like he didn’t want to startle you. His hands slid under your back, easing you up into his lap until your legs curled around his waist again, your head tipping forward into the crook of his neck.

You were gasping. Trembling. Boneless.

And then–he kissed you.

Soft at first. Warm. Just his lips pressing into yours like he needed you more than breath.

But then you tasted yourself on him–sweet and raw–and something in you twitched.

You whimpered, and he smiled against your mouth, tilting his head to deepen the kiss, tongue licking softly into you, savoring you again in a whole new way.

You couldn’t help it–you started giggling.

It broke out of you mid-kiss, breathy and trembling, one of those dazed, overwhelmed sounds that bubbled up from somewhere so exhausted it had no filter.

Bob pulled back immediately, wide-eyed.

“Did I–? D-Did I hurt you?” He asked, instantly concerned, his hands coming up to frame your face.

You shook your head, still laughing, pressing your forehead to his shoulder. “No–no, you didn’t, I just–Bob, I can’t feel my legs.”

He let out a startled breath, part laugh, part exhale of disbelief. “O-Oh,” He said, sounding sheepish. “I–I mean…Th-That’s kinda the goal, right?”

You laughed harder, still shaking.

He kissed your forehead, and then your jaw, and then your shoulder.

“I think you broke me,” You whispered dramatically, hands curled weakly into his shirt as your giggles faded into something sweeter–something more breathless and soft.

Bob tilted his head, grinning. “M-Maybe we’re even,” he whispered. “You nearly made me black out earlier. I-I think I forgot my own name for a minute.”

That made you laugh. Bob blushed–deeply–but smiled into your neck and nuzzled there. You felt his hands stroke lightly up your spine, slow and soothing now.

“You okay?” He asked, quieter this time.

You nodded against him. “Just… holy shit. That was a lot.”

He gave a quiet hum of agreement, resting his forehead to yours again.

Then, softly, “You taste like heaven. I-I don’t think I’ll ever be able to stop.” You bit back a whimper at that, one last full-body shiver rolling through you.

“I need a minute,” You mumbled, laughing into his skin. “Or a whole fucking hour.”

Bob chuckled. “Okay,” he murmured, laying back against the pillows and pulling you gently with him, cradling your body over his. “I-I’ll just hold y-you.” And he did.

You rested there, curled into the warmth of him, his hands smoothing gentle lines up your bare thighs, up your back, over your hair. His heartbeat was steady beneath your ear. His breath, soft against your temple. Bob’s fingers drew lazy, unhurried lines over you, tracing every dip, every curve like he was still mapping the miracle of you. Your head rose and fell with the rhythm of his chest. You could feel his heart–it had calmed, but not completely. Still a little fast. Still a little uneven from moments ago.

“So…” You murmured, your voice warm, sleepy, and just the slightest bit teasing. “Did you enjoy the weekend getaway?”

Bob gave a soft hum in response–one of those low, rumbly sounds that vibrated under your cheek. “C-Course I did…”

You tilted your head up slightly, just enough to glance at him. “Yeah?” You asked, voice still playful. “What was your favorite part?”

He didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he blinked up at the ceiling, lips parted, the moonlight casting shadows along his jaw. His hand stilled on your thigh.

And then–quietly, he said:

“B-Being around you the entire time…”His voice was thick with sincerity, soft like he didn’t trust it wouldn’t crack. “W-With no interruptions. No missions. No briefing rooms or restraints or… Or constantly w-wondering w-what could go wrong.” His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “It was just…A-All of us actually having some semblance of fun. For once.” You nodded slowly against his chest, your breath catching just a little as your eyes fluttered closed again.

“Yeah,” You agreed. “It felt like a different world for a second.”

He stroked your hair gently, fingers curling behind your ear. “I-I forgot what it was like to let loose like that, with no worries…” You lifted your head again, just enough to press a kiss over his heart. He stilled beneath you like it stopped time.

“You deserve that,” you whispered. “You deserve so much of that.”

Bob let out a shaky breath and curled both arms around you tighter.

“I d-didn’t think I’d ever have this,” he admitted, voice muffled against your hair. “Someone like you. A team that laughs more than they fight. A night where I d-don’t wake up from the dark things in my head…”

You lifted up, just barely, and reached to cup his face. His lashes were damp, the corners of his mouth pulled in that fragile way only you got to see.

“You’re not in the dark right now,” You whispered. “You’re here. With me. And no one’s going to take this from us.”

He nodded, eyes locked on yours, and leaned into your touch.

Then–soft, almost smiling–

“W-We’re gonna need another vacation after this, aren’t we?”

You laughed, shaking your head as you kissed the corner of his mouth. “Yeah. But next time, we’re packing before the morning of…And it’ll just be me and you.”

“D-Deal,” He whispered.

And then he tucked you close again, your bare legs tangled with his, your laughter still lingering in the air like sunlight, like the sea breeze drifting through the window.

[fish145]

handkerchief

Aemond Targaryen / female Arryn reader

Summary: he's just down bad

Content: mentions of kissing and riding dick (very short), teasing, flirting, pathetic prince

--------

Aemond always said he hated simpering maids. At the yard when he was training, at feasts, at court, he hated them all. Hated how they’d giggled and batted their eyelashes at him. He would marry for duty, that was all. 

But then he saw you. You. Proclaimed as fairest in the Vale. And you were the same as all those maids. 

You had giggled, touched his arm, batted your lashes at him, and Aemond? He’s embarrassed thinking about it. He had flexed his arm, puffed his chest, given you a smile back. He was nearly as bad as the maids. Sometimes he felt like a bird prancing around, just to catch your attention. But the moment he saw you, all that embarrassment left his body, leaving only the desperate need to impress you. 

He was in the courtyard with Ser Cole, wielding his sword easily and attacking the targets. Sweat was glistening on his brow, his sword clanging loudly against the heavy wood. He was nearly done, ready to wrap things up and shower, when…

He looked to the side, noticing you. You were dressed in a stunning blue gown, your necklace glinting in the sunlight. You were gazing at him--no, not gazing. You were outright staring at him. You were taking in every inch of his body, from his strong legs to torso to his arms. Aemond swallowed, putting in some extra effort. 

And then you were approaching him. His heart was pounding, but not from his training session. Your walk was mesmerising as well, such grace and poise. You stood still at the edge of his training grounds, a soft, charming smile on your rosy lips.

“Good morning,” you greeted him sweetly, making Aemond lower his sword and slowly walk over to where you were standing. And then, to his dismay, he smiled back at you. “Good morning, my lady,” he greeted back confidently, evenly. He cleared his throat, telling himself the blush on his face was just from his exertion. 

You weren’t even the only lady there, Aemond realised as he tried to look around nonchalantly, there were multiple. But he only noticed you, your eyes drawing him in again.

“I see that you are training again,” you said, your head tilting a bit, and Aemond was certain you only did it to show off your elegant neck. “Aye,” he replied, “as a prince of the realm I must stay strong, be most efficient with the sword.” He watched as you batted your eyelashes, and he could feel the way he started standing up more straight.

“Oh, yes,” you agreed with him, “you must be most strong, your grace. I have seen many knights and swordwielders, also back at the Vale, but none of them seem to have your grace. Your strength,” you complimented him. 

Aemond looked at you for a moment, noticing the way your lower lip caught between your teeth. His gaze was drawn to it, and he imagined--not for the first time--how they would feel pressed against his. The thought of him kissing you sent a shiver down his spine, so he quickly suppressed it. Such thoughts were unbecoming of a prince--a dragon prince, no less. He was about to pull away, when he felt your warm hand rest on his bicep.

It was bold of you, very bold, to touch him. But he didn't pull away, not at all. He watched your fingers curl around it, your eyes shining with admiration. You pulled such an old move as well, one that had been attempted many times before. But with your honeyed words and impressed gaze, he felt himself preen. He flexed his arm--just barely--his muscle jumping beneath your fingertips.

And you’d gasped. 

Your eyes met his lone one again, your hand moving away from his bicep and wrapping around the hilt of his sword instead. “Do you think I could also be a great swordsman?” you asked him, your voice having a teasing lilt to it. Aemond watched with rapt attention as your smaller hand wrapped around his sword, a weapon standing for his great skill and strength, and felt a thrill going through him. The obvious answer was no, you would never become a great swordsman, but he simply wanted that smile of yours to stay in place. 

“Of course, my lady,” he said, moving closer and allowing you to grab the heavy weapon, “With training, and the right mentor… you could be formidable.”

He stood behind you, his body pressing against your back as he helped you adjust your grip on his sword.

“Like so,” he murmured in your ear, and he helped you move it around, swinging it gently. 

And then, you leaned your head back against his shoulder, your eyes staring into his as a smile curved on your lips. “Am I doing good?” 

He could feel your soft breath on his neck, and he had to take a moment to steady himself, remind himself to breathe. His eyes followed the line of your jaw further down, his gaze moving over the elegant curve of your neck before looking at your cleavage in your dress. 

Gods, you were perfect. He could just imagine you asking that same question when you’d ride him for the first time, taking his cock inch by inch as you whined at the stretch. 

“Am I doing good?” you’d ask in a breathless moan, and of course he’d say you were, forcing the last inches of his cock inside of you.

Aemond swallowed, before looking back into your eyes. 

“You are doing exceptionally well, my lady,” he finally replied, his gaze never leaving yours. You looked back at where both of your hands were holding the sword, and he leaned down so his lips grazed your ear. “I am sure you will be a skilled swordwielder in no time…” he nearly purred, sending a shiver down your spine. 

After a moment he stepped back, his hands sliding over your arms, down to your waist, before resting back at his sides. You handed the sword back to him, his fingers grazing yours. He checked the blade for a moment, using it as an excuse to steady himself, when his gaze fell back to you.

He watched as you grabbed your handkerchief, it being folded neatly in the bodice of your gown. He watched as you trailed your fingers over your breasts at first, drawing his gaze, before handing him the soft, embroidered cloth. 

“For you,” you said sweetly, innocently, “my prince.”

His breath hitched when he saw you graze over your breasts, a jolt of heat shooting straight to his core. He’d been with whores, with maids, but he could swear he had never felt as turned on as he did in that moment. 

He slowly accepted the gift, watching as you playfully bit your lip again. “Perhaps we should continue our lesson,” he said gruffly, “somewhere private.”

You laughed playfully, though he noticed the flush on your cheeks. “My prince!” you gasped, feigning offense, “I am a lady.”

“Of-of course,” he replied, clenching the soft cloth in his hand. 

You smiled, softly touching his hand before pulling away. “I hope to see you again,” you said to him, “my prince.” You bowed politely, before walking back into the Red Keep.

Aemond stood stunned for a long moment, replaying everything in his mind. Then, after what felt like ages, he set his sword back down, rushing inside.

He walked past his mother, Alicent looking confused. “Aemond?” she called out, “what is wrong?”

“I am to be married,” he replied, “tomorrow, if possible.” 

[moonstruckme]

hey, hope you're doing well! i scrolled through your blog for an hour and it feels so safe! i love love your writing! i was wondering if you could write something for reader x sirius?

compared to my family, i get a lot of dreams and most of them are nightmares (especially about death and/or murder). like, sometimes it's lifeless eyes staring at me and blood hardened on the carpet or sometimes it's a dead, rotting body hanging from a tree inches away from my face. and because me and my family don't have that "how did you sleep?" convo most of the time, (and because they don't just don't discuss their dreams) idk who to share this stuff with and it ruins my whole day + makes me uncomfortable and scared to sleep.

sorry, that's long but i was wondering if you could write something with that? like, the reader struggles/deals with that x sirius? no pressure! you can deny it if you want!

thanks★

Thanks for requesting lovely <3

cw: nightmares, semi-vague gore (not real, just mentioned)

Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 710 words

The moon is at just the right place in its journey to let its light in through your kitchen window. It casts your home in hues of silvery grey as Sirius’ footsteps pad down the hall. His bleary eyes scan the room, quieting when they settle on you.

“Hi.” Your voice comes out quiet, though neither of you is sleeping anymore. “Sorry, did I wake you?” 

Sirius shakes his head. He pulls out the chair next to yours. His movements look heavy, like he dragged himself out of sleep to come find you and he’s still dragging now. “It was just cold,” he mumbles. 

Right. So, yes, but indirectly. 

“Sorry,” you say again, voice petering off into a shamed whisper. 

“Mmph, you should be.” You know Sirius is joking, though he says it grouchily, tetchy in the way he often is after first waking up. He props his elbow on the table and his cheek on his fist. “Thirsty?” 

You follow his gaze to the cool glass cupped between your palms. You’ve been drawing squiggles in the condensation, but you’ve not had one sip of it. Your throat feels too tight. 

“A little,” you say. 

Sirius sighs. It’s a soft sound, but still you look over feeling guilty, only to be surprised when his eyes are warm with affection. 

“Why are you out of bed, sweetheart?” he asks gently. “You’ve been gone awhile.” 

You feel worse thinking that Sirius had been waiting for you, though really you should have guessed. It would have taken him a while to peel himself out from underneath the covers, dragging his sleep-heavy self all the way into the kitchen. Just to find you. 

“Bad dream,” you admit in a murmur. 

“Yeah?” he prompts.

“I didn’t want to accidentally fall back asleep.” 

Sirius' chair scoots a tiny bit closer to yours. You’re sure he wants to be subtle about it, but that’s impossible when it scrapes loudly against your kitchen floor. A curl of amusement warms your insides. Sirius touches his leg to yours as though it hasn’t happened, an innocent, grounding touch. 

“What was it about?” he asks. 

You shrug. “Not really anything. There was a lot of gore, mostly. Dead bodies, people's brains spilling out, very…” You swallow. “Very detailed.” 

Sirius grimaces. “Sounds messy.” 

“It made me feel a little sick,” you murmur, looking back down into your glass. Moonlight wavers on the surface. 

“I’m sorry.” Sirius’ knee nudges closer to yours. He sounds, for all the world, like he really means it, and he also sounds a bit helpless. His free hand finds your thigh, thumb drawing back and forth over your skin. “That doesn’t sound like any way to relax at the end of the day, hm?”

You exhale a little laugh. It does some to loosen up the blockage in your throat. “Not really.” 

“Think you’ll be able to go back to sleep tonight?” 

“Not really.” 

“Okay.” 

You look at him. “Okay?” 

“Okay,” Sirius repeats, steady. Moonlight shines on his face, making his eyes look a paler blue. “We won’t go back to bed.” 

“You can go.” 

His lips curl. “As if it’s any good without you. No, you won’t get rid of me that easily. I go where you go, doll.” 

“I don’t want you to miss out on sleep because of me,” you murmur, remorseful. 

“We’ll sleep early tomorrow.” Sirius comforts you with a kiss to your shoulder. His lashes are still drooping with fatigue, but he looks genuinely unperturbed. “Do you want to have a shower?” 

You frown. “A shower?” 

“Yeah. You know, to get all the gore off.”

You frown deeper. 

“The metaphorical gore.” Sirius does a vague waving gesture with his hand. “Don’t get me wrong, you look and smell lovely, just, I thought it might help. We don’t have to.” 

“Oh, so we’re both getting in this shower?” you ask, something like a smile tugging at your lips. 

Half of Sirius’ mouth quirks up lazily. “Didn’t you hear me? I go where you go.” 

“I appreciate your concern,” you say, “but I don’t think I need your help getting off the metaphorical gore. Unless you wanted to join for other reasons.” 

“I’m sure I’ll think of something by the time we get in there.” 

[yasministration]

what are you, her boyfriend? - ron weasley

summary: cormac mclaggen doesn't know how to take no for an answer, so your best friend steps in - as your boyfriend

It was nearly impossible to hold in the grunt of annoyance when Cormac approached you in the common room again. You were enjoying time with your friends, cuddled into Ron’s side in front of the fireplace, and there he was, yet again. You don’t know when his little obsession with you started, but no matter how hard you’ve tried bringing it to an end, McLaggen won’t relent.

“I told you I’m not interested, McLaggen.” Cormac froze a couple of feet away from you, replacing the surprised look on his face with an insufferable smirk. Ron glanced up, furrowing his eyebrows at the older boy. He didn’t know Cormac spoke to you much. And then he was instantly hit with a string of thoughts. You told him you weren’t interested? How many times had he come onto you? And how come Ron didn’t know?

“It doesn’t count if you don’t mean it.” Cormac’s lazy drawl replied, causing you to roll your eyes. “Cormac, if I did like you, I’d have said yes the first time you asked me out, and we’d probably be on our fifth date by now. So trust me, I’m not interested.”

Ron tightened the arm around your shoulders, fingers drawing abstract shapes on your skin to soothe you. He averted his gaze from Cormac to the side of your face, frowning at the clench in your jaw. Unconsciously, you huddled closer to Ron, playing with the fabric of his trousers to distract yourself.

“You’re just playing hard to get. It’s okay to admit you want me.”

Ron shimmied out from next to you, standing abruptly and taking threatening steps towards Cormac. “Are you hard of hearing McLaggen?” The boy flinched back in shock at Ron’s aggressive tone. “Because everyone here can clearly tell that she’s not interested in you. So back off.”

Cormac quickly recovered from Ron’s jab, an insolent chuckle leaving his parted lips. “What are you, her boyfriend?”

It went silent for a moment, everyone waiting to hear your best friend’s reply to Cormac’s question. The ginger squared his shoulders, curtly nodding. “I am, yeah,” Your eyes flew open in surprise, and you refused to look at anyone else in the friend group, knowing they would have identically teasing smiles on their faces. “So you should understand why I don’t like seeing a clapped bloke like you flirting with my girlfriend.”

Ignoring the insult sent his way, Cormac turned his gaze towards you. It wasn’t the usual flirtatious kind, it was dangerous, threatening. “If you really are dating, why didn’t you tell me?” “Well maybe if you actually listened to what I have to say every once in a while, you might have heard me mentioning it.”

You had never mentioned it, obviously. Because you and Ron were in fact not dating.

However, you would be lying if sometimes you didn’t wish you were. For example, nights like these, wrapped in each other’s arms on a couch made for one, or endless hours spent in the library together to finish a single assignment just because you kept getting distracted by each other’s presence.

Ron took one step closer to Mclaggen, their chests almost touching, and he spat “Get out before I see you out, McLaggen.” With a loud scoff, the older boy turned on his heels and trudged to the other side of the common room, where he slumped down on a couch, eyes still trained on you. Ron turned towards you, eyes instantly softening. You stood up wordlessly, a hand curling around his forearm softly to drag him into an empty study room in the common room.

When the door shut behind Ron, you faced him, bringing both your hands up to cup his jaw as you leaned in closer to him. Just millimetres away from your lips, Ron smiled as he realised what was happening, shutting his eyes as you finally melded your lips onto his. He brought his hands up to rest on the sides of your neck, thumb caressing the skin carefully, lips parting to kiss you deeply.

Your tongue met his between your lips, and you trailed your arms downwards to rest on his chest, lips curling into a wide smile that made it impossible for Ron to continue kissing you. “Sorry.” You mumbled when he broke the kiss. Ron shook his head, a smile as wide as yours, foreheads pressed against each other.

“So I don’t wanna sound like McLaggen, but-”

“Shut up and go out with me Ron.”

“Hey! I was gonna ask-mmph-” Ron’s complaints were immediately put to rest when you pulled him back in for another kiss, hands tightly curled around his collar. Ron stumbled into you, body pressing against yours as he snaked his hands around your waist, splaying his fingers on the surface of your lower back.

“Hogsmeade?” Ron asked between kisses, keeping you as close to him as possible as he manoeuvred you against a wall. “Uh-huh.” You replied, gasping softly as Ron forced his tongue back into your mouth. Moaning softly, you pushed Ron away from you by the chest, your lips separating with a loud pop.

“So just to be clear, how long have you liked me for?” Ron’s face flushed a dark red at your question and he instantly reconnected your lips, despite your quiet giggles interrupting you. Twining a hand into Ron’s fiery hair, you tugged at his locks so that you had just enough space between your lips to speak.

“Let me guess.” Ron groaned at your insistence, dropping his head into the crook of your neck. You hummed attentively, trying to make an accurate guess. “Is it-Oh!” Your words were cut off as Ron began harshly sucking on the skin of your neck, bringing a whimper from between your parted lips.

“Okay, I’ll-fuck Ron.” And if it wasn’t clear enough that Ron’s intent was to distract your mind from guessing he’d liked you for years, the smile against your neck told you so.

taglist: @ravisinghs-wife, @starry-remus, @pain-in-the-ashe, @hiireadstuff, @treefairy-28, @superlegend216, @kitkatkl, @juliet-017, @fl0weryannie, @tiaajosephin, @dream-alittlebiggerdarling, @dearlizzies, @potterheadlovespotter, @matcha-kitty13

[callme-holly]

Hey queen 🤗 not sure if you’re still taking requests but if you are I was wondering if u would do a Dallas x reader where the reader is still kinda childish and cutesy or not super mature compared to the greasers who all grew up too fast. Like she just acts her age and still love her childhood stuff and is totally opposite of Dallas who is tough and acts older than he is and had to mature faster than he should’ve. Idk I think it’d be cute to see Dallas with someone who brings out the softer side of him😯😯😯

𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲 - 𝐃.𝐖

||۶ৎ back to regular fics now until my next series!! tysm for the request I love this concept sm <3

⊹₊⋆.˚୨୧⋆.˚₊ ⊹

You didn’t belong on Buck Merrill’s couch.

It’s not that you weren’t welcome; Buck liked you just fine, but you looked so out of place that it was almost comical. Surrounded by a bunch of pool-hustling greasers, the stench of beer hanging in the air like oxygen, and in the middle of it all, you with your little pastel cardigan, sparkly clips and swirly straw in a glass of cherry coke. 

Your legs swung slightly from where they dangled off the edge of the couch, socked feet brushing the mottled carpet in a rhythmic pattern. Your eyes darted about the room, searching for the one person you were here for, and when you finally spotted him by the bar, you lit up like a damn match. 

“Dally!” He turned at that, the sweet honey tone that laced your voice drawing him in like a moth. He stood with a grunt, trudging towards you and bending over the back of the couch, pressing a kiss to your head. 

The difference between you two was stark. Him, all leather and smoke. You, glitter, colours, beaded bracelets. You were everything a girl your age should be, not plagued by the expectations of life or forced to grow up too fast. 

“Hi,” he mumbled, gruff and a little hoarse from drink. 

“Hey, Dal.” 

He looks tired; his knuckles are raw and bloody from a fight you don't know the details about. He never gives you names when you ask; he just says that someone had been running their mouth and he’d sorted it. 

You reach up, thumb ghosting over the split on his lips. Your brows furrowed in concern. “Did they deserve it?” 

He gave a dry laugh, taking your wrist and pulling your arm away gently. “Doesn’t matter. They had it comin’. They ain’t gonna hurt you, doll.” 

“It matters to me.” 

Dallas sighed heavily and walked around the couch, coming to sit beside you, leaning back into the cushions. He didn’t breathe a word of protest as you leaned into his side, revelling in the way you melted like honey against him, warm and sweet. 

The difference between the two of you was stark—his leather, your soft cotton, his beer, your coke. The alcohol in hand didn’t go unnoticed by you, and you took it from him with a disapproving pout, almost akin to one a mother would give her child.

“You shouldn’t drink all the time.”

He raised a brow, reaching for the bottle, fingers brushing yours. “You here to babysit me now, sweetheart?” 

Your cheeks flushed at the nickname, butterflies fluttering wildly in your stomach, flying in various different directions in a way that made you feel giddy. No matter how many times he called you that, you always experienced it as if it were the first time.

“No,” you retorted, voice suddenly soft as cotton. “Just making sure you stay alive.” 

That did something to him; it was rare for him to ever have a girl who actually cared about him. Sure, they showed interest, but only in what he had to give. None of that mattered to you—you just wanted him well and happy, and it took until now for him to realise just how much he needed that. How much he craved to feel wanted. 

“You don’t belong here, kid.” He whispered, leaning in just enough so that his lips brushed yours in a tender kiss. 

A frown marred your features and you tilted your head. “Why not?” 

“Because’ I’m complicated. I’m everything a sweet girl like you shouldn’t be around.” He rested his forehead against your, hand running up and down your thigh lightly. “I’d end up corrupting you or somethin’, baby.” 

The laugh that left you startled him and he watched with raised brows as you took his cigarette and stubbed it out on the coffee table, flicking it away like it was poison in your fingers. “You won’t. I love you, Dally.” 

The look he gave you was like you’d just told him the moon was made of bubblegum and glitter, the habitat of unicorns and other mythical beings. 

“You love me?” He asked incredulously, like no matter how many times you told him, he’d never get over hearing it. Would never truly believe you. 

“Course I do.” You said it like it was simple, like you hadn’t just cracked him open and expected him to deal with this sudden vulnerability. 

“You’re too naive to know what that means.” He whispers, reaching out to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear. A weak attempt to dodge your admission, to brush you off. 

“No. I know what you mean to me.”

He leaned in then---not with the usual cockiness he usually used with other girls---but something that was the closest to tender affection that Dallas Winston would ever provide. He kissed her again, slow and sensual, the kind of kiss that was only ever severed for the private confines of either of your rooms. Too sacred to give to the public. 

When you pulled back, gasping for air, fingers tangled in his blonde strands, you couldn’t help but smile. He tasted of beer and smoke… Everything you should have hated but found yourself addicted to. 

“I’m not going anywhere.” 

He didn’t say anything. But the way he kept you pressed to him the rest of the night spoke volumes. 

He valued you more than he’d ever let on. 

||۶ৎ dallas masterlist

||۶ৎ tag list. @mrsdillonx , @goingdelux18 , @princesshailierawr , @r0seb100d , @groovydonutpost, @rizzraa , @sheepandlams , @marinefreaakk , @sugarrootwrites , @marilyn-girly , @itonlyhastobetruetoday , @dairyfairyy , @williamafton26 , @mystiqueonfleek007 , @atpeacee

if anyone wants to be added or removed from the tag list lmk as ik some of these were just for the series x

[idkplzhalp]

Hi I love your post, it's worded so poetically. I agree with all of it, so I now feel compelled to write my idea of CEO Caroline with how she could've acted, along with a lot of my headcanons.

Idk if it's in character for her but I think Caroline would've been really depressed as CEO. Like you said- she's doing just enough to keep the company afloat. She's not as erratic and forceful as Cave, she definitely knows how to not get into as quick a trouble- or knows how to keep troubles hidden -from having to deal with fixing Cave's legal messes over the years (such as in PotatOS cut lines about the missing astronauts, and among other weird random jobs that Cave tells her to do in his own cut lines):

GLaDOS is very theatrical but that's more circumstancially shown with Chell (I'm thinking about her boss battle lines in Portal 1 here). Caroline would likely be distressed/angry but it hasn't reached GLaDOS' point of aggression and revenge after her activation. While I don't think Caroline would have her same light heartedness from the 50s, I do think she could have the same conformity from that time, to assist with what she's told to and not do anything irrational. Though I feel she'd be more short tempered with the lab boys.

In scrapped lines, PotatOS is definitely more bitter and judgemental. So that could be Caroline as CEO, too. GLaDOS could be reverting to Caroline's feelings from when she was last alive.

During Cave's lemon rant, PotatOS says "Burning people! He says what we're all thinking!" Maybe Caroline was more like Cave on the inside? She seems very kind and patient in her voice lines on intercom but she could have very different ways of acting off mic (ie, the astronaut lines).

Back to how she ran the facility, LabRats announcements are prerecorded messages from Cave, so maybe she chose to do something like that? Though these were after GLaDOS was initially activated so Caroline was already gone. Either she didn't record any or the employees didn't like her enough to keep her voice playing on the announcements. Maybe keeping Cave's voice on the intercom left an illusion of Aperture still being alive and just as well off as they were in the 50s.

It makes me headcanon that Caroline didn't record any messages at all so that's why we don't hear her in game (and nooot just that she was added as a smaller part really late in development & it wouldve dragged on too long because Cave's speech closed that part of the story).

Like they probably didn't give Caroline a section of testing since she was written as a small role, thus why Ellen Mclain was used in the first place and not Greg. Having a full section of tests run by Caroline may have been too much for the slow and tragic reveal of the GLaDOS twist & how GLaDOS would've reacted to hearing her voice consistently (though maybe someone can email the Portal writers/devs and see if they ever thought about including something like that?)

I headcanon Caroline would stick to herself more and be seen by staff as ominous (if they didn't know her in the early years), or weak (if they did know her in the early years, considering Aperture hired mainly men in the 50s-60s and period typical misogyny). But she doesn't have the energy to actually argue with any of them, they don't matter in the end goal.

I sometimes go between thinking she would try to act like Cave while CEO or just a really deflated version of herself. Maybe she'd have his same anger and reactions at stupidity. Over time I'd like think she took his mannerisms and became more "boyish". I always draw CEO Caroline in one of Cave's suits, like as if that could help her channel him, I guess.

Cave did have a bit cut from his final speech that Caroline should be taken care of and treated just like him, so I assume the employees didn't respect her as much as they respected Cave, and as much as Cave respected Caroline.

"..Now she'll argue. She'll say she can't. She's modest like that. But you make her. Treat her just like you'd treat me. Hell, put her in my computer, I don't care. Just make sure she's taken care of.."

We also know she argued against GLaDOS but couldn't get out of it as CEO, therefore the employees may not have listened to her (if she actually tried to stop it after being appointed).

"Mr Johnson, I don't want this."

"No, listen to me! Sir, I do not want this!"

Maybe it's like Aperture Desk Job? Where no one checks on her and she's left alone in her office forever until GLaDOS is done. She's leaving the facility to be self sufficient or maybe has someone helping to keep things running behind the scenes like Cave had with her (I headcanon Greg. Bring him back).

Idk if this needs to or even can be factored in but we know from the Portal co-op that there was a prototype chassis. Would Caroline have been attempted to be uploaded to that?? It does control parts of the facility when messed with, ie the birds, so maybe there was an alternative where Caroline could've controlled the facility through this chassis instead of being uploaded? This could have been the prototype for Cave, using his computer like he mentioned in his speech. Maybe this is what she used to keep up with such a massive facility by herself until she was uploaded.

I mean she was appointed as CEO for at least 10 years, earliest from 1982/late 1980s when Cave died to 1996/2003, whenever they uploaded her. So her time was significant enough to make a difference and shift over into the modern era. It does make me sad at the lack of decoration and warmth of old Aperture. There is no facade, what you see is what it is. Caroline is TIRED, give her a break.

It's sort of curious how Caroline's (probably quite brief) tenure as Aperture's CEO is never explored or really brought up save for Cave's dying wish for her to take on his mantle. Its likely that Aperture took on the form we see in Portal 1 specifically under her jurisdiction. While she was in charge the building took on this rusted jagged shape, burning with hellish red light. The building at what is probably its most inhospitable state until GLaDOS has a go at rearranging its innards.

The fact that her management of Aperture is so understated makes me think that, unlike her predecessor, Caroline operated quietly and in the background. Didn't bother with the same theatrics that Cave did. Aperture seems to operate in a manner a little more insidious than usual after he's gone. Test subject acquisitions are all hush-hush. Chell's generation of test subjects probably don't even know any of the employees that well, let alone whoever runs the place. No more "Welcome to Aperture! I'm Cave Johnson - I own the place." - you simply wake up in a concrete box with warped faces observing you behind the glass. Clearly, she seems to have figured out a way to keep the company afloat, but the place is still a slowly decaying carcass of its former self. She's just managed to slow, stall the rot that started staining the place ever since the astronauts went missing. Funny it took a piece of her to build the machine that would force this decay into retreat. The place was a slowly settling corpse until life was forced straight into its wires, giving it self-devouring immortality.

[hotwings0203]

Thinking about being the bitchy queen/princess of a small but valuable province, your kingdom miniscule enough to be forgotten on a map but virtually inaccessible from its geographical location. Your land prides itself in its natural resources, and the production of various textiles and sustainable weaponry that comes with the stones etched along the perimeters of your walls.

Tw: noncon

Your subjects love you, love your fierce protectiveness over them as if they were your own flesh and blood, the way you take the time to sincerely listen to the local feudal lords' complaints against the minor skirmishes your occasional militants and them encounter, love the way you stroll through the paved cobblestones among them, ignoring the way your political advisors hiss at you to show some decorum and have some pride in your royal lineage.

You're one of them, yes, but none would be so bold and disrespectful as to think you were weak.

Your back bends to greet children and elderly who can't straighten to bow to you, but you stand tall at the same height as kings and queens whose kingdoms make yours look like a grease stain on the map.

Your pride and confidence in your subjects and kingdom inspire your military to train until callouses replace soft skin, to fight until they bleed from the inside out. The defenses on the perimeter stay low, but alert as to not draw attention to any outsider who wants a taste of the paradise you've created within.

So then why do you tremble against your throne while the walls of this very kingdom come crashing down before you?

Even if half of your land wasn't covered in wildfires set by the foreigners, even if your people didn't scream his name in terror before they were slain in front of their own children, you wouldn't have believed he'd found you.

But he did, decades later, intent on fulfilling a promise he'd uttered when you both bowed to each other in your last time ever meeting.

Until now, it seems.

You lay sprawled on the grand chair in the same position you did when his militia blasted flaming catapault ammunition at your castle walls, knocking you and your advisors backwards. It took near everyone out, if not knocked down on death's doors, but it merely kept you pinned in fear to your throne with a few cuts and burns.

Outside the windows you can see your subjects being slaughtered like animals, more blood than stone splattered on the streets. Women and children scream as the raiders chase after them with glee, their husbands and brothers watching in cuffs as violation after violation occurs before them.

The trees teeming with apples which you always loved to gaze at during particularly boring meetings are now all burnt or on fire, slashed away at for no reason except to ensure that your demise is all the more uneccessary and humiliating.

You sense him before you see him.

It's not the way your blood freezes in your veins, nor the slow sounds of his steps echoing in the corridor gaining proximity to you that screams danger to you.

It's his smile, soft and serene looking at you all the while everything you've ever loved and nurturned falls to ashes at your feet.

But he takes his time with his kill, he's done his worst and now it's time to relish his victory.

You wish you could scramble backwards even further as he leisurely treads one blood and mud-caked boot in front of the other, but the falling stone around you provides more discomfort than safety. All you can do is tremble and tense up as he reaches a few feet from you.

Standing over your crumpled body, simply watching you with a cocked head.

You can hear the blood pounding in your head, the tension palpable to be cut with a knife when he finally breaks the excruciating silence.

"Did I not warn you I'd be back for you, princess?" He speaks as soft as his gaze, and you almost can't hear him over the syncophany of buildings crumbling and screams tearing through the dusk.

"Its queen," you surprise yourself equally as much as him with the lack of warble in your voice, but you still don't meet his eyes fully.

Interest piqued at your misplaced rebellion, he crouches down to your eye level and squints at you in mock disbelief.

"That's funny. Last I heard, a queen has a kingdom. And well, this one..." he trails off, biting back a snicker but it's still a stab to the heart.

You bite your lip and will yourself not to cry, but he sees it anyways through the smoke curling around your destroyed throneroom.

"Look at me."

He places a gloved hand under your chin, firm yet gentle, and forces your head up to look up at him.

Covered in soot and ash, hair falling out of its intricate up-do, nose red and twitching in an attempt not to break down, silky robes now cut with rubble.

He's hard, and you blanch at the realization.

"God, you look just as good as you did years back. I wanted to ravage you then too, but your father-"

"Dont you dare talk about him-" Your head snaps up to snarl at him but his voice doesn't even waver as he cooly overrides you.

"-screamed like a pig when he died, yes, but trust I enjoyed pissing over his grave almost as much as I'll enjoy defiling his little girl and making her my cumslut."

Your previous rage is replaced by fear again, because you know if he's come this far, it's not just to taunt.

He chuckles a bit at your gaping mouth, and playfully sticks a finger inside before you gag and swat him away. He doesn't allow you to move farther back though, because he locks his hand behind your head and shakes it a bit for good measure to ensure you're listening.

When he leans in to croon more filth at you, you see his eyes take on a strange glint that wasn't readable before from the smoke coating your vision. His eyes aren't soft anymore, theyre wild with triumph as his lips curl into a salacious grin.

"I watched you for years," he breathes in right next to your ear, and you can't help but whimper and curl in yourself more. "You stayed here, naive and pure only because I let you have your safety. You belonged to me from the start, whether you wanted it or not."

His hand dips to your stomach, and just as fast as you flinch away he snakes it up to grab your tits and knead them like dough.

"These tits," he moans as he begins to lick and bite at your ear, inhaling the cinders along with the perfume of your hair.

"This neck."

His mouth moves down to suck on your unmarred throat, creating blossoms of blue and purple hues on the expanse of your skin. He pays no mind to your shrieks at him to let you go, at his audacity to touch royalty in such a perverse manner-

"This fucking cunt, and all of you belong to me."

And he finally seals the nail in the coffin by shifting his boot until it nudges up against your clothed mound. You gasp and writhe under his iron grip, but it only agitates his adrenaline further and he quells the fire in you by pressing the toe of his show down hard against you.

He sighs as if a great relief has been lifted from his shoulders as he leans back and watches you arch your back under him, breaking finally and letting your choked cries escape you as he slowly grinds his boot in circles over your cunt, enjoying the way you look up at him with nothing but hate and despair all the while you buck under his ministrations.

"I wonder how your peasants would feel if they saw their beloved queen getting fucked on all fours like an animal right on this very throne," He muses conversationally, as if your writhings meant nothing.

"D-don't you dare," you gasp as he moves his boot up so that his heel catches a particularly delicious cruel stimulation of your abused clit. "This has nothing to do with them, you've done enough-"

"On the contrary, my little princess, you're not getting fucked in every hole by the sword handles from the men in my army, so, no, I haven't done nearly enough yet."

You dare to open your eyes to catch his bluff, but your heart drops when his lock on yours and reflect nothing but cool indifference.

He retreats his foot and lets go of your hair, standing up to his full height now.

"Wait!" You squeak desperately, for you know by now his promises mean nothing but the worst for not only you, but everyone in your proximity.

Silence permeates the air again as you quickly try to catch your breath, your doubled form heaving and fingers curling in the gritty floor at the humiliation of your unbecoming.

He allows you a minute or two, but the longer the silence treads the less patience he has to get to what he'd been waiting years for.

"Speak, or you'll be screaming instead."

Where his voice was lilting and dangerously soft before, it now drops to an octave and holds no room for bullshit.

You shake and squint up at him through the tears cascading down the soot on your cheeks.

"P-please tell your men to retreat. My people have done nothing to warrant this."

"P-p-please suck my dick princess and maybe theyll warrant some mercy instead!" He mocks in a perverse high pitched whine, and all pretenses of you treading carefully are dropped.

He can't be serious, you think.

But he anticipates it, and tries to hide back his smile by masking it with the same low tone he used before

"I'm serious."

"Fuck you," you growl, unable to bite your tongue.

"Oh, I plan to. But not until every remiaining subject of yours is watching you get split apart by me. I imagine my army will want some reward for the very fine damage theyve done to your little hovel, but don't worry- I'm sure keeping you drugged will save part of your sanity when everyone's had a turn with you."

He enjoys the stricken look on your face as he bites his lip ever so slightly and adjusts his slacks as they grow tight from his growing erection, and turns on his heel to walk out of the room.

It takes every fiber of you to kill your ego and swallow down your pride at what you must do to appease him before a new level of wrath befalls you and your people. You call his name out one more time with a new tone of hesitation and softness, trying to make up for your bitchy attitude before.

He hums in question, but hes still not surprised when he looks over his shoulder and watches you crawl a few paces over to him with your head down, your jewelry ringing like tiny bells across the stone floor.

You wince when you hear him whistle low at your state, but you keep your head down all the same.

"I'll listen to you," you utter quielty.

"What was that, slut?" Your arms shake a bit more, but you will yourself to continue for the sake of your kingdom.

He places the same boot that had fucked you earlier under your chin and lifts you up to meet his lecherous gaze. Loving, victorious, knowing, and satisfied.

Bile rises to the back of your throat.

"I'll l-listen to you," and your heart settles ever so slightly when you see his eyebrows relax, and his posture soften.

But it does nothing to quell the goosebumps erupting on your skin as he speaks his turn now.

"Damn straight you are. You're gonna bow to me, I'm gonna be your fucking god if you don't want every last one of your subjects to strung up by their intestines, and your land burned so that your little legacy here will be nothing but a myth for centuries to come."

"Do you understand me?"

"Yes," you whisper as the last tears are blinked out of your burning eyes.

"Yes, what?"

you desperatley search his dark, lust-filled hues for a shred of mercy.

But he lifts his chin and you know you won't get off so easy.

"Yes...sir?"

"Yes, my king," he corrects.

"Yes, my king," you parrot back, and your nails bite your palm as you mutter the poisonous words on your tongue.

He finally pulls back and turns around, letting your head fall down to look at the cracked floor and granting you a moment to collect yourself. You furiously wipe away your tears with shaky wrists when he calls over his shoulder,

"Try not to cry too hard like a bitch. Its either king, or master."

[greenxgloss]

Could you do one where the reader is pregnant and yoongi is just helping her through the pains, like nausea, throwing up, idk like bad stomach aches etc…

Thank you!!!!!

A/n: i would be soooo happy to continue writing for this au if you have more requests for it but ngl i was drawing a blank with this one bc i have as much knowledge about pregnancy as my HS parenting class and google gave me lmao i also idk ive never really thought about or fantasized about being pregnant with someone so i dont really know like... what to fantasize about??? ig? idk but this being said ill still write this au if requested esp because this was so short and i feel so bad abt it

Pregnancy, Panic, and Yoongi’s Patience

Pairing: FatherToBe!Yoongi x Pregnant!Reader Summary: In the quiet chaos of early pregnancy, you battle morning sickness and bizarre cravings while Yoongi proves, in every tender and tired moment, that love—and his steady presence—makes it all a little easier to bear. Themes: Y/n getting emotional and morning sickness, Yoongi literally being the cutest dad-to-be, fluffy fluff Word Count: 1.4k

You weren’t sure what woke you first—the nausea creeping up your throat like a bad secret, or the gentle weight of Yoongi’s hand resting protectively on your belly, half-asleep and instinctual even in slumber.

The answer didn’t really matter. You were up. And unfortunately, so was your stomach.

You shuffled as quietly as you could out of bed, hoping to make it to the bathroom without waking him. You almost succeeded, too—until your foot caught the edge of the hallway rug and the smallest gasp slipped past your lips.

A moment later, you heard sheets rustle behind you.

“Y/N?” His voice was low, husky with sleep. “Bathroom?”

You didn’t answer right away, too focused on kneeling over the toilet and regretting everything you’d eaten the day before.

Then, quietly: “Yeah.”

A beat passed. Then soft footsteps padded behind you, followed by a hand gathering your hair back and another gently resting on your spine.

“Third time this week,” Yoongi murmured, squatting next to you with a yawn. “Your stomach’s got terrible taste.”

You let out a weak laugh as you wiped your mouth. “Don’t talk about our child like that.”

“Fair.” He brushed his fingers lightly over your temple, the way he always did when he wasn’t sure how else to help. “You okay? Want water?”

You nodded, curling against the cool tile wall as he disappeared and returned a moment later with a glass of water and a cold washcloth.

“Your hands are warm,” you muttered as he dabbed your forehead. “Feels nice.”

“I read somewhere it’s supposed to help.” He sat on the floor next to you, his legs crossed, sleep still in his eyes but heart fully awake. “Not that Google’s been that useful. Every site says something different. One said ginger tea, one said crackers, one said essential oils… I might just get you all three.”

You leaned your head on his shoulder. “You’re trying too hard.”

“Trying just enough.” He tilted his head to rest against yours. “You’re growing a person. I can grow into a husband who Googles too much.”

You smiled tiredly, stomach still in knots but heart slowly settling. He smelled like sleep and laundry detergent, his hoodie soft against your cheek. There was no miracle fix for morning sickness—but having him here like this, solid and gentle and yours, made it feel a little more survivable.

“You should go back to sleep,” you whispered.

Yoongi shook his head. “You’re not going through this alone.”

And for the first time that morning, something in you relaxed.

Even if your body was turning against you, even if the days ahead would be filled with more discomfort and nausea and crying for no reason—you had this.

You had him.

And somehow, that made all the difference.

-

After brushing your teeth and drinking water, you sat on the couch, Yoongi insisting on making you breakfast while you rested.

You were curled up, wrapped in one of Yoongi’s oversized hoodies and swaddled in the fluffiest blanket he could find. The early morning sun was still a shy glow behind the curtains, casting a soft amber hue across the living room. Yoongi was in the kitchen making toast—the only thing you could even think about stomaching right now—but your eyes weren’t on the food.

They were on him.

Your husband. Quiet and focused, hair a bit messy, sleeves pushed up as he hovered over the toaster like it was a mission from the gods. The way he moved—gentle, unhurried, careful—like the whole world might shatter if he didn’t get it right… it undid you.

By the time he walked over, balancing the plate and a glass of water in one hand, you were already blinking too fast, heart caught in your throat.

“Hey,” he said softly, crouching beside you, setting the plate on the table. “Still nauseous?”

You nodded, then shook your head. “It’s not that.”

Yoongi’s eyes flicked to your face, concern washing over him instantly. “What is it? Do you need—”

You cut him off with a shaky breath. “No—it’s nothing bad. I just…” Your voice caught as tears welled up, thick and sudden. “You’re just… really good to me.”

He blinked, confused for half a second. Then he moved. Quietly, without a word, he sank onto the couch beside you and pulled you into his arms.

And that’s when it broke.

You buried your face in his hoodie, tears slipping silently down your cheeks, soft and overwhelmed and grateful in a way words couldn’t hold.

“I’m just… so happy,” you whispered. “I didn’t know it would feel like this. I didn’t know I’d get someone like you.”

Yoongi’s hand slid up your back, warm and grounding. “You’re scaring me a little,” he murmured, kissing your hair. “But also… I think I know what you mean.”

You pulled back just enough to see his face. “You’re going to be such a good dad.”

Something in his expression shifted—surprise first, then something deeper. His eyes softened, full of something almost shy. “Yeah?” he asked, barely above a whisper.

You nodded, smiling through tears. “I already see it. The way you talk to the baby, the way you take care of me. You’re patient, and kind, and…” You sniffled. “God, I’m a mess.”

He chuckled gently, brushing a thumb under your eye. “You’re not a mess. You’re just really pregnant and really loved.”

That made you laugh, and cry a little more, and then curl back into his arms.

Yoongi kissed the crown of your head, resting his chin there. “I don’t have it all figured out yet,” he murmured, “but I’ll show up. Every day. For you and for them. That I can promise.”

And in the quiet, wrapped up in his arms with the morning light growing warmer, you believed him.

You didn’t need perfection. You just needed this. The kind of love that stays.

“Yoongi,” you said, completely serious, eyes locked with his like you’d just discovered the solution to world peace. “I need pickles.”

Yoongi didn’t even blink from where he was folding laundry on the bed. “Okay. Pickles I can do.”

You paused dramatically. “But also… chocolate frosting.”

This time he blinked. Slowly. “Like, as a dip?”

You nodded solemnly, rubbing your belly as if that might lend some credibility. “I saw someone do it on TikTok. They said it was life-changing. Sweet and salty. The perfect combo.”

Yoongi set the towel down. “Babe. With all due respect, and from a place of genuine love… that sounds like a crime against food.”

You frowned. “I’m growing a human. I get to commit at least one food crime.”

He sighed, already reaching for his keys. “If we end up in the ER tonight because your stomach rejects your Frankenstein snack, I’m telling the doctor it was your idea.”

—

Ten minutes later, you were at the kitchen counter, pickles in one hand, a tub of frosting in the other, staring at them with almost reverent anticipation. Yoongi leaned against the fridge, arms crossed, watching like you were about to detonate a bomb.

“You sure you want to do this?” he asked one last time.

You dipped the pickle into the frosting, eyes narrowing at his doubt. “Watch and learn, Min Yoongi.”

You took a bite.

And immediately gagged.

Yoongi didn’t even try to hide the slow, victorious smirk spreading across his face. “Oh no, baby. What happened to life-changing?”

You spit the offending combo into a napkin, dramatically slumping onto the counter. “It betrayed me.”

He chuckled, walking over to rub soothing circles on your back. “Told you it sounded like a war crime.”

“It was supposed to be sweet and salty,” you mumbled miserably. “Instead it was… cursed.”

Yoongi kissed your temple, grinning. “Let’s just stick to normal weird stuff, okay? Like orange juice and cereal. Or hot Cheetos and yogurt.”

“I never said I was gonna stop trying weird stuff,” you said, voice muffled into the counter. “Next week might be tuna and jelly.”

“Absolutely not,” he said instantly. “I draw the line at seafood and fruit spreads.”

You giggled, turning to look at him, feeling your heart soften as he cleaned up your failed experiment without complaint.

“You still love me, right?”

He looked at you like the question offended him. “Of course. Even if you try to poison yourself with snack choices.”

And when he kissed you, quick and sweet, you made a mental note: no more pickle-frosting disasters. But also… maybe he was onto something with the cereal and OJ.

Maybe.

➽ Yoongi Masterlist ➽ Main Masterlist ➽ Kpop Masterlist ➽ G-Dragon Masterlist ➽ Buy Me a Coffee

[crescenthistory]

wishing you safe travels, carina! 💫 if you want, could you write regulus and the 2nd bed sharing prompt? 💞

for the journeys & journals mini-event <3

prompt: "did you know you talk in your sleep?"

wc: 0.7k

cw: gn!reader, references to the black family childhood trauma, healing!regulus, physical affection, bed-sharing, will-they-won't-they stage, post-hogwarts, very fluffy

“I can tell you’re staring, you know.”

The corner of Regulus’ mouth quirked up after his lips finished its minuscule movements as he murmured to you, his voice hoarse with sleep. It was the first sign he had given that he was awake. 

You figured he probably was about ten minutes ago – he had warned you he was a light sleeper, after all. It didn’t stop you from continuing to look at him, though. On his back with his hands resting over his solar plexus and his dark curls all splayed out on the white sheets of Pandora’s guest room, he truly looked like the prince all his friends accused him of being.

“There’s a difference between admiring and staring,” you refuted, curling further up on your side, arms around your pillow so you could get the best look at him.

That made him peel open one eye as he squinted at you. “You’re admiring me, are you?”

“Mhm.” You reached out to draw a tentative finger down the gorgeous side profile of his nose. It didn’t escape your attention how it made him shiver slightly. “Someone has to.”

Regulus rolled over onto his side to face you. The look in his eyes was one you had seen many times before by now, solidifying over the past months where you had been inching closer and closer. Whatever you had was an open secret by now, and being stashed together in Pandora’s only guestroom for the weekend getaway was the final nail in the coffin. Or on the welcome sign, depending. 

“You’ve grown more forward,” he commented, voice manufactured to be neutral, but the twitch of his lips gave it away. There was a joy there.

“Yeah, well…” You trailed off, looking between his eyes before focussing on the light splatter of freckles on his pale cheekbones. “You’ve grown softer.”

“Never let the others know.”

“I’m sorry to tell you, but I think they know.”

“You do?”

“Did you know you talk in your sleep?” The question formed itself on your tongue, a night of intrigue laid out before him.

Regulus’ face flickered with a new emotion this time, one you couldn’t distinguish as easily. A slight furrow appeared between his brows. “I don’t.” His tone was finite, but his gaze was questioning.

“Yes, you do,” you retorted, voice hushed despite the fact that everyone else was probably awake already. “Quite a chatterbox, actually.”

“I…” Regulus seemed at a loss for words, rolling back over onto his back and looking at the ceiling with a faraway gaze. “I used to. When I was little, or so Sirius claimed. But I haven’t done it since.”

The conflicted intensity of his reaction began to make sense to you. Despite yourself, you inched a bit closer to him on the bed, your knees now touching the side of his thigh. “You did last night,” you urged softly. “You must have started again recently. Maybe it began after you finally… got out.”

Regulus shook his head, looking at you sideways. “No, I’ve slept in the same room as someone else almost every day since. I slept on the sofa with Barty yesterday. He would have given me hell if I talked in my sleep then. I couldn’t have.”

You knew he was right about that. Barty was ruthless. Your voice was careful at your next suggestion. “Maybe tonight was the first time then.”

Your words hung between you, heavy but perhaps in a way that spoke of comfort and not burden. Regulus’ eyes remained on yours, and you could practically watch him piecing together the significance of your revelation.

You wondered if he would get up. If he would back away, as he so often had when confronted with his own emotions, especially those tied to his past.

Instead, his lips eventually twitched into the smallest of smiles. “What did I say?”

You returned his smile tenfold. Slowly, you reached out to put your hand over his on his chest. He intertwined your fingers. “Where to begin, songbird?”

[fazedlight]

Eavesdropping (postcanon supercorp)

This hadn’t been the evening Lena expected.

Kara coming out as Supergirl had, of course, surprised the globe. And none was more surprised than one Andrea Rojas, who had immediately called Lena and demanded a girls’ night out where Lena could spill all the details about her years of being Kara’s best friend. Kara had laughed, wishing Lena luck on what would certainly be a chaotic dinner. 

After all, there was still more that Andrea didn’t know - or hadn’t known, until two minutes earlier. After months of increasingly-frequent platonic sleepovers, Lena had practically moved into Kara’s small downtown loft.  And only three days earlier, a night of takeout and wine had led to some soft confessions and a shy first kiss. It was new, it was novel, it was…

It was not the part Andrea was interested in. “Fuck, all that strength? The superspeed?” Andrea said, lowering her glass to the table, “The possibilities in bed-”

“We haven’t even-” Lena squeaked, “I’m not talking about this-”

“I mean, my god,” Andrea continued, ignoring Lena, “The things you could do with ice breathe-”

Andrea started listing all the ideas in her head, as Lena dropped her forehead into her hand, wishing the floor would swallow her whole. Yes, of course she had thought of all the possibilities of being with Supergirl - what gay woman hadn’t? Even in the years where Lena and Supergirl were fighting - before she knew who Kara really was - Lena wasn’t above fantasizing. 

“I don’t think about you while I’m doing it” had been the Freudian slip of the century, even if Kara didn’t catch it.

But Lena’s flustered state in this moment wasn’t about sex, or the graphic string of erotic suggestions pouring out of her ex’s mouth. The issue was that Lena’s heartbeat, now nervously pounding, might draw Kara’s attention. If Kara tuned in and heard what Andrea was saying… “Andrea, please,” Lena said, “Let’s talk about something else.”

Andrea rolled her eyes, and agreed. Besides, she still wanted to know how Kara had juggled being a Catco reporter all along.

A couple of hours later, Lena emerged from her girls’ night out remarkably unscathed, making her way back to Kara’s loft.

Lena walked through the doorway, murmuring a greeting to Kara, who was sitting on the couch pouring over an art history book. “How’s Andrea?” Kara asked, her voice half an octave higher than usual as she refused to look up from her book.

Fuck, Lena thought, Kara did overhear. “She’s fine,” Lena replied, brain scrambling to figure out how to handle Kara’s mortification, “Surprised, along with everyone else.”

Kara nodded as Lena approached - finally getting close enough to notice the red tinge on Kara’s cheeks. “I’m going to take a quick shower,” Lena said, stalling for time, “I have an early day with the Foundation tomorrow.”

“Sure,” Kara said, and Lena turned to make her way to the bathroom.

Should we talk about it? We should talk about it, Lena thought, turning on the water, waiting a few moments before getting in. Or we could not talk about it. We don’t need to talk about it…

Her shower was long, though not long enough to come up with any other ideas on how to approach the situation. I should drop it, Lena thought as she got out and toweled off, things’ll be normal by morning.

Kara was still reading when Lena went back into the living room - though, Lena noted, Kara was still stuck on the same page as before her shower. Lena quietly suggested that they brush their teeth and head to sleep. Kara nodded, placing her book on the coffee table and rising for their bedtime routine.

A few minutes later, Lena shuffled under the covers as Kara turned off the light, and they both got into a familiar position. Face to face in the dark, Kara’s arm around Lena’s waist, Lena’s head tucked into Kara’s shoulder. Lena had expected Kara to nestle in as usual, letting herself relax before they drifted off to sleep.

But… Kara wasn’t. Kara hadn’t. She was still far too tense. I should just say something, Lena thought. “You overheard her, didn’t you?” she murmured into the dark.

“Overheard who?” Kara said innocently.

Lena sighed. “You haven’t been able to look me in the eye since I got home.”

She could feel Kara shuffle on the sheets, swallowing nervously. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” she said apologetically, “Your heart was just so fast-”

“I don’t blame you,” Lena said, “I just- I didn’t want to leave things so awkward. I know Andrea is…”

She hesitated.

“Creative?” Kara squeaked, drawing a small smile from Lena.

To Lena’s relief, Kara pulled her in closer, and Lena relaxed into the embrace. For all that the awkwardness was still there, it started to fade as everything fell out into the open. “I fell in love with Kara Danvers,” Lena said softly, “You know that, right?”

“I know,” Kara murmured, nuzzling into Lena’s hair, “But… I am Supergirl…”

It took a moment for Lena to register Kara’s words - and the implicit suggestion within them. Did I misread the situation?, she thought, pulling back a few inches in the dark, looking up into Kara’s shadowed features. “Is that… interest?” Lena asked, “In something she said?”

“In a lot of things she said,” Kara confessed, “Are- are you interested?”

Lena smiled, drawing a grin from Kara. So that’s what she was thinking, Lena thought, leaning forward to place a kiss on Kara’s lips. “I have some ideas of my own, too,” she said, and Kara laughed.

[rory-multifandom-mess]

MORE EXITOR AU COINY STUFF except this has more to it; A WRITTEN PORTION because I don't feel like drawing anymore (putting it under a cut because . yeah)

Pencil hesitated. She felt embarrassed. Coiny and Pin had always been her enemies, ever since that second season, and she hadn't let go of that opinion yet. At least not about Pin.

But looking at her now, the desperation in her eyes, the way her hands clasped together in a plead, her voice shaking ever so slightly. It was pathetic, really. But- Pencil couldn't say that to her face.

She shook her head and turned away from Pin, storming off so she wouldn't have to look into her forlorn eyes.

"It-it's none of your business, Pinhead!" Pencil responded, refusing to look back.

With every step, she fell deeper and deeper into her own mind. Her thoughts were swirling like a whirlpool, thinking about her time in the EXIT, her time spent with Coiny. She'd never payed much attention to him outside of being an extension of Pin. But those years spent in the classroom- UGH. Why did she care so much? It was frustrating at best!

Her mind went back to a conversation they'd had alone. The only conversation they ever got to have alone, really. Four had just stormed out of the classroom, so angry that the room had started to shake. They had zapped Coiny three times that day, all within the same two hours. His copper body was slightly charred around the edges. His right arm fell limp, no feeling in it whatsoever.

Pencil had dragged him out of the door they entered through, slamming it behind her.

......

"What is your problem, Coiny?!" She scolded the moment the door was closed, turning to him.

"Why do you keep putting yourself in danger?!" She asked, angry- but she didn't know why. Not at the time, at least. She began to pace around, gesturing her hands wildly.

"I get it, you're chaotic, but this is too much! We keep telling you to keep your head down or you'll get hurt- Which we were RIGHT, by the way! Look at yourself, you can't move your arm!"

He did, in fact, look down at his arm, limp by his side. He looked back at her, brows furrowed and teeth gritting. Why was he angry? Did he not like being told off? Because, oh boy, did she have a lot of words for him.

"Why can't you just follow the rules for once in your life?!"

"Because then he'd have no one else to talk about!" Coiny shouted back finally. His words stabbed through her like a dagger and she froze, a sinking feeling in her stomach. Her anger dissipated, as if it was sucked right out of her.

"...What?" She muttered, the air heavy.

Coiny inhaled deeply. "I annoyed him out of spite at first, but then I saw how scared he made you and the others. I pissed him off more and more so he would only focus on me and be more lenient with you guys. Yeah, it backfires at times, but- If I stopped, then there would be nothing else to protect you guys."

Pencil stared at him, questions running through her head. She'd never payed attention to him. To how he acted. She didn't care. It didn't concern her. All she cared about was how he was just an extension of Pin- but now she realized she was wrong.

"...Why?" She asked, "Hardly any of us get along with you. Why... why would you risk yourself for people who don't even like you?"

At this point, she realized she sounded more worried than she wanted to.

"Even if we don't get along," Coiny started, glancing at the ground, "we're still here. Together. We're going through this hellhole together. I think that's enough to form a strong bond with others."

Pencil stared at him.

It all started to make sense. The way he was with Pin in BFDIA made sense, sticking by her side even though they would be awful to each other sometimes. The way they made up, even after they had their falling out.

The way he'd always jump in when Four was about to discipline someone else and get their attention. She thought he was just being annoying-- but there was a purpose. A method to his madness.

Suddenly, she felt his hand wrap around hers.

"I see you as a friend, Pencil. You may hate me, but I don't hate you."

......

Those words echoed in Pencil's head for a moment, lingering in the ocean of thoughts like a boulder dropped in a calm ocean. She couldn't remember what happened after that. But those words struck her with a feeling of displacement and conflict. She wasn't sure how to feel about him to begin with-- but it was worse now. She groaned, placing her hands on her head. Great. She had a headache now.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Ok thanks bye

[luna--dragon]

Okay, we all know I wasn't going back to sleep until i put this to rest

Ford has 2 confirmed tattoos: A cartoon star he got while travelling the multiverse, and a "Flirty Gal XO" trampstamp from when he was possessed by Bill.

The star's location is not specified, but is likely on his neck as he immediately mentions his turtleneck sweater after drawing it.

He uses the word 'tattoos' plural a few times on the same page that the star is on. Clearly, he has more that haven't been shown and/or described yet. None of these ones were influenced by Bill in any way, or else that would have been mentioned.

The Book of Bill mentions another possible Tattoo. Translation: "If lost, return to Bill". He didn't know the true translation, and thought about getting it early into their relationship, but it is unclear whether he actually did. It also doesn't specify a location.

We also don't know if anyone else knows about any of these, except Bill

Again, I'm half asleep and exhausted, so if I've missed any then feel free to ask or add in reblogs.

[billthedrake]

LINEAGE (PART NINETEEN)

It had been nearly three months since I'd golfed with Todd Fiedler. I'd been busy as hell with home life and work life and didn't have much me time left. I insisted that Junior keep up his game, but I spent my weekends helping Braden out at home or doing overdue chores around the house.

Besides, a lot was going on in the Doctor's life. Somehow things had gotten very serious between Sam Fiedler and that cop who'd stumbled into the Fiedler house on orgy night. Officer Jake Kincaid. They were not only dating but living together in the fifth inhabited house in the subdivision. Sam had opted out of college and decided to get into IT computer stuff at a local company. I didn't see him as much, but when I did he seemed very happy.

I did worry how Todd would take his last son flying the coop. I didn't know if father and son fully broke up, but they had been boyfriends and now Sam had a new boyfriend, a serious one. But things had rekindled between Todd and his eldest Andrew, who was home for a gap year after college.

I watched now as Todd swung his drive from the tee. He was well pregnant now, in his third trimester, and showing in his knit golf shirt. I had my own sexual tension with Fiedler and his big belly wasn't doing much to stop that.

"Fucking hot isn't he?" Junior whispered to me.

I nodded, and laughed that I'd been caught ogling him. "Totally," I said truthfully. "Men just look better pregnant," I said crudely.

Junior flashed his smile and nodded toward Fiedler, "I did that, Dad."

Fuck, I was completely boned.

Andrew Fiedler had grown into a hunky young man, too. 23 years old, he had inherited his father's and grandfather's handsome, dark complected looks. He was looking at me with the same kind of lust I'd been feeling toward his dad.

I deflected that, though. "So... how was the trip?" I asked. He and Todd had just gotten back from a month in Europe.

"It was awesome, Mr. D...." he flashed his pearly smile. "So much honeymoon sex."

"Son!..." Todd exclaimed, half admonishing, half laughed.

The college grad shrugged. "What, Dad? It's true. I thought you wanted to announce it."

"Announce what?" Junior asked.

Todd gave a smile of his own and stepped up to his son, placing his thick arm on Andrew's shoulder. "I proposed to my son, guys... and this amazing man said yes."

Junior was all smiles. "Course he did, Doc... congratulations, guys!"

I gave my congratulations, and clapped Doc's shoulder, shaking his hand and Andrew's before drawing them into a quick bro hug. "So happy for you," I said. I was, too. I mean, I had a hundred questions I wanted to ask, about where Adam Fiedler, Todd's Dad fit in. But that could wait.

"Wedding's not till next May," Andrew said. "But we want you guys there."

"Wouldn't miss it," I said.

****

On the drive from the club, it was like there was a spell over me and Junior. We were quiet and pensive.

"I'll talk to your Daddy," I said finally.

Junior nodded, excitement in his eyes, but caution on his face. "Dad... we don't have to... I don't want you to feel pressured."

I cut him off. "I'm not feeling pressured into a damn thing. I love you, Junior, and you're having my son. Some things are complicated, but some things are simple as can be."

"I love you too, Dad," he said.

I sighed. "I just... well, when your daddy and I got married we didn't have anyone to share that occasion with. I feel bad we didn't."

Junior patted my leg. "I trust you, Dad," he said.

I looked over at him. Apple of my eye. Become my partner as much as Braden in a way. Hot as fuck with his baby bump and his fit body. "OK if we pull over to our favorite spot, kiddo?" I asked, a lump in my throat and one in my crotch. We had a secluded turnoff in a local industrial park that was our go to for a quickie when running errands.

Junior grinned and opened the glove compartment. There was the trusty lube, the one I'd used with Steve the fellow football dad. I had a good feeling Junior and I were going to do more than jack off now.

We parked. Maybe we'd get in trouble one of these days, but the spot really was deserted and hidden from view.

"Fuck Dad," Junior said as he undid his seat belt and leaned into a soft kiss.

****

The triplets arrived a little early, but I was proud as hell of Braden for making it well into his eighth month with them. My son-husband was strong as an ox, I decided when I saw him get back to his normal energy within a week after delivery.

The rest of it was as tough as I imagined. I became an expert at changing diapers, at getting a crying baby to sleep and at warming Braden's pumped milk. Junior was, too, and I felt proud of how we was stepping up, but also bad he was spending his Fall after high school being a full-time parent to his little brothers.

"It's OK Dad," he said one night as we cleaned up after dinner. "I gotta learn this stuff. Bill III will be here before you know it." Indeed, Junior was starting to show, to really show. It was the amazing stretch of pregnancy when I wanted to bone Junior nonstop. We did find time for sex a good bit, though maybe not as much as either of us wanted. At least, Braden's recovery meant I didn't feel like I was neglecting my husband's needs.

The big surprise is that Keith got really into looking after the twins. "I figure I get to have a little more time with my little bros," he grinned when I asked him about it. Evan was more focused on football and high school social life - he hadn't wasted time getting a girlfriend - but he still did videos for Braden's Instagram account as my husband did his video diary of fitness recovery after childbirth. I didn't know what I thought about Brade becoming a celebrity in a way, but the monetized funds coming in would help. Already we had a nanny lined up.

I hadn't had an argument with Brade in a while, but we had one when I gave Evan an ultimatum. He had to get his grades up or I wouldn't pay for private school any more. They had a top-shelf football program and already Evan was making friends, so he resented that threat. Braden thought I was being too harsh, and even Junior gave me the cold shoulder, siding with his little brother. But I stuck to my guns.

Things kind of blew over when Evan got his next report card. He may have resented me, but the threat worked.

It wasn't the healthiest moment in our marriage. Brade and I never talked it out. But we slept in the same bed each night. I made sure not to spend those nights with Junior while I was still in the dog house. That was important to me, to be with Braden even through a rough patch.

Then, a month in, just before Thanksgiving, Braden's sex drive kicked in. We fucked three times that night, and Brade sucked on my dad cock between each round. We made out, like we used to, like when we started. We talked about our growing family and the love we had for each other. And then I'd enter him again.

Evan teased me the next morning for sleeping in, and I'm pretty sure he could read it in my face.

"Your dads needed to catch up," I said, the double entendre clear. I fixed Brade a coffee and a bagel to take to the nursing room where he was feeding the triplets.

****

The other men in the neighborhood helped out. The Newcombs, the Connors, and the Fiedlers were all on rotation to come over and baby sit or just chip in. Doug and Eric Newcomb's arrival had changed the dynamic, as had Junior's knocking up Todd Fiedler. Looking back it was a real turning point. No longer was it a couple of families. We were a real communiuty now. Incest Acres, though our subdivision had a proper name, Oakwood Court.

I gave Junior and Braden explicit permission to play with any of the other men whenever they wanted. No special playdate needed. I think only Junior was taking advantage of that, since Brade and I were still in reconnecting mode.

I gathered the other families were opening up, too. The Connors were the most hesitant, but even Frank gave up his virginity to Doug - the airline pilot was that incredibly handsome and persuasive.

Incest Acres now had its non-incest pairing of Sam Fiedler and his cop boyfriend Jake Kincaid. An older police officer lived with them part time, forming a roleplay family from what Todd described.

One night as I cleaned up after dinner, Braden walked in, barechested and nipples puffy from nursing. The milk made the muscle of his pecs look even fuller. "You got this, Dad?" he asked.

"Yeah, buddy," I said. "I'm good. You rest up."

He looked at me and leaned in. "I'm too tired for sex tonight... if you wanna check on our neighbors..."

"Which ones?" I asked.

"Your call, Dad." He grinned. "I think Junior's champing at the bit for a group scene." Leave it to Junior to open to his Daddy about things he didn't want to bring up with me. Like the old times.

"Been a while," I reflected.

"Yes sir," Brade said.

"I want you there, next time," I asserted.

"Definitely."

I sent a couple of texts then went to Junior's room. He was watching some show on his computer and had to pull his headphones off.

"Yeah, Dad?" he asked.

"You feel like making a little house call to the Newcombs with me?" I asked. It wasn't hard to pick Doug and Eric. We still hadn't had a nice Drake-Newcomb hookup, since the birth of their son Calvin.

"God yeah... now?"

"Yeah, now, if you're ready."

He got off the bed, dressed in his preppy golf attire, like he often was, the knit shirt stretched out now. We'd have to buy him some new ones, maybe keeping these for paternity wear in case.... all right, I was getting ahead of myself.

The Newcombs lived two houses down. Eric answered, wearing only a jockstrap and a Nebraska ball cap. "Hey Mr. Drake, hey Junior." Eric was one of the few younger men to call my son Junior rather than Bill. "Come in."

We followed him, and I could see the slickness of lube in the crack of his smooth buns. A lot of it.

Junior noticed, too. "Looks like you guys have already started the fun," he teased.

Eric laughed. "Yeah, Dad's a horndog tonight. Cal is finally sleeping for more than a couple hours at a time."

We'd barely stepped into the bedroom when Eric made a beeline for the bed and snuggled up to his naked father, who was looking very relaxed and content, other than a slick erection that looked in full excitement and need.

"My favorite men..." Doug grinned in his gladhandling way. "Brade couldn't make it?"

I shook my head, kicking off my shoes. "Next time. He sends his best," I replied.

"Probably for the best," the airline pilot said, running his hand along Eric's strong shoulder affectionately. It was wild to see Eric's strapping ex-running back body seem needy in its curled position against his father. "I'm doing my best to knock Tiger up again."

It was like Eric's complete being was centered on his father that night and we watched them kiss softly, Eric's big mitt reached down to stroke his Dad's boner. He finally pulled back and I could hear him whisper. "You're gonna do it, too, Big Man."

Doug laughed and looked at me and Junior. "We're doing our best for Irish twins. This dude was ready."

Junior had already stripped but spoke up. "We can give you your privacy, Doug... come back some other time."

"Plenty of room in this bed, right, Tiger?"

"Yeah, Dad."

They scooted over. "Besides, I need some recovery time before round three."

It felt easy and relaxed and exciting at the same time. Me and Junior connecting next to the Newcomb men. We made out as those guys did, before Junior slicked up my hardon and straddled me. As he settled down I ran openly over his pregnant belly.

"He's really showing," Eric said with a grin. The ex-jock had a boner in his jockstrap but it was clear the sex for him that night was about getting his father's sperm inside him.

Junior nodded. "Fuck yeah... getting real big with Dad's son."

"Our son," I corrected him.

Junior rode me a little harder. Not bouncing roughly but definitely horny now. I watched his amazing body then looked over at Eric copy him.

"God yeah, Tiger," Doug hissed. "Sit in Daddy's lap. Yeah, like that."

"Got your big bare cock in me, Dad," Eric said as he sat all the way down. The previous fucks had relaxed him completely.

"We gonna make a kid together, Eric? Give Cal a little brother?"

Eric nodded, the excitement visible even beneath the brim of his Nebraska cap. "More than one, Big Man." He now rode that father prick with steady swivel motions of his hips. "Give you a whole litter... like the Drakes."

"Fuck!" Doug hissed, excited by that idea.

I looked up at Junior. He was turned on by the sex talk but I could see fear in his eyes. Like I'd want more than one son from him. Maybe that would happen, maybe it wouldn't but he definitely wasn't ready to be like Eric or Braden. I patted his outer leg and winked.

"I'm just proud of my boyfriend for giving me this... a gift of a grandson with him."

Junior nodded, taking in the words but also the feeling of my cock against his prostate.

We let the boys ride us and took a break to cool off. I took some time making out with Eric, while Junior made out with Doug. Then we switched as I scooted toward the DILF pilot and met his soft kiss while Eric and Junior bonded.

"I'm glad you could be with us tonight, Bill," Doug whispered. "Here when Eric and I make another son."

"Damn Doug," I replied, feeling turned on and emotional. "You really have embraced the incest."

He smiled. "You said it best, Bill. Once you leave the guilt phase behind, it doesn't come back."

Doug was fully recharged now and I was getting into blue balls territory. We went back to our father-son pairings, missionary this time. I entered Junior first then heard the penetration of Doug into Eric next to us. We fucked, focused on our sons, only I felt Doug's hand nudge against mine. I took the cue, circling my fingers into his grasp. We we thrust into our sons and even as we came, I held my friend's hand and felt the bond of incest brotherhood between us.

****

The following weekend I had Junior take duty with the triplets while Brade and I had some alone time. It wasn't date night, maybe but it was just two hours to ourselves, in our marriage bed during the day time, as my son and I made out.

"I need you in me, Dad," Braden said finally.

I reached for the lube. "Do we need to start discussing birth control again?" I asked. I was concerned the triplets had taxed Braden's childbearing drive. At the very least I wanted to give him a break.

But he shook his head. "I don't wanna, Dad. I'm not very fertile these days, but let's just let what happens happen, OK?"

I nodded, so turned on. He was so beautiful. The one bit of Brade time he'd found was to keep up his gym routine, and he was still hard bodied, a DILF at 42, though I shuddered to realize that meant I was in my late 50s now. There were those strong arms and that meaty chest, capped with puffy nipples.

"OK if I have a taste, Son?" I asked. With triplets Braden really didn't have a lot of spare milk to go around and his tits were often sore from the feeding anyway. But he was horny now.

"Fuck yeah, Dad," he hissed, offering his pec to me.

I licked and suckled. I was out of practice but soon had the knack. I was soon rewarded with the sweet taste of his father-milk. I sucked a little more then went over to the other tit. "God, Dad... so hot..." Brade hissed.

A little would have to do, I decided. I was dripping and hard now, even without the lube, so as I lifted Brade's legs to my shoulders and pushed in, the entry was slick and easy. I gave a slow steady pump.

"Love you, buddy.... man of my life..."

"And Junior, too..." he said.

"And Junior I admitted. I'm the luckiest Dad in the world." I was now fucking deeper.

"I'm the luckiest Son in the world. Always felt that way."

"My fuckin' Daddy's boy," I grinned, really getting into the sex but also the intimacy of the moment. It could be hard to keep alive with a long marriage, but Brade and I still had it. Still had that burning flame for each other.

"We made an incest family, Dad. We're still making it."

"Setting an example for the other incest families, buddy," I growled.

Brade seemed to think that over. "You think the other guys are gonna follow suit?"

"The Newcombs definitely are," I replied. "Eric's ready to keep popping them out."

"Like I was," Braden said, his eyes on me, turned on. Cock hard like he was afraid to touch it.

"You you still are."

"Fuck yes, Dad," came his deep voice. Louder. If anyone was outside our bedroom they could hear us now. "Gonna keep giving you sons. Healthy, strong Drake sons."

"It's gonna be hard for me to stop knocking you up." My dick was feeling REALLY good inside Brade. Even if he wasn't very fertile the idea I could impregnate him was getting me closer.

"Don't want you to stop, Dad. For real... only..."

My thrust got more intense. Braden was in the headspace to enjoy that and his hands grippied my arms as he rode the pleasure of his prostate.

"Only what, buddy?" My voice getting low and sexual.

"Only... if you let him, I really want Bill Junior to knock me up next."

"Fuck!" I hissed. Yeah, we'd talked about this, bedroom talk. Maybe it was become more real to us as an idea. "You want our first son to impregnate you?"

Braden nodded, close to cumming himself. "I do, Dad. And our other sons when they're older."

That did it. I powered in and started cumming. Braden just had to touch his dick and it was firing off too.

"Jesus," he hissed as his body gave it up. I held still and watched his aftershocks beneath me. Finally, I let his legs down and backed out. When I first started fucking Brade, I'd often enjoy seeing the creampie I'd left in his hole, as a kind of conquest trophy of my own son. Now, I didn't need to see to know I'd seed him real good just now.

We lay side by side in the afterglow, caressing each other's bodies and looking lovingly at one another.

"Did I go too far, Dad?"

"Clearly not," I said. "I came like a motherfucker." Junior's sailor mouth was rubbing off on me.

He laughed but shook his head. "I mean for real... would you let Junior knock me up?"

"I'd love to give that experience to you. And to him," I said.

My finger now softly circled his nursing tit. Junior's would get like this soon, too and that knowledge had my cock hard again, already. "I've been scared to bring this up with you, Son. But I want to propose to Junior."

He sat up some in bed. A look of surprise on his face. "Yeah, Dad? Bill would love that."

"I know he would," I said. "But would you?" I was laying it all out there.

"You're still my husband, right?"

"100 percent, Brade."

My son seemed to think it over and replied. "We're already making it work, Dad. You're man enough to give us the affection we both need. There's give and take, like with any marriage. But I thank the stars each day I was lucky enough to be incest married to my father. And I, dunno, I want Bill Junior to feel that, too."

"So I have your blessing, Son?"

"You do, Dad," Braden replied. "And it's not tied to the pregnancy thing."

I grinned. "I want my men happy. And this is a weird thing to say... but Junior needs to breed. He's meant for it."

"Not weird at all, Dad. It's the truth." His own dick was hard as he said those words. He reached over and stroked my dad hardon, spreading the leftover lube and cum before he straddled my waist with a grin and reached back to guide my dick back inside him.

****

The timing never seemed right. Junior entered a moody stretch. While he was great at helping out with the childrearing and household chores, the tasks started to overwhelm him. Maybe he was worried what life would be like after Bill III was born. And while Braden had relished every part of pregnancy, even the bad parts, as a reflection of our incest relationship, Junior was adjusting psychologically to his body going through changes that were unfamiliar and scary. I tried to get Braden to comfort him or be someone to go to for talking about pregnancy. Maybe that helped, I don't know.

But the eighth month was easier for him. Physically he was tired, but he could see the light at the end of the tunnel and he was anticipating the birth of our son.

It helped that I couldn't keep my hands off him. We had sex every day now, even if was just a blowjob or JO together. Fucking him with that big pregnant stomach was off the charts hot, though. And Junior responded to my amped up lust and attraction. He initiated sex, even when he was tired. It was like he was addicted to my affection and my sexual attraction.

It had been months since Junior and I had a date night together. So he was thrilled that I arranged a trip down to Florida to catch a PGA tournament. He objected we really couldn't leave for the weekend, or that it cost too much. But I insisted. I wanted a getaway before the birth of our son.

The warmth was great, and getting away from the infants and the household chores was great. But the thrill was us bonding again over golf. I could see Junior's drive for the sport hadn't gone. He had plans for keeping his skills honed this next year. Brade would help him with post-pregnancy workouts, and he had an hour or two of driving and putting practice planned each morning at the Club, in addition to his regular rounds. I loved how excited he was about it.

And that excitement turned to parenthood and our next phase of life together. We had a nice long conversation over dinner that second night.

Afterward, we strolled along the waterfront, hand in hand. Passers by didn't know we were father and son, but we were clearly an intergenerational couple, and clearly I was the dad of the baby growing in Junior's big belly. I loved that, loved being on display for the world.

I stopped and looked at my son.

"What?" Junior asked.

I got down on one knee and pulled out a ring box. It was a simple gold band, matching the one on Braden's finger. "Junior... I'd be honored if you married me."

"What about...?" he started to ask. Wondering about his Daddy and where he fit in. But he realized I wouldn't ask without having that covered. "God, Dad," he said softly. "I'd be honored to be your husband."

I stood up, proud and excited and kissed my son deeply, holding him tight. I never wanted to let him go. "Oh, kiddo," I hissed before we kissed some more.

When I pulled back Junior had a huge smile. He was on cloud nine, even more than I anticipated. "I guess it's time to revise Dad's Rules, huh?" he kidded.

I took off his ball cap and ruffled his hair. "Guess it is, kiddo."

He leaned in. "Maybe we can do it after my fiancé Dad fucks me," he growled into my ear.

I slipped his cap back on and patted his strong back. "Like minds, kiddo...." I gripped his far shoulder and pulled his tall body into mine affectionately. My turn to lean in to whisper into his ear. "We're gonna fuck more than once tonight, Stud.... Dad's Rules."

[bluedalahorse]

Not a day goes by when I don’t think about the weird, intense, peak bitchy frenemy trio that is August, Nils, and Vincent.

They get traumatized together in horrific a first year hazing ritual. They all have different reactions to it that shape their public personas at Hillerska. They try to make things different when they become third years but not enough and invent new ways of being jerks.

Vincent and Nils roll their eyes at August whenever he’s highly extra. August feels powerless and hates himself, but Vincent is jealous of August and is always out to sabotage him and August calls him “Judas” and “Brutus” like it’s a completely normal thing to do. Vincent is clever and quick (and certainly mean) with words but thinks he’s stupid because he can’t succeed in school and Nils and August find him drawing dicks in the dirt. Vincent and August have conversations behind Nils’s back about being old money while Nils is new money. Nils and August have conversations behind Vincent’s back about what happened when they were hazed. Nils hides being gay from both his friends for the longest time but it turns out they’re totally supportive of him actually. Meanwhile August’s friends don’t really understand that he has an eating disorder and it would really help if they did understand but they don’t.

They get August’s grief, though? When they learn the school is closing, Nils and Vincent rush to hold August, and it’s weirdly precious. And then August tells them about being Wilhelm’s backup and they are honest with him—more honest than August is with himself—about how he shouldn’t actually want that.

I feel like you take a feather and you nudge these boys in one direction and everything goes up in gasoline-fed flames. You take that same feather and nudge these boys in another direction and maybe they become one another’s vaccines against the male loneliness epidemic or whatever the pundits are calling it these days. They are literally just so weird and flawed and important to me and I cannot get enough of their preppy nightmare bullshit.

[ghostofskywalker]

Anthony Bridgerton's Guide to Accidentally Falling In Love - 3

Anthony Bridgerton/Fem!Reader

Words: 2,042

Summary: Anthony Bridgerton thought it was clear that he does not intend to marry at this point, but still he is plagued by hopeful young ladies (and their mothers) who hope to change his mind. So when he meets a widowed Countess who is burdened by the ton's unkind gossip wherever she walks, the two of them realize that maybe they could be of help when it came to each other's problems.

Series Masterlist • Anthony Bridgerton Masterlist

The sound of someone softly clearing their throat from behind where he currently stood immediately caused every muscle in Anthony’s body to tense. He was not looking forward to turning around to greet whoever the young lady standing there was, and then having to figure out a way to politely turn her (poorly disguised) ask for a dance down. Maybe if he just continued to stare intently at the liquid in his glass and didn’t move, she would grow tired of waiting, and he could simply say that the sound of the band drowned out her attempt to catch his attention.

But of course he was not that lucky, and the sound repeated, much louder this time around. Fighting back the urge to sigh, Anthony plastered a smile on his face and turned around. “Good evening, Mi-” Thankfully, he was able to drop the act when he realized that it was only Daphne who had approached him this time. “Sister, thank God you’re here. I can only come up with so many excuses about why I do not wish to dance.”

“I was wondering why you seemed so intent to ignore me,” Daphne responded with a smile. “Have you been fending off many ladies this evening?”

“More than I care to count,” he muttered, glaring about the ballroom as he watched the various young women mill about, laughing, dancing, and swarming in packs on those they found to be a desirable enough target. It was tiring, and he had no one to complain about it with, as both Benedict and Colin had managed to make believable excuses about why they could not attend this ball. Technically, Anthony was here to chaperone Eloise, despite the fact that she would have much rather stayed home with a book and her journal. However, like her eldest brother, she did not have the luxury of missing out on the festivities, as his mother had so firmly put it before the carriage had left their estate.

Daphne’s voice brought him back from his wandering thoughts. “Is there truly no one you wish to dance with in attendance tonight?”

Anthony's voice was flat as he responded. “No.”

“No?”

Of course though, he should have known that she was not going to accept that as his answer so easily. “You heard me.”

Maybe that would have been a lie if you were here, but Anthony had not yet seen you. It was so late in the event that he was beginning to give up any hope of your attendance, even if he completely understood why you might want to avoid an evening like this at all costs.

As if she was able to read his mind, Daphne spoke. “Not even a certain Countess?”

Anthony turned towards his sister with an exasperated look on his face. “Everyone else in our family has already made their assumptions based on what a certain column has written, I had foolishly hoped you would not do the same.”

“I was not referring to what Whistledown wrote,” Daphne said smugly. “I was simply thinking of the smile I saw on your face the other day when I watched you in my drawing room, and the fact that I’ve seen you glance around the ballroom at least three times since we began talking. I am completely aware of your proclamation that you have no intention of finding a wife this season, and I’m sure that the rest of our family has already begun to tease you about romantic feelings you may or may not possess, but it’s clear that you enjoy spending time with her.”

Anthony looked at his sister, knowing that she had been right on every count. “In terms of distaste for events like these, we are kindred spirits.”

Daphne smiled. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Y/N was hiding out somewhere right now and that’s why you haven’t seen each other. I spoke with her earlier this evening.”

Anthony tried not to let a smile grow on his face as he learned that you were present, lest his sister become more persistent in her meddling. “I hope it was not the words of someone here that caused her to keep to the shadows,” he responded.

“I agree,” were Daphne’s quiet words. “She handles herself admirably, but I’m sure it’s difficult to weather that particular storm every day.”

Right as Anthony opened his mouth to respond, he spotted a small group of women heading towards him and Daphne, and in that moment, he understood what life must be like as hunted prey. Not even bothering to say anything to his sister (he would apologize the next time he saw her), Anthony quickly moved through the crowd of people, thankfully managing to duck away from anyone who tried to engage him in conversation.

He didn’t even know how he managed to make it outside through the maze of hallways that made up this estate, but cool air was soon flowing across his face as he stood at the entrance of a small garden at the side of the building, the music and other sounds of the ball nothing but background noise. Finally glad to be alone, he sat down on a bench and closed his eyes, breathing a soft sigh of relief.

At the very same moment, a familiar voice interrupted his thoughts. “Is being the center of attention truly that tiring?”

When Anthony opened his eyes, you were standing three paces away, the teasing expression on your face just barely visible in the light of the full moon. “You have no idea,” he said quietly, before thinking more deeply about who he was speaking to. “Well, I suppose you might.”

You smiled, sitting down on the bench next to him (but still with a considerable amount of space between you). It seemed that you didn’t have as much to worry about when it came to being alone with him due to your current marital status, but you were still (rightfully) cautious to avoid any more of the ton’s gossip. “I think the type of attention you receive is quite different from what I experience every day.”

“I’ll tell you that it is just as unwelcome,” Anthony said with a sigh. “I swear they’ve taken to hunting in packs.”

“At that age, young women are constantly reminded how important securing themselves a husband is,” you said softly. “You are simply one of the more popular victims because of your title and family.”

”Aren’t you still around that age?” Maybe the question bordered on impolite, but he couldn’t help the words that fell from his mouth.

You shook your head. “If I were not a widow, I would be ridiculed as a spinster,” you responded. “People would probably still be giving me advice on how to find a husband though, such as trying to catch the attention of men like you.”

“I don’t know if I should be relieved or insulted that they don’t actually care about me.”

“I think if you’re truly offended by the truth, your ego might have grown too big to save,” you said, a genuine smile on your face.

Anthony laughed quietly before responding. He had only spent a few moments with you but already his evening was looking up. “Well then, I think you’ve been spending too much time with my sister.”

“I can’t refute that,” you said. “She is kind, and it doesn’t help that I am not exactly drowning in invitations to dinner parties and garden soirees.”

“I have attended quite a few events like that, as have some of my other siblings,” he responded. “In my opinion, you’re not missing out on much.”

A small smile crossed your face. “I know that, but I suppose there is still a part of me that wishes to have received the invitation, even if I turned it down.”

Anthony nodded, and a short bout of comfortable silence descended over the two of you as you sat on that bench, the only sound being that of the breeze rustling your dress. With anyone else, the overwhelming quiet might have been stifling, but it wasn't like that with you.

“How do you stand it?” He eventually asked, his voice much softer than it had been moments before. “The rumors, the staring, the way people act when you step into a room?”

You paused for a moment, sitting up a little straighter as your expression changed to one of guarded intensity. “Is this your way of asking me if I am indeed the type of person the ton paints me to be?”

“No, I didn’t mean-” Anthony responded quickly, almost tripping over his words. “I simply wish to know if there is anything that I would be able to do to help, in any way.”

Your posture visibly relaxed as you took in his words, and he was relieved to see that you did not think him a liar. “I wish there was,” you said. “But just as you cannot escape the crowds of advancing debutantes, this is a cross I must bear myself.”

As you let out a soft sigh of disappointment, Anthony had an idea.

If one was looking at it from a rational perspective, the thought that ran through his mind probably wouldn’t be worth pursuing. The logistics of pulling something like this off ranged from adequately complicated to downright impossible, but still, he broke the silence. “Maybe there is a way we could help each other.”

You raised your eyebrows at him, and even though the exact expression on your face was mostly obscured by the darkness of the evening, he was sure you had an incredulous look on your face. “How?” you asked, clearly not sure what to think at this moment.

“We could pretend to be courting.”

First you were silent, and Anthony felt as though his stomach had dropped to the ground as he waited for your response.

Then the laughter started, and somehow, that stung his heart more than if your reaction had been an outburst of indignation.

When you finally composed yourself, you raised your eyebrows at him. “In what way would that solve anything?”

“If society believes me to be seriously courting someone, the amount of young ladies following me around would be significantly reduced.”

“And how would it benefit me?”

One might have believed he was simply suggesting this for his own advantage, but he had the logic of your question already worked out by the time it was voiced. “If your name were to be meaningfully attached to mine, I could use my family’s name and influence to quell the rumors as best I could.”

In his eyes, it was a perfect plan, but somehow, you still didn’t look convinced. “I doubt even you could convince the ton that you are seriously courting someone with a reputation such as mine.”

“Lady Whistledown has apparently already mentioned the possibility,” Anthony said. “Your friendship with my sister would only speak to the credibility of our ruse, and besides, we are currently out here all by ourselves. I dare say anything could happen, especially if we play our cards right.”

You were silent as you considered the offer. “Selfishly, I must admit that the thought of no longer being looked at so harshly is enticing,” you said softly.

“I would not do anything you do not wish me to, if that is of concern,” he responded earnestly. “I speak the truth when I say that you are my friend, and I would not want to put that in jeopardy.”

“I know,” you whispered.

You didn’t seem to oppose the idea, so he took the chance, instinctively holding his breath while he waited for a response. “So Lady Everleigh, what do you say?”

“I would say that you have yourself a courtship, Lord Bridgerton.”

Anthony smiled, maybe wider than he had all week. “Would you spare me a dance this evening then?” he asked, extending his hand to you as he stood up. “I can find you later in the ballroom.”

You laughed as you took it, offering a kind smile of your own. “Of course. Why don’t we both get some lemonade when we return to the party?”

“That sounds like a wonderful idea.”

- end of part three -

series taglist: @maricciardo @imafangirlofeverything @captainsophiestark @allthegirlsdreamed @chrissisheadisinclouds @anxiousgoldengirl @sweatyconnoisseurstrawberry @sky0401 @fallout-girl219 @ifilwtmfc

[red-dead-n-dandy]

fluffy cuddle headcanons for bill williamson (+ anyone else you feel like writing!) and a gender neutral s/o? im in the mood for cutesy cowboy content 👉👈

Absolutely! Always! I try to write gender-neutral as much as I can so everyone can enjoy :) And mee too!! I need a cuddle, where's my cowboy at?!

Mind on You

Pairing: RDR2 Men x Reader

Game: Red Dead Redemption 2

Warnings: some of the men's headcannons got slightly angsty/emotional - it's not too ba,d but i always warn just in case! (Bill, Kieran and Sean)

{ How each of the men love to cuddle/hold you }

I would love to hear your thoughts and feedback in the comments or tags, thank you and enjoy! <3

ARTHUR MORGAN:

Lover of the slow morning cuddles

He's always on the go, so the mornings that he can relax with you are his favourites.

"Slow down, ain't got nowhere to be this mornin'." as you try to get up and get dressed.

It's a feeble attempt.

You barely manage to sit up before his arm snakes around your waist.

Chuckling as you're pulled back into the warmth of his chest.

"Now," he murmurs in his deep morning voice "you ain't going nowhere."

Slowly starts kissing your neck if you try to protest.

BILL WILLIAMSON:

Behind all the bluster, he's a big softie.

He seeks you out when he's had a tough day, the kind of day when the whole camp just views him as the camp fool.

It stings deeper than he's willing to admit

But you know

The soft "Come here, darling" just melts him.

Surrendering into your arms, hair on his body standing upright as you run your hands over his shoulders to ease away at the knots of stress.

Though he's embarrassed, he looks up at you - into your soothing eyes and he knows...everything's gonna be alright.

CHARLES SMITH:

Charles is quite a private man, so although he loves your affection; he wouldn't necessarily go for full-blown PDA and cuddles in front of the gang.

That's your time, together.

To him, it's sacred.

If you come and quietly ask him to cuddle, he'll take your hand and lead you away from everyone else.

Happiest with you in between his legs, your back against his chest

Whether you're reading, drawing, sharpening knives etc - he likes to wrap his arms around you and gently rest his chin on your shoulder to watch what you're up to

Has been known to fall asleep like this, but will deny it

DUTCH VAN DER LINDE

Dutch loves nothing more than pulling you into his lap in the evenings when sitting around the campfire.

Does this in a low-key possessive way

He gets even more of a kick out of it when he knows you're busy.

I mean, who's gonna deny him?

Not you, that's for sure!

"Come, sit for a while. You've been so busy today"

Encourages you to cuddle in closer as the warmth of the fire envelops you both.

HOSEA MATTHEWS

BIG fan of having a cuddle while reading

Whether it's you laying in his lap or the other way around

Will read passages aloud to you if you ask him to

Help him up, his back will thank you!

Enjoys being quiet and with nature, points out different birds and animals etc

Will also randomly launch into stories, some true...some less so! but you love them either way.

"Did I ever tell you about the time..."

JAVIER ESCUELLA

Another member of the cuddly gang!

Loves affection, but can become nervous when he falls for someone

Talk to him about music or his (emotional support) guitar and he'll relax.

Better yet, ask him to teach you how to play!

Awkward reaching of hands to help you get the chords

"It might be easier if I move closer?" you oh-so-innocently ask.

God, he smells good!

He is a nervous wreck inside, but the proximity is oddly addictive.

Oh, stay a little longer! He'll teach you song after song if you're willing!

JOHN MARSTON

He's not massively cuddly, but god does he need some love!

He'll never ask for a cuddle, but you'll see the signs.

"what you doin'?" he asks defensively as you move yourself onto his lap.

Soon relaxes into it, but claims it's you "being all clingy and stuff"

Gets more affectionate when he's drunk

Secretly loves it when you trace your fingertips over his scars.

He hates them, but the way you coo over them - that feels nice.

JOSIAH TRELAWNEY

If you can hold him down for 5 goddamn minutes, then sure, he'll cuddle you!

I swear this man just disappears?!

The best time to cuddle him is honestly while he sleeps!

Move into his arms and he'll subconsciously wrap you up, his moustache tickling your head.

If you're lucky, he'll stir in the night and give you a couple of small kisses.

Also a big fan of cuddles in a shared bath?

KIERAN DUFFY

Please...can someone show this man an ounce of love?

He works so hard, so it's nice to have some affection at the end of the day, a shoulder massage that turns into a sleepy cuddle - yes, please!

Another one for bath cuddles!

Is just constantly serving, it feels like he's never off the clock, but for you? he doesn't mind!

Do you need him to wash your hair, and your body? Your clothes?

He can feel at a loss if he just exists with nothing to do

So hold him, sing to him, serve him for a change!

LENNY SUMMERS

Like Hosea, Lenny enjoys reading with you in his lap and loves to absent-mindedly run his hands through your hair.

He loves to make up poems for you and will recite them as you cuddle.

Is so eager to tell you about all the different flowers! His mum taught him and it makes him feel so close to her. knows which ones are rare, their different uses etc

Actually has a collection of dried flowers in a journal but thinks the other men would tease him for it, so only you and the women know..shhh!

Loves to loud watch with you as well, he's such a little dreamer! *cough* dreamBOAT *cough*

MICAH BELL

Not a cuddler.

expect to be teased and tormented relentlessly if you dare to ask

If you stick to your guns...like you are GETTING this cuddle, he'll be handsy

And it's just not that kind of cuddle, you know?

Not that he particularly cares

It's not a satisfying cuddle by any means

like this man is ticking a box at the very least, and getting something out of it if he can.

Honestly, I think you'd be better asking literally anyone else!

"Don't you dare ask another man, c'mere!" he'll say coldly.

SEAN MACGUIRE

He's always happy, always bubbly! If you were to try and cuddle him before he was tortured by the bounty hunters, it would be a case of "catch me if ya can!"

but things have changed, Sean has changed. The rest of the group hasn't noticed much of a change, he's careful to make sure they don't. The fear of not being good enough, or strong enough consumes him.

So long as he's good ol' Sean-y boy, everything will be fine!

But he has become more vulnerable with you, wants you cose, needs you close

You are his little ray of sunshine and he can't lose you now!

Whispering praises and promises like it's his last night on earth...because although the gang doesn't seem to recognise it...it very almost was.