#(Its in the right spot now sorry about that)

[lavenderleahy]

took a break from my crochet project tonight to write a silly little thing inspired by a convo with @monsterrae1 @strawlessandbraless and @theeternalghost. if I had more time i'd flesh it out but right now all you get is... this. in all its unedited and underdeveloped glory.

Dean meets buddietommy on a case | 1,045 words

Dean knocks on the door of the modest LA home. The police sergeant, Athena Grant, gave him the address after he interviewed her.

He knows the house is inhabited by one of the firefighters who was at the scene, but he's completely taken aback by the man who opens the door. At six feet tall, Dean isn't a small man, but he feels dwarfed in comparison to the burly blonde in front of him. The man is only a couple inches taller than him, but he is built; toned muscles bulge from his chest and arms, and his legs are thick as tree trunks. And he has a jawline as chiseled as one of Michelangelo's statues. Subconsciously, Dean gulps.

Then he remembers why he's here. Clumsily, he reaches for his badge and holds it up in front of him. "Um, Agent Page, FBI. You must be Evan Buckley. Mind if I ask you a few questions?"

The man smiles widely, his eyes crinkling in the corner. "Oh, I'm not Evan. That's my partner. I'm Tommy. Kinard." He holds out his hand, which Dean shakes after storing his fake FBI badge back in his sport coat pocket. "But come in. I'll get Evan."

Dean steps in, taking in the very well lived-in home. The entry leads right into the living room, where a teenage boy sits on the couch playing Mario Kart.

From a room that must be the kitchen, another man appears, somehow just as large as the first one. Holy hell. What is it about LA that makes their firefighters so… well-built and handsome?

"Hi, Agent Page, I'm Evan Buckley. Sorry about the mix-up. So 'Thena sent you?"

"Yeah, that's right." Dean says. He has to speak slowly and take deep breaths to keep himself from staring too brazenly; however, he can't help but notice the blotchy red birthmark in the corner of the firefighter's eye. It suits him, though. He takes a breath in through his nose. "Is there somewhere we can sit?"

Evan jumps. "Oh yes, of course. Uh, the dining room is fine. Don't think you want to talk over the noise of the video games."

Dean chuckles. "Is that… your son?"

"Chris? I mean, yeah, he might as well be. He's Eddie's kid, but, yeah. I haven't adopted him or anything, and he doesn't call me dad 'cause it'd be weird at this point, but I love him like he's my own."

Warmth blooms in Dean's chest as he listens to Evan Buckley speak. He understands the feeling, as he feels the same way about Jack.

"In fact, do you want me to get Eddie? He was there, too. We usually work the same shifts. He's just in the garage if you want me to—"

"Oh, that won't be necessary, Mr. Buckley."

"Please, call me Buck."

"Well, Buck, I'd rather interview Eddie separately, if you don't mind. It helps me get a fuller picture of the situation, to hear different perspectives."

Buck nods, understanding.

The interview begins, and Dean attempts to ascertain details of the odd call the firefighters of the 118 responded to the day prior. There was certainly supernatural activity, but Buck's answers are insufficient in determining the exact monster. There were no smells of sulfur, no cold spots ("We're in LA in the summer, what do you mean cold spots?"), and no calls outside the usual, aside from the one.

Apparently, they've responded to weirder: once, a bus impaled the third story of a city building.

After talking to Buck for about ten minutes, Tommy walks back in with two glasses of water. "Thought you could use a drink," he says, "and I didn't think beer was acceptable since you're on the job." He nods at Dean, who laughs in assent, then turns to Buck and kisses him right on the birth mark. "Let me know if you need anything else, sweetheart."

Buck's eyes turn soft and he smiles as he watches Tommy walk back into the kitchen.

Dean has to swallow to prevent his jaw from dropping. Meeting gay couples on cases isn't anything new, but seeing two very masculine men together… surprises him. Makes him feel…. something.

A few minutes after that, an unfamiliar voice calls into the living room. "Chris, I told you thirty minutes ago to get off that video game!"

That must be Eddie.

He peers into the dining room, wiping grease off his moustached face, and says, "Babe, why didn't you— oh. Hello?" he asks as he notices Dean.

"Eddie, this is Agent Page. He's here about yesterday. Sorry, love, I completely forgot to have Chris turn off the game."

Dean is trying to listen, but he barely registers their conversation. He just keeps looking back and forth between the two of them.

Eddie quirks a brow at him. "You all good there agent?"

Not for the first time that day, Dean gulps. "Uh yeah, sorry. It's just— you two? But I thought—" he points at Buck, "you and Tommy? Um. Sorry. 'S none of my business."

Buck and Eddie both grin. "Don't worry, we get that a lot," Buck says. "Yeah, the three of us are all together."

"All… three of you? At the same time?"

"Well don't you know it's rude to pry into the private affairs of couples?" Eddie responds with a wink. "Or in our case, throuples?"

"Listen, I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

But both of them start to laugh. "It's fine, Agent," Eddie says. "I'm just messing with you. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to trade places with Buck here so that he can be mean dad for the time being."

Buck rolls his eyes fondly. "You know how that usually turns out."

Eddie bumps his shoulder as he passes. "Well, try your best, dear."

It takes a moment for Dean to get his bearings after the exchange. It was… a lot to process. But he can't process it right now. He needs to focus. He needs to interview the firefighter in front of him.

As soon as he's done, though, he is going to make several phone calls.

____________________________________

Dean Winchester started a group chat

→ Castiel has joined the group chat

→ Benny Lafitte has joined the group chat

DW: so. something crazy happened today

[corrcdedcoffin]

dealers choice | jj maybank

request: jj x reader but he’s her dealer and they’re always flirting but this time it turns into something more ;)

summary: jj is a self proclaimed entrepreneur, and has a small circle of clientele; you amongst them. you, who he's been trying to make a move on for, well.. forever.

warnings: 18+, drugs (weed), alcohol, partying, illusions of smut (nothing happens), friends to lovers? sort of, jj swoons hard, kissing

note: this took its own route, i tried to stick to the request as much as possible but once i started i couldn't stop and this is the outcome.. sorry if it's not up to expectations i did my best :/ i also left it a bit open ended in case anyone wants a part 2!!

word count: 2.9k

JJ Maybank was very passionate about his 'small business'. After the gang opened up the surf shop, and Kie and Cleo really focused on the garden, JJ learned a thing or two himself, developing quite the green thumb.

When he wasn't at the shop, he was caring for and creating hybrids of his oh so precious devils lettuce. Customers of his would often come to the shop to purchase the extra goods, you included.

It wasn't like you were really friends with JJ and his friends, but you'd known them most of your life. You'd see them at the skate park, sometimes you'd surf with them, but mostly you'd hangout at parties. It was a weird spot between friends and acquaintances. And now, JJ was your regular dealer.

You and your friend had stopped at their shop for some board wax, where she was complaining it would have been a perfect day had she hadn't accidentally dropped her pre-rolls in the toilet that morning.

JJ overheard the conversation and couldn't help but chuckle, admitting it's happened to him before and offering for you to try one of his freshly rolled joints. Sure, it was out of his own stash, but he thought you were so pretty he just couldn't help himself. From then on, you were a loyal customer.

Mostly, you'd come into the shop like everyone else to make your purchase. After a while he'd given you his number, offering to deliver wherever you needed, free of charge.

Then you'd gone to his house a few times to pick up. It was usually pretty civil, a typical business interaction with some side conversation here and there about a party you'd seen each other at, or about how you got a modelling gig for a new surf wear brand.

He'd stalked the brands instagram page after that.

Eventually, the dynamic between you had started to shift. Conversations started lasting longer, he found himself cracking jokes left and right just to hear you laugh, his hands lingered against yours for longer than they probably should have, finding it more and more impossible to keep a distance between you. His late night thoughts were all about you, unable to stop himself from wrapping a hand around himself and fantasizing about you there with him, imagining you were the one touching him.

He felt disappointed when he didn't hear from you for a while. So much so, that John B noticed. He was like a puppy that had been kicked to the curb, sulking around making everyone else feel it's sorrow.

"She's probably just busy with work" he suggested, making JJ sigh.

John B had been discreetly watching the two of you at the shop and the house for a while. He noticed how JJ had more pep in his step when he knew you were coming by, and more so after seeing you. The constant flush in his cheeks was impossible to miss, even the others started to tease him relentlessly, calling him a pussy for not making a move.

It wasn't for lack of trying, though. JJ was always a smooth talker, especially when it came to girls. He was always confident, and never took rejection personally. But with you? His nerves always got the best of him, even if you never noticed. God, he hoped you didn't notice. Sometimes he'd stutter, and he always worried that you'd feel his clammy hands when making a deal.

The gang knew about his crush on you, since John B couldn't keep his mouth shut. It became a bet on how long it'd take JJ to make a move. Sarah and Kie agreeing it wouldn't take much longer, maybe a month. John B, Pope and Cleo thinking more like 6 based on his nerves and current rate of action.

Sarah had gotten home early one evening to get ready for a party at the Boneyard. Hearing a car pull up, she checked out the bedroom window to see who it was, and she couldn't help the way her jaw hung low when she saw you in the drivers seat reapplying lip gloss and fixing your hair before getting out.

She had always admired your fashion sense.

Sneaking downstairs, she stayed hidden in the kitchen while you and JJ were in the porch, and she couldn't help but eavesdrop.

"There's my favourite girl" JJ smirked at you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders in a side hug. You smiled wide, saying a soft "Hi, J" and silently praying your cheeks weren't so obviously as red as they felt. Were you really his favourite girl?

You took note of how good he smelled.

"I got your usual ready, and I... added a couple of things" he said as he pulled away from you, walking to the far end of the table and grabbing a bag.

There was your usual quarter in a small ziploc bag, neatly wrapped and tucked into a larger freezer bag that contained three pre-rolls (which he'd never done before, but after last time you'd admitted you were a shitty roller, he couldn't help himself), a pack of cherry flavoured papers (your favourite), a small rolling tray, a candy bar, and a charm bracelet from the shop.

Sarah's jaw was practically on the floor, she had to cover her mouth to muffle the gasp that she couldn't hold in.

"You didn't have to do this, JJ" you looked at him with adoration.

"I know, but I wanted to" he smiled, then cleared his throat. "I figured since you prefer joints but aren't confident rolling, I'd throw in a few for you. And then papers and a tray since you said you didn't have one, and I had an extra one." (That was a lie, Sarah was with him when he bought it).

"And the chocolate?" you asked, a teasing lilt to your voice.

"You said it was your favourite.. so.." JJ trailed off.

"What about this?" you held up the bracelet, inspecting it.

It was something new they added to the shop, build your own charm bracelet. Kiara had ordered a bunch of charms and some plain Italian bracelets so customers could add whichever ones they like.

The charms were cute, and all suited your personality quite well. There wasn't a single one on there that you didn't like.

"Uhm, I just saw it at the store and thought you might like it.. I can return it if--"

"No! No, it's really nice. I love it" you smiled sweetly at him, and he swore he could feel his heart turn to goo.

He stepped closer to you, taking the bracelet from your hand. "I jus' wanna make sure it fits" he spoke lowly, taking your left hand and sliding the bracelet on.

Your eyes stayed on his face as he focused on your wrist. He was moving slowly and softly, the way he turned the bracelet so it was upright gave you goosebumps. "What d'you think?"

You glanced down at your wrist, the charms seeming to sparkle in the setting sun. "S'perfect" you looked back to him, "Thank you".

The close proximity was hard to ignore. Sarah was hiding in the dark, chewing on her fingers and silently urging for him to kiss you.

You placed a soft kiss to his cheek, and he could feel his brain short circuit. "Gotta keep my favourite customer happy" he smiled lightly.

The two of you held eye contact for a moment longer before your phone ringing in your pocket scared you. It was your friend, and you smiled in apology to JJ before answering. He moved away and sat in a chair, facing you and the door, fidgeting with a lighter.

You told your friend you were just picking up and you'd be at their house soon, JJ pursed his lips. After hanging up you resealed your goody bag, then looked over to him.

"Are you going to the Boneyard tonight?" you asked.

He looked up at you, "Are you?" he countered.

You nodded, "My friend's making me."

"Then I'll be there" he nodded, and you couldn't help the flush that took over your cheeks once more.

"Okay, see you later then?"

"See you later" he smiled. You gave a small wave before leaving, hurrying to your car and heading to go pick up your friend. She'd have your head if you were any later than you already were.

JJ rubbed his hands across his face and groaned, cursing himself for being an idiot.

"You're not an idiot" Sarah pushed the porch door open. "A fool, maybe. But not an idiot."

JJ quickly pulled his hands away from his face. "How long have you been there?"

"Since she pulled up" Sarah shrugged.

"Oh my god!" he groaned again, leaning his head back on the chair. Embarrassed was an understatement.

Sarah took a deep breath, "You don't have to be embarrassed. What you did was really sweet!"

"It wasn't too much?"

She shook her head. "No, I think it was the perfect amount of romance. Boys don't really do stuff like that anymore. Besides, she likes you, so you don't have anything to worry about."

"How would you know?"

"Because, it's obvious. And I'm a girl, so I just do."

JJ scoffed at that. "Girls are very subtle with their flirting. It's all in the eyes, and the body language, not so much the words" she added.

JJ motioned for her to go on. He felt like an idiot having her explain this to him, but he'd never been so unsure of himself with a girl before. He was absolutely smitten over you, that he was sure of. But do you really like him?

It was easy to tell with other girls he didn't have actual feelings for.

"Well, does she smile at you at lot, does she make lots of eye contact, especially after someone tells a joke? Does she find ways to be close to you? How does she react when you get close to her, things like that."

There was silence between them as JJ thought on all previous interactions with you. All the boxes were checked off, even as he thought about moments ago when he put the bracelet on you. You got goosebumps, he heard a small hitch in your breath, but still he doubted himself.

"Look, she asked if you were going to the party tonight, obviously she wants to see you. So get off your ass and get ready!" Sarah started clapping in his ear.

The party was in full swing by the time JJ and his friends arrived. Immediately, he was searching for you. As if sensing his nerves, Sarah nudged his arm and pointed in your direction.

You were sitting around the fire with your friends, beer in hand, laughing at something.

"Go over there, say hi" Sarah smiled.

JJ shook his head. "Nuh-uh, no way, I need a couple beers first."

"Shotgun?" John B proposed with a devilish glint in his eye.

JJ nodded, missing how Sarah told John B to take him over by where you were sitting. The gang followed along without question, and by the time JJ realized where they were going, it was too late.

He tried not to look at you right away, but he found it difficult. Shaking his arms in an attempt to loosen up, he got ready to shotgun with Pope and John B. They downed three in a row, earning a small round of applause from the crowd. JJ immediately looked at you, his heart skipping when you were already smiling at him.

You gave a small wave, the bracelet he made you reflecting the firelight.

He held up a fresh beer and tipped it up in a cheers motion as a greeting, unable to hold back a smile when you did the same. You turned back to your friend when she whispered something to you before getting up and leaving.

JJ watched as you dug your feet in the sand and reached into your bag, pulling out one of the joints he gave you. You turned to him again, holding it up in offering.

He smiled, patting his friends on the back, "See ya later, boys" he said, giddiness evident in his voice.

They all watched as he sauntered over to you, unable to help the smiles on their faces. Cleo let out a cheer, John B and Pope following suit. JJ flipped them off, keeping his eyes on you as you laughed.

"Hi" he smiled as he sat next to you on the log.

"Hi" you smiled back. "Care to share?"

"Huh," he inspected the joint. "This is very nicely rolled. You do this yourself?" he teased.

"No, I know this guy, he seems pretty handy" you smirked, and he couldn't help but laugh.

"Well, maybe he'll show you sometime" JJ shrugged.

"I'd like that" you smiled at him.

Conversation flowed easily between you as you smoked. You both got a little more comfortable as the buzz began to flow through your veins, arms pressing against each other as you shared stories of idiotic things you've both done while high or drunk.

The jokes were never ending between you, and after a couple more drinks you let it slip that you thought he was handsome.

JJ couldn't help the smile that formed after that.

He stood up abruptly and held out his hand to you. "What?" you giggled.

"Come with me!"

You slipped your bag over your shoulder before taking his hand and standing up. He laced his fingers between yours and led you further down the beach. It was quieter, a small fire with a few people nearby and a different song playing. It was slower, made the moment feel more intimate than whatever shenanigans you were sure he was up to. Still, neither of you could ignore the harsh thumping in your chests.

To your surprise, there was no shenanigans. "Dance with me?" he asked, placing his free hand on your waist.

"You tryna romance me, Maybank?" you smirked, a playful glint in your eye.

"Depends. Is it working?" he asked, placing your hand on his shoulder before putting his other on your waist.

You had both hands clasped around the back of his neck now, allowing him to gently sway you as you pretended to think about your answer.

"Hmm, I think it might be" you smiled.

"Good, cause that's exactly what I'm trying to do."

You looked down as you giggled, and he took the opportunity to pull you just a little bit closer.

"Are you busy tomorrow?"

"Depends. What 'cha thinkin'?" you looked back up at him. Your faces were inches apart, you could feel his breath on your face. It was the closest you'd ever been, and yet somehow it still felt so far away.

"Well, I was hoping I could take you out. I know a nice little spot, really good for an evening picnic. What d'you think?"

You smiled, "I think.. It's a date."

JJ smiled, "Alright, cool. I'll pick you up at 7?"

"I'll be ready."

There was a moment of silence between you as you stared at each other, smiling like idiots, before he lifted you and spun you around quickly. The laugh that bubbled out of you would be on repeat in his mind forever.

JJ swallowed the lump of nerves that grew in his throat. Why was he so nervous? He asked you on a date and you agreed. The hard part was over, wasn't it? You were in his arms dancing with him, willingly. And god, you looked so beautiful, it was hard to focus.

And to make matters worse, you noticed. "You okay?"

He nodded, "Yeah, I'm good. Great, actually."

"Then why do you seem so nervous?"

Fuck.

"Cause I just.. I-You're really pretty, and I really want to kiss you" he huffed, cheeks going red, but he kept his eyes on yours. He needed you to know this was serious, more than just some fling to him.

"Then kiss me" you spoke quietly.

He pulled you closer, rubbing his nose on yours before closing the distance between you. You snaked a hand through his hair, scratching at his scalp as he slipped his tongue into your mouth. His left hand slid up your back, pulling you even closer as his right squeezed your hip.

You weren't sure how long you kissed for, but there were some cheers nearby, making you pull away and look. It was JJ's friends again, congratulating the two of you. JJ flipped them off once more, taking the hat from his head to shield you for some privacy as he kissed you again.

Much to his dismay, it only made them cheer harder, and neither of you could stop the laughs that escaped you.

With his hat still shielding you, he apologized for his friends, slightly raising his voice so they could hear him call them idiots, and that they ruined the moment.

You shook your head, "They didn't ruin it" you smiled, placing another kiss to his lips.

JJ couldn't stop smiling, taking a glance around the Boneyard and deciding he didn't want to be there anymore.

"Wanna get outta here?" he asked, leaning his forehead against yours.

You nodded, humming a soft mhm before he took hold of your hand once more, leading you away from the party and back towards town. The two of you walked down the streets hand in hand, twirling and dancing around, stealing kisses as much as you wanted until the sun started to come up.

[backwardshatnick]

𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄 𝗈𝖿 𝖺𝗋𝗍

in which chris helps you with your vanity table before becoming a human canvas.

pairing: bsf!chris x bsf!reader wc: 2.1k notes: fluff, friends to (potential???) lovers, kissing, clueless!chris who enjoys being teased by reader. chris has lovely lips i am so sick. also like i know that nick owns space camp but can we please have chris model them for once? this was literally in my drafts for a month lol. i've never read and write so many "lips" in one story, good lord. inspired by this post by @sunrisemill (thank you 😇🎀) [divider credits to: @uzmacchiato]

It was a cool Saturday morning when Chris arrived at your house, the bright blue sky not filtering the sunlight as it casted its cool glow throughout the living room when you opened the door to let him in.

“You’re late,” you teased, an eyebrow raised while your head gestured towards the half-assembled vanity table in the corner of the room. The said corner was indeed a mess, white wooden bars strewn everywhere, nuts and bolts of varying sizes scattered like confetti on a kid’s birthday party and electrical appliances and other affiliated tools put on one side where they were likely to block someone’s way.

Chris shrugged, “I know, I know. Sorry, kid. I got chased by some bull terrier called Buster on my way here so I really had to stop by the shops to get some… motivational comfort snacks. They’re for your parents too if they’re home,” he grinned with a shy smile, holding up a bag of pickled onion-flavoured crisps and a large bottle of Pepsi.

You rolled your eyes and laughed but soon turned your back to the vanity pieces that were laid across the floor, “You’re the worst. But okay, fine. Let’s just get this over with.”

He made a promise to you a week ago that he would come by your house and help you assemble the vanity table that you had been gushing over for weeks arrives, saying that it would be “good practice for his masculinity and chivalry and gallantry” and “to prove to Nick and Matt that he wasn’t the thot daughter that he is.”

“When they know that I did this, they will know what to pay. Those dicks,” you remember him saying with an eyeroll, fingers cracking open a can of Pepsi before chugging it in large sips.

And so, when the UPS guy who finally came ringing your doorbell with a comically large box in hand passed the package to your dad, you were eager to text Chris and let him know that the time for him to shine has finally come.

The both of you had spent the next hour putting the table together, screwing each nail in their designated spots, tightening every rivet that could potentially be loose and making sure that each wooden planks were fastened according to their measurements. But of course it was not done without Chris muttering every now and then about the confusing Ikea manuals and their doodles alongside you making occasional sarcastic and mocking commentaries about his lack of handyman skills. Despite the sporadic hiccups though, the both of you made a good team and had managed to get the job done. The white vanity table looked exquisite and sleek, the golden handles accompanying the cream drawers, the large mirror encompassed with also gold embellishments and the smooth white wood reflected the sunlight in just the right places.

You both stepped back to admire your creation, knees and hands covered in a mixture of sawdust and sweat.

“We’re like professional furniture builders now,” Chris nodded, his right hand bearing the weight of his frame as he rested it on his right hip.

“Absolutely,” you agreed, though your attention quickly shifted to the ginormous pile of makeup that you had placed on the coffee table, “but we still have this to organise though.”

His eyes looked like they were to pop out of his head, looking at the sheer amount of lipsticks, eyeliners and what seemed like pouches and pouches of makeup brushes that were stacked within each other, “Well, let’s move this table to your room first so we don’t struggle with carrying it full afterwards.”

Chris sat on the edge of your bed, watching you tread to and fro the table and the box of makeups, pulling open drawers and sorting through lipsticks, lipglosses, lip tints and other paraphernalia. You were meticulous, carefully arranging each item by colour, shade and type with their own intention and purpose, and Chris found himself more intrigued than he had expected seeing you in your current element.

“You really love makeup, huh?” Chris asked, leaning forward a little, “How come I never see you wear the fun-coloured ones, though?”

You paused in your activity and glanced at him with a playful smug etched on your lips, “Well, who’s the boy who loves to rush me when we go for our weekly alphabetical movie nights? I mean, it’s more than just makeup, you know? To me, personally at least, I am my own human canvas so I just self-express my emotions on myself. It’s fun. It’s like art and it’s a nice way to relax.”

He raised an eyebrow as his intrigue multiplied.

“It seems like a lot of work, but I respect the art and effort put into it.”

“Maybe,” you replied with a shrug, “But if you’re willing to be my human canvas, I could show you the magic behind it.”

The silence shared between the two of you was marked by Chris’ hesitation, but there was just something in your eyes that he noticed, something that was twinkling with a glimmer of something playful and daring.

“Fine,” he chuckled as he dragged his pointer finger across his jawline, “do your best on this chiseled face.”

You blew him a raspberry in reply, but soon rubbed your hands together in a villain-like manner when you caught a glimpse of the bunch of brushes and foundations and concealers which were conveniently placed next to each other.

You went to your bed where he was seated, placing a palm and prodding Chris’ face, you said, “Well, your skin is all pretty and smooth, except for this scruff that you have going on, but I wouldn’t want to disturb it ‘cause I know you’ve been wanting to grow that beard. Do you mind if we play with the lipsticks instead?”

“Girl,” he answered in a tone imitating Nick’s, “just do whatever you like. I’m your human canvas, remember?”

A giggle escaped your lips as you reached out for a lip primer, “Okay, okay. First, we will start with this primer and I’m gonna use a this rounded brush to apply it. It’s gonna feel a bit cold though but it will help making sure that your lipstick stays put.”

You squeezed out the primer from the beige tube onto the brush, a small pea-sized amount now on it and went in to apply it over his lips in soft and gentle taps. Chris could feel the velvety texture gliding smoothly against his skin until he stuck his tongue out of curiosity to lick the primer.

“Chris!”

“What?” he innocently asked, batting his eyes all child-like, “I am just curious… This shit tastes awful. It’s like a stale burnt kiwi skin, minus the hair.”

You couldn’t hold your laughter, “You’ve eaten that before, haven’t you?”

“...No.”

“Right,” you said, still dubious but not wanting to waste time, you pulled open the top drawer of the vanity and took a bright terracotta lipstick from the collection, “This is my holy grail lipstick and I wear it often. It has this brick red shade and it’s called Sandstorm.”

“Like the song by Darude!” Chris laughed out in amusement, “This is actually going really fun. Tell me more.”

“Okay, okay,” you chuckled, fishing through the drawer until you found a deep, but bold plum lip cream, “I think this one might suit you. Rose French Toast Lipaholic. It’s bold and it’ll really pop on your skin.”

Chris was not confident on how he felt about the colour yet, but his curiosity made him sit still. You uncapped the lip cream and twisted it, revealing the rich mauve shade and with the precision of someone who had done this a hundred times, started carefully applying it onto Chris’ cushiony bottom lip before moving onto the top, where his cupids bow was beautifully prominent. The cool sensation coming from the lip cream made him shiver, but your delicate touch made him relax as you continued to gently swipe the bright colour across his lips, each layer thin but vibrant until the shade was equally distributed and symmetrically framing Chris’ mouth.

When you were finished, you voiced out a question, soft but full of concern and attention, “How do you feel?”

He pursed his lips together before puckering them and looking at himself through the vanity’s mirror, “Strange, but it’s not bad as I thought. I feel fabulous.”

“Yay! Okay, so let’s try this other colour then. Midnight Cherry Kisses, kinda looks like blood but you know, we’re getting creative,” you murmured, wiping off the previous lip products that you applied to replace them with a new one. You repeated the same process, primer then moving on with the lip tint using the applicator that it had as you applied a thick layer onto his lips. The texture was a lot more pronounced this time and it clung on his lips a lot more, and as you were working on it, Chris seemed to have found himself mesmerised by your focus.

You leaned in slightly as he had moved his head backwards, the tips of your fingers now grazing his stubble on his chin to adjust the angle of his face. The closeness of your presence sent a strange electric feeling coursing through him. Not sure if it was the coolness of the makeup on his lips or was it the warm minty breath coming from you, or if it was something else, something quieter and more familiar, but Chris was definitely sure that his heart started to beat a little faster.

Once you were done with the lip cream, you were tempted to layer it with a shiny gloss and thus took a plain tube of it, tapped a small amount onto your fingertip and started dabbing it onto his lips which were now glossy and almost mirror-like.

“Perfect. You look like you just stepped straight out of a makeup shoot. Just drop dead gorgeous.”

Chris was staring at his reflection through the mirror, his teeth showing as he tried out different poses with the freshly painted red lip. That was until he met your gaze, looking at you in a way that felt different. There was an intimacy in the way he stared at you with his blue orbs, as if it bore something more than just friends.

Without even thinking, he turned back and leaned in, closing the distance between the both of you and kissed you. It was not rushed nor awkward, but was slow, tentative and emotional, as if he had finally allowed himself to feel what he had hidden through his words, jokes and even smiles and stares. You did not even feel the need to pull back, but instead respond to it as if it was a question that desperately had to be answered, the satisfaction of finally being permitted to act upon your feelings gave you a drive to proceed with the kiss.

When the both of you finally pulled back, faces still close and breath mingling in between, you rested your fingers on his sharp jaw when you could hear the pounding of Chris’ heart as you looked into the fiery ocean in his ironically warm stare.

You whispered, voice barely above a breath with lips tinged in a pale ruby hue, “I’ve fucking liked you for God knows how long.”

Chris smiled and this time gently brushed your cheek with his own hand, “And I think I’ve always known that it would one day reciprocate.”

He leaned in once again, this time with absolute certainty of something new and exciting unfolding between the both of you, basking in the new fervour of knowing that you had felt the same way too. As you had parted away from him, you both sat in silence for a moment, still absorbing the shift in the relationship.

“So now what?” you blushed, lips curved into a soft smile.

Chris once more grinned wider than he had done, if it was even possible, his hand finding yours to gently rub his thumb across the back of your hand, “Well, first, we finish arranging your makeup stuff. Then, we can figure out the rest.”

“Sounds perfect,” you laughed, fingers now lacing with his, “Thank you so much, Chris.”

The air surrounding the both of you was a lot more intense, but in a good way. The room felt charged with a possibility of laughter that makes everything better, a future that you both knew will be filled with new experiences and new lip products of varying shades which all had flourished and will continue to blossom simply from the seed of being more than just friends.

tags: @vanteguccir

[autocrats-in-love]

Can you do a prompt where the hero and villain are best friends but they don't know that the other is a hero/villain?

The Person You Know Best

The hero looked at the watch. Their roommate should be home any time now. The pair had a movie night planned. Living with your best friend had its perks. One of them was weekly movie nights. The hero might have also had a bit of a crush on them. But that was neither here nor there. The hero settled down further into the couch, pulling a blanket over their body. It was really comfortable. And the hero was so tired. Out the window, the sun had long set. This left the moon, scattered stars, and darkness behind. It had been a long day. The villain had decided to make their job extra difficult and coat large parts of the city in a viscous, slimy goo. It grew unless you doused it in insecticide. The hero had eventually managed to turn the slime on the villain, and cover them in it. But it had been an uncomfortably hands-on job. The hero had taken a long shower once they got home, but they still felt the chilly ghosts of crawling slime all over them. The disconcerting feeling was overpowered only by exhaustion. The hero slowly closed their heavy eyelids. Their best friend would wake them up when they got home. The hero was just taking a quick nap, anyway. . .

“Oh, screw this!”

The villain had long had quite enough of this stupid slime. What a terrible idea. Months of R and D, down the drain. The villain should have at least had the common sense to make themselves a slime-proof outfit. That way, they wouldn’t have had to spend the last two hours slowly trying to escape its grasp. They were covered in sticky green splotches, but they had all but their left foot out. For which the slime was refusing to cooperate. The villain tugged. Once more, nothing. The villain wiped their forehead. This was tough work. The authorities simply hadn’t been able to free the villain earlier. They figured there was no harm waiting until morning. The hero warned them not to, but it was half-hearted. The law enforcement in the city was laughable. The hero did half their job for them. The hero was right; the villain would free themselves before morning came. The villain just didn’t expect it to take such an embarrassingly long time.

The villain sighed, and accepted it: they were losing their shoe. It was such a good shoe--solid footing, good laces, fireproof exterior--but the villain wasn’t waiting around to get arrested. They wiggled around for a minute, but at last pulled out one socked food. Then they ran. They kept up their stumbling pace as they made their way home. It was a little ridiculous, frolicking around the city with one shoe. The villain eventually made it a block from their place. They found the usual secluded spot they did to change. It was a whole affair. The villain had half a mind to bill the hero for the shoe. Moreover, the hero had made them very late for a movie night with their best friend.

The hero was startled awake by the sound of the door slamming open. Their best friend rushed into the bathroom before the hero could say anything. When they emerged a few minutes later, they had washed their hair and face. They also looked just as tired as the hero. The hero moved their legs, so their best friend could sit down.

“Sorry I’m late,” their best friend said.

The hero yawned. “It’s fine. Tough day at work?”

Their best friend had late shifts sometimes.

Their best friend leaned back on the couch. “Something like that. What are we watching?”

“Something with vampires?”

Their best friend frowned. “No.”

“Please? I waited for you.”

There was a staring contest for a few seconds. But their best friend conceded. Like the hero knew they would.

“Fine.”

The hero smiled. They got up to find the movie they wanted. The villain stole their blanket in the meantime. And closed their eyes. The hero didn’t care. They leaned against the villain, who mumbled something. Movie nights weren’t really about the movie, anyway. It was about spending time together. It was about spending time with the person you knew most. Who knew everything about you. Or, almost everything. As the movie played, the hero felt themselves drift off again. Neither really minded.

[bigfatbreak]

Birds of a Feather previous / next

[kathyrealmstales]

"Do I really have to-" "YES!" "Can't I just say sorry without the Ukulele?" "No, now tell everyone you are sorry."

[thedeafprophet]

Every few months I get the all consuming urge to just give up on art forever and never touch it again. which I'm sure is a very common experience as a creator

[scientologyblows]

okay but lets be very serious here right now, when they release a statement what exactly is that gonna change? don admitted to him and lex having intercourse (which shows that he coerced her) and matt and ryans texts show that the situation was handled VERY poorly. an apology isnt enough for the trauma they both have caused

[st4rstudent]

I think every social media website should have an effective tagging system, just my thoughts

[lazaruspiss]

yeah its kinda depressing that every fandom seems to have some anti shipper niche but its also so fuckin funny sometimes. like im just remembering that rick and morty exists and holy shit was that a show that contained Sensitive Subjects portrayed only for crass amusement and self gratification. and even that show has anti shippers. (adding a cut for those who dont wanna listen to my sleep deprived rambled retellings of my rick & morty memories)

hey do yall know what the pilot was about. bc the og r&m pilot was a back to the future parody where morty has to suck off rick in order for him to have big brain power. like the og r&m has uncensored underage incest blowjobs. also the actual final show has an episode where a character proposes a "multi generational sandwich" 3way. yeah yeah but portraying incest is problematic. do u hear urself. incest doesnt even make the top 10 as far as ricks crimes against humanity go. how do yall live like that

[todayisafridaynight]

theres no better place for my ichi ringtone to go off than during my exam tbh

[the-acid-pear]

Okay I'm home now and i can fully and freely type. Anyway mild spoilers for into the spiderverse i guess?

❌❌❌

Anyway uh. Yeah it... It was a tiny bit of a disappointment. It didn't do it for me at all. I feel like this movie is more of an art exhibit and i mean that as a fucking insult. Like sure the animation fucks my ears are ringing and my head aches horribly (that's on me for thinking i can be autistic and watch this on theaters) but like, the story man? It just so much (DEROGATORY).

It commits the sin a lot of spiderman movies make and that is that it bit more than it could chew. Not because they're bad at handling a complex story, but because they tried to juggle like 5 at once. And that never fucking works (my ear is still ringing and it hurts I'm in pain rn -_+ just wanted y'all to know)

Like it introduced SO FUCKING MUCH and it all was cool yeah! Just like electro was cool, and Harry, and Gwen, and captain Stacy. You know what in trying to fucking say? There's only so much you can do in 2 hours and you can just throw all you have all at once at the viewer because all you'll do is leave them disappointed wanting for more of that.

I feel like a baby. They show me this cool thing but nuh uh! Enough of that! Here's this new cool thing! But nuh uh! Enough of that- and so on. Like there were so many cool characters and ideas and concepts and shit but it could barely balance it all. YOU KNOW HOW BAD I WANTED TO SEE MORE OF THE SPOT?! HE BARELY WAS HERE!

It's like, you cannot fucking make a whole movie as the introduction to your next movie. That just sucks. You're setting yourself up for failure.

Like I'm just so upset bc it was full of amaizing things but it didn't fucking deliver in any of them!!!! And God don't get me started on the references. I think this was one of the worst ways to fill your movie with references. Like at least let me fucking process what I'm seeing if you are gonna waste so much time here, but also just... Don't make it so fucking blatant.

Like man i... This was a very experimental spiderman movie which i appreciate in a way but... It's not what I was expecting. To me, personally, it was disappointing. And also not designed at ALL to watch on cinemas. I think that last bit is just a fact.

I'm just kinda sad man. Like i loved Miles and Gwen's drama and i loved Miguel but I also wanted to see more of, you know, THE WHOLE FUCKING NEW CAST AND THE NEW FUCKING VILLAIN THEY INTRODUCED BUT SHOWED ONLY FOR LIKE 2-3 SEGMENTS MAX???????

LIKE HANDS ON HEAD EMOJI WHAT WERE THEY DOINGGGGG 😭😭😭😭

[artficlly]

this is (not) fine [one-shot]

marvel au bucky x personal assistant!reader

personal assistant rules: don’t crush on bucky barnes. definitely don’t misinterpret a flower purchase and spiral into silent heartbreak, and absolutely never ever get stuck alone with him in an elevator.

Warnings: 18+ content minors dni, smut, oral (f receiving), public (ish) sex?, wall sex (?), okay they fuck in an elevator guys, kissing, angst, miscommunication (not badly), hurt/comfort, there's some plot if you squint, insecure/self-conscious reader undertones, reader is an overthinker, reader is horny lol, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 9.1k

A/N: hi, hopefully this will keep you all fed while i work on part five to lessons in lovemaking. finally getting around to some of these requests in my inbox. this one is based off this request, but i changed it up so the reader is a PA instead of an avenger. lmk your thoughts thanx for reading <3 sorry for any typos - not proof read.

main masterlist

You’d never pegged Natasha as the type who enjoyed flowers.

No, she struck you more as the encrypted-flash-drive-on-a-park-bench type, the kind of woman who appreciated mysteries with teeth. A custom leather jacket, stitched with the same precision she used to dismantle a glock. One of those sleek, low motorcycles. Not daisies. Not peonies. And definitely not whatever soft, pastel nonsense Bucky was currently handing over cash for.

You stood a few feet away, halfway hidden behind a sidewalk sign advertising oat milk lattes and gluten-free muffins, clutching a cardboard drink tray and a bag full of vegan pastries in a death grip. The barista had spelt ‘Bruce’ as ‘Broose’ again, and under any other circumstance, that would've made you laugh, but now it felt like the most irrelevant thing in the world.

You liked Natasha. You respected her. You just didn’t think she had it in her to giggle over roses like the girls in those sappy rom-coms Clint insisted he hated (right before he would watch three in a row, a beer in each hand). But there Bucky was, brushing pollen off a bouquet of pale pink ranunculus, face soft in a way you’d never seen during mission briefings or sparring sessions.

And suddenly, you were building a list in your head of all the things you were sure Natasha Romanoff would rather receive as a romantic gesture: a knife, balanced perfectly for throwing, an expensive bottle of vodka, a vintage chess set with hand-carved pieces, a bottle of expensive ink and a fountain pen with a sharp nib, cookies—messy ones—overloaded with chocolate chips, or simply just black coffee, straight from the pot, no sugar, no cream. Yet, as Bucky handed it over to the redhead, she smiled. Smiled. And suddenly you felt like you were witnessing a scene you were not welcome to. 

Truthfully, it stung. Maybe it stung a little more than what was appropriate. You’d been harbouring a quiet crush on the dark-haired, sullen supersoldier from the moment he joined the team. Fresh out of Wakanda, new vibranium arm in tow, and god, he was handsome. Not in the polished, television commercial way Steve was, but in a way that made your pulse skip and your thoughts stall mid-sentence. He had the kind of face you didn’t know how to look at for too long, sharpened jaw, stormy-blue eyes, and a mouth that always looked on the verge of saying something he’d regret.

There was something electric about his stillness. Like if you leaned in close enough, you’d hear the hum of danger beneath his skin. He walked like a man who never quite trusted, drifting through the tower like he expected a fight around every corner. He barely spoke, but when he did, his voice was low and gravel-worn, something that settled right in your gut and made its home there.

He never smiled. Not really. But sometimes—sometimes—you’d catch a flicker of it when Sam teased him, or when Steve nudged him just right, and it was devastating.

And yeah, maybe you had a soft spot for broken things trying to heal.

As the Avengers’ personal assistant, it was your job to keep everyone comfortable, informed, and running like clockwork. You were a one-person organisational machine, constantly juggling the chaos that came with managing a tower full of enhanced individuals with the emotional range of a brick wall to a nuclear reactor. Your days were a blur of colour-coded schedules, back-to-back briefings, and the never-ending group chats.

You coordinated mission debriefs, booked international flights with military clearance, and handled press requests that would make most people cry. You endured complaints when Thor overloaded the power grid again, trying to make toast, and even replaced the mugs he shattered before anyone noticed. You wrangled Clint’s kids when they came to visit, sourced obscure snacks from remote parts of the world because Sam liked those protein bars, not the other ones, and Steve wouldn’t touch anything processed. You replaced a record number of coffee machines, hunted down whatever special detergent could get oil out of Tony’s designer shirts. You knew which brand of muscle balm Banner preferred and how to order it without triggering a random Homeland Security check.

And then there was Bucky.

With him, it was always a little extra, whether he noticed or not. His schedule came first in your Monday morning rounds. You made sure the pantry was stocked with the Eastern European tea he liked but never asked for, and remembered the exact setting he preferred on the tower’s training room temperature controls. You adjusted group plans so he’d be paired with Steve or Sam, just in case the crowds and questions became overwhelming. When he disappeared for a few hours, you didn’t ask questions, but you made sure no one came looking. You even swapped out the scratchy tags in his mission gear with soft ones, because he never complained, but you noticed the way he fidgeted with them.

Every day, you’d beam at him like some hopelessly love-struck idiot when you handed over his usual coffee—black, two brown sugars, just the way he liked it—and in return, he’d offer little more than a grunt. A low, barely-there sound that most people wouldn’t even register as a greeting. But you did. Somehow, that grunt became the highlight of your day.

So yeah, maybe seeing him hand over flowers to Natasha broke something in you. Not just a hairline fracture, but a quiet, splintering break that left your chest aching in places you didn’t know could hurt. Still, you understood. Natasha belonged to his world, effortlessly cool, all smoke, shadows and secrets. Yet she was kind. Not cold or unapproachable, just… carved from something rarer than you. The kind of woman who didn’t need to try to be extraordinary, she just was.

And you? You were the sweet, well-meaning assistant who made people laugh in the kitchen, who fetched dry cleaning and remembered everyone’s birthdays. You were the one who labelled tupperware and chased down Clint’s kids with bandaids. You were an afterthought, the background noise in the buzzing hive which was the Avengers Tower. 

So maybe you could justify feeling jealous, but angry? No. Not really. They didn’t know. They couldn’t know. And it wasn’t their fault that you’d let yourself hope.

—

Two weeks later, and you timed it perfectly, like you always did.

Just as the door to Bucky’s apartment clicked open, you rounded the corner—folder in hand, clipboard tucked tight to your side. The hallway was quiet, save for the low hum of ventilation and the soft thud of your heels against the carpet. Bucky stepped out, his gym bag slung over his shoulder, hair tied back, and his hoodie sleeves shoved up just enough to show the gleam of vibranium. Predictable. It was routine, every morning just before six he would meet with Steve in the gym. On Mondays, you’d catch him just as he exited his apartment, unload the details for the week, a freshly printed schedule and all. 

“Morning,” you said lightly, handing him the week’s itinerary. His reply was his usual, a grunt. Not annoyed. Not grateful. Just Bucky. That gruff, barely-there sound that once felt like a small victory. The kind of grunt that used to warm your chest when he followed it with a question, even if you knew the answer was printed in the folder you’d triple-checked. You always answered anyway. You liked having his attention, even just for a few seconds.

You used to dress the folders up with care, multicoloured sticky notes marking key tasks (blue for meetings, yellow for reminders, red for anything urgent and green for personal events). You’d highlight sections like traffic lights, add stickers you thought might make him smile, sometimes even scribble little crooked cartoons in the margins with cheesy encouragements—seize the day! 

The folder looked rather sad today, just a plain manila folder packed with stapled papers. No colours. No stickers. No effort. Just the essentials. You didn’t let your fingers dawdle when he took it. Didn’t smile like you used to. Just handed it over and kept your gaze somewhere past his shoulder.

Bucky took it slowly, eyes flicking down at the cover like he was trying to spot something that wasn’t there. His brow pinched, barely, but enough for you to notice. His fingers lingered on the edge of the folder, like he thought maybe he’d missed a note tucked inside.

You nodded and turned to leave, forcing yourself to shift your mind to your next chore mentally, restocking med supplies in the Quinjet, cross-checking Clint’s revised travel forms, hunting down the coffee machine Tony had threatened to ‘repurpose as target practice’. You’d have to order a replacement before the morning debrief. Double-check everyone’s dietary preferences. Update Steve on the tech room schedule. Get maintenance to repaint the lines in the training room because someone (probably Thor) had scuffed them again.

You stayed busy. It helped. Kind of.

But the guilt still trailed you like a shadow.

It was probably obvious how abruptly you changed. The way your voice had lost its warmth. The way your gaze dodged his like it might burn you. You wondered if he noticed, if he thought you'd simply grown tired of him. Maybe he had. That was better than the truth that you couldn’t stand to be near him, not when every glance felt like pressing fingers to a bruise you’d caused yourself. 

You had made your choice, professionalism. The kind of cool, curated detachment you admired in Natasha, only it felt all wrong on you, like an ill-fitting coat. You knew it was for the better, not mixing up work and matters of the heart. You’d already let your little crush spiral too far, thinking maybe—just maybe—if you tried hard enough, you’d earn more than a grunt. That he might see you as something more than the charming assistant with her clipboard and her stupid stickers. But he didn’t. And he wouldn’t. And that was fine. It had to be.

You couldn’t afford to fall apart over a man who had no idea he’d broken your heart.

But it was Bucky’s voice, soft and unsure, that startled you from your thoughts. “Hey.”

You paused mid-step and turned, forcing a tight smile that didn’t quite meet your eyes as your fingers curled against the clipboard. “What’s up?”

He shifted his weight, clearly caught off guard by the fact that you stopped walking at all. He was rather devastating to look at when he grew all shy and unsure, fingers fidgeting against the edge of the folder like he didn’t know what to do with them. He didn’t quite meet your eye as his weight shifted nervously, like he hadn’t thought before he called out. 

“Uh. Nothin’. Just—” He raised the folder slightly, an awkward gesture. “You usually give me the rundown. Y’know… what everyone’s doing. Who’s where. Who I’m stuck with.”

You swallowed. Of course, he’d noticed. Of course, he’d grown used to your chatter about meetings and mission rosters, about who was off-world and who was due back, like it was the weather. The casual, effortless way you used to tell him what movie was playing, who cheated at Monopoly the night before, or which team member had stolen the last protein bar. You’d always done it to help, keep him grounded, and make him feel like part of the team, like he belonged. 

But after what you’d seen two weeks ago, you were sure he didn’t need that from you anymore. Natasha would look out for him now. She’d keep him balanced, keep him fed, keep him from slipping through the cracks.

“Nothing interesting’s happening,” you shrugged. “Just the usual.”

He didn’t move. “Well… there’s that dinner. On Friday.”

You gave a curt nod, tone clipped. “Yes.”

“Wanda’s dinner,” he added, as if you hadn’t already acknowledged it.

“Correct.”

He hesitated again, brows drawing together in a faint crease of worry. You could see him floundering, stuck in some internal scramble. It made your chest ache because you knew that look. You’d helped talk him down from that look more times than anyone else in the tower probably realised.

You sighed quietly through your nose, against your better judgment, against every wall you’d tried to build in the past week, you caved. He looked five seconds away from spiralling.

“It’s in there,” you offered gently, nodding toward the folder. “On your schedule.”

“Right. It’s just… for me, you usually…” His voice trailed off, frustration and uncertainty knotting in his brow. “Sorry. You’re probably busy—”

That felt like a punch to the gut. 

You shook your head and, before your pride could stop you, your feet were already moving back toward him. His eyes dropped as you reached into your pocket for a pen, scribbling ‘Wanda’s Dinner – Friday’ on a green sticky note. Green for personal events, always. You hesitated, then added a smiley face underneath. You peeled it off and stuck it neatly onto the folder in Bucky’s hands. 

His eyes dropped to it, finger brushing over the paper like he didn’t quite understand why it mattered so much. “Thanks.”

You just nodded, already stepping back, spine straight, pretending your heart wasn’t hammering in your throat.

“She said…” Bucky cleared his throat, clearly not done with the conversation. “Wanda said she’s going to do curry.”

You paused, unsure what to do with the information. Why was he telling you that? Why was he still talking?

“That’s nice,” you said carefully, not sure what to do with this strange, lingering version of him.

“Are you going?” he asked suddenly, and you frowned.

“I wasn’t invited—” You began, already covering from the invasive thoughts, already working to mask the sting. You didn’t want to imagine them next to each other over curry, leaning close, whispering in the way people did when they thought no one else was watching. It would only make the crack in your chest worse.

“You should go,” Bucky said quickly, cutting across your thoughts. “I’ll tell Wanda you’re coming.”

“That’s not necessary. I’ll be busy that night anyway…” You lied through your teeth, heart thumping hard against your breastbone as Bucky’s face crumpled a bit. You cut in before he could argue any further.  “You’re going to be late. For the gym. It’s nearly six.”

“Right, shit, yeah. Sorry, I just…” He trailed off again, rubbing the back of his neck. “Thanks. I’ll… I’ll see you around.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, unsure if you were more confused or stunned by his sudden jitters.

—

Before the whole flowers incident, you made it your unofficial mission to ‘accidentally’ bump into Bucky as many times as humanly possible in a day. Now? It was the opposite. Every hallway was a trap to avoid, every room a potential ambush. Navigating the Tower had turned into something between a tactical stealth op and a personal game of hide-and-seek.

Unfortunately, your strategy for quiet withdrawal hadn’t gone unnoticed.

In fact, Bucky had picked up on your sudden cold shoulder almost immediately. The folder debacle had only been the first of many increasingly awkward run-ins.

There was the time you’d practically sprinted away from the elevator when the doors slid open to reveal him standing inside, a brow raised and coffee in hand. Or when you turned a corner too fast and walked straight into him, muttering a rushed apology before disappearing again like you were being hunted. Then there was the silent, painful breakfast you’d shared at the communal kitchen counter, where you busied yourself with peeling an orange for ten minutes straight while he sat beside you, occasionally glancing over like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how to begin.

You’d even pretended to be asleep on the common room couch when he walked in one evening, piles of paperwork scattered, laptop still open, only for him to drape a throw blanket over you before quietly leaving again.

And yet, instead of giving you space like you’d expected and hoped for, he seemed to find any excuse to be around you. He trailed after you like some misplaced puppy whenever he wasn’t buried in a mission or holed up in a meeting.

You’d assumed that the moment you stepped back, he’d naturally gravitate toward spending more time with Natasha. It made sense. Why wouldn’t he want to be around her? They were obviously dating, even if they hadn’t made it official yet. Maybe it was one of those quiet, close things kept just between friends, like Steve and Sam. Who were you to come barreling in and expose their secret entanglement? You expected Bucky to be relieved to no longer be on the receiving end of your babbling, your perfectly-timed coffee deliveries, or the not-so-subtle gifts you littered around. 

But if anything, Bucky seemed determined to figure you out. Like your sudden shift had become his new pet project, and he was personally committed to cracking the case.

You’d taken the back hallway, the long, winding route that steered well clear of the gym on your way to the shared office. High-traffic areas were too risky now—too many chances to run into him. But clearly, Bucky had caught onto your little detours, because as you turned the corner, there he was, headed straight toward you.

You froze for half a second, pulse quickening. Turning around would be too obvious. Suspicious. He’d know exactly what you were doing, and then your carefully-constructed avoidance strategy would unravel entirely. If he suspected anything now, you were one panicked backpedal away from confirming it.

It was a nightmare. And a daydream.

A part of you, some soft, hopelessly romantic piece, ached at the sight of him, at the quiet way he seemed to look for you, worry always etched into his brow like you were some puzzle he couldn’t quite solve. But the rational part of your mind, the part that had dragged you into this self-imposed emotional lockdown, screamed that letting him get closer again would only undo all the fragile healing you’d managed to piece together.

So you steeled yourself.

Shoulders squared. Laptop and paperwork clutched like a lifeline. Eyes locked on an imaginary point just past his shoulder. If you kept walking and moved quickly, calmly, maybe he’d let you go. Perhaps he’d pretend not to notice how your pace picked up and your gaze carefully avoided his.

You nearly made it.

But of course, he noticed.

“Hey, wait—”

His voice was hesitant, just enough pressure to pull you to a stop. Your footsteps faded into the hush of the corridor, your spine straightening instinctively as you turned. Bucky stood a few paces behind, one hand lifted halfway between reaching and retreating, like he’d almost grabbed your arm but lost the nerve. 

He looked sheepish. Timid, even. It killed you.

You swallowed. “Yeah?”

He scratched the back of his neck, boots scuffing lightly against the floor. “Did I… forget to grab my coffee this morning? Or… did you not bring it?”

A pause. Too long. You could feel the beat of your pulse behind your sternum as you forced a casual shake of your head.

“No, sorry. That’s on me. Slipped my mind.”

The lie didn’t sit well in your mouth.

It hadn’t slipped your mind, in fact, it was still sitting on the corner of your desk, cooling beside a stack of unfinished paperwork. You’d brewed it, as always. Even used the brown sugar he liked. But then you’d walked away from it, deliberately, like some idiotic breadcrumb trail you hoped he might follow.

God, you were pathetic.

Your stupid fucking brain couldn’t even decide what it wanted anymore. One half of you was charting escape routes through the tower to avoid him, the other was fantasising about him pinning you to the nearest wall. From the way your thighs pressed together now, breath catching as his voice brushed over you, maybe the answer wasn’t distance at all. Perhaps you just wanted to taste him—

He didn’t move. Just stood there, one brow lifted, faint worry creasing the edge of his expression.

“You’re usually down by the gym by nine,” he said, his voice low. “It’s eleven.”

“I’m running a bit behind today.”

“You usually text me if you’re running behind.”

“Well,” you said, shrugging like it didn’t matter, “I didn’t this time.”

He paused, the silence between you laced with something dangerously close to concern. “Is everything alright?”

You forced a small laugh, trying to shake off how his low, worried voice made heat pool in your gut. “Yeah. Why?”

“You seem off.”

There it was. Soft, plain and far too knowing. He said it in that maddeningly sincere way that only he could manage. Like he actually gave a damn. Like this wasn’t unravelling you by the day.

Your shoulders tensed. “Off?”

“Yeah,” he said gently. “Just… I dunno. You’ve been quiet lately.”

He didn’t know. He couldn’t know about the hours you spent spinning in your head like a lunatic, trying to compartmentalise this crush until it shrank into something survivable. About the way you’d stared blankly at Tinder profiles, your phone clutched in your hand, wondering why no one else ever came close, why none of them were him.

Why you couldn’t stop thinking that if you’d just told him—confessed that stupid crush before Natasha did—maybe you wouldn’t be standing here now like some stray mutt, sniffing around for scraps of attention.

Maybe then he’d be yours.

Maybe then you wouldn’t be fantasising about quitting just to put yourself out of your own misery like some lame racehorse.

“I’ve just got a lot on my plate,” you finally mustered, tone strained. “Tony’s soirée. The fittings. Admin crap. Didn’t even have breakfast today.”

His brows furrowed further. “That’s not good.”

“I’ll survive.”

Would you, though?

Would you survive the heat that flared low in your stomach every time he got too close? Would you survive the ache that gnawed behind your ribs every time he glanced over at Natasha like you didn’t exist? Would you survive the constant, desperate craving to be touched by him? To be looked at like she was looked at?

He didn’t speak for a second, and for a moment, you were sure he could smell the reek of desperation on you.

“The oranges in the fridge are gone.”

You blinked. “What?”

“And the tea. The fancy one,” he added. “The one with the dried raspberries in it. You’re the one who always restocks them, aren’t you?”

You looked down, fingers clenching around your folder. “I’ll add it to the list.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said quickly, stepping forward a half-inch, enough to make your breath hitch. “I just… I didn’t realise it was you. Doing all of that.”

Of course, he hadn’t because you’d made it invisible. Seamless. That was the kind of care you practised—silent, anticipatory, never asked for, never returned. You had cared for him with a thousand tiny efforts, but he never noticed until you stopped.

You looked up, and the hallway felt suddenly too narrow. His face was open in a way you hadn’t seen in a long time. Gentle, confused, like he was trying to work you out and couldn’t quite bear not knowing.

You dropped your gaze. “I said I’ll do it.”

He paused. You could feel him thinking again.

Then, to your disappointment, he slowly nodded. “Okay.”

But he didn’t move. Not right away. He lingered like someone who hadn’t yet decided if leaving was the right call, like he was caught between concern and curiosity. 

“I’ll leave you to it, I guess.”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. You just nodded and turned, walking away quickly before he could see your face fall, before he could catch the naked want in your expression, the way your heart was clawing against your ribs, screaming for you to turn around and ruin everything.

—

If time travel were an option, you'd gladly launch yourself into a wormhole and strangle your past self for being stupid—no, lovesick—enough to organise this little errand. You deserve it, really. A swift kick to the gut from future-you for being this hopeless.

It had all started a month ago, when you, like a fool, volunteered to collect the tailored suits and dresses for some little soirée Tony Stark had decided to throw. Of course, in true Tony fashion, what was pitched as a ‘casual get-together’ had evolved into a full-blown, black-tie spectacle. The first warning sign? Tony footing the bill for everyone to have custom outfits made to their specifications. Translation…this was going to be a thing.

You’d spent weeks wrangling Avengers into fitting appointments, helping them choose fabrics and cuts, managing last-minute alterations and tracking shipments. It was exhausting but under control…until the catch. The aggravating, absurdly attractive, brooding catch currently sitting across from you in the tailor’s waiting room, his knee bounced like it was transmitting a detailed morse code manifesto on every possible way he planned to ruin your day.

The plan had been simple: grab an Uber, pick up the garments, pressed, stitched, and boxed to perfection and head back to the tower. But then you got the call. The one that told you Bucky Barnes had missed his final fitting, and that his suit needed some last-minute adjustments...

Of course he did.

Of all your perfectly laid plans, it only took one missed appointment to bring it all crashing down. Now here you were, stuck waiting beside the man who occupied far too much of your brain lately, silently praying the tailor would finish quickly so you could escape before your sanity, or your dignity, completely unravelled.

“I really am sorry,” Bucky said for what felt like the fiftieth time.

Between the brooding and the nervous leg tapping, he’d spent the last five minutes watching the side of your face with an expression so guilty it was practically carved into him.

“Like I said, it’s fine.” You replied, though it came out a little too tight, a little too forced, like you were speaking through clenched teeth. Which, maybe you were. Not that it mattered. Not when you could smell his cologne from how damn close he was sitting. God, you wanted to lean over and bury your face in his chest and just inhale—

You straightened abruptly, shoulders stiffening as the tailor entered the room, and mentally reacquainted yourself with the concept of boundaries.

It had been an hour—sixty minutes of waiting while Bucky’s suit got its final adjustments. An hour of you trying to distract yourself with work emails and unanswered texts, pretending the man beside you wasn’t single-handedly causing your emotional stability to nosedive. At least when he’d stepped away to get re-measured, you could breathe without risking spontaneous emotional combustion.

This wasn’t like you. You weren’t usually this wound up. Maybe it was the exhaustion, days of juggling your regular duties with Tony’s ever-growing list of soirée demands. Perhaps it was the heartbreak. Or the missed meals. Or the fact that you genuinely had no idea what day it was anymore.

“Would you like to try it on before we package it up for travel?” the tailor asked, her voice gentle. A measuring tape hung loosely around her neck, her pinned bun fraying slightly at the edges.

Bucky looked at you again, eyes flicking toward yours like he needed permission. You swallowed what was left of your pride and gave him a slight, strained nod.

“It’s okay,” you said quietly. “Go on.”

“I’m sorry—again—this is probably eating into your whole afternoon, I know how busy you are—”

“It’s fine. Really. Just go.”

He offered a sheepish smile before disappearing behind the velvet curtain, tugging it closed with a rustle. You pressed your fingers to your temples, let your head drop into your hands, and exhaled through your nose like it might stop your heart from trying to break out of your chest.

Across the counter, the tailor glanced up at you with a sympathetic look as she readied the boxes for the other garments. “Long day?” she asked gently.

You lifted your head, managing a tight smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Only going to get longer.”

You were still nursing the tail end of your sigh when the velvet curtain swished open again.

And then your brain stopped working.

Bucky stepped out in full formal attire, sharp navy suit, tailored within an inch of its life. The cut of it hugged his frame perfectly. Broad shoulders, tapered waist, long legs. A deep navy waistcoat peeked out beneath the jacket, the subtle sheen of the fabric catching the light just enough to look expensive without being flashy. His tie was already perfectly knotted, like he’d done this a hundred times, and the sleeves of his shirt revealed just enough of the polished metal edge of his vibranium arm to make your mouth dry.

He cleared his throat softly, tugging at one cuff. “How’s it look?”

You blinked. Opened your mouth. Closed it again.

Words? No. Words were gone. Your vocabulary had packed up and left the building.

Bucky shifted his weight, clearly mistaking your slack-jawed silence for disapproval. “It’s weird, right? The waistcoat maybe doesn’t work, I told her I wasn’t sure about it—”

“No,” you said quickly—too quickly. “No, it’s… It’s perfect. You look… great. Seriously.”

His brows lifted slightly, a flicker of something you couldn’t quite place crossing his face. Relief, maybe? 

“Yeah?” he said, glancing down at himself, tugging slightly at the jacket hem. “I feel better about it now. The sleeves fit properly this time. Thanks for waiting.”

The tailor beamed from behind the counter, clearly proud of her work. “Wonderful. I’ll box it up immediately once you’re out of it.”

Bucky nodded, but the tailor turned to you with a friendly smile before he could disappear again.

“And for you, would you like to try your gown on as well before I pack it away?”

You blinked, suddenly snapped out of your holy-shit-Bucky-hot-hot-hot haze. “My what?”

She gestured toward the row of garment bags. “Mr. Stark sent over your measurements earlier this month. There’s a gown here for you.”

You frowned. “That must be a mistake. I’m just the assistant. None of those are for me.”

The tailor hesitated. “I don’t think so… He was very clear. Your name was attached to the order.”

Before you could argue, Bucky cut in smoothly, like he’d seen this train coming and stepped in to redirect it.

“Tony probably just wanted you to look the part, too,” he said, voice low and casual. “You’ve done all the work, he probably figured you deserved to enjoy the night a little. Might as well try it on, just in case.”

You glanced at him, but he didn’t look smug or teasing. Just… earnest. Calm. Like he meant it. Which made it all the harder to protest.

“Fine.” You sighed, scrubbing a hand down your face. “Just to check it fits.”

The tailor clapped her hands together. “Wonderful. It’s a beautiful gown, I promise.”

You gave Bucky one last side-eye before following her toward the changing rooms, the fabric bag already in her hands.

From behind, you could hear him chuckle under his breath.

“Just wait 'til you see her,” the tailor murmured to herself, and you weren’t sure whether to be flattered or deeply, deeply nervous.

The gown was heavier than you expected. Luxurious fabric slipped off the hanger like water, pooling in your arms as she handed it over with the kind of reverence usually reserved for wedding dresses.

“I’ll give you a minute,” she smiled, disappearing to finish boxing up the suits.

Left alone in the changing room, you peeled out of your clothes, letting the gown slide on over your hips, your waist, up past your ribs. It clung like it had been sewn directly onto your body, the bodice snug, the neckline just daring enough to make you blush. 

You twisted to try to reach the zipper at the back, fingers fumbling and straining, but the angle was impossible. You spent the better part of five minutes twisting in the mirror like a lunatic, trying to reach the zipper that refused to budge. Your arms ached. The corset bodice was half-fastened. You were flushed, annoyed, and far too aware of the sliver of bare spine still exposed.

You were about to peek your head out and ask the tailor for help when a low voice cut in behind the curtain.

“Need a hand?”

You flinched, fabric clutched to your chest. “Jesus, Bucky! Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

“Didn’t mean to scare you.” His voice was rougher than usual, like he’d just cleared his throat. “Heard you cursing. Tailor said she’d be a minute out back.”

You hesitated, and your voice came out thin. “Yeah. I—I can’t get it up.”

“Okay,” he replied, oddly determined. “Turn around.”

You cracked the curtain open a pinch. He ducked inside, too broad for the narrow space, his frame practically filling it. He was careful not to look at you directly, at least at first.

You turned slowly, presenting your back. “Just the zipper,” you murmured, barely trusting your own voice.

“Sure,”

A single fingertip, cold metal, dragged up from the base of your spine to the dip between your shoulder blades. It barely touched the skin, but you shuddered from the sensation. Bucky wasn’t even fastening yet, just tracing the line the zipper would follow. The sound you made was too soft to catch. 

The zipper came up slowly. Agonisingly. His knuckles brushed your skin every inch of the way, not by accident. No, this was too slow, too precise, to be innocent.

He was savouring it.

His other hand steadied you, palm ghosting just over your hip. His breath fanned warm against your shoulder.

“You’re trembling,” he commented.

You swallowed hard, unable to muster a response. 

When he reached the top, his hand didn’t fall away. Instead, he swept your hair off your shoulder completely, fingertips grazing the line of your throat as he let it fall over one side.

He leaned in. Not touching, but close. Mouth just behind your ear. The heat of his breath against your neck. 

“Should’ve let me help sooner,” he whispered, voice like a purr. “Would’ve had you dressed in seconds.”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Your lips parted slightly, breath caught somewhere halfway as your lungs deflated in shock. And maybe it was the gown. Or the silence. Or the way your thighs pressed together of their own accord, but you didn’t move. You didn’t step away.

You leaned in.

Only a fraction. Just enough.

He noticed.

You could feel it in the slight shift of his stance. The faint sound of him exhaling a chuckle through his nose. The way his hand brushed ever-so-slightly along the small of your back before falling away.

And then he was gone.

He stepped back like nothing had happened. Like the tension wasn’t choking the air between you. You turned toward the mirror in a daze.

The dress shimmered in the soft light. Deep, elegant, form-fitting. The neckline exposed the curve of your breasts, the slit at your thigh scandalous enough to make you self-conscious.

You caught his reflection in the mirror. He was watching you, but not with the restrained professionalism you were used to. It was only the sudden reentrance of the tailor that made him hesitate in whatever words were forming on his tongue. He stepped aside, finally giving you space to exit. And you did—legs shaky, palms sweating—like a deer walking straight back into the forest fire, pretending it wasn’t about to burn.

—

Your plan to avoid Bucky after the tailor incident had gone off without a hitch, maybe a little too well. You'd buried yourself in helping Tony pull together the final touches for his ‘soirée’ (which, if you were honest, was less soirée and more ‘black tie circus in a penthouse’).

You'd been so laser-focused on your tasks that you'd almost managed not to think about Bucky in that goddamn changing room. His fingers ghosting up your bare spine like a spark setting fire to dry kindling. You’d folded instantly. Your body betrayed you instantly while your brain screamed to keep it together. Pathetic.

The moral implications of whatever that moment had been were filed away for another day. Were you the other woman? Was Natasha going to slit your throat in your sleep? What was Bucky doing, touching you like that—in a public changing room, no less—when he had a bombshell redhead waiting for him back at the Tower?

No time for that now. Not when Tony’s precious ‘soirée’ was already in full swing upstairs and the caterers had somehow forgotten an entire section of the food. You’d scrambled together an emergency order from some overpriced restaurant Tony swore he was ‘basically family’ with, and by some miracle, they came through in the nick of time.

Now you were in damage control mode, hauling three boxes of overpriced canapés up to the penthouse. Your heels bit into your feet with every step, your dress clung too tightly to bend properly without your tits spilling out, and your patience was hanging on by a single goddamn thread.

You pressed the elevator button with your elbow and exhaled as the doors slid open.

Drop off the food. Grab a free drink. Drown your Bucky-related sorrows. Maybe, just maybe, keep the beast between your legs from waking at the mere sight of him.

The doors began to close. You shifted your weight, careful with the boxes balanced in your arms—

Then someone slipped through at the last second.

Him.

Bucky fucking Barnes.

Tall and devastating as usual in his dark navy suit, his tie loosened just enough to suggest mischief, or maybe carelessness. You weren’t sure which one made you feel worse.

Your breath hitched. Instinctively, your gaze dropped to the floor, feigning sudden, all-consuming interest in the stability of your precarious tower of hors d'oeuvres. But teetering stacks of overpriced finger food or not, Bucky didn’t seem inclined to play along with your avoidance act. Not now. Not when the elevator doors had sealed you in together, finally, and you were without escape.

You winced at the sound of his sharp inhale, the question already pressing past his lips before the elevator even jolted into motion.

“Did I do something to piss you off?”

You didn’t look up. Eyes fixed firmly on the floor, you muttered, “What?”

“I just…” His voice was rough. Tired. “It feels like you’ve been avoiding me.”

Shit.

He stepped forward slightly. Not enough to be invasive. Just enough to make your stomach flip.

“You hardly talk to me anymore,” he continued. “Won’t even look at me unless it’s about work. And even then, it’s like you’re somewhere else. Did I do something to offend you? Hurt you? Just tell me what I did so I can fix it.”

The elevator hummed to life beneath your feet, gliding upward smoothly. You shifted your weight, bracing against the cool metal rail, eyes stubbornly fixed on the buttons, anywhere but his maddeningly perfect face.

“You haven’t done anything,” you said quietly, the words tasting sour the second they left your mouth.

“Then why are you doing it now?” he asked, eyes searching yours. “Why won’t you even look at me?”

“Bucky…”

“Please. Just tell me.”

You hesitated. His hand twitched like he meant to reach for your arm, then faltered, falling back to his side. Your grip tightened on the containers, your fingers slick with sweat. “It’s not you,” you murmured. “It’s me… I just…”

He didn’t move. Didn’t even blink.

“Please,” he said again, quieter now. “Tell me the truth.”

And that was what did it. The tremor in his voice. The way his brow creased like he couldn’t stand not knowing. Something broke open inside your chest, raw and unhealed. The dam cracked, split, then gave way completely, and the truth came spilling out before you had the chance to swallow it back down. You were exhausted. Wound tight. Running on fumes and nerves and far too many feelings. You’d tell him, you decided. Then drop off the canapés, quit on the spot, and flee the country if necessary. Stark would write you a killer reference. You’d survive.

“Okay,” you said, breath hitching as a nervous laugh bubbled out, half-bitter, half-resigned. “You want the truth? Fine. You’re going to think I’ve completely lost it.”

He stayed quiet, letting you spiral.

“This is so stupid,” you muttered. “I like you, Bucky. There. I said it. I like you. And it was fine—manageable—until it wasn’t. Until I started imagining things. Thinking maybe… maybe you liked me too.”

His eyebrows lifted, surprised but unreadable.

“I’ve had this massive, embarrassing crush on you since the moment I met you. And I know it’s weird, and probably unprofessional because you’re kinda my boss, but not. Technically, Tony’s my boss, but I basically manage everything around here, and—ugh, I’m rambling.” You squeezed your eyes shut. “I like you. And I’ve been avoiding you because it was getting out of hand. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. And it felt wrong. Especially since you’re dating Natasha, which just made everything worse—”

“What?” he interrupted, voice sharp. “I’m not dating Natasha.”

Your eyes snapped open. “That’s what you took from all of that?”

“No, I—wait. You think I’m dating Natasha?”

“Yes!” you burst out, cheeks flaming. “I saw you! At the Sunday market about a month ago with the flowers—”

His brow furrowed. “What flowers?”

“The bouquet you gave her.”

“I didn’t give Natasha flowers.”

You let out a dry, disbelieving laugh. “I saw you. It was that dumb little market Tony makes me go to for those overpriced vegan pastries Pepper loves—”

Bucky stared at you, confused. And then, slowly, understanding clicked into place. His face contorted like he’d just remembered he’d left his stove on.

“Oh my god,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “The flowers. Those weren’t for Natasha. They were for Wanda.”

Your heart stuttered. “What?”

“Vision,” Bucky groaned. “It was their anniversary. He was stuck on the phone trying to get a fancy reservation and begged me to pick them up. Natasha tagged along because she was hunting for jewellery for Maria’s birthday. That’s all it was.”

You blinked at him. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not,” Bucky replied earnestly. “I didn’t know you thought that. I swear, I’m not with Natasha. I never was.”

Your stomach dropped. “Oh god.”

“Hey—”

“No. No-no-no.” You squeezed your eyes shut, wanting to sink straight through the floor. “This is mortifying. I literally thought you were in a secret relationship. I’ve been avoiding you like the plague. I’ve been thinking about moving cities. I googled how hard it is to change your name legally.”

He snorted. “You’re not serious.”

You opened your eyes, and the horror must have been plain on your face because Bucky’s expression melted into something far too amused. “Oh, you are.”

“I might never recover from this,” you mumbled. 

“Hey, c’mon. It’s not that bad.”

“I confessed my undying crush and accused you of being in love with someone else in the span of like, sixty seconds.”

His mouth twitched, lips threatening a smile. “You’re kind of adorable when you’re spiralling.”

“I’m going to chuck these hors d'oeuvres at your head.”

As if mocking your attempt at dignity, the elevator gave a slight mechanical whirr, nearly at the top floor. The distant hum of the party pulsed just beyond those sleek doors.

You straightened suddenly, panic creeping into your chest. “Okay, I’m going to deliver these and then I’m leaving. Possibly forever. Please never speak to me again.”

But Bucky, ever faster than you, stepped in.

And before you could react, he pressed the emergency stop button.

The elevator jolted to a halt. The tower of overpriced hors d'oeuvres wobbled dangerously in your arms. “Oh my god,” you gasped, teetering.

Bucky was already moving, steady hands catching the top box before it could topple, plucking the rest from your shaking grasp. He crouched to stack them on the floor carefully, then rose slowly, smirking as you stood frozen, mouth agape in pure horrified disbelief.

“Bucky, what the hell are you doing?”

“No more running,” he said simply, as if that explained everything.

You could barely breathe. “You stopped the elevator?”

“Didn’t want to risk the doors opening and you disappearing into the night,” he said, a little too pleased with himself.

“I hate you,” you whispered, eyes wide.

He leaned in, just close enough for you to feel his breath. “No, you don’t.”

You were going to die right here in a metal box. With your dignity in ruins and the man of your dumb, desperate daydreams giving you that look.

And somehow, somehow, you didn’t even want to stop him.

“I’m serious,” he said, stepping closer. “Don’t shut down. Please.”

You glanced up at him, finally meeting his eyes and immediately wished you hadn’t. They were dark. Hungry. That gaze alone could melt you to the floor.

He stepped closer again. And again. Until his frame caged in you, his arms braced on either side of your head, the heat of his body swallowing you whole.

“I like you too,” he said, low, rough, like it was pulled from deep inside. “Christ, I was so blind. I didn’t see it. It didn’t click until that day at the tailor, until I saw you in this damn dress.”

Your breath hitched.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he murmured. “I’ve been looking for excuses just to be near you. I keep the notes you leave me with the stupid little drawings. I like looking at them. Thinking about you.”

Your heart felt like it might crack your ribs.

“I smelled every shampoo at the store one day,” he confessed, almost sheepish, almost proud. “Hoped I’d find the one you use. Because you smell so fucking good. It’s been driving me crazy.”

“Bucky…”

“I don’t know. You make me feel special. Seen. Like I’m not some monster, like I’m normal. And then one day you were just… gone. I didn’t realise all the little things you did for me that I never noticed.” He groaned, somehow pressing closer. “I missed the sound of your voice… and it made it hurt even more… I lie awake at night, every night, thinking about you and how much I want to kiss you—”

“Bucky.” You interrupted, and he looked back at you with a barely contained hunger. “Are you going to kiss me or not?”

And then his mouth was on yours.

Hot. Messy. Desperate.

You gasped into it, and he swallowed it whole, groaning as he pressed harder, deeper, hands sliding down to your thighs as he grabbed one and hitched it up around his waist. You clung to his shoulders, lips parted as he slotted himself between your legs, guiding you up until your ass was perched on the elevator’s handrail bar.

“Fuck,” he breathed against your mouth. “Tell me that you want this, tell me that you want me.”

Your head fell back against the wall, lips swollen, breath shaking. His mouth travelled to your jaw, your throat, hands digging into your hips.

It was dizzying. Chaotic. Perfect. 

“I want you, Bucky.” You panted.

“Fuck,” Bucky muttered again, but this time it was different, lower. Hungrier.

His hand slid along your thigh, fingertips brushing beneath the hem of your dress. You panted as he kissed across your collarbone, his breath hot against your skin. His hands settled on your knees, then slowly, deliberately, he spread them apart.

“Bucky—” your voice was barely more than a whisper, a tremble of anticipation and disbelief.

But he didn’t answer. He dropped to his knees.

Right there. In the goddamn elevator.

You almost came on the spot at the sight, lips swollen and slick with saliva, pupils blown, the slight smudge of your lipstick on his chin. His hands slid up the back of your calves, kneading into the flesh like he was savouring the shape of you. Your dress inched upwards, his mouth suddenly pressing a kiss to the inside of your knee.

Your breath hitched. Your hands shot to the railing behind you, clutching tight.

“You have no idea,” he said, voice wrecked with want, “how long I’ve thought about this.”

His eyes flicked up to yours, dark with something dangerous. Devotion, desire, something molten and drowning. Then his mouth moved higher.

Another kiss. Inner thigh this time. Then another, and another, slow, lingering, like he was memorising you. He disappeared until the fabric of your skirt, only the back of his head, dark locks messy peaking out from between the slit. 

You moaned, soft and involuntary, your hips twitching at the heat of his breath through the thin fabric of your panties. He nuzzled in close, his nose brushing against you, and his hands pressed firmly to your thighs to keep you spread.

“I’ve thought about how you’d taste,” he muttered, lips grazing the soaked lace. “How you’d sound.”

You whimpered.

And then, he peeled your panties to the side.

The groan that tore from him was obscene.

“Jesus,” he hissed, voice muffled. “You’re fucking perfect.”

And then, his mouth was on you.

Hot. Wet. Relentless. You cried out, one hand flying to his hair, tangling in it as his tongue licked into you with precision, with hunger, with something close to worship. He devoured you like he was starving. Slow circles, then quick flicks, his mouth dragging across your clit with maddening rhythm. You writhed against the rail, your leg still wrapped around his shoulder, the other trembling against the elevator wall.

“Oh my god—Bucky—fuck—”

Your words slurred together, breath coming in ragged gasps as he groaned into you, the vibration shooting straight through your core. One of his arms snaked around your thigh, pinning you in place, as if he thought you might try to escape. As if he’d let you.

His tongue slid down, dipping into you, then back up, his mouth latching onto your clit with a filthy, wet sound that made your spine arch. You were unravelling, fast, dizzy, overwhelmed.

He pulled back just enough to pant. “I could stay here all night.”

His mouth was merciless. His grip was unrelenting on your thighs, mouth working you over like a man possessed—

Bzzzzt.

A shrill, sudden buzz sounded from the elevator’s emergency panel, followed by a crackling voice.

“Hello? This is Tower Maintenance. We’re registering an emergency stop on lift three. Is there an issue?”

You froze. Every muscle in your body went rigid, as if someone had cracked open your spine and poured ice water down it. Dread spread like frost through your veins. Your heart thudded painfully in your throat, threatening to climb up and out entirely.

You could barely breathe. Could barely think.

This was it. This was how you died—legs spread, Bucky between them, and Tower Maintenance on the fucking line.

Bucky, in sharp contrast, did not freeze.

He groaned softly with wicked glee, his mouth still very much between your legs. The sound vibrated against the most sinful part of you, and then he doubled down. Mouth and hands working with infuriating, diabolical precision, like he’d just taken the intercom as a challenge.

You clamped a hand over your mouth, the other shaking as you reached blindly for the emergency call button, trying not to sound like you were seconds away from being ruined.

Your voice came out like a panicked squeak. “Hi! Uh—h-hi, yes, sorry! Must’ve been a—a small electrical fault. I’m fine! Everything’s… fine!”

Bucky nipped at your thigh in response.

There was a pause. You could feel the suspicion through the line.

“Ma’am, we’re not showing any electrical inconsistencies in that shaft. Did you press the stop button?”

You shot a wide-eyed glare down at the man currently devouring you.

Another wave of pleasure threatened to knock the air from your lungs. You were barely holding it together, every nerve ending aflame, skin flushed, thighs shaking. The cool metal of the elevator wall against your spine did little to ground you.

You cleared your throat, struggling to piece together something—anything—resembling human speech. “Oh. Oh, that—um, I must’ve bumped it. With my elbow. While holding a tray. It’s, uh—crowded. In here.”

Bucky chose that exact moment to suck hard, and you slapped your hand over your mouth to muffle the helpless sound that nearly escaped.

A longer pause. You could practically hear them frowning.

“…Right. Well, we’re releasing the stop now. Please remain calm.”

The line disconnected.

The elevator jolted slightly as it roared back to life.

Bucky gave a dark chuckle. “Crowded, huh?” Then—with zero mercy—he sped up.

“Bucky,” you gasped, head falling back against the wall, “I’m—I’m gonna—”

You shattered.

It hit hard, hot and blinding. You cried out, thighs clamping tight around his head as he groaned against you, mouth not stopping for a second, drawing it out, milking every twitch, every whimper. You barely had time to breathe, let alone moan, your hands flying to steady yourself just as the elevator dinged cheerily and the doors slid open.

Right into the penthouse. Packed full of people, who by some miracle, were utterly oblivious to your predicament. 

You staggered slightly as Bucky stood smoothly, wiping his mouth with his sleeve, one arm slipping around your waist to steady you while the other casually reached down and grabbed the stack of forgotten canapés off the floor like he hadn’t just—

“Evening,” he greeted a passing staff member, utterly unbothered.

You were glowing crimson, pupils blown, lips parted, trying hard to fix your face. Bucky guided you forward, his hand warm on your back, keeping you between him and the crowd as your legs trembled. You barely managed to set the tray on the nearest table before someone whistled.

“Well, damn,” came Sam’s voice from the drinks bar. He gave you both a once-over, a wicked grin spreading. “Buck, next time you’re gonna eat face in the elevator, maybe wipe the lipstick off your chin first.”

Bucky only smirked and licked his bottom lip slow, on purpose, you were sure of it.

You nearly combusted on the spot.

“Bathroom?” he murmured into your ear, low and gravelly.

You nodded quickly and wordlessly.

He guided you with all the smugness of a man who had no regrets, his hand just a little too low on your back to be innocent.

---

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[kermdoeswriting]

Don't Call Me That

Dick isn't entirely sure what it is about their newest teenaged recruit Phantom, but the guy absolutely gives him the creeps.

He knows it isn't the implication of a realm of ghosts being a real thing, no matter how much that implication has rattled his brain. But it is something, something else.

There was just some kind of certain air surrounding Phantom that tended to put Dick on edge whenever they're near each other.

It also doesn't help that the guy has the tendency to do things normal people wouldn't really do. Things like talking to the empty air like he's having a genuine conversation or staring off into one spot of the room like a cat watching a corner of the wall while hunting.

Things like bringing sudden chills to Dicks skin whenever he passes by or the way he seems to constantly breathe out cold air like a dragon for the fun of it.

Dick has caught him doing all of these things multiple times and most times, despite scaring him slightly, they were just harmless things about his newest team-mate.

But right now it wasn't really about that at all. Right now he's more annoyed than afraid of him.

For some reason recently, Phantom has been greeting him by his old hero persona rather than his new one. And its been eating at Dick every single time it happens, being reminded of the time he had first switched costumes and names to distance himself from Batman as a whole.

Except this time the person saying it had never even MET him in his original suit, so having Phantom calling him Robin was aggravating him faster than any of the other more important issues he should be dealing with were.

Dick originally attributed to it possibly being some sort of hero worship that he was going through, an attempt to impress him with his past history as knowledge. God knows, Tim wasn't any better when he had first met the poor kid at his doorway all those years ago.

But then Phantom had revealed that he hadn't even known Gotham was a real city nor did he know who Batman was up until a few months ago. That had set Dicks mental alarm bells off all over again.

It was weird all over and since it was just outright weird, Dick had decided to pull him aside to talk to the younger teen about it.

"I would appreciate it if you didn't call me by that name, Phantom" He had started off, watching as Phantom went through confused faces to figure out what this conversation was about. Dick just continued on.

"The name, Robin, is just really special to me and my family. And I stopped going by that name years ago, it would feel wrong to be called that again when I've outgrown it."

Phantom looked less confused now as it seemed to click altogether about what he had been talking about. The teen tilted his head at him, looking over him for a second before doing another one of his cat stares at the dead air behind him.

Dick just sighed for a moment but watched as Phantom came back into focus and genuinely looked somewhat apologetic.

"I'm sorry," Phantom started off sheepishly, eyes looking towards the floor for a second before looking back at his. "I didn't know you both went by that name at some point. I had mostly been greeting the little ghost attached to your side, not you, sir"

Dick froze at the wording, looking at Phantom with wide eyes. Phantom just continued without even looking at him.

"He always seems to be around you a lot and he was excited when he realized I could see him so I started greeting him whenever he was with you. I'm sorry if it made you uncomfy doing so."

Dicks breath hitched a bit before eventually choking out all the questions he had trapped in his throat. The suddenness made Phantoms eyes land back on his face again.

"What... What little boy? Did he say his name? What was he wearing?"

Phantom tilted his head again at Dick, looking more confused at Dicks confusion.

"What do you mean? It's Robin wearing the Robin costume?"

Phantom suddenly looked over to the dead air behind him again for a second, nodding his head and humming a bit before turning his attention back to Dick.

"He told me to say 'Big Bird you're such a dolt' to you. I don't know what that means but-"

Dick couldn't hear anything else Phantom was even saying to him. His breathing stopped and all he could feel was a small chill behind him, seemingly surrounding him in a small way that reminded him of a certain boys hug.

"Jason?"

[lovscb97]

— stray kids links [hyung line]

tags: hyung line!stray kids x fem!reader, established relationship, rough sex, unprotected sex (plz wrap it before u tap it), creampie, breeding kink, daddy kink, mild dacryphilia, begging, use of collars/leashes, spanking, strength kink, oral sex (f. receiving), squirting, car sex, slight exhibitionism, slight choking, use of nicknames (baby, princess, angel, kitten, etc), degradation (slut, whore, etc), dirty talk, edging, overstimulation, etc

wc: 2.73k

add. notes: hai …. sorry i made this post instead of giving u guys nerd!chan pt. 2 I FUCKIN SWEAR IT’S COMING but it’s just taking the piss out of me n i needed this out for a new post. anyways plz dni if u r a minor like i mean that w my whole chest n also lmk if some of the links stop working or if u can’t see them idk what i can do abt that . but at least i will be aware LMFAOOOOO yea anyways enjoy :3

maknae line ver.

. . .

⥽ … BANG CHAN: 

link one.

chan is packing. he is absolutely packing to the point you felt like he was going to tear your womb apart when you first got intimate with him, his thick cock stretching you out past your limits as fresh sobs fell from your mouth. since then, he's trained you to take him with enough prep, always making sure to milk at least two orgasms from you before he even thinks about letting his dick near your pussy regardless of how hard it might be throbbing. that wait becomes worthwhile though when he finally sinks inside of you, dirty words and throaty groans rambled in your ear as he releases himself deep inside once he's reached his peak. he loves the feeling of your warm walls sucking him in, never leaving you alone until he's dumped his load empty.

"fuck, baby. how are you so tight?" chan hisses incredulously, wet thumb still circling your clit as you shake in his hold. you're extremely sensitive at this point, twitching from the slightest touch after having cum for the third time, but the only thing in your mind right now is your boyfriend breeding you, the request made obvious with how you tighten your legs around his waist to pull him in. "cum in me, daddy. please!" you plead, teary eyes blinking up at chan whose orbs roll to the back of his head at your keen expression. it only takes a few more thrusts before he's shooting ropes of hot cum inside you, gripping himself to ensure he stays in place. you sigh in content at the warm liquid flooding you, and chan just smiles tiredly, leaning in to sweetly kiss you. "i love you, precious girl." he whispers, resting his body on top of you to keep you plugged up for the rest of the night.

link two.

you're chan's favourite destress toy, that much is obvious. every time he comes home from a long day at work, he knows it'll be worthwhile because you'll be there waiting with open arms and your wet hole longing to be filled up. he'll even take you right then and there in the living room sometimes, making sure everyone around you two knows exactly whose name you're screaming. certain days when he's had it particularly bad though, he'll collar you up and attach a leash to it that he can pull back on, bending you over with your ass up in the air as he slams himself into you repeatedly. it gives him immense pride to have that sense of control over you, to be able to manoeuvre you into whatever position he desires. if he's feeling especially mean, he'll edge you until you're crying into the sheets, cooing at how fucked out you look, knowing he's the only one who can make you feel that way.

"please.. i wan' cum, please." you slur out mindlessly, drool dripping down your mouth as chan slowly drags his cock in and out of you, its mushroom tip pressing deliciously against that spot inside. your boyfriend just chuckles from behind you, his hand yanking on the leash that's tied to your collar which makes you lean back in an instant. his hand sneaks down to grip himself as he pulls out for the nth time, and you whine at the loss of fullness in you, bottom lip jutting out as he slaps the head of his cock against your clit. "yeah, princess? you wanna cum? wanna cum all over daddy's dick?" he mocks you, laughing sadistically when you desperately nod your head. he continues to rub up your little nub, and you're soon about to fall over the edge, gratitude on your lips when he suddenly stops. "oh, baby, you're not cumming that easily tonight." chan growls, causing you to shiver under his hold as he pushes you back onto the bed. it looks like you're in for a long night.

⥽ … LEE MINHO: 

link one.

you love pissing minho off. it's one of the little things in life that gives you so much pleasure, aside from when your boyfriend fucks you, of course. minho, on the other hand, doesn't take lightly to your teasing at all. on days where you're acting out by wearing revealing clothes in front of his friends or sitting too close to one of them for his liking, he'll drag you out with some lame excuse and a clenched jaw, mumbling something about how you're both going home now. he doesn't even care that you're probably smug by the end of it, because that feeling of triumph soon dissipates when he has you bent over his lap, veiny hands kneading the plush of your ass before he's landing a harsh smack on it. he'll spank you and make you count your punishment, and if you lose track, he'll just have to start all over again.

"fucking slut." minho tsk's, cold fingers running themselves against the bruised skin of your butt. he takes a moment to admire his work, tracing the red imprints of his hand on your ass and even the outline of your white panties, which are absolutely soaked by now. "min, please! 'm sorry, it won't happen again." you cry out, and he scoffs, rolling his eyes although you can't see it. another series of repeated spanks land on you, and you yelp in response, legs kicking up from the stinging impact. your body burns by now, every touch minho provides it leaving behind a searing sensation, but you know your boyfriend is far from done with you. "we both know that's a damn lie." he clicks his tongue. "you're always acting out, so it seems like i gotta really start putting you in your place, hm?" you're about to protest when he smacks again, drawing a sob from you; the sound goes straight to his core. he licks his lips, a smirk stretched across them as he readies his palm once more. "now, stop crying and start counting, whore."

link two.

it's no secret that minho is a certified ass man. he loves you, but god does he love your ass just as much. everything about it sends him reeling, from the way it's accentuated in the clothes you wear, to the plump flesh of it that jiggles every time he's got you on your hands and knees. you'd argue he puts you in this position at least once every time you two fuck because knowing your boyfriend, he just wants to watch the way you push back on him when he's bottomed out inside you. he'll give you a few smacks here and there on it too, kneading the skin in his palms before he's snapping his hips into yours. most of the time, he'll refuse to cum inside of you, instead pulling out just before he tips over the edge to release all over your behind and back. you're not complaining though, you love the feeling of his seed dripping over it just as much as he does.

"mm, shit, you look so good right now, kitten." minho groans from behind you, cockhead practically battering your cervix with the way he's shoving himself in and out of you. your whines are high in pitch with how he's fucking you, and you stutter to speak when you try and respond. "y-you say that every time." you eventually manage to heave out, and minho chuckles breathlessly, fingers gripping the flesh of your ass in them as he bites his lip, moaning lowly at the way it bounces back against his dick. "can't help it. you're too hot." he grunts, pistoning his hips at a frenzied pace that knocks the breath out of your lungs. it only takes a matter of minutes before you're both cumming, loud noises filling the room as minho pulls out just in time so he can splatter his release all over your backside. his thumb dips into the seed that now decorates your ass, and he swipes to collect it, pushing it into your mouth. a grin decorates his face as you suck on it. "atta girl."

⥽ … SEO CHANGBIN: 

link one.

changbin is a gym fanatic through and through, and with his rigorous work out routine eventually came his well-built physique, chiselled and bulked up to the point you think you would barely recognise his past self. it refects in the way he walks, talks and holds himself; he loves his strength and he loves showing it off, especially to you. that's why every time you're both entangled in his sheets, it results in him urging you to stand up before hoisting you in his arms. some days he'll hold you in them and bounce you up and down his cock, relishing in the way your cries echo through the room alongside the slapping of skin. other days, he'll toss you around and headlock you as he pounds you from behind, groaning filth in your ear as he pushes you to the edge of tipping. either way, you love what he does, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

"hng, so strong, binnie!" you wail, hands clutching your boyfriend's broad back and shoulders as your nails dig into his soft skin, sure to leave marks the next day. changbin just grunts at your sounds of pleasure, too immersed in fucking you onto his cock in your current position. he's got you clinging onto him for dear life as he enters you repeatedly, pride blooming in his chest when you acknowledge how hot it is that he can pick you up so effortlessly. "y-yeah, pretty? like when binnie fucks you like this?" he stutters slightly, too wrapped up in how your pussy clings to his girth. you nod your head rapidly, babbling about how close you are and how hard you're going to cum, spraying all over your boyfriend in due time when he slams into that spot hidden inside you. you're not even given a chance to recover afterwards, changbin manhandling you onto the bed on your stomach before he's sinking back inside. "just a little more, baby. binnie's gotta cum too, okay?" he's whining, and you keen despite the sting of overstimulation rushing through, not knowing you're going to end up letting him use you for another hour.

link two.

you've always known changbin is a romantic at heart, his soft-spoken nature despite the daunting aura he gives off due to his frame often sending your brain spiralling. it gives you whiplash, the way he treats you. some days he'll fuck you like he hates you, growling dirty comments to your face and spitting in your mouth as you shake through an orgasm. other days, however, he'll craddle you in his arms, caging your body underneath him as he rocks his hips against yours in deep, fluid motions. one of his favourite things to do during these instances is hold your hand. he loves the feeling of your fingers lacing through his, holding onto him as he delivers sharp strokes inside of you. something about it feels so raw, like both your souls are intertwined in one big hug. he'll kiss you dizzy, burying his face into your neck as you both whimper 'i love you's' to each other.

"baby.. fuck, baby." changbin moans, his breath fanning hot against the sticky skin of your shoulder from where he's nosed himself in. his hand clings to yours amidst his movements, and you mewl loudly when he thrusts particularly deep inside of you. "i love you. love you so much, my baby. my pretty, perfect angel." your boyfriend pants, head moving to bring his lips to yours in a messy meeting. it's filled with so much love and care, your mouths moulding perfectly against one another's as you exchange kisses. your stomach feels like it's filled with butterflies, but you're not sure if that's because of how fucking in love you are with him or because of changbin rocking his hips into you. either way, you pull apart from him, trying to say it back in the middle of your noises of pleasure. "l-love you so much, binnie. fuck, you always give it to me so good." you praise, and changbin visibly shivers, burying his face back where it was between your neck to continue making love to you until at last, you're both coming undone together.

⥽ … HWANG HYUNJIN: 

link one.

one thing you adore about your precious lover boy is his mouth. his pretty, plump lips that kiss your tears away, or his dangerously addictive tongue that's always finding it's way between your thighs when he feels like it, which is basically all the time. hyunjin can't help that you taste so sweet, or how you're always so perfectly wet for him by the time he's journeyed down to your legs where you truly need him. he'll spend hours buried between them, parting you with his slender fingers and holding you open for him to lick into. he finds extreme satisfaction in the way you push back against his body when he's having a go at you, too weak to move him in your futile efforts of running away from his mouth once he's had you cum twice without stopping. he'll continue anyways though, because to him, there's no better treat after a long day.

"hyunie, s-slow down." you whimper, the lewd suckling sounds of your clit being wrapped in your boyfriend's mouth resonating through the room as he messily eats you out. his movements are filled with fervour and desperation, something you'll never get used to experiencing despite how long you've been together. each time almost always feels like you're starring in some obscene porno with the way hyunjin always drawls out the most nasty sounds from you. this instance is no different either, because before you can even react, you're spraying droplets of clear liquid on his face, your boyfriend groaning into you at the feeling of you squirting on him. he cleans it all up with great pleasure, breathing heavily as he finally rises from his position to slot himself between your legs. his lips find yours in a dirty kiss, and you can taste yourself on his tongue. "you're insatiable." you murmur when he pulls away, and hyunjin chuckles, mouth hovering over your jaw as you tremble at his next words. "not my fault my baby's got the tastiest cunt in the world."

link two.

hyunjin is a freak through and through. you've known for a while that he gets off on all sorts of things, and one of them is primarily the risk of being sneaky in public, regardless if it's planned or not. there have been one too many occasions of the latter where you've both been out on a date together with you looking a little too good, too good to the point that the waiter starts flirting with you and leaving hyunjin seething. it's only high time after that until he's dragging you out of the restaurant and into his backseat, too lazy to even undress properly before he's sinking inside of you to fuck you as he sees red. he'll get so possessive too, groaning how you're his and his only whilst pulling you back by your hair. it's true that your boyfriend is a big lover, but when times come down to this, he'll drill into you like he absolutely loathes you.

"dirty slut, letting me fuck you where anyone can see. you'd even let that server find you like this, wouldn't you?" hyunjin grits out, his sweat dripping onto your back as he shoves his long length in you. you're sure the windows are fogged up by now, his car rocking with his movements, but neither of you care about that. "n-no, only want you to see. just you, hyune." you whimper, eyes rolling to the back of your head at the way his cock slams in you with each thrust. your boyfriend lets out a low moan at your words, yanking you back by your hair to lick at your neck. "that's right, princess. only i get to look at this pussy, hm? only i can f-fuck it right, yeah?" he grunts, slender fingers coming up to wrap around your throat as you nod shakily, taking a deep breath as hyunjin squeezes slightly. "gonna cum in this cunt and fill you up with my babies so everyone knows who you belong to. then, i'm taking you straight home to fuck you full again. got that?"

. . .

comments and reblogs are always appreciated! <3

[dwaekkicidal]

𝖪𝗂𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝖻𝖾𝗋: '𝖫𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾 𝖱𝖾𝖽' ༄࿔ 𝖡.𝖢.

⤷ Size Kink | Stomach Bulge | Teratophilia (Wolf-Hybrid)

♱ word count: 1.8k

♱ warnings: fem!reader, Red Riding Hood reader x Wolf Hybrid Chan, I never specify body type but this has stomach bulge & Chris is described to be bigger than the reader so read at ur own discretion, size kink, teratophilia, knotting, kinda corruption?, bribery/coercing, lowkey kinda mean chris (everyone act surprised. Sian wrote mean dom), rough sex + big dick chris with no mentions of prep, biting, public sex? Its in a forest but nobody is around, 1 use of “good girl’

sorta proofread

Kinktober Schedule

DO NOT republish or translate+post my work!

“Tsk tsk tsk… You should know better than to be this far out in the woods, Red. You know this is my territory.”

“C-Chris! Listen… I’m really sorry but I need that plant over there. Grandma isn’t doing well and the only remedy that will help needs just a few of those flowers…” The tall man looks over his shoulder, eyeing the purple-colored flowers that you had pointed out.

“Hm… Okay, you can have a few.” The bright smile that grew on your face was almost enough to let you take it for free. Almost.

“Thank-” “On one condition.” 

“C’mon, sweet girl. You know I don’t do things for free~” His rough fingers stroked your cheek and he couldn’t help but grin as your smile dropped. The canines that peeked out from behind his plump lips were enough to bring you back to reality and remind you that he was in fact still a wolf hybrid and not so much your “friendly” neighbor.

“What exactly do you want…?” His grin seemed to get wider before he took his bottom lip between his teeth. A predatory glint took over his eyes as he slowly looked you up and down.

“I have something in mind…”

“Open the fuck up.”

His growl rumbles from deep within his chest and he thrusts his hips forward aggressively, causing you to cry out. Your thighs ache from the action, along with your swollen pussy thanks to the big dick that was currently tearing your insides up. You lost count after the first 5 inches, and now the seemingly never-ending length was quickly becoming too much for you.

He knew this all too well. But that didn’t stop him from forcing you and your little human body to take every last inch of his thick cock inside of you.

“C’mon Little Red, you can take it. You need to, remember?” He chuckles and pushes your thighs further apart. “You need those pretty little flowers, so you need to take my fucking cock.” His smile drops at the end of the sentence and he pulls out just to roughly thrust back inside. You moan out in surprise and his fingers dig further into your thighs, leaving crescent-shaped divots in your skin. 

“P-Please…” He clicks his tongue and leans forward more, shoving his face into your neck with another growl. With this, he manages to push another inch or two into your puffy hole, but your mind is so foggy that you don’t even notice it right away. The feeling of him breaching your walls so aggressively, all while he growls and huffs about how he needs to be all the way in for it to “count as payment” makes your head spin.

Even more so as a sob rips from your throat when he finally bottoms out. Your jaw drops and you squeal as his hips grind against yours, causing him to feel deeper all while he rubs against your G-Spot so perfectly. He throws his head back at the feeling of you completely wrapped around him and groans deeply when you clench subconsciously.

“There we go~ Good job, baby.” He licks a stripe up your neck before placing kisses all over it, letting you take a few seconds to breathe. He wasn’t that much of a brute- he did still care for you after all. Plus, what good is a new toy if you break it so early on!? So he takes a few seconds to himself, backing away and fixing his posture, allowing him to get a good look at you. And God do you look exquisite.

He licks his lips and looks over your body multiple times, doing everything in his power to burn this image of you into his head. He starts with your pretty lips, swollen and shiny with drool, and then your flushed cheeks that are wet from the fat tears that fall down them.

His eyes glance at your arms, smiling to himself at the army of goosebumps that have littered your skin as your body shakes deliciously with what he can’t decipher if it’s pleasure or pain. Your chest catches his eyes next; the way it heaves with each breath you take makes his chest swell with pride. But the thing that took the most of his attention, was the not-so-little bump on your tummy.

His lips were slightly parted and his breath was quickening as he lightly traced the outline of his dick. It’s at this point that he realizes just how large and wide he is compared to you. He’s always noticed- it’s quite hard not to. But when he has you like this, below him and completely at his mercy, he finally realizes just how much bigger he is. The sun only urges him further, casting a giant shadow over you that completely covers you and some of the ground you lay upon.

It makes his instincts go absolutely crazy and he can’t hold himself back from experimentally thrusting, moving at an angle that makes the bulge more prominent. The squeak you let out causes his eyes to flicker back up to your face, essentially snapping him out of the daze he was in. And when he meets your confused face looking up at him, he realizes how long he has been staring.

“Haha… Take a look at this, baby.” He wipes some of your tears and tilts your chin to help you look down. The desperate moan you let out sends his ego to the moon, causing him to twitch against your walls. He huffs out a laugh in disbelief and begins to move his hips, thrusting into you slowly yet roughly.

“I’m so deep… You feel that, baby?” His hand moves from your thigh and pushes down on your lower stomach, right on top of where the bulge popped out each time he bottomed out. “Fffuck.. ‘S my fat cock in your tummy?”

“God- Fuck, shut up Chris-” You clench tightly at his words despite your words and he ignores you in favor of picking up his pace, groaning when your walls flutter around him even more.

“You feel so fucking good. It’s almost like this pretty pussy was meant for me.” You swear you almost see his eyes roll into the back of his head, but he immediately brings your attention away by folding you in half. Pushing your knees to your chest and letting your ass hang in the air as he completely hovers over you, fucking into you with carnal need.

This new position makes you see stars and he uses it to his advantage, pounding into you and not allowing you time to think straight. He chases this brutal pace until your legs begin to ache, the pain of it overpowering the pleasure and making you hurriedly tap on his shoulder and push him back, “Fuck, wait- my legs.”

He huffs in annoyance but responds immediately, sitting up straight and allowing your legs to fall to his sides. His hips continue to thrust shallowly as you breathe deeply and try to rub the ache away, but this break doesn’t last long. You owe him payment, and he wants it now.

So he pulls out, opting to quickly flip you onto your knees and push your chest into the ground. You’re given no time to object before he’s shoving his entire length back inside with a groan. Your body shakes at the feeling of being absolutely filled to the brim. The back of your throat even itches as if his tip was poking it. And god, did it genuinely feel like that.

It’s not hard for him to find his previous pace, especially now that you’re seemingly more pliant for him. The only disobedient action from you is your cries for him to slow down, but he has no plans to. Not when you look absolutely ruined below him.

He shushes you and leans forward, holding you down with his chest against your back as he continues to fuck you as if his life depends on it.

“Shhhhh��� It’s ok, it’s ok. You’re gonna be good and take it right? You're gonna let the big bad wolf fuck your brains out? Yea?” Your fingers dig into the ground and you nod as best as you can with your cheek shoved against the floor.

He’s unhappy with the silent answer and bares his teeth, sinking them into your shoulder with a growl to “Use your words.”

“Y-Yes! Please, Chris!”

“Goood girl. Just sit there and take this fucking dick. Let Wolfy use you like the good chew toy you are.” The new name makes you clench tightly around him and he groans as you cum, causing the squelching noises to become even louder. He moans and nuzzles his face into your neck, leaving small kisses before he chomps down again.

The overstimulation is starting to hit and you cry out, desperately pushing against the ground in hopes of pushing your torso up and off the floor. But that’s not what good toys do. So he growls against your neck and pushes you down, wrapping a hand around the back of your neck to keep you in place as he fixes his posture.

“No. You’re gonna sit still. Good toys don’t fucking move. I can’t knot you if you’re misbehaving.” As if to prove his point, his other hand digs into your waist, holding you even more still as he rams into you.

Thanks to his thick tip incessantly knocking into your cervix, you don’t process what he says right away. At least, not until you feel an extra mass pushing against your swollen folds. “W-Wait, your knot?!?”

You hear his earrings jingle as he tilts his head and you can almost hear the shit-eating grin on his face as he mocks you. “Yes, my knot. You’re gonna take it inside of this tight. little. cunt. And you’re going to take every last drop of my cum.” You go to disagree but your body reacts on its own, clenching around him and trying to suck him in impossibly deeper.

“F-Fuck- feels like you do like that idea, baby.” He grits his teeth and starts to focus on sharp thrusts. Once his knot finally breaches your hole, you sob into your arm and bite into it to hold back a scream.

He whines and grinds into you, rubbing against your G-spot roughly as he pushes himself over the edge. You can feel his breath on your neck, heavy and heaving as he pumps you full of his seed. His body shakes with each spurt of cum he releases, and the overwhelming movements are enough to push you over the edge again; the needy grinding from him mixed with the mind-numbing feeling of being overfilled, yet forced to hold every last bit, pushing you towards another orgasm.

“Mmmm… Hold it there, yeah? Keep my pups nice and safe in their new home, and I’ll let you take as many plants as you want. Deal, Little Red?”

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