#I’m behind on this art challenge and got to catch up

[theartistac]

First 2 posts for #kaijune! Featuring Mothra and Battra.

[stop4death]

confessions

note: i'm not a good writer i apologize in advance. but i have challengers brain rot and can't stop thinking about it so i had to write this. thinking about writing fem!reader x tashi next (reader is lowkey in love with tashi as well in this one in my mind) lmk if u like this and maybe i will

pairing: stanford!art donaldson x fem!stanford!reader

summary: since you started at stanford, you’ve been avoiding your close high school friend, art, and you’re pretty sure he’s been avoiding you, too. when he shows up to the tennis courts while you’re playing with your roommate and asks to talk, some confessions are made.

warnings: nsfw 18+ (MDNI!), smut, sub!art donaldson, soft dom!reader, angst, fluff, grinding, hand job, praise, aftercare (reader loves art sm), art is pathetic (in a good way i love him), please lmk if i forgot anything

word count: 1.9k

posted: may 27th 2024

It’s been a little over a month since you started at Stanford. With the stress of all your classes, homework, club meetings, and private out-of-season training for tennis, it feels like you can never catch a break. To make things even worse, you’ve been actively avoiding your close high school friend, Art. You promised each other you’d stick together at school while your best friend, Tashi, and her boyfriend, Art’s best friend, Patrick, are touring. Now, you haven’t heard from him, and haven’t tried to reach out to him either. When your roommate found out you’re a tennis player, she asked if you’d be willing to teach her how to play. You happily agreed, so you’ve been going down to the courts and playing with her once a week. Today, your heart jumped out of your chest and you almost dropped your racket when you were teaching your roommate how to backhand and Art walked in, sitting down in the stands.

“You okay?” your roommate asks, concerned by your sudden change in demeanor. She looks back to where you were looking and sees Art, then turns back to you confused.

“Uh, yeah, I’m fine” you say unconvincingly, and serve the ball. She doesn’t press any further, so you continue with the lesson, trying to ignore the knot in your stomach.

You can’t help but keep glancing up at Art. He hasn’t taken his eyes off of you since he got there. Once you finish up her lesson, you say goodbye to your roommate and nervously walk up to the stands where Art is sitting.

“Hi.” you say softly, scratching at your palm anxiously.

“Hi. How have you been?” he asks, seemingly genuine.

“Um… I-I’ve been good. How about you?” you stutter, your heart racing.

“Can we talk?”

“Yeah, sure.” you sit down next to him, but he shakes his head.

“Privately?” he looks around at the few people who are on the tennis courts, including your roommate who’s still slowly packing up her bag and glancing up at you confoundedly.

The knot in your stomach twists even tighter, but you nod your head in agreement, standing up. You follow him out of the tennis courts and towards one of the dorm buildings. He unlocks a door on the first floor, gesturing for you to enter. As you walk into your friend’s dorm room for the first time, you look around. Your lips curve up slightly and you feel a warmth in your chest when you notice a photo of yourself with Art on a wall of photos of his friends and family. Your apprehensive look returns when you turn back towards the door as he shuts it behind him, standing awkwardly in the middle of his room. You’ve never been a fan of confrontation, but you should have prepared for it when you decided to completely ghost one of your best friends with no explanation.

“You can sit down, you know.” he says casually.

You glance between his desk and his bed, ultimately opting for the desk chair. You face the chair out away from the desk and sit down. He sits down on his bed, facing you.

“Nice room.” you say awkwardly, desperate to break the uncomfortable silence.

“Why did you stop talking to me?” he says plainly. You suddenly feel like you might vomit at any second. You would rather be six feet underground than in Art’s dorm room having this conversation right now.

“I didn’t mean to, I’ve just… been so busy with classes and clubs and training I guess I haven’t gotten the chance to text you.” you lie. And he sees right through it.

“Can you be serious… Why haven’t you talked to me since we got here?”

You take a deep breath, and look down at your hands. Trying to think of any other way you can stretch the truth and not have to tell him what you’re about to tell him, but your mind has gone blank. You look back up at him, realizing you have no choice but to be honest.

“Art I-” you try to find the words, your heart racing even faster. “I, um… back in high school, I had this… huge crush on you." Your cheeks flush with embarrassment as you stutter through the confession you've held onto for years, and you continue awkwardly, “And I knew you had a thing for Tashi, and it hurt because obviously who could ever compete with Tashi. She’s literally perfect. So over the summer, like a week before school started, Tashi and I were drunk and I decided to block your number. I thought maybe it would help me move on, start fresh, you know? I didn't want to keep being just friends and feeling, I don't know, awkward around you." You shift uncomfortably, the weight of your words heavy on your shoulders. "Honestly, I forgot I even did it until now. I thought maybe you were avoiding me, too, or… I don't know, I guess I just didn't think it through. I'm sorry, Art. If you don't hate me now, could we maybe try being friends again? I've moved past that crush, I promise. I won’t let it get in the way again.”

You try to make the last part sound as convincing as possible. You don’t think you’ll ever be over your crush on Art. He just sits there and listens as you talk. His expression is unreadable, and for a moment, you fear you've said too much. You look down again, fearing his response.

“Why didn’t you tell me before… that you had a crush on me?”

“Cause you liked Tashi. Like everyone else.”

“Tashi was always just a friend to me. I liked you.”

You look at him as if he must be lying, searching for any hint of irony in his tone or facial expression.

“I still do.” he says softly, and the knot in your stomach is replaced with butterflies.

You stand up from the chair, and Art looks at you with concern, thinking you’re about to walk out. You take a few steps forward and sit down next to him on his bed, your knees brushing together.

“I still like you, too.” you whisper and put a hand on his cheek. You slowly lean closer to him, and press your lips against his. His lips are soft and they taste of cigarettes and watermelon lime ChapStick, his favorite. You’ve dreamed about this taste for years. He places a hand on your thigh, deepening the kiss. You quickly move to straddle his lap. Your hands twist in his soft strawberry blond hair as you kiss him sloppily, as if you were trying to consume him. You feel his erection growing under you and grind your hips down against him, making him moan softly into the kiss. You tug at the hem of his shirt and he quickly removes it, tossing it carelessly across the room, then smashes his lips back against yours hungrily. His hand moves up your thigh to the waistband of your skirt.

“So impatient.” you say with a smirk, moving your head down to kiss his neck and taking his hand in yours, moving it away from your waistband. He whimpers at the feeling of you sucking and nibbling gently on his neck. You kiss up his neck and jawline then back to his lips quickly before pulling away. You move off his lap and sit further back on his bed, spreading your legs slightly and patting the space between them.

“Come sit here.”

He looks at you a bit confused, but he obeys. He sits between your legs on the bed, his back to you. You move your hands slowly over his arms and chest, kissing his neck from behind, bringing back the sweet sounds of his whimpering. He closes his eyes and leans his head back on your shoulder, giving you better access to his neck. He moans softly, reveling in the feeling of your lips and hands on him. You tease him, moving your hand slowly down his abdomen and stopping just before his waistband, then moving back up slowly. You do this a few times before he can’t take it anymore and his hips buck upwards, begging for your touch.

“Such a pretty boy… you want me to touch you?” you tease, speaking softly against his neck and driving him insane. He whimpers, nodding his head eagerly.

“Use your words.” you whisper in his ear. His hips buck up again, a needy whine escaping his lips.

“Please,” he gasps out, his voice soft and needy, “please touch me, I want you so bad.”

You smirk and move your hands to the waistband of his pants, tugging down gently. He wastes no time pulling his pants and boxers off in one quick movement.

“Good boy.” you say softly, sliding your hand down his abdomen. A strangled moan leaves his lips as you wrap your hand around his cock and start to stroke him. His hips jerk up, desperate for more friction.

“Fuck” he gasps out, his voice a husky whisper. You continue to stroke him slowly, your other hand wandering over his chest and abs, kissing his neck occasionally.

“Love hearing your moans… such a good boy for me.” you say softly in his ear. He can’t contain his whimpers as you continue.

“Feels… so good.” he chokes out through moans, leaning his head back on your shoulder again. He lets out a low moan as you kiss his neck again, panting heavily.

“Such a good boy.” you emphasize, playing with his hair with your other hand.

“Yes, I am… such a good boy for you.”

You can tell that he’s close to the edge.

“You gonna cum for me, baby?”

“Yes… yes.” he gasps, his eyes squeezed shut as he breathes heavily. You stroke faster now, and he lets out a loud moan as he finally lets go, cumming hard on your hand. He pants heavily as he leans back against you, trying to catch his breath. “Thank you.”

You move your hand up to your mouth, licking some of his cum off and swallowing it, then moving your hand to his mouth. He knows exactly what you’re asking of him. His breath hitches at the sight, and he leans forward to lick the rest of his cum off your hand. He swallows then closes his eyes and leans his head back against your shoulder.

“You did so good for me, angel. My good boy.” you wrap your arms around him, holding him close and rubbing his stomach as he recovers. He lets out a contented sigh as he leans back into you further, his body still trembling slightly. He puts his arms over yours, holding onto you tightly as he catches his breath. You let him lean on you for a few more minutes, still rubbing his stomach, before the two of you lay down, you still holding him from behind. He turns over to face you, his lips curling into a smile. You smile back at him and put a hand on his cheek, stroking it gently.

“I missed you so much. Please, don’t ever leave me again.”

His words are like a shot to the heart. You still feel like a horrible person for the way you hurt him, but one thing about Art is he could never hate you, no matter what you do. You pull him close, stroking his hair gently as you whisper, “I won’t. Ever. I promise.”

[amandacanwrite]

I would like to share a few head canons for Gale Dekarios being in love with tav/you. If you liked this one and have a request for another character let me know. These ones have just been percolating for a bit.

In Battle

He tries very hard to stay near you. He doesn’t like it when you go off on your own. He knows he doesn’t quite have the strength of Karlach or the sure footedness of Astarion, but he’s not just going to let you fight everyone on your own.

Sometimes he gets a little hurt that you always put yourself in harms way/take so much of the damage on the battlefield. Don’t you know that losing you would destroy him?

You have never witnessed it, but according to the other party members he goes feral if you’re knocked unconscious.

When you wake up it’s always with your head cradled in his lap as shadowheart works on the worst of the wounds.

He does this thing with his magic where he makes his hands really cold. It feels nice on your feverish skin as he gently smooths your hair away from your face, you don’t know why you feel so nauseous and sweaty after you black out but this little gesture helps you come back smoothly.

He has a hard time sleeping after a rough encounter. He keeps waking up and making sure you’re still breathing. In the end he gives up on sleeping and just reads by the fire, calming his nerves to the sound of your steady, stable breathing.

In Camp

He is hilariously fussy about what you eat.

“No, you ABSOLUTELY CANNOT subsist off of a loaf of bread, three olives and a bottle of wine. We are no longer young scholars barely SCRAPING by—“

Very resourceful when it comes to what you can scrape together out of barrels around camp. You were very skeptical when you watched him putting a variety of different bones into a cauldron as you left him back in camp one day. But you came back to a rich stew full of potatoes, some wild rice and even some cut up apple in the mix.

He likes it when you play with his hair. But he has to very pointedly avoid it if he’s in the middle of reading up on something.

“Darling, are you certain you’re not practiced in the arcane arts? I do think you’ve got some magic in those fingertips of yours, at the very least, with how quickly they can put me to sleep.”

When You’re Alone

It’s simple. He worships you. Perhaps it’s because his last lover was a goddess but it seems to come easy for him; the reverent words, the gentle touches, the utter devotion. Sometimes you catch him just… looking at you. His eyes softly hooded, a relaxed curve to his lips. It’s your favorite to ask what’s on his mind when he looks at you like that.

“Hm? Oh, nothing much. I’ve just been observing. Did you know you purse your lips when you’re reading something that you disagree with? Yes—hah—just like that.”

He loves to read WITH you. Especially loves to show you some of his favorite tomes. He’ll get you all nestled up against him and hold the book down in front of you. He reads much faster than you, so he busies himself kissing behind your ear or playing with your hair until you turn the page.

Gods does he love it when you ask him questions about something to do with magic. He loves watching the glint in your eye when he’s helped you understand something.

You love it when you get him rolling on a topic of theory that you know he doesn’t get to talk about much. Sometimes he loses you when he gets into the minutiae, but he’s so damn cute when he’s ranting about the wonder in the world.

In Intimate Moments

(Potential NSFW below.)

Of course it is not a surprise that he’s a generous lover. What is a surprise is how demanding he can be when he feels like it. He knows you are no stranger to a challenge and he loves to make things more exciting by presenting you with one.

“Of course I’m aware of our companions in camp. But it’s not as if we can afford ourselves more privacy. You’re just going to have to quiet those lovely little sounds you make while I touch you… let’s see… it was here wasn’t it? Ah, ah… shhhh, my love. Those pointy ears of Astarion’s might pick even that tiny sound.”

Gods does he know how to string words together to leave you completely undone.

Sometimes foreplay is mostly talk. He can get you going without even touching you.

“My love, I’ve not been able to stop thinking of the ways I want to touch you all day. Shall I tell you what’s been on my mind?”

His breath tickles against your ear as his hands smooth over your clothed body, telling you how he wants to take you. It’s all the more flustering when you know he always keeps his word.

Love making always starts with a kiss, deep and slow.

You feel him smile into the kiss when he slips his fingers into the front of your trousers and he feels just how aroused he’s made you.

“You are exquisite. A delicacy of the highest quality. Do you know that?”

He’s not one to bang it out for a quickie. He doesn’t like to feel like he’s stealing his time with you, or like he’s a young man again and hastily getting whatever he can before heading back to the dormitories. Every touch, every word, every thrust is slow and deliberate. He wants to relish the feeling of it all. He wants to soak you in.

Somehow, he always smells good. Like cinnamon and tea and… some earthen, herbaceous scent you cant place.

So many cuddles after you’re done.

[scorpioriesling]

Caught in 4k H.C.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Pairing(s): Reader x Rhysand, Cassian, Azriel, Lucien, Eris, and Tamlin

Warnings: mdni, 18+, smut, masterbation, mentions of multiple kinks if you squint

Summary: A collection of head cannons where you catch the ACOTAR boys fantasizing / jerking it :) Just for funsies and I hope you like, lol. I also included photos for each! <3

SR’s Note: Honestly I saw this new photo / fan art of Lucien andddd I had to do something with it. The ween was staring at me… I was quite literally caught in 4k. SO, here we are, here’s an idea, I rolled with it. Enjoy, all you freaks (;

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Rhysand

Would absolutely be jerking off at his desk, in his office. Doors locked, he thinks no one is home.

He would start slow of course, then speed it up, thinking about you — how you looked before you’d left for downtown Velaris this morning, your hair up in that cute ponytail that showed off your pretty face.

Last time he had you at his desk your hair had been in a ponytail. His fist made for a rather sturdy hair tie.

“Ohhh,” he let out a small sigh, thinking of how your body looked as he pounded into you relentlessly from behind, your round little ass reverberating with every snap of his upper thighs against it. He squeezed his cock harder, thinking about the sounds that came with those thrusts-

“Fuck, baby,” he whispered, his head rolling back as he relaxed back in his chair, pumping his cock faster and faster, the image of your naked body pushing him toward his impending release. The way the desk would creak as his dick reached unimaginable depths inside you, sliding in and out so fucking fast; your body fit perfectly with his.

“Rhys! I’m back!” Your honey-filled, sing-songy voice rang out from the downstairs foyer just before he could release, and he immediately halted his movements. How long had he been doing this? He glanced at the clock — surely you hadn’t been gone that long.

The soft patter of footsteps rang out on the stairs, and he stuffed his still-hard dick back into his formal pants, struggling to tug the zipper up and attempt to conceal his erection. You’d surely notice, and he’d surely be embarrassed.

The door to the office swung open, and sure enough, you stood — bags in hand, ponytail and all. The bright smile on your face faltered when Rhys’ failed attempt at a warm greeting was recognized.

“What’s wrong, sweet heart?” You asked, setting down the paper bags and striding over to his desk. No no no, he thought. You needed to get out of here, at least until he could calm down.

“Nothing, my love.” He smiled, embracing you as you moved to sit on his lap. You shifted slightly, looking at all the papers atop his desk.

“You’ve got a lot of work it seems,” you say. He sighs lightly. “Yes my love,” he responds, kissing your cheek. The feel of you against him stiffens his cock, and he can only pray you don’t notice.

“Mhm,” you hum, shifting on him once more. Rhys’ breath comes out ragged, and you side-eye him with a smirk. “Almost the same amount as when I left earlier,” you point out. A small tinge of pink flushes his cheeks and you chuckle, kissing the tip of his nose before gazing tensely into his eyes.

“What were you doing up here all alone, anyways?” He meets your eye with an equally challenging stare. “Working.” He says coolly. You smile humorlessly, moving to straddle him instead. Instinctively, his hands cup your ass, squeezing hard. He knew what you were doing, but you didn’t care. It worked, and that’s all that mattered.

“I have something… else… you could work on, if you’d like?”

Cassian

He’d trained with you enough by now that he’d gotten used to your… attire. The way your tight leathers clung to your body, every dip and curve of you outlined for everyone to see.

He didn’t care so much now that you’d been together so long, but something about you striding in that morning stirred something in him.

You were laughing in that vivacious way you did, usually with Gwyn and Emerie and Nesta — a lot of times, when he was lucky, with him too.

He smiled at the sound of your voice, floating down the stairwell toward the training ring. His back was to you; but when he turned and caught the sight of you, your legs bare and midriff exposed, his breath faltered a bit.

Sure, he’d seen you completely nude before, but in front of your peers? Your friends? Especially during training… he wasn’t sure how he would handle two hours of this kind of torture. He could already feel the blood rushing to his cock at the sight.

“Y/N this isn’t- You know for training you can’t-“ he fumbled. Gwyn giggled, and you rolled your eyes.

“Cassie, it’s like a hundred degrees in here today. You said we weren’t doing hand to hand anyway; what’s the harm in lighter clothing?” You shrugged. He only stared blankly at you, commanding his eyes not to drift past your collarbone.

His hand jerking his cock later that day was the harm in lighter clothing.

He let out soft breaths, leaned back as he sat on the edge of his bed.

He thought about how that tiny little tank top was stretched thin across your generous chest, how his eyes traced over the outline of your bra when you did your warm ups. Gods… how many times he’d ripped thin little things like those off of you, how many times he’d toyed with you, undoing your lacy bras you’d wear just for him…

He kept pumping, thinking about how your tits bounced when he purposefully assigned the group jumping jacks and high knees exercises, and how painful his cock grew during your session.

He thought back to the times he drilled into you on this very bed, your knuckles white on the headboard as he shoved his cock deep inside of you, your screams of pleasure only encouraging him further.

It was borderline torturous today during cool down yoga, watching you in downward dog, your spine arched, your long legs on display. Under your shorts, he could only imagine the panties you had on — maybe his favorite, the glittery kind he could easily slide down your legs with his teeth.

Usually, this was before he would lick your cunt until you shook beneath him, your slick covering his lips and chin.

Had no one else attended training this morning, he honestly would’ve taken you right there; yanked your mini shorts over that perky little ass and drove himself straight inside of you. “You want to tease me? You know what happens when you play around,” he knows you love it when he spanks you-

“Cassie?”

He stilled, his chest heaving as he opened his eyes. Lo and behold, you were before him again. You hadn’t yet changed out of your training attire, and as your eyes trailed over his form on the bed, taking in what he was doing — you closed the door behind you.

“Baby, I-“ he stammers, and you only smirk at him.

“I suppose the new outfit this morning worked, hm?”

Azriel

It was hard, so painfully hard having a mate as beautiful as Azriel. So hard having a mate so beautiful, but was gone so often on missions that you found yourself at times taking care of your needs on your own.

You couldn’t blame him for it, you were quite lucky. But little did you know, he would need to take care of his own twice as much.

On this occasion, it was a case of… well, miscommunication. He was scheduled to be gone on a mission, and you’d told him you would stay the night with Morrigan instead of being alone in your shared home for the evening.

Of course, that was not what happened.

Azriel finished his mission early. He reported to Rhys, flew back home, and was happy to have a night off with rest and relaxation. He even lit candles in the house, for christ sakes.

He knew you were at Mor’s, and though he missed you so much, he didn’t want to take away from girls night. He’d walked in on one once and… well… let’s just say he’d never do it again.

Azriel was padding around the flat, finishing the last few sips of black coffee from his mug when he passed the sapphire door. His steps faltered, only for a moment, and he tipped his mug back to drain it, still eyeing the opened door.

Curiousity, and years of spy work must have gotten the best of him. He sat his mug on the hallway table, pushing against the usually locked door. This room was off limits to everyone, that was, except you and Azriel.

His breath caught in his throat as he made his way through the room, sitting in the plush chair near the center of it.

“Oh…. my…” he breathed. He leaned forward, his gaze flickering between the various vibrators scattering the ground. He stared, feeling unable to move — that was, other than his dick, which began to twitch beneath his leathers.

He continued to gaze, cataloguing which items weren’t in their holding places. Other than the vibrators, there were clamps missing, and maybe-

His cock fucking throbbed. He sat back in the chair, yanking on the ties and binds to free himself from his pants. Finally, finally getting his dick in his hands, he allowed his mind to wander further.

When were you in here alone? It had to be within the last few days, it didn’t look like this before he left. He slid his scarred fingers over his long shaft, thinking of you in this room, the things you’d done together in here. What you’d likely done alone.

“Mmmm,” he grunted, holding himself tighter. He thought of your tight cunt, how he had to work his thick cock into you every. Single. Time. “Fuck,” he muttered. You always looked so beautiful, a gorgeous, ruined mess for him, all tied up on the bed. Gods, the sounds you’d make, how they’d echo off the walls, through the entire house-

“Fuck baby, so tight for me,” he groaned. He usually wasn’t so vocal, preferring to hear you much more instead, but alone… he wished he could talk your ear off. Tell you to play with yourself, right in front of him so he could watch.

Gods, if he were here, watching you cry out against your vibrator thinking about him… there’s no way he would be able to hold back.

“Good girl, good fucking girl, take it, take all of it-“ he sucks in a breath, his gaze snagging on a pair of lacy underwear discarded by the bed. He quickly snatches them up, remembering how they looked last time you’d had them on.

The soft sound of the front door opening and closing pulls Azriel from his haze, immediately tossing the underwear back under the bed. He shoves his dick inside his leathers, groaning as his pants protest against his size. You weren’t even supposed to be back tonight — maybe the plans with Mor fell through.

Within minutes, he’s closing the door as quietly as he can, sure you won’t suspect a thing. He smiles lightly to himself. Hopefully, if you’re home to stay, you’ll be in the mood to finish what he’d already started.

He’s almost halfway down the hallway, heading for the foyer when a cough sounds from behind him — the other end of the hallway. He turns slowly, and sure enough; his eyes meet yours. Only for a moment though; he can’t help but notice the sheer nightie you’ve managed to slip into, breasts pushed up from your hands clasped behind your back.

“Having fun in there by yourself?” You tease, jerking your chin toward the sapphire door across the hall. Azriel doesn’t move a muscle, his thoughts racing.

“H-how did you know I was in there?” He asks, his tone low. You only giggle, taking a few steps toward him and revealing your hands at once. One held his mug, which he hadn’t noticed wasn’t on the hallway table anymore.

“Seems we’ve both forgotten to put our things away, hmm?” You wink. “I’ve lived with the Spymaster long enough to pick up on a few things, Azzie.”

Lucien

With Lucien, things were always *almost* a little more than “friendly”. Sure, you’d been best friends for centuries now, but over time, you’d both begun to realize there was more to it than just being friends.

“It’s truly not that complicated,” Tamlin explained. “She likes you, you’re clearly in love with her — I don’t see where the problem lies?” But, Lucien still only sighed.

“We’ve been friends so long, I just don’t want anything ruined,” he’d explained. That only made his High Lord friend laugh.

“I think it was ruined, my friend, the moment you let your feelings cloud your judgement. Which was a very, very long time ago.”

Honestly, he wasn’t wrong. In your youth, you and Lucien were simply platonic; you’d grown up together, bonded over the horrors you’d both endured and helped each other through, and found comfort in relying on one another.

But over time, that changed. Suddenly, attending Balls and Galas with Lucien sent flutters through your stomach. Going to dinners with him on quiet evenings warmed your heart, and now when he brought you flowers for your table — it felt new, it felt… more.

“Well, aren’t you the loveliest couple Prythian has to offer!”

This would happen often.

One of you, or both, would hastily explain that you’re just best friends. Well, you used to, anyway. Last time the older woman in the market made a comment as such, Lucien just smiled politely and held your hand tighter, continuing on as though nothing happened.

The moment that had tipped it all though… oh boy. You’d been in the kitchen of the manor, baking apple tartlets as autumn was approaching and they were Lucien’s favorite from back home. He had joined you, wanting to learn from someone with such a talent and, honestly he just wanted to spend time with you.

“Okay, next we need flour… Lucie, that’s you,” you whispered the last part, and Lucien snapped out of his daze. His hand dropped from his chin, propping his head up on the counter as he gazed at you from across it.

“Hm? Oh, I’m sorry,” he stood, searching for and grabbing the bag of flour from behind him. You smiled, taking it from him and measuring out a few cup fulls. He resumed his position, looking to you once more.

You met his gaze, your hand stopping midway between the bowl and bag. “Lucien, I thought you wanted to help me,” you said.

“Right, right, I do,” he moved toward you, pushing up the sleeves of his tan waffle-knit sweater as you dumped in another cup. Your breath caught as his hands appeared on either side of you, the sudden feeling of his toned body pressing against your backside lightly ceasing the air from your lungs. You tried to remind yourself to resume your breathing as normal — the steady rise and fall of your shoulders measured now by his chin resting atop your left one.

“Next… we, have two eggs,” you explained. You take them from the carton, and Lucien chuckles behind you, his body so close you can feel every movement and muscle beneath his clothing.

“Allow me,” he says smoothly, his arms caging you in closer along your sides as his hands rest atop yours. “I think I know how to at least do this part.”

You allow yourself a laugh, but it comes out breathless. He does as such, cracking them into the bowl and setting down the shells.

“Alright, now next is… hey!” You squeal, turning to face him in shock. He laughs, his smile radiant as you look down your nose at the dash of flour smeared on it. You reach for the bag, but you’re too slow — Lucien has both of your wrists held tight in an instant, pinning you to the counter with his hips against yours. Your noses are mere inches apart, and he continues grinning.

“Lucien, this isn’t-“ He doesn’t let you get another word in before he smushes his lips against yours, and you instinctively soften against him. Years, you’d waited years for this — the feel of him against you, his lips touching yours. All of those almosts, all the lingering touches, all of the sleepovers and hugs that went on too long, all those times your hand held his.

Now that he’d had you once, he only wanted more.

Which was why he sat in his favorite spring meadow now, trying to clear his head.

He couldn’t.

He only thought of you.

You, in all your beauty. The way your hair would always fall perfectly around your face. How you felt, your soft lips pressed against his. How your body, he was so careful to protect, felt pressed against him that day. He hated how hard his cock was just thinking of your ass pressed against him.

When he’d caught you off guard and finally kissed you… Gods, you’d look so lovely laid across the counter, wrists held above your head in his grip. He’d worship you and kiss every inch of you if you’d let him. Tartlets be damned; he’s sure you’d taste even better.

He was smiling to himself in the afternoon light when the most beautiful voice made itself heard before him.

“I can only wonder what you’re dreaming about to have such…” You playfully tease, your sentence trailing off. His eyes fly open, and he sits upright, looking at you and trying to find some kind of response.

“No! No, I uh, was just drifting off, just lounging here, against this uh…” he pats the fallen tree trunk behind him.

“…wood?” You finish. He shakes his head slowly, a smile creeping onto his lips. You giggle, dropping to your knees before him and adjusting your skirt around you. You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek and he blushed.

“Well, tell me what you were thinking, then? Maybe I’ve thought of things similar.”

Eris

It was a beautiful morning — perfect for the horseback ride Eris had planned with you that day. He knew you had a few duties to tend to into the evening, and he wanted to squeeze in a little alone time beforehand if he could. You were more than happy to oblige.

“I’m not sure I’ve seen the leaves this red so soon in the season before,” you pointed out, looking around the autumn grove in wonder. Eris looked too, his focus landing on you once more like it had countless times already that morning. He knew, of course his mate was gorgeous, but… you were truly getting the best of him today.

“Maybe the season is getting longer,” he said absentmindedly, watching how your hips moved forward and back as your horse trotted along. Fuck, if you didn’t have obligations clogging your schedule later today, he’d have you off that horse and sitting on him instead. Gods what he’d give to feel that tight, pulsing cunt throbbing on his awaiting dick-

“Ooh! Eris look! Those are honeycrisp!” You said excitedly. “We have to get some, your mother has been looking everywhere for these.” Eris mentally kicked himself for being such a … guy. He was so happy just to spend time with you right now, and of course his mind was going to sex when his absolute gift of a mate was innocently noticing the apples dangling from the trees, thinking of others while his mind was only thinking of you.

Then again, he only ever seemed to think of you.

“Anything for you, dear.” You flashed him a smile then, and his spirits lifted higher. He led his mare toward the trees, sliding off and tying the reigns as you slowly approached behind him. You were shorter than him, and though you had enough courage for the entire Autumn court, you didn’t mind a gentle helping hand every once in a while. You handed your mate your own reigns, watching as he tied them to a branch as you also made to de-saddle.

His strong hands slid around your waist, firmly placed on either side as he hoisted you from the animal with ease and set you gently on the ground in front of him. You grinned up at him then, your hands still on his shoulders as a sudden rush went through you. You couldn’t help but remember the excitement you’d felt all those years ago when he was but a simple schoolgirl crush to you; that feeling remaining even now that you’re mated to the Autumn heir.

“I love you,” he said then, his one hand cupping your cheek and pulling you in for a kiss. You leaned into him, his hands roaming over your body as you felt his pants tighten slightly against your stomach. You chuckled, breaking for air before he got too many ideas.

“Apples?” You suggested. He nodded, swallowing thickly, but you could see the lust swelling in his irises. Once all your tasks were done today, you were sure you’d be seeing more of this side of him later tonight. “Apples,” he agreed.

The Lady of Autumn was more than thrilled with the discoveries you and Eris had come back with, her gratitude for the both of you evident before she bid the both of you goodbye. Watching you go, even for a few hours felt like torture for Eris. He shook his head, cursing the dirty thoughts racing through his mind — but they wouldn’t stop.

They surely didn’t stop as he sat before the fireplace at sunset, lazily sipping the last remnants of whisky from his glass as he scanned over the court’s weekly newsletter. The words were a blur; he was just passing the time and waiting for you to come home. Waiting to get his hands on you again.

Gods, your lips had tasted so good this morning, so warm against the cool air of the grove. Fuck, that little waist… when he’d had you the other night, bent over on the bed, fucking himself into you relentlessly, his hands gripping your smooth skin-

He wasn’t sure when he set down his glass, or when his paper hit the floor, but his fingers were now gliding over his cock, throbbing with need. His head rolled back, short breaths coming out between his parted lips.

The way your body moved this morning… he let out a soft groan. He thought of you, sitting on his lap, the fire casting a golden glow around you, bouncing up and down on his length. You didnt need any other fire — you emitted light yourself, everything you did, everywhere you went. You were the sun itself.

“Y/N…” he sucked in a breath, yanking on his cock. He thought about the tiny lingerie you’d wear for him, how he could pull it down over your tits and take one of your nipples between his teeth as you rode him harder…

His groans were cut short as a soft, familiar mouth met his, and he slowed his strokes but smiled into the kiss in realization. You pulled back an inch, a few tendrils of your hair tickling his neck and shoulders as you leaned over the couch above him, taking the scene in fully.

“Did you miss me?”

Tamlin

The sharp knock at the door startled him, his gaze drifting from the reports on his desk to the entrance of his study.

“It’s nearly ten thirty, Sir,” Alis peeked her head in. “I’m going to turn in for the night, unless there was anything else you needed.” Tamlin’s eyes widened in realization, and he looked at the wall clock for confirmation. Sure enough, 10:27 p.m. He sighed heavily.

“No, no, I’m quite alright Alis. Tell me, has Y/N turned in already?” He asked. His heart clenched as he tugged on the bond with no response. He’d told you he would be done with these reports hours ago, but, per usual to no avail. He hated disappointing you.

“I haven’t seen her since nine, Sir.” Alis said. He only nodded, and she closed the door quietly. Tamlin rubbed his eyes, shuffling his files into neat stacks and flicking off his table side lamp before heading toward the master bedroom.

Upon entering, his heart dropped even more. Of course you’d gone to bed, why wait up? He’d done this before. Promised to be done with work only to stay awake for hours into the night, not giving you the attention you’d deserved from him.

You. His mate.

His mate that, upon further inspection, must have believed he would finish on time tonight. You’d fallen asleep in a petal-laden lingerie set, barely leaving anything to the imagination. Tamlin’s lips pressed into a thin line — it was one of his favorites. Now he really felt bad.

Not only did he feel bad… he felt horny.

He stepped as quickly and quietly as he could across the hall toward the master bathroom, closing the door and leaning against the sink.

His chest heaved, and he stared at himself in the mirror, his cock growing harder and harder in his pants. He needed a shower, now.

He flipped the water on, allowing the steam to cloud in the bathroom before he cracked open the door to the hallway, just an inch so some of the hot air could filter out. The moonlight illuminated the space enough through the window — he avoided turning on the lights.

It was only after he’d stripped and gotten into the warm water that he’d started fisting his cock.

Images of you played in his mind, some recent, some from the past. The first time you’d made love in the garden — you had daisy petals all through your hair, your back bridging as it arched in pleasure while he ate you out. Gods, you tasted so sweet — sweeter than any honey Tamlin had ever tasted, in his court or beyond it.

His free hand braced against the cool tile of the shower wall, his other running along his thick length faster.

The images burned into his brain of you laid out on his desk — one he’d been spending so much time at lately with his stupid papers — your mouth open, crying out his name as he worked your clit with his fingers.

Your hands felt so good tangled in his hair… he’d missed that so much, he knew it was his own damn fault for not giving you enough of really anything lately.

“Gods Y/N,” he gritted out, his teeth clenched. The warm water ran over the defined muscles of his back, a reminder, but not quite as exact as the feeling of your fingers on him during those nights of the frenzy. That’s when you’d gotten that adorable, flowery little number anyway that you were wearing now — were you asking to be fucked like that, again?

He groaned at the thought, biting his lip in anticipation. The way you’d looked, so peaceful and delicate, your hair laid prettily on your pillow — but he knew.

Every once in a while, you wanted him crazy. You didn’t want nice, gentle, garden love-making. You wanted mating-bond, frenzy-crazed, sex. The kind that had you once drenching the sheets with your cum, squirting from you as your mate pulled orgasm after orgasm out of you. The kind that had you shaking as you sat on his face, his nose nudging your clit as his tongue played in your folds.

“FUCK,” Tamlin swore, pumping his dick so hard, feeling his release building, imagining your tongue on him instead, your awaiting mouth and beautiful, round eyes gazing up at him from the floor…

“Looking for somewhere to, finish?” You asked, stepping lightly into the shower behind him. Tamlin stilled, his face flushing at being caught in the act.

“I… sweetheart I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you, I-“

“You didn’t,” You interjected, crossing your arms beneath your breasts. Tamlin’s cock jerked, his eyes roaming hungrily over your naked body. The cute outfit was something, yes, but your body, just you — now that was something he’d prefer over anything.

“…but I wish you would have.” You raised an eye brow at him.

His eyes darkened at your words and he chuckled, looking to the floor and shaking his head slowly.

“Y/N, I don’t think I’ll be able to last very long-“

“Try me,” you challenged, stepping forward as his gaze met yours. “We haven’t yet done it in the shower.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

[shootingstarwritings]

Body Surfing Lesson

“’Body surfing,’ is an important skill to learn as fledgling body possessors,” Gerald spoke to the hidden camera, putting on his teacher persona as best he could considering the ciscumstances. “Normally, it takes a lot of mana for us to take over other people, but the body surfing technique involves taking over multiple people over the course of a single day, using their own mana as a sort of ‘surfboard,’ to ride the waves of mana that flow inside of us all.” He inwardly cringed as he spoke, his current body very clearly unfitting for his lesson.

Gerald had no idea who had come up with such awful terminology, but it was far too late to change that. The small yet tight-knit community the possessors in the area had formed needed to have a sense of unity. Too much innocent blood had been shed for shame to hold Gerald back. ‘Far too many of you have been lost for me to get cold feet now,’ he thought to himself. Taking a deep breath, he continued his explanation for the future viewers.

“I’ve already spent quite a lot of my own mana to possess this young man,” Gerald forced his host to say. What was his name again…? He focused, face visibly tightening before his eyes widened in realization. “Jerry! Huh, it’s so close to my name.” He winced and made a mental note to himself to delete that part of the video. “It was difficult, y’know,” he said, pacing around in Jerry’s underwear with very little shame. He couldn’t help but strut, already enjoying the tight muscle in this youthful form. “I had to float into his cute little butt to take him over.”

Gerald grinned and slapped Jerry’s butt, enjoying the slight jiggling. He thought back earlier today as he launched into a story of how he had taken Jerry over for his class.

Gerald’s misty form had crawled through the apartment building’s pipes, searching for a nice and hot host that would catch people’s eyes while he tried to educate them. Then, he found Jerry exiting the shower and clad in just a pair of new-age briefs. Gerald stared at it in confusion, unsure if this is really what the young ones were really wearing. ‘Am I getting old?’ Gerald had briefly mused before launching himself towards Jerry’s ass.

“AH! Woah, ahhh…!” Jerry collapsed on his stomach, ass facing the ceiling as Gerald’s essence took him over. “Ah, pl-please… help…!” gasped Jerry, his hips thrusting on their own as he lost consciousness.

“Mmm, nice…” Gerald muttered as he sat up. He rubbed his stomach and then his bare, youthful legs. “It’s been a while since I was someone so young. And so hairless,” he chuckled.

“And that’s what happened,” he finished for his class. “It was lucky that this young man enjoys filming so much. Now I’ve got a nice and high-quality camera for this lesson rather than some janky phone.” It truly had been serendipity for him. Gerald giggled as he sat cross-legged in front of the camera, enjoying just how his borrowed form felt so exposed and yet so confident in his near-nudity. “So, I’ve got a dilemma. I want to move on and yet I’m pretty much exhausted my mana supplies—the essence of the soul. Say I even got into the trouble and I have to evacuate for whatever reason. What could I do in this situation?”

Gerald waited a quick second before continuing, “If you don’t know, that’s fine. This technique’s quite advanced. Not even some of our more veteran community members have even mastered it. Yours truly, however,” Gerald paused to place a hand on his chest, making sure to lightly tweak a nipple, “is well-versed enough in the arts to enlighten you.”

It wasn’t a secret nor difficult to figure out the theoretical part, but it was a challenge to divert the flow of energy instead of letting it be lost to entropy. It was similar to having a rush of anger and trying to convert the energy of that anger to something productive. In other words, it was turning anger to passion, turning sadness to compassion, and turning joy to kindness. The emotion behind it was just as important, if not more so, than the actual intention. 

‘Easier said than done,’ Gerald thought. ‘Honestly, I’d have to do a one-on-one with all of these new possessors for them to even get proficient at it. However, just imparting the knowledge would be enough… for now, at least.’

“Now, I have invited my host’s friend to come over soon. Before he arrives, I’m going to start masturbating my host’s body and preparing my mana.” One of the ways that mana flowed was through bodily fluids, with semen being one of the most potent ones. The emotions surrounding a climax allows a large flow of magic to surge through and even be present in the semen that one shoots at that moment of peak pleasure. “I won’t use my own mana,” summarized Gerald, “but instead use this young man’s mana from his own climax to possess his friend, Mike.”

Gerald was about to continue, but bit his lower lip as he heard the faintest knock from the front door. Then, Mike’s voice called out to be let in.

Grinning, Gerald placed a finger to his lips and winked at the camera. “Let the show begin.” It wasn’t difficult to begin jacking off in this youth’s body. Even stroke felt like a lightning strike and even gasp was just fuel to Gerald’s fiery lust--now reborn in this young vessel… for the time.

“C-C’mon in,” Gerald forced Jerry to say. He had left the apartment’s front door unlocked on purpose. With any luck, Mike would get curious and explore the lustful noises straight to Jerry’s room. “Door’s unlocked.” Everything was falling into place. Gerald had seen a few pictures of Mike. He was a cute ginger with a good body that used to play hockey in high school. Though his sports days were behind him, Mike still regularly went to the gym to keep a nice form. “Mmm…!” The thought of taking over another young hunk, one with fiery curly hair that was so much like his own during his teenage years, almost made Gerald cum on the spot.

“Hurry up…!” Gerald hissed. Just how much more did his thick cock need to finally cum. It was such a tease--to be on the verge of cumming but not getting there quite yet. ��You stupid fucking himbo, fucking cum already!” Although he was on the verge of running out of time, Gerald couldn’t help but find the verbal abuse arousing as well. “Cum for me, boy. Lemme feel that stallion cock of yours burst all over your hairless, himbo body…”

“Jerry? That you? What’re you doing…?” Gerald could hear Mike’s approaching footfalls, and that only made the whole situation more erotic. Before losing his body, Mike would see his best friend cum all over himself like a shameless exhibitionist. And then, Gerald would do the same thing to Mike. Forget the class or keeping the peace, Gerald could only think of hopping between men and turning each of them into cum-obsessed cocksuckers.

“Hrrngh! Oh god…!” 

Yes… it was approaching. All Gerald needed to really turn this body on as he cranked the cock was a bit of foreplay. His core was beginning to tense, and he could feel himself rush past the point of no return.

Right at the precise moment, the door opened. “Jerry, what the fuck?!” Mike cried out as he saw his best friend beating his meat without a lick of shame.

Grining, Gerald forced Jerry to shout, “I’m fucking cumming…!” as torrents of cum shot high into the air in Mike’s direction.

‘Now, give me your body, boy.’

Riding that climatic wave, Gerald used the large pool mana that Jerry’s young body was shooting to propel his soul forward. Even though all of his own energy was spent, he felt rejuvenated, as though he was 20 years younger, as Jerry came. However, just like a normal wave crashing into the sea, it would not last forever. The energy could not be stored, only spent in that very moment; but that small burst in power was all Gerald needed as he dove into Mike’s body.

“Oomph!” Mike huffed as the force of Gerald diving into his body was enough to knock him off balance. He fell backwards and hit the ground, body convulsing as an invisible, unknowable force began to take him over. “Wh-What the fuck…?!” was all he could say as a cold and numb sensation spread from the tips of his fingers and toes into his core. “H-Help… ohh… please don’t…” Mike reached a trembling arm towards the doorknob, his fingers twitching as they tried to find anything to grab onto.

By the time Mike’s fingers gripped the brass knob, Gerald was already in control. “Mmm… delicious.” Something that Gerald noticed from certain bodies was that they somehow had some kind of spiritual ‘flavor.’ Mike reminded him of strawberries in a shortcake somehow. He licked his lips and chuckled at the light bristle of Mike’s bushy and manly beard. “Trying to be a real man, boy?”

Gerald forced Mike to sit up and then lie on his stomach. “Just a young man trying to be a big boy,” he chuckled as he positioned Mike’s ass high in the air, wiggling his hips the whole time. “But then a real man like Gerald took over my body. All with my best friend’s spunk as a springboard. God, what kinda friend--what kinda man--am I for letting that happen?”

A horrible idea suddenly crossed Gerald’s mind. Crawling back into Jerry’s room, Gerald opened Mike’s mouth and began to suck the remaining cum off of Jerry’s still twitching cock. “God, Mike, you’re so virile. I’m so glad you’re this cumslut’s friend,” said Gerald. Then he realized that he was still supposed to be explaining a lesson. 

Grabbing the camera, Gerald focused it on Mike’s face and began to speak. “Well, did you see that? I was all out of mana, but masturbating with a man’s other body, I was able to use his energy to possess this hunk of meat.” To illustrate his point, Gerald stripped most of Mike’s clothes until he was down to his boxer briefs. “See? And--” he stopped as he heard the front door open.

“Jerry? You home? What’d I tell you about leaving the front door unlocked?”

Jerry’s father. A tall and broad-shouldered man that, from what Gerald could tell from Jerry’s memory, wasn’t particularly fond of Mike due to his… ‘lifestyle.’ Was it due to something repressed? Mike certainly seemed to think so, but Gerald couldn’t make heads or tails of the situation. Taking a look around and seeing the scene before him, Gerald began to internally panic--twisting Mike’s generally nonchalant expression into a stressed grimace.

‘Shit. His son’s unconscious, covered in cum,  and his best friend’s stripped down to his underwear.  If I saw this scene I’d think Mike was trying to date-rape my son! Don’t think I’ll be able to simply laugh off this little excursion. But… the only way to get out of this would be…’

Gerald had never attempted a double possession, with or without an explosive orgasm catapult. Was it a good thing that the camera was still recording? He wasn’t sure anymore. To be frank, he wasn’t sure of anything anymore. Loud, boisterous footfalls continued to ring in his ears.

Even in times of danger, Gerald knew he could rely on his libido to get him out. Throwing Mike’s underwear away, no longer caring about maintaining any sense of professionalism, Gerald got to work. Using what was left of Jerry’s cum as makeshift lube, he began to explore Mike’s tasty body with horned-up haste.

“The hell’s that, Jerry? Got a girl over?” Jerry’s father called out again. Gerald couldn’t help but giggle in-betweens his moans. If only he knew.

Mike’s gruff voice contrasted so wonderfully with his high-pitched and needy groans. His back arched and his toes curled as Gerald continued to beat his dick. The other hand freely explored the nice pelt of orange hair that coated Mike’s body.

‘What I wouldn’t give to just have a day with this guy,’ thought Gerald. A few tweeks of the nipples and he could already feel an orgasm building up. Just a few more minute and vigorous strokes and he’d be home free. “C’mon, cum for me…! Just a bit more.”

Jerry’s door flew open for the second time that day, and this time Jerry’s father roared in horror at the scene before him. “MIKE! What the fuck are you doing?! Jerry?!”

‘An audience,’ Gerald thought, smirking at the older man. ‘And not a bad looker either.’

“Hey, daddy-o,” Gerald forced Mike to say. He thrust into his grip, gyrating his hips as though to show off what his body could do to Jerry’s father. “Like the show? Have a seat, I can do so much for you if you want. I don’t mind some audience participation.” To emphasize his own point, Gerald raised a hand with a bit of pre-cum and slowly licked it off--savoring the sweet flavor.

Jerry’s father, mouth slightly agape and expression somewhere between horror and arousal, just stared at Gerald abusing Mike’s body. “Y-You’re sick,” he finally said, eyes glued to Mike’s swinging cock as it twitched. “What did you do to Jerry…?”

“Same thing I’m gonna do to you, daddy!” Gerald cried out in glee as Mike’s abused cock shot the first few rounds of semen. He bit his bottom lip, moans just barely muffled, as Mike’s hips naturally thrust with each shot. As the orgasm reached its end, Mike’s body began to tremble and grow limp as Gerald shot himself out. He rushed through the air and quickly dove right into Jerry’s father through his large chest.

“Hurugh! Ohh, what the fuck…?!” Unlike Mike, Jerry’s father remained standing even after Gerald dive bombed into his chest. However, despite his stronger will, he was unable to stop the tidal wave that crashed over his body. His broad arms gripped the door frame for support as his knees bent from the pressure. 

The invasive presence washed over him, filling him up slowly. It wasn’t unlike the first time his ex-wife had pegged him. The fear that came from being filled for the first time was matched only by the pleasure that followed. Just the thought of that night made his cargo shorts tighten. He knew that he should’ve been afraid and even outraged, but his body betrayed him in favor of the invasive presence. “M-More, please fuck me more…!” he whispered as his grip on the door frame tightened. Sweat dripped from his body as his soul let the tides carry him to a blissful and erotic rest.

“And that class,” Gerald forced his host to say, “is how you use your host to your advantage. Now, this is a more advanced technique, so don’t worry if you find it tricky at first.” Bill, Jerry’s father, was far more comfortable to Gerald than Jerry or Mike. The beefy look and authoritative voice also helped Gerald really get into the persona of a professor. It was like putting on a custom before getting into character. “But, as you can see from my improvised lesson plan, it’s possible to even chain multiple possessions in just one day! Really beats having to wait for the refractory period to end, huh?” He chuckled in Bill’s deep baritone, hands on his stomach as he felt Bill’s stolen body jiggle and quake with life. This was more like it.

And with the lesson done, Gerald now had plenty of time on his own to get familiar with Bill. Maybe Jerry and Mike would like to get involved as well…

[marvelstoriesepic]

Latte (He)art

Pairing: Barista!Bucky x Coworker!College!Reader

Summary: Your sweet coworker at the café you work at part time is the only thing able to brighten your day. So it’s only practical that he always ends up in the same shift as you.

Word Count: 7.8k 🐻☕🧋🍪

Warnings: Reader having College stress; mentions of a single mother (not reader); some coffee is spilled; Bucky is a sweetheart; Bucky is worried

Author’s Note: This little piece is written for @elixirfromthestars writing challenge. I actually planned to write this a month earlier but life got in between lol. Here it is now. I dearly hope you enjoy what I made of your lovely prompt.

🤎Coffee Cup🤎 “So we’re swapping our cups, and after a while, we’re swapping a glance. And I can think nothing better than starting the year with a drop of romance.” -Anthony Lazaro

Masterlist

The windows of the coffee shop receive more of your attention than the assortment of pastries you’re supposed to prepare to showcase behind the counter.

It’s fifteen minutes before Bucky’s shift starts and your belly flutters at the thought of seeing him again.

The early morning sun filters through the windows, offering a soft glow that casts warm beams of light to sweep across the floor and catch the glistening frosting on the cinnamon rolls. Their sweet, spiced aroma laced with hints of vanilla and brown sugar wafts through the air.

However, your gaze is more drawn to the street outside, scanning the road for a short mop of chestnut hair.

You like to snag shifts before the classes of your day start, relishing in the early morning hours and being satisfied with getting some work done before studying. But in the two and a half months since you started working at ‘Barnes Brown Beans’, you had come to recognize Bucky seems to prefer working in the morning as well. So, he actually may be the main reason.

Also, you’re usually, coincidentally - or so you tell yourself - paired with him anyway.

You’re grateful for this job. The shop’s close proximity to your university makes it an easy commute and the wages are fair. That’s a blessing in itself. But more than that, it was George and Winifred Barnes, the owners, who initially made it easy for you to love this job.

Winifred had greeted you with sweet enthusiasm at your job interview for a part-time job, making you instantly feel more at ease. After asking a few routine questions and warmly assuring you that the position was yours, she shifted the conversation to your studies with genuine interest and asked if you were good with balancing work and university life - a mother's worries.

It didn’t take long for her to start gushing about her children. She explained to you how her son, Bucky, had been helping out at the coffee shop ever since high school. Instead of pursuing college, like many of his peers and his best friend Steve, he chose to stay in New York to help manage the family business. “I’m sure you two will get along well” she had said with a kind of knowing grin you couldn’t make sense of.

She even shared with you that his little sister, Rebecca, always had a burning passion for studying architecture abroad. Unfortunately, the Barnes simply couldn’t afford a college education for both children, so Bucky decided to step up, taking on more responsibility at the shop so his parents wouldn’t be overwhelmed and relieving them of some stressful work, allowing his sister to follow her dreams.

She spoke with so much love and gratitude she held for her son, it almost made you tear up. She mentioned that Bucky never once showed resentment or regret for the path he chose.

Instead, he took pride in his role, and you could see it too. During your brief time working with him, you noticed how he carried himself with a quiet determination. There is genuine joy in the way he treats customers, always kind and attentive, and he always puts so much care into every small detail of his work.

He also loves to tell you about the exams his sister passed, and the friends she made; pride in her success evident when he speaks about her.

You admire him. He’s selfless, hardworking, and full of heart.

So it’s just logical that his parents gave him so much responsibility early on and made him part of the management.

You don’t mind that one second though, because he takes his authority incredibly seriously and usually shows up for his shifts earlier than he needs to.

It’s why your gaze is drawn to the panes of glass at the front once again.

You got in at 7 today, getting enthusiastically greeted by George - as he told you to call him on your first day - and tasked with the usual morning routine. So, as he disappeared into the small office room at the back of the shop, you had started prepping the food equipment and putting it on display.

The shop wouldn’t open until 8, so you still had some time to breathe before the morning rush would start, but you always feel some kind of gratitude at the way George lets you handle yourself at the front while waiting for Bucky to arrive at 7:30 to help out.

Admittedly, you didn’t get that much done yet, caused by the thought of seeing Bucky walk in through the door at any minute.

You saw him just 4 days ago at your last shift, but the giddy anticipation is all the same and you only have three and a half hours with him today before you have to leave for your classes.

The buttery, sweet, and slightly nutty smell of the freshly baked croissants you’re currently rearranging wafts from the trays and reaches your nostrils, but gets ignored the second you hear keys jiggling outside, and your attention snaps to the door.

“Morning doll!”

Bucky’s smooth voice comes through the door with him, cheerful as always as he greets you with a charming smile, and your chest flutters. A rush of cool air hits your exposed skin from outside, but his grin is warming you back up quickly.

You fumble with the croissant in your hand, but recover in time and throw him a smile of your own, hoping you’re able to mask the excitement you tried to hold in all morning.

“Morning, Bucky,” you greet him back sweetly, turning your attention back to the pastries, pretending to focus on your task at hand.

Out of the corner of your eye, you watch as Bucky pulls off his coat and then makes his way over to you, hovering over your shoulder, while putting on his apron. You try to hide the way your hands get a little clammy in the see-through gloves you’re wearing while touching the food.

You tend to the fruit danishes, their glossy, golden crust filled with rich cream cheese and topped with plump raspberries, blueberries, and apricots.

Carefully placing each in its designated spot, you only manage to breathe a little easier when you feel Bucky move over to the coffee machines, their steady hum filling the quiet space as Bucky busies himself.

“Smells amazing, doll,” he calls over his shoulder and you can hear the grin in his voice.

You let out a soft laugh, glancing at him briefly before putting your head back around. “Didn’t make them, Bucky,” you explain, tone playful but modest.

Brewing coffee and clinking mugs are the only sounds you hear before Bucky’s hum reaches your ears. “Maybe you should,” he states, teasing laced with a hint of sincerity. “Bet they’d be gone in seconds.”

You’re grateful that Bucky isn’t in your line of sight because you feel heat creeping up your neck, coloring your cheeks. Your laugh is a little breathless, a little more insecure than you intended.

A few weeks ago you had casually mentioned your love for baking when Bucky had asked about your hobbies, and ever since he loved to bring it up every once in a while.

“I don’t know about that.” You try for nonchalance, but the blush doesn’t leave your face.

“Gotta give yourself more credit, doll,” he replies easily, his words wrapped in that effortless charm of his. You hear some more clinking of cups as he makes one for himself, just like every day. “Want coffee?”

He asks every time. You decline, like every time. Though he never fails to ask.

And it never fails to make your morning feel just a little bit brighter.

****

Watching Bucky create his latte art has become one of the highlights of your day. There is something mesmerizing in the way he moves, pouring the steamed milk with such precision and focus as if each cup would get graded by an artist.

You’ve noticed how much care he puts into it, the way he pauses before finishing, always needing it to be perfect.

You can tell when Bucky isn’t quite satisfied, like right now, as he holds up the cup that looks flawless to you. But there is a twitch of his mouth, a slight hesitation in his hand as if he’s debating whether to start over or risk making it worse with one more pour.

It’s adorable, really. To you, they all look perfect, but he holds himself to a standard that’s somehow both admirable and endearing.

Today, Bucky was the one already there when you arrived at 8 am, along with the first customers of the day.

The scent of fresh coffee had filled the air as you stepped inside, a soft murmur of conversation around you setting the tone for the morning rush.

He was stationed behind the counter, together with one of your coworkers, Peter. It didn’t escape your notice that Bucky caught your eye immediately, flashing you that warm, easy smile even before acknowledging Mr. Nakajima, a frequent visitor.

It was a small gesture but it excited you nonetheless.

Mr. Nakajima, or Yori as you’d heard Bucky call him, now sits in his usual corner, peacefully sipping his tea; his quiet presence a constant in the shop.

The older man always seems content to watch the people go in and out of the shop, observing the ebb and flow of the crowd, wrinkled hands wrapped around his cup as if savoring the warmth.

Bucky often took time to sit with him when things were slow, sharing long and comfortable conversations that seemed to be meaningful. There is something about the way Bucky treats Yori that tugs at your heart.

It seems, that right now Bucky is comfortable with leaving Peter and you to attend to the ebbing crowd as he makes his way to Yori's table and slowly lowers himself in front of him.

You deliberately turn away although there isn’t much to do for you right now since the morning rush is over and Peter attends to the only customer in the shop right now. So, you mindlessly wipe down the counter, not because you’re not interested, but if you spend any more attention on the guy you might get overwhelmed by the awe he arises in you.

The way Bucky smiles when he talks to the old man, the way his face lights up with that blinding, heart-stopping grin - it has a dizzying effect on you. And the laugh he lets slip every so often, low and full of warmth, makes it hard to concentrate on any coffee orders.

Bucky stays at Yori's table for a while. Every now and then you make out his face turning in your direction, lingering a little but you stay focused on your work.

“Y/n?”

The sound of Peters's voice makes your head snap over to him, blinking in expectation.

“Sorry, uh, you seemed a little distracted for a sec,” Peter says with a shy laugh, scratching the back of his neck, eyes flickering not so subtly over to Bucky.

Alright, maybe you have looked a few times. Whatever.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you mumble, doing your best to ignore the knowing grin spreading across Peter's face. Thankfully, a girl around your age approaches the counter, saving you from the growing awkwardness. You flash her a smile and focus on her order.

More customers start to stream in, the café again beginning to buzz with activity. Bucky, noticing the crowd building up, excuses himself from Yori’s table with a friendly pat on the old man’s shoulder. He steps back behind the counter, his easygoing demeanor never faltering as he joins in beside you. You share a quick smile.

Working with Bucky always makes it fun in some sense, time slipping by too quickly. Before you know it, it’s time for you to head out for your first class of the day.

You step away from the counter, untie your apron, and grab your things, already feeling reluctant to leave Bucky’s side.

“Already time to go?” Bucky asks, turned in your direction, his voice carrying that familiar deep drawl. There’s a slight disappointment laced in his tone, that doesn’t escape you.

“Yeah,” you sigh, “first class is-“

“History,” he finishes for you, without missing a beat.“I remember.”

You hadn’t expected him to recall such a small detail about your schedule, surprise registering on your face. But you quickly push out a smile, nodding at him, your heart doing a little somersault.

“Hold on,” he insists quietly, already moving to snap up a to-go bag and carefully placing a croissant inside. With a casual grin, he holds it out for you to take. “On the house.”

This isn’t the first time Bucky has given you something to go, insisting you take it as a gift. But it never gets easier to accept his small acts of kindness. You hesitate, not making a move to take the bag and Bucky’s smirk only deepens, playing the same game you’ve had before.

“Take it, doll,” he drawls, dangling the bag in front of your face with a playful glint in his eye. “Can’t let you go to class hungry, now can I?”

You can’t help but roll your eyes with a smile tugging at your lips, and snatch the bag from his hand with mock annoyance. “Fine, but this is the last time,” you warn, rather weakly it seems, considering the way Bucky leans against the counter with his arms crossed, smirking at you in an amused manner.

“You know it’s not. Can’t fault me for taking care of you, doll. You haven’t eaten anything all morning.”

His words are casual, but the way he says it, the unspoken concern that lingers, makes giddy warmth rise in your stomach, spreading to your face and heating your skin.

You hope it’s not that obvious, so you just sigh again, dramatically, and exaggerate an eye roll as Bucky lets another cup get filled with coffee, eyes remaining on you, a chuckle fleeing his lips.

You make your way to the door of the shop, knowing you’d just pay him back by slipping some money into the tip jar when you’re in earlier than him.

“And no leaving dollars in the tip jar, sweetheart,” Bucky calls out behind you, the smug amusement clear in his voice. “Ma told me about that.”

Busted.

You turn you head with a faux helpless look, which only sends him into a fit of laughter, the sound rich and full, echoing through the shop, and your heart bursts, ignoring the people standing in the line wearing looks between confusion and annoyance. Laughing quietly yourself, you let the warmth of the moment fill you up, then quickly slip out the door before the flustered grin on your face can betray you any further.

With the door closed, the sounds of the café seal off behind you and you find yourself lingering just a second longer than the last time.

****

“Girl, I’m telling you, that’s nothing! I accidentally made a girl’s latte with cow's milk although she’d ordered oat. Chased her down the street like a lunatic, I mean she could have had an allergy and whatnot. Turns out it was just a preference and she didn’t mind. Talk about embarrassing.”

You chuckle along to Gina’s story, dusting the cappuccino in front of you with a sprinkle of cinnamon, scents mingling together.

Regina - or Gina as she prefers - is always someone you enjoy working with together. She’s incredibly open-minded and carries that vibrant energy you need to get through the day. She’s got a few years on you but never fails to make you laugh.

While brewing coffee and selling them, she loves to tell you about her little boy, Nikita. You’ve seen pictures of him on her phone and he’s adorable with puffy cheeks, dark curls, and dark green eyes. He must have those from his father.

You know she is a single mother and you admire the way she takes it with pride, finding peace in her situation and insisting that she and Nikita are better off without his father.

You’ve also come to find out that 'Barnes Brown Beans' wasn’t the only job she had but that George and Winifred are so much fairer than her other boss, being supportive and trying to give her shifts that accommodate her schedule so she could pick up Nikita from kindergarden early enough to still have time with him every day.

Another thing that makes this job so valuable.

Earlier was a brief lull in the crowd, allowing you and her to chat. The conversation had drifted into the realm of embarrassing work stories. You shared one of your own, recalling how, in your first week, you had prepared a to-go coffee. You felt that nervousness that comes with starting a new job and as you tried to slide the cup over the counter to the customer, your aim had been far too enthusiastic. The cup sailed past the edge, spinning gracefully through the air before landing in the trash bin.

You hoped that perhaps nobody really saw what happened besides the slightly perturbed man in front of you. But since you shared this shift with Bucky and he always seems to have an eye on you, of course, he was a witness. You remember the way his laugh had erupted, uncontainable, filling the air behind the counter. He had leaned against it for support while you stood there, cheeks burning.

He didn’t make you feel bad though, helping you remake the coffee and almost sheepishly adding that the same thing happened to him once. Only, in his case, it was a porcelain cup. And it didn’t land in the bin. The image of it crashing to the floor, shattering into tiny pieces as coffee splattered everywhere, was enough to make you feel a little less embarrassed.

“Something funny?”

The familiar voice catches you off guard and you look up from the register. Sure enough, Bucky is strolling up to the counter, hands casually tucked into his jacket pockets and that handsome grin on his face that always causes your stomach to do flips.

“Bucky?” you ask, a soft, confused laugh escaping you. You feel your heart jump in excitement and try to tone it down. He wasn’t supposed to come in for a few more hours, and you had already resigned yourself to the disappointment of missing him today. You’d seen the shift schedule last week and the realization was like a cloud casting a shadow over your mood.

So, seeing him standing in front of you only makes a smile stretch wide without even thinking.

“I think you’re a little early,” you assess, voice light as you ring up the girl standing at the counter. Handing her the cappuccino, you glance back at him, the small transaction barely registering as your attention stays fixed on Bucky.

His grin only widens as he shrugs with a kind of faux nonchalance, letting his gaze sweep across the room. His smile stays in place, even as he steps aside for a middle-aged man approaching you.

“Couldn’t stay away,” he teases with that signature edge of playfulness that always gets to you.

As you start to prepare the man’s coffee, you can feel Bucky’s gaze on you, watching your every move. It’s a weight you’ve grown fond of - his silent observation that makes you more aware of yourself, in a good way.

You flash him a quick smile before refocusing.

“Also had to know how that exam went,” he adds casually, leaning in just a little, but you’re aware of that curiosity his voice always carries when he asks you about college. Or anything about your life, really.

You huff out a small laugh, ringing up the man’s order and sliding his coffee across the counter before turning your full attention back to Bucky. “Wasn’t as hard as I thought it’d be,” you answer him, a hint of relief in your tone since you had been stressing about this exam for weeks. “I think I did okay.”

Bucky leans against the counter now, propping himself up in that relaxed way of his, eyes never leaving yours. You’re glad you get to talk to him, glad that Gina attends to the only current customer right now and you have a second with Bucky, but the unknown power his gaze holds over you threatens to overwhelm you.

“What’d I tell ya, doll? Of course, you did great. Smartest girl I know.”

You snort, but your heart races. He always seems so sure of your success, having this confidence in you, that you feel you lack sometimes and it makes warmth pool in your gut. “Well I guess I’ll have to thank you, then,” you reply, smile present and voice light but the gratitude is real.

His scent - a mix of something warm and clean, almost earthy, and his cologne - cuts through the usual aroma of coffee beans and pastries. It’s grounding and you have to remind yourself to focus as you move toward the coffee machines.

“Do you want coffee?” you throw over your shoulder, fingers already hovering over the buttons.

Bucky straightens up in your peripherals and you make out the shake of his head with that soft smile on his face. “Don’t wanna keep you from work. I’ll make it myself, thanks doll!”

The door to the café swings open and three girls walk in together, laughter filling the room as they make their way over to you. Bucky’s movements snap your head back to him as he casually slips behind the counter, stepping up to the coffee machines and you head back to the register, keeping awareness of his presence as always.

Since Bucky’s shift doesn’t start yet, he stays lingering behind the counter and engages in conversation with Gina when he notices you getting busy again. From where you stand you can hear snippets of their conversation - Bucky asking about Nikita and when he gets to see him again.

You never realized they are that close but the thought of Bucky caring about that little boy instantly heats your skin. There’s a softness to imagining him in that role, and you can easily picture how good he must be with kids.

After all, you’ve seen it before - the way his face lights up when he catches sight of children toddling along beside their parents, the way he bends down to their height, engages them in little conversations that always leave them giggling or grinning from ear to ear. It’s endearing and really no wonder that every child he talks to seems to adore him.

But what really tugs at your heart, what causes a flutter deep in your chest, is the subtle way Bucky’s attention keeps drifting back to you.

Even in the middle of his chat with Gina, you can feel his gaze lingering on you. There is a quiet fondness in the way he watches you go about your work, always wearing that soft expression.

It’s not like he’s checking if you’re doing your job right - nothing about it feels critical or scrutinizing. Instead, it’s as if he’s simply enjoying observing you, absorbing the way you move through your tasks, as though he’s eager to learn all the little details that make up your routine.

And surprisingly, it doesn’t make you as nervous as you might have believed. If anything, there is something soothing about his attention, like a silent reassurance you never knew you needed.

Occasionally, throughout your shift, Bucky strikes up conversations with familiar customers - frequent flyers whose names he already knows by heart. You catch bits and pieces of their easy small talk, but even then, his eyes always find their way back to you.

And every time you meet them, your heart swells with hope that perhaps the reason he came in early for his shift might be you.

****

Your week has been nothing short of overwhelming and frustrating - packed with assignments, papers to write, and facts to memorize. To top it off, a fellow student had yelled at you for breaking his pen, and you still remember that disappointed glint in your professor's eyes after failing to give him satisfying answers in class.

It feels like you are constantly juggling everything at once, and somehow, the balance has tipped entirely.

Sleep has become a rare luxury, replaced by caffeine-fueled study sessions that stretch into the early hours of the morning.

As you walk to the café for your afternoon shift, a heavy sigh escapes your lips, the exhaustion settling in your bones.

You rarely work afternoon shifts, but this one fits perfectly behind your friday classes and you have been too swamped the rest of the week to pick up any shifts at all.

Your pace is slower than usual, feet dragging slightly on the pavement. There is no real need to hurry today. Normally, your steps would quicken as you approached the café, that familiar, sweet sign with its three big B’s always managing to lift your mood.

But today the excitement isn’t there. Not when you know Bucky has the day off. Without him there, the urgency to get to work just isn’t the same.

But, thinking about it, it might be for the best that Bucky is not around today. You can’t imagine you look all that appealing right now, with dark bags under your eyes - the kind that no amount of concealer could hide. Your skin has that worn-out, dull shimmer to it - the kind that no amount of caffeine could mask.

You catch a glimpse of your reflection in a shop window as you pass and wince slightly. The fatigue shows in your features, and for a moment, you’re thankful that this day won’t include the possibility of Bucky catching sight of you in this state.

You’re partly relieved to have a shift where you can simply focus on getting through it without feeling self-conscious. There is no need to hide how utterly drained you feel because you really couldn’t care less how your appearance would affect your customers. You just need to make it through these few hours, go home, and hopefully, finally get some rest.

You pull open the door, gathering what little composure you can muster. The all-known blend of rich coffee, baked pastries, and warm, cozy air greets you as always, along with the chatter from the packed room. It’s busy, as expected for this time of day, but the environment surprisingly helps ground you as you weave your way through the crowd, slipping between patrons.

Your eyes catch Winifred at the back, her beaming smile a quick but comforting sight before she disappears behind the office door with a wave.

Side-stepping two men chatting near the line, you get a clearer view of the counter and freeze - feet refusing to continue.

Thanks to the work schedule you know who your coworkers are today. Peter was assigned, as well as Wanda, a nice, but slightly odd girl with a thick accent and laser-like focus on her task.

You had prepared for them both. But it isn’t Wanda standing next to Peter behind the counter.

It’s Bucky.

Your heart jumps into your throat and you’re not sure if it’s because of the surprise of seeing him or because of how unprepared you feel in this exact moment. You didn’t even check your hair in a car window before entering.

He’s here - on his supposed day off - laughing with a guy on the other side of the counter as he works the espresso machine, his movements smooth and practiced; no surprise there. His presence is so casual and effortless that you find yourself thinking your tired eyes might have looked at the wrong day on the schedule and perhaps you aren’t even supposed to work today. Though Winifred wasn’t at all surprised to see you.

Your head spins at the simple thought and yet a ripple of warmth shoots through you at the sight of him, making you momentarily forget just how drained you are.

While every fiber of your being wants to feel self-conscious about your tired eyes and the imperfections on your skin, craving to stay hidden between the line of people, the longer you watch him work, it gets overtaken by something else.

That same old lightness that seems to follow him wherever he goes and sticks to you when you’re near enough, soaking into your veins and filling them with energy. You can practically feel them fizzle.

You would have liked to linger in this moment just a little longer, but it’s cut short abruptly when he spots you. His polite smile brightens instantly, eyebrows moving up slightly as his eyes lighten up.

You flash him a smile in return, though you can feel it wobble at the edges, probably more sheepish than anything else. Maybe it even comes off as a grimace with the exhaustion weighing on you, but you quickly break eye contact and resume walking.

For a moment, you make out Bucky’s hand pausing mid-motion, hovering above the counter before he slides a to-go cup to the waiting guy on the other side.

Passing by, you can feel his gaze trailing after you, burning softly against your skin, a quiet but intense presence that follows you even when you’re not looking.

You busy yourself with dialing in for the shift, wrapping your apron around your waist, doing your best to shake off the fatigue and the flutter that Bucky’s unexpected presence elicits in you.

From behind you, you catch the sound of his voice, though it sounds a little distracted, asking the next customer to repeat their order.

You glance back, quickly greeting Peter as you pass, but your focus is drawn to the pastry case, where a small woman waits for service. You keep your hands moving, bagging up her choice of pastries - two croissants and four scones - but make out Bucky’s head turning in your direction a few times.

You steal a glance at him from the corner of your eye, noticing the slight furrow in his brow as he works. He’s a little slower now, less sure in his movements than when you first walked in. It’s subtle, but you can tell his focus is slipping. Something about his energy has shifted.

Minutes pass and the three of you stay busy with the steady stream of customers. You remain behind the pastry case, preparing the treats for the eager crowd. In between transactions, you notice Bucky taking a step in your direction, hesitating each time like he wants to step closer but keeps pulling himself back at the last second.

He returns to the register every time, tending to the next person in line, but there is an urgency in his movements now. His hands got quicker again, fingers tapping impatiently against the counter as he waits for the coffee to brew and his gaze falls back to you every so often but you avoid it.

Another few minutes tick by and you begin to settle into the rhythm of the shift when a sudden shout rings out from the front.

Your head snaps up, eyes locking onto the group of people stepping back from the counter hastily, startled by the splash of coffee that arcs through the air.

The cup that had caused the commotion clinks against the counter, slipping in Bucky’s hand and his other one shoots out to hold it steady before it can meet the ground alongside the coffee that was in it moments before.

“Shit, I’m so sorry,” Bucky exclaims, his voice thick with frustration as he shakes his head at himself, wiping the spilled brown liquor from his hands. He quickly puts away the cup and apologizes again to the man it was meant for and the crowd of people who got startled.

The customer, a guy who looks to be in his mid-twenties, holds up his hands in a placating gesture, clearly not bothered by the accident. His jacket sleeve is stained with coffee, but he brushes it off with a casual shrug. “No worries, man, really. Nothing happened, you’re good!”

Bucky doesn’t seem to relax. You can see the tension in his jaw, the way his shoulders are still tight as he remakes the drink with stiff, almost mechanical precision. You’ve never seen him so rattled but then again, he has been unfocused ever since he saw you.

Work continues steadily for the next half hour, with the rush of patrons finally starting to taper off. The café gradually empties, the throng thinning out until only a handful of people remain, some of them sitting in booths going on with their conversations.

You catch sight of Bucky leaning in closer to Peter, murmuring something you can’t quite make out. Peter nods, and without another word and a small pat on Peter’s shoulder, Bucky steps back from the counter.

This time, his hesitation is gone as he strides over to you.

He stops beside you, eyes on your profile. “Hey,” he speaks softly, voice low.

You finish helping a boy, thanking him for the tip before turning to Bucky with a small smile.

“Hey,” you reply, voice matching his softness but quieter. You turn your attention to the young girl in front of you, requesting a cookie. Reaching for a bag to tuck the treat inside, you continue the conversation, though your eyes stay focused downward.

“Didn’t expect to see you here today,” you comment, sensing his gaze on you.

“Yeah, uh, I took Wanda’s shift,” Bucky responds, his voice a little more tentative now. You notice him shuffling slightly beside you, standing up straighter.

He offers no further explanation as to why he picked up the shift, and you don’t feel the energy to ask about it. For some reason, the simple act of bagging a cookie while talking to him feels like a juggling act your tired brain isn’t quite up for.

So all you manage is a noncommittal hum in response.

The girl leaves with her cookie and Bucky stays beside you, solid and unyielding in his gaze. It presses on you like a weight as the moments pass.

Your stomach flutters uneasily when you realize there’s no line left to distract you, no excuse to stay busy.

You move automatically, reaching for the paper bags, rearranging them with a bit more force than necessary, trying to give yourself something to focus on, something other than Bucky’s eyes burning into you.

“Are you okay?” he asks finally, slowly and lowly, as if the question is something private meant only for you. It is. You feel the shift in his tone, the way he leans in slightly as if he needs a sincere answer to his sincere question.

It pulls your attention to him and you reluctantly lift your head, your heart twisting at the sight. Bucky gazes down at you with an expression far more serious than you’ve ever seen. His blue eyes, usually filled with a glimmering light when he looks at you, hold an amount of concern that seems to have an impact on his stiff muscles.

“I’m fine, Bucky,” you declare gently, smiling at him in hopes it’ll reassure him, though even before the words have left your lips completely, you felt it wasn’t entirely convincing.

Bucky studies you a moment longer. His eyes trace your features, dark brows hanging low, but you don’t take your words back.

Then, after a pause he lets out a long drawn sigh, hanging his head in defeat. He obviously doesn’t believe you, but he doesn’t push it. The concern in his eyes remains but he lets it go, stepping back from you slowly.

He walks over to the coffee machines, deliberately trying to feign casualness. He grabs a cup and turns the familiar button after checking if Peter needs some help at the register, the whirring sound of brewing coffee filling the brief silence between you.

“You want some coffee?” he asks, like clockwork - just as he does every time you work together.

Without thinking, you open your mouth to decline, as usual. It’s almost muscle memory at this point, your automatic response. But then, mid-through, you pause. Another shot of caffeine can’t hurt. You can use the energy to get home safely without passing out after this shift.

The cup fills, steam rises, and Bucky turns to you when you take too long to answer.

You hesitate for a beat, then shift your gaze away, feeling a little awkward. “Yeah, I’ll take one,” you decide, stepping beside him to grab yourself a cup, eyes not moving to him.

But before you can reach for one, Bucky’s hand wraps gently around your wrist, halting you. The touch is light, but enough to make your pulse quicken. “Hold on,” he remarks, his voice filled with concern rather than confusion. “You never want coffee when I ask.” His intense eyes search your face again.

“If you always expect me to say no, then why do you keep asking?”

Bucky doesn’t respond immediately. He just keeps looking at you, quietly pleading for honesty. “That ain’t the point,” he softy counters but his voice carries insistence. “Something’s wrong.”

You sigh. God, you’re tired. You really need that coffee and you’d certainly feel terrible for getting annoyed at Bucky. He’s just trying to figure you out. He cares. That thought alone presses against the wall you’ve been trying to maintain all day.

Gently, you pull your wrist from his loose grip, and he lets his hand fall back to his side, though his gaze doesn’t waver.

“Nothing’s wrong.” Damn, that came out hollow. “I’m just a little stressed,” you add when he starts to shake his head, “and I could use a cup. It’s just coffee, Bucky.”

You see the muscles in his jaw tighten and his hand comes up to run through his hair.

“It’s not just coffee, darling,” he sighs. There’s a pause in which he assesses you again, then he continues. “Alright. Don’t take this the wrong way, doll. You know you’re a beautiful gal, but… you look like you’re about to drop dead.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. It looks like tiredness comes with an attitude, because your mind foregoes the part where he called you beautiful, only hearing the other side.

“Well.” You draw out the word. “If you don’t want me to drop dead, then let me have some coffee.” There is a bit of edge to your tone you hadn’t exactly intended, but you’re too tired to smooth it out. You also don’t wait for him to respond, quickly reaching for another cup and pressing the button before Bucky can grab your arm again.

Bucky stays quiet for a moment, watching you with those piercing blue eyes that seem to see right through your walls. He doesn’t look angry - just worried.

As the coffee pours you hear him take a breath. “Alright,” Bucky says quietly, almost under his breath. “I’m sorry, Y/n,” he adds after a short pause. Firmness, sincerity, and perhaps an amount of regret are all wrapped in his tone.

He used your name. You haven’t heard him say your name since the first time working here. And never with that much conviction.

“I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m just… worried.” His voice softens even more, it sounds almost pleading and he takes a quick glance back at Peter, who was busy attending to the few patrons mingling about, before refocusing on you, his hand brushing over his hair. “I’ve seen you stressed before. Like when you kept going on about how worried you were for that exam. I watched you go through the stuff you had to learn in your head while remaining so incredibly focused and sweet during work. I admire that, Y/n. I must’ve told you a thousand times you’d ace it, but you wouldn’t believe me.” He chuckles lowly, sheepishly, and he licks his lips, before continuing. His gaze leaves you, mind seemingly far in his memories.

“Or your first day here. You were so nervous about making a mistake. You asked so many questions, were so interested in everything. I kept thinking about you all day. Every day, really.” He took another deep breath. It comes out a little unsteady and his eyes quickly flicker over to you, not quite meeting your own, but still searching your features.

“But this… this is different, and- I don’t know. I don’t like it. Hate it, honestly. Seeing you like this.”

His words hit you deep. The genuine concern and sincerity in his tone make your chest tighten, throat closing up and you feel yourself losing your breath as he takes a small step closer, eyes now fully on yours again. The nerves in his voice that had been there are gone now. Because he’s sure of what he says next. It’s clear in his tone.

“But, sweetheart, even through it all, you still manage to be the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. Drop dead gorgeous, honestly.”

You let out a surprised huff of laughter, partly because it’s easier than acknowledging and processing the meaning of his words. Heat creeps up your cheeks and all you feel like doing is bolt out of the door at the other end of the room but your feet are rooted to the spot. Perhaps, the floor would just give away and you’d fall deep down into the unknown.

That still would be kinder than standing in front of Bucky right now after his heavy confessions, feeling too vulnerable under his soft gaze.

You’re not able to meet his eyes, dropping your head. You know he is still looking at you. You don’t have to feel it to know it. That gentle expression, the reassuring smile - like he’s silently conveying that everything’s okay.

“Let me make you feel better, yeah?” Bucky’s voice is barely above a whisper, gentle, yet filled with intent. He gives you a moment, letting his earlier confessions sink in, before taking hold of the now full cup that is meant for you. Your eyes widen slightly when you see him grab the can of freshly steamed milk, an almost eager smile tugging at his lips.

“Are you pulling your latte art on me?” you ask with a light laugh, some of the tension in your chest loosening. There is a little bit of a teasing note in your voice now, your heartbeat beginning to slow.

“Sure am, doll!” Bucky grins proudly, lifting the cup higher. His brow furrows in concentration as he carefully pours the milk with a steady hand, his tongue briefly poking out as he narrows his eyes to get the design just right. You had seen him do this many times before but never for you.

The precision and dedication he’s giving to something as simple as your coffee makes your heart swell. You’re the one watching him now with a soft smile, utterly mesmerized by how serious he’s taking it.

You take a glance at the other cup - the one Bucky had made for himself and an idea hits you. Steam still rises from the liquid inside, the scent of fresh coffee meeting your nose.

You look around the counter, spotting the milk pot Peter had just set down and, without a second thought, you pick up Bucky’s cup, ready to return the favor. You lift the milk and begin to pour.

“What are you doing, doll?” Bucky’s gaze stays fixed on the cup in his hand, but his smile is beaming, curiosity lacing his words.

“I don’t think I need to tell you that,” you retort, your voice playful as you guide the milk with careful precision, weaving your hand in the practiced motions until you’re satisfied with the design.

Bucky’s chuckle is warm and soft and for a moment, it feels like the world shrinks down to just the two of you, the quiet intimacy cutting through the noise of the ebbing café.

Bucky finishes his work and sets the milk pot back down. There is a slight hesitation in his movements as he hands over the cup for you, a touch of nervousness creeping into his stance. You smile up at him and offer the cup in your hand to him. His hands are a little clammy as they touch yours. You swap coffees.

Your mouth falls open as you take a glance down into the cup. In the creamy white foam, a delicate rose is perfectly etched, its petals spiraling gracefully outward. Surrounding the rose are tiny, intricate hearts, floating around the bloom. The detail is so mesmerizing that all you can do is stare at it.

“This is incredible, Bucky,” you breathe out, voice filled with amazement. When you look up, he’s already watching you. He’s breathing deeply and his smile is in place. But there is also something in his eyes he doesn’t try to hold back - pure adoration, shining clearly like he just can’t hide it anymore.

He holds his own cup carefully, as if it’s something precious, something fragile, as if even the tiniest movement would mess up the heart in white swirling in his cup. Though, you feel like the simple heart pales in comparison to the masterpiece he’s created for you.

“It’s beautiful,” you say quietly, a hint of shyness in your tone. You feel a tiny amount of embarrassment but Bucky just keeps smiling, so warm and incredibly fond, that any hint of insecurity melts away.

“Learned it for you,” he admits it softly, his words slipping out like a secret he’s been holding onto for too long. Your heart skips a beat, eyes widening slightly before you look back down at the cup, tracing the design over and over again with your gaze.

“I love it, Bucky. I love these little hearts,” you address admiringly, almost dreamily.

Bucky is beaming above you, and although he shakes his head softly, his smile never leaves his face. He takes in a deep breath, seemingly needing to compose himself and looks down at his own cup, at the heart in it.

“Well,” he vocalizes, affection surrounded by a playful edge, “my heart’s bigger.”

You laugh, rolling your eyes playfully. “Don’t flatter yourself, Barnes. It’s the only thing I know how to do.”

He chuckles, that vibrating sound, that always makes your chest feel lighter. “I can teach you,” he offers, his bright blues looking deeply into your eyes, so full of affection that it makes your breath catch for a second.

And in that second - because that’s all it takes - everything shifts. For the better. Always for the better, because it’s hard to feel anything negative when Bucky smiles at you the way he does.

“you deserve

the kind of love

like hot coffee between your lips

that loves you gently

but makes you bold

and gives you life between the sips”

- a.b.

[strangersteddierthings]

Gut Instinct: Interlude - Eddie

[Art] [Ao3] [Prologue] [Chapter One] [Chapter Two] [Interlude]

A/N: Friday evening from Eddie's POV.

-

“Holy shit,” Jeff says, “you actually do know King Steve?”

Eddie almost gives himself whiplash from how quickly he looks from Erica to Dustin and, holy shit, the Keg Stand King himself, Steve Harrington.

“I told you he’s awesome,” Dustin says in a tone that implies Jeff’s an idiot. “Come on Steve, sit beside me. I’ll help you with the rules.”

“Hold up,” Eddie says, rounding to Harrington. He looks like a deer caught in the headlights for a moment, which is hilarious to Eddie. Who knew Harrington could be startled? However, any joy he might have gotten from startling Harrington is fleeting, because Eddie doesn’t trust why he’s here. Why he would agree to sub. Harrington’s always been bad news, and Eddie doesn’t trust him as far as he can throw him, no matter how nice he is to look at. “Your character is?”

“Oh, uh, tiefling paladin, oath of the crown,” Harrington says, trying to catch Dustin’s eye in what Eddie thinks Steve believes is a subtle way.

Eddie shoots a glare at him. No way Harrington came up with that character. It had to have been made by Dustin, which Eddie would normally count as cheating and kick someone out for, but… Well, he’s got to admit a little intrigued. Harrington might not have made his own character, but he pronounced tiefling right and knew to say the subclass. “Right. And why’d you agree to sub?”

There is a small pause before Harrington simply says, “Dustin asked.”

He’s got to admit to some surprise here. He didn’t think Harrington could actually care about other people, but he seems genuine. Honest, almost. “Fine.” Eddie watches as Dustin steers Harrington to an empty seat. Eddie takes his own spot back on the throne. If Harrington is going to play, he’ll need to tweak the battle a little. Having another higher-level paladin in the group throws off his carefully calculated challenge rating. Easy enough to tweak. A few more minions can join the fight, and Vecna can still be deadly as he is now without changes. He’ll see if he needs to up the hit points for Vecna after the first combat encounter. If they breeze through that, Vecna’s definitely getting a boost.

Also... Well, also, Eddie’s almost a little excited that Harrington’s going to see this side of him. Yes, Harrington was witness to more than his fair share of cafeteria rants but that’s different. That’s Eddie acting out against the system because it’s rigged in favor of people like Harrington, and against people like Eddie. Here, Harrington will get to see Eddie perform.

While plotting, he does take the time to eavesdrop at bit. Specifically on Harrington.

“Hi. I’m Steve.”

“I know,” Gareth says, and he couldn’t sound more disinterested in talking to Harrington if he tried. Eddie’s a little proud of him.

“Right. And you are…?”

“Gareth.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“We’ve met. Like four times,” Gareth says dismissively and Eddie grins behind his DM screen. How many times had Harrington dismissed them? He knows he shouldn’t be feeling this vindicated. And yet…

There’s a bit of a pause before Eddie hears Harrington ask, “Isn’t Lucas in this club, too?”

“Well, yeah, that’s why you’re here. To fill in for him. ‘Cause he’s in the basketball game,” Dustin answers.

“And he’s okay with missing this game?”

“Well, uh, he doesn’t exactly know he’s missing it?” Dustin says it like a question and Eddie can’t help but roll his eyes. There’s no way Lucas Sinclair, budding athlete that he is, doesn’t know he’s missing this game. He made his choice.

“I’m sorry, what?” Harrington says.

“He asked us to get Eddie to postpone the game, but Eddie said no. Besides, Mike’s leaving the state tomorrow morning and we’d have to wait two weeks to play again otherwise,” Dustin explains, “and, uh, we haven't seen him since he asked us after the assemble to tell him that the game would not be postponed.”

Eddie finally lifts his head to watch the exchange. He can’t see Dustin’s face, as Dustin is facing Harrington, but that leaves Eddie with a perfect view of Harrington.

“That’s bullshit, Henderson,” Harrington’s raises his voice. He doesn’t have an expression on his face that would suggest anger. It’s more disappointment, but either way, Eddie’s not about to watch Harrington bully one of his sheep.

“Watch it, Harrington,” Eddie snaps, matching Harrington’s energy. “You don’t get to bully people around here.”

“That’s not- right, sorry. Just, can we postpone for like ten more minutes?” Harrington asks.

“Why the Hell would we do that?” Eddie is bewildered, he’ll admit that. Why does Harrington need ten more minutes?

“So I can go tell Lucas this game wasn’t postponed, like he thinks it is,” that bit hissed in Dustin’s direction, “and he might only be going to the basketball game because he thinks this one isn’t happening.”

“Oh,” Eddie says, a bit dumbly. Has he read Lucas all wrong? Is he more nerd than jock? It’s strange that Harrington might be the authority on that matter, but he seems terribly invested in these kids. Maybe Eddie has read Harrington all wrong? Maybe he really has changed, and is just here to make a bunch of kids happy? “Fine. Ten minutes. We’re starting without you or Sinclair if it takes longer than that.”

“Thanks!” Harrington smiles at him.

Eddie’s self-aware enough to know why his insides flutter in the face of the full Harrington Charm directed at him. He scrunches his face in disgust at himself. He was, is, over the crush he’d had on Harrington. That was a blip on his radar of Unfortunate and Bad Crushes on Stupid Straight Boys. A lot of people made the list (he’s a hopeless romantic, sue him) so Harrington’s not special.

Isn’t going to be special. Eddie’s going to kill his paladin as quickly as possible and then kick him out to go watch the basketball game or something.

-

“Any moment now Steve's going to walk back through that door with Lucas. So, I hope you are prepared to have two extra players tonight. He's very persuasive. He'll get Lucas to come around. If anyone can, it's Steve. Just you wait,” Dustin is saying when Harrington steps back into the room. Not that Eddie was watching the door for him.

Harrington’s got a look on his face that isn’t pleased. Great.

“Oh no,” Erica sighs, “that’s your Disappointed Parent face.”

“I don’t have a ‘Disappointed Parent’ face,” Harrington says before turning his gaze to Eddie. “Eddie, Lucas thinks you don’t like him.”

“Why does he think that?” Eddie stands up from where he was sitting. He doesn’t like the tone in Harrington’s voice and he’s not going to stay sitting so Harrington can talk down to him, literally or figuratively.

“He thinks you don’t like him because he’s missed previous games. Thinks you don’t like him so much that he had to have Dustin and Mike ask about this game because he believes you’d have said no immediately to him,” Harrington steps further into the room, and Eddie watches as all his friends tense. Ready to jump to his defense if need be. Eddie’s tense, too, because this is the Harrington he remembers. The one who thinks his word is law, and everyone should obey. Well, Eddie’s not going just roll over. Of course the jock shows up in defense of the other jock.

“I don’t hate him, but the budding jock made his choice,” Eddie scoffs, dismissive.

“You’re a fucking hypocrite, Eddie. ‘You don’t get to bully people around here.’” Harrington uses a deeper tone that Eddie thinks is supposed to represent Eddie’s voice as he parrots the words back to him. “It’s only okay for you to be the bully, huh?”

Eddie gasps, offended. “Of the two of us, Harrington, I’m not the fucking bully,” Eddie moves away from the table, rounding it to go get into Harrington’s face, but Gareth reaches out and grabs his elbow, stopping Eddie in his tracks. It’s the right call, because Eddie doesn’t want to have to fist fight Harrington in front of the club, but he’ll fucking do it.

“You don’t know shit about me,” Harrington fires back. “I was a dick in high school, yeah, but I grew the fuck up. You’re bullying a fifteen-year-old because he wants to, what, play sports? Making him choose between the two? That’s fucked up.”

“Again, I didn’t fucking make him choose!” Eddie growls back. Eddie didn’t! Lucas made his choice the day he tried out for basketball. Eddie knew it. Lucas knew it. Lucas’s friends knew it. The only one in the room who doesn’t seem to get it is Harrington, who must truly believe you can have your cake and eat it too. Unsurprising, Eddie thinks, since Harrington was born with a silver spoon in his goddamn mouth that probably already had cake on it. Ice cream, too.

“You did! By not postponing the fucking game! School sports have a set schedule, and you could have looked at it before scheduling Hellfire,” Harrington says. “Lucas is allowed to like sports and nerd things. And you two,” he pivots to point between Dustin and Mike, “are being kind of shitty right now. After everything you’ve gone through together, you couldn’t stick by his side for this?”

“Hey, I have to get on a plane tomorrow morning,” Mike defends himself. “If they postponed, then I wouldn’t have gotten to play!”

“So, it’s fine that Lucas can’t play, but terrible if you can’t? That’s a load of shit, Wheeler. Lucas is supposed to be your friend.”

“He is my friend-“

“Then act like it!” Harrington says. “Will and El aren't here anymore; are you really okay with losing Lucas, too?”

“That is not fair,” Mike’s tone is almost flat as he glares at Harrington.

“Steve, you’re being defensive, right now,” Dustin speaks up, giving Harrington a pointed look.

Those words cause a shift in Harrington for some reason. Eddie watches him deflate before turning back to Eddie and saying, “If you want Lucas to believe you don’t hate him, you’d go to the game, too.”

“Lucas can draw his own conclusion about how I feel. I’m not responsible for his emotions, Harrington,” Eddie growls. As soon as the words leave his mouth, he feels a little regret. He didn’t say anything untrue but it’s not how he really feels. He’s not usually this dismissive of Hellfire member’s feelings but Harrington’s mere presence has set him into fight mode and he realizes he’s saying things he doesn’t believe just to argue. Why is he trying so hard to get into a fight right now?

“You’re right, but you’re also older than him and should take some responsibility for how you act around him,” Harrington says, and Eddie feels shame. He fucking hates it. Only Wayne’s able to evoke shame from him, and it’s bullshit that Harrington’s doing it now. “He thinks you’re being shitty to him, on purpose. He thinks you treat him differently than you do Dustin or Mike. And that’s fucked up. He’s just a kid, he looks up to you, and he's been through enough.”

Eddie doesn’t argue back. Harrington is right. Eddie knows he’s right. That shame coils in his gut, and he’s pissed that it’s Harrington making him feel that way. That it’s Harrington who is pointing out Eddie’s shortcomings.

There’s a shuffling sound and Dustin is standing, shoving his things into his backpack. He doesn’t say anything, but he does look at Mike. The two seem to have a silent conversation because after a moment Mike nods, and begins to gather his stuff, too.

“So, you two are out?” Eddie’s asks. He tries to keep his voice neutral, but he feels a little betrayed. Of course, Harrington shows up and ruins everything for him. He should have known he’d never stack up against Steve Harrington.

It’s childish to think because Dustin and Mike aren’t picking Harrington. He knows that. He knows they’re picking Lucas, their lifelong friend.

And yet.

It’s like Eddie is fifteen and a sophomore again, getting picked last for PE games and group projects. Not being ‘cool’ enough, which had made younger him feel not good enough.

“Harrington’s right,” Dustin says as he swings his backpack over his shoulder, “Lucas does really want to be here. He sounded real upset when he asked us to talk to you about changing the day of the game. I also really want to play, it’s going to suck missing the final session, but it’s going to suck more to bail on a years-long friendship.”

“Yeah. Lucas has never bailed on us,” Mike adds, even though he sounds upset for agreeing.

Erica lets out a put-upon sigh, “he has bailed on me, but never when it mattered, I guess. I expect that you’re buying the tickets, Steve?”

“Unbelievable!” Eddie throws his hands in the air, anger in his voice, probably laced with the hurt he feels. This was always going to be the outcome. Ever since the first time Dustin brought up Harrington, Eddie knew he’d be second fiddle. He shouldn’t feel so upset by this but fuck, he does.

“A compromise?” Harrington offers. “Mike, when are you back?”

“Uhh, the plane is supposed to land Thursday afternoon; I’ll be back in town that night sometime.”

“Great,” Harrington looks to Eddie. “Can you guys play next Friday, or even Thursday night if Mike isn’t jet-lagged too much?”

“School’s locked up next week,” Dustin answers before he can. Which is fine, he was going to say the same thing anyway.

“What about your basement, Mike?” Harrington changes his attention to Mike.

“Won’t fit all of us,” Mike says. “It was barely enough room when it was just Dustin, Lucas, Will, and I. The table's not big enough.”

“Plus, it stinks like boy,” Erica wrinkles her nose, “unwashed, gross boy.”

“It’s not that bad!”

“Yes, it is,” Harrington says.

“Steve, I have a compromise,” Erica says. “Regarding a promise you made to me. For life.”

Erica now has Harrington’s full attention it seems, and also Eddies, because what kind of lifelong promise has Harrington made to this child? “Yes, Erica?” Harrington asks.

“We play at your house next Friday. You will provide snacks and pizza,” she says it like it’s decided, before pointing her finger at Harrington, then dragging her hand through the air to point at everyone, “and all you nerds will stop bickering like old people. You’ll also have to buy our tickets because I didn’t bring any money. In return, I will shorten your life debt to the day after I graduate from high school.”

“Done! Deal!” Harrington accepts instantly, easily, and with a lot of relief in his voice. What the fuck did he owe Erica? Eddie’s dying to know, because he’s curious by nature. Not because anything about Harrington actually interests him. “I’ll be buying all the basketball tickets, and just tell me what pizza you want. That work for everyone?”

“Your parents will be okay with that?” Dustin asks.

“Oh, they’ll be gone by Friday for sure so no issue. So, will that work for everyone?” Harrington asks.

Eddie exchanges looks with his friends, a silent agreement to go with whatever they want. He hopes they say no, but Jeff speaks an affirmative first, so he, Gareth, and Frankie parrot that yes.

Erica stalks up to Harrington, stopping just in front of him, hand out, palm up. With a sigh, Harrington pulls his wallet out of his back pocket and drops it into Erica’s hand. Erica says, “I’ll get back to you on the pizza I want. I’ll go buy tickets. Are you all coming?”

Gareth says, “Uh, Harrington’s not gonna buy-“

“I said are. You. Coming?” Erica repeats, hands on her hips.

“Yes,” Gareth answers, then looks surprised he did. Eddie’s surprised, too, but only a little. He really likes Erica. He’s not going to be in school when her time to really join the club comes, but he’s going to make sure Gareth recruits her anyway. Somehow.

Erica gives one nod and heads out the door.

Eddie just watches for a moment as everyone gathers their things before he heaves a sigh and starts to pack up, too.

It’s not until Harrington speaks that Eddie realizes he’s alone with him in the green room, everyone else having left already. “I'm sorry. I’m sorry for coming in here and like, immediately attacking you. That wasn’t cool of me.”

Eddie looks him over before scoffing. “It’s whatever, man.”

“It’s really not,” Harrington says. “I know that, like, a lot of work goes into this game and I’m sorry. So, like, if you want anything extra, or need something for the game next week, I’ll get it. I’ll help however I can.”

Eddie pauses in the middle of his clean up, to look up at Harrington and study him. Those were the last words he expects to come out of Harrington’s mouth. An apology? Surely he’s entered the Twilight Zone. Harrington not only looks sincere, but sounds it, too.

He hates how, ever since Harrington’s arrival, Eddie feels like he’s lost control of his emotions. He’s always been on a hair trigger when Harrington and his stupid, handsome face were near. It’s the one crush he was never able to fully get over. And he hates it. He hates that he feels anything for the ex-king of Hawkins High besides contempt.

What should he say here? Thank you? Fuck off?

When Eddie finally replies, he settles for, “I don’t know if I hate you or not.”

“That’s fair,” Harrington says quietly, sincerely, and Eddie hates that, too. Hates that he can see the Harrington Dustin is always praising. If even just a little. Speaking of Dustin.

“I’ve got to know, Harrington. How’d this group of kids get to be so important to you?” Eddie goes back to gathering up the stuff on the table, needing something to do or he’s going to do something stupid. Like let Harrington have his full attention. "Why is their continued friendship important to you?"

“I used to babysit them. Try and keep them out of trouble, which is impossible because they’re too fucking curious and smart. That’s a godawful combination, you know?”

Eddie lifts one corner of his mouth upwards in a smile he tries to fight back down because, “My uncle would agree with you.”

“Yeah, well, they don’t need a babysitter anymore but-“ Harrington cuts his words off, and when Eddie glances to him, he’s wearing a thoughtful expression. Harrington finally continues with, “But they’re family now. They can be a bunch of shitheads, but I love them. And they hate it when I say this, but they should get to be kids as long as they can.”

He doesn’t respond. Instead, he takes the time to process the words and he gathers up his things. Maybe he is wrong about Harrington. Maybe, he has changed. People are allowed to do that, Eddie knows, but he’s never witnessed it. Not really.

“Help me load what I’ll need for the session next week into my van and I’ll think about forgiving you for ruining this one,” Eddie says once everything is gathered.

“Yes!” Harrington agrees, a bit too eagerly and quickly. Like he couldn’t wait to be useful to Eddie in some way. Eddie shoots him a confused and concerned look before picking up the first stack of things and heading out. Between the two of them they make quick work of it all.

When they finally get to the gym, Dustin is sitting on the sidewalk waiting for them with their tickets. Eddie follows Dustin into the gym and watches with amusement as Dustin manhandles Harrington into sitting next to Mike. Dustin then sits next to Harrington, then pats the spot next to him while grinning at Eddie. Eddie looks up and sees that Gareth, Jeff, Frankie, and Erica have taken seats towards the top of the bleachers. He debates joining them but ends up dropping onto the bench next to Dustin.

“Oh, shit.” He hears Harrington say to himself.

“What, what is it?” Dustin asks.

“Brenda.”

“What?”

“Brenda!” Harrington hisses, “I, uh, I stood her up. To come to your game instead.”

Eddie swivels to look at Harrington, eyes wide and eyebrows raised in both surprise and delight as he asks, “You ditched a date to play DnD?”

Harrington and Eddie just look at each other for a moment before he watches Harrington blush with embarrassment. “Like I said. Dustin asked.”

Eddie shakes his head because he can’t believe Harrington. Steve ‘Lady’s Man’ Harrington ditched a lady because a fourteen-year-old asked him to. He turns back to the court, so he doesn’t give away how cute he thinks that is.

Wait. No. He doesn’t think anything Harrington does is cute. He doesn't!

Since he’s looking at the court, Eddie looks for Lucas and finds him just in time to see Lucas’s face light up when he sees the whole club sitting there. There’s that shame from earlier back, pooling in his gut.

Everyone stays for the whole game. They all get to see Lucas make the winning shot. Eddie finds himself cheering with the rest of the stands.

He joins everyone with swarming Lucas. He doesn’t push in and get close, the shame in his stomach keeping him at a distance, but he does make eye contact and gives two thumbs up. Lucas looks overjoyed at just that, and it’s suddenly too much inside. Too loud.

He needs to go.

He makes it halfway to his van before he hears Harrington again.

“Hey, Eddie, wait!”

Eddie does wait, turning as he shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Harrington. Not done turning my night upside down?”

“Nah, man. Just wanted to give you my number.”

“Your number?” Eddie says, voice a bit delirious because what the fuck. Why would Harrington want Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson to have his number?

“Yeah. So that when it’s closer to the Dungeons game you can call, let me know the time that works for you all. Maybe even drop off some of that stuff I helped you load before the game? Whatever makes it easier for you.”

“Oh,” why is he disappointed by that answer? What had he been hoping it would be? “Yeah. Sure. I don’t have a pen on me-“

“No issue. Already wrote it down,” Harrington says, pulling the paper from his pocket, offering it to Eddie.

He reaches out slowly and takes it, balling his fist around it without looking at it, eyes locked onto Harrington's face. The nearest light source is behind Harrington, so he can’t see the features of his face but that’s fine. He’s not looking for them. He stares, just looking. Harrington has not been what he thought he would be. Eddie’s not used to being wrong about things. Harrington confuses him, makes him a little crazy, and he’s got a week to unpack the why of that. Dare he say it, he might be looking forward to the game at Harrington’s house.

Eddie turns on his heel and heads off into the night without another word. If he stays any longer he might try something stupid, like asking if he and Harrington might have a shot at friendship after all.

“Okay then. Have a good night! See you next week!” Harrington shouts at his back and Eddie lets himself smile about it.

[ornii]

Wednesday addams x male reader who can read minds and sees the future and he always teases her. During a fencing session she can't land a hit and gets increasingly angry then tells him she loves him and it catches him out and she manages to get a hit but it leaves a scar on his eye. He's furious thinking she said it just to win they argue and she says she meant it then a lot of fluff.

They are already dating and he's irish please.

So Heimdall basically, but more simply put:

“It’s Skill, Not luck.”

Wednesday Addams X Male Reader

Fencing, the art of footwork and swordplay was founded ages ago and to this day still a practical challenge for those not versed in their footsteps. In Nevermore there were two divisions, same teams of course. Men’s Division and Women’s division, both intense divisions of fencing and sharp skills. But for both, they were dominated by the “Power Couple.”

Wednesday Addams was a fierce competitor, swift and decisive with her movements, she made little error and did not err from her training. Teaching too of the Class was a challenge she enjoyed and profoundly excelled in. Her Boyfriend on the other hand, it was very different.

(Y/n), Wednesdays Irish Boytoy as many would claim, was also top of the men’s division, not for his evil calculating attitude, but his absolute abilities. Foresight. Being able to see the future, see your opponents moves before they can even make them gives you an almost omnipresent advantage in many situations, fencing especially. It was a normal day being King of the castle, another student falls before (Y/n), as he scores the final point.

“Game goes to (Y/n).” The teacher said, and (Y/n) calmly took off his visor to smile, he offers his hand to the student who takes it.

“A bit predictable, but nonetheless, good effort.” He says, (Y/n) then casually turns to face all the other students.

“Well, anyone else? I’m open to all challenges?” He says with a vast number of confidence, nobody really took up his offer, why would they? he could literally read them like a book, know their attacks, what they’re going to do, it’s impossible to touch him. everyone was silent until one voice decided to test her mettle.

“I’ll play your game.” A voice creeps from behind everyone, they split like the ocean and to Wedensday, dressed in Black as usual. (Y/n) was actually taken aback by his girlfriend challenging his spot.

“A ghrá?” (Love?)” he asks a bit shocked, he shrugs it off and smiles. “Very funny Wednesday..” he combs his hair back but sees she isn’t the one for jokes or in the mood to jest. He knows that look in her eyes.

“With all due respect, you’re the one only I haven’t bested in any division, I plan on changing that… I suppose luck has to do with that.”

“Not Luck, Skill.” (Y/n) responds, but decides that now would be the time, he turns to the teacher.

“Then let’s begin.” He asks, the Match was set but (Y/n) did not put his visor to cover his mask on.

“(Y/n)? Mask?” The Teacher Orders, (Y/n) calmly raised his hand. “It’s no need, she won’t lay a finger on this beautiful face she adores.” (Y/n) smugly got in position. Wednesday kept a scowl, everyone was at the ready. (Y/n) watches calmly as his foresight activates, an almost ethereal spirit from Wednesday shows her next movement, right foot forward, strong lunge to the left. Her body follows suit and (Y/n) effortlessly dodges the first stab. Everyone tries to contain their laughter, seeing Wedensday get played like a fiddle. She begins to pick up the pace, going for more quick and calculated stabs. (Y/n) begins to dodge left and right, reading each movement.

“Well! Someone’s confident today!” (Y/n) smugly steps back, he locks his arm in and counters Wednesday, a loud thud is heard, (Y/n) again dodged her stab, this time his rapier casually poking her forehead, only shouted by her visor was her growing anger.

“Point, (Y/n).” The teacher allows the two to separate. (Y/n) calmly raising his rapier. He can sense the unease, the growing anger in Wedensday, he grins and blows a kiss. The students watching try not to laugh as the couple have their little spout. “You know Wednesday, it’s like a song really. You’ve heard the tune before, the lyrics, you know them by heart so there’s no reason for you to struggle to sing the words. That’s what this is like… I know what you’re going to do, makes counters too easy.” He explains, She said nothing.

“Wish to try again black dove?” (Y/n) said, Wedensday without any hesitation gets back in her stance.

“Shut up and Duel..” she mutters and this time attacks more ferociously. Students watch with bated breath as (Y/n) sees, she’s going faster, trying to overwhelm his foresight. But even going as fast as a cheetah, her attacks remain futile as (Y/n) ducks down, and delivers a firm poke to her naval.

“Point two, (Y/n).” The teacher delivers the second one.

“This is best to five sweetheart. I know you can do better.” (Y/n) steps back, and Wednesday removes her visor, “Fine, no safety, I will win.” She and (Y/n) lock eyes. His confidence is overwhelming, (Y/n) doesn’t even assume a combat stance, Wedensday charges and uses her quick movements, but each attack was perfectly parried. (Y/n) calmly walks back as Wedensday attempts to put more pressure on him.

“Love, this is amusing…. But please, I’d rather not cut you. I do love you after all.” He tilts his head, dodging her stab. Wednesday is visibly angry, and says something (Y/n) could never foresee.

“I love you too! Which is why I’m trying to stab you—“ she blurts out in a small little fit of anger, (Y/n)’s foresight took a nosedive as his eyes go wide, “wait, did you—“ before he can ask, he could see the rapier racing to his face, with barely any hesitation (Y/n) threw his blade up to attempt to counter, but it was too late for him.

A splash of blood hits the ground and (Y/n) falls back, clenching his eye, grunge of pain echo though the room and stunned silence. Wednesday gripped her rapier, adrenaline finally causing though her cold veins, she suddenly comes down from her high and sees what she’s done, the blood splatter reached her forehead and she wiped the warm liquid from her skin and then quickly saw (Y/n) being helped by the teacher. Gut twisting regret was all over her face, she took a step to try to approach him, but something stopped her. Guilt.

Wednesday sat outside the nurses office, waiting impatiently. Her members have been agitated so bad, her foot is tapping the ground. She’s never done this, she could only stare at the ground, pondering the fate of her boyfriend. The doors knob turned and opened, the Nurse stepped out with bloody gloves and Wednesday hopped out of her chair.

“How is He?” Was her immediate first question.

“He’s fine, thankfully the cut just tore though the cheek muscle and part of the upper eyebrow, missed his cornea by millimeters. should be fine with a bad scar. I have to contact his family.” The Nurse walks off and Wednesday turns to the door, a wave of negative emotions washes over her. She gripped the handle and twisted the knob to enter. She saw (Y/n)’s face, half of it, he was staring at the wall.

“… What do you want?” He asks coldly. Wednesday had never felt so, off.

“I, wished to speak with you—“

“Why? You got what you wanted. You wanted to use our relationship to get one over me, you got what you wanted, right?” He turns to her, letting her see the other half, his eye was covered in gauze with clear medical tape holding it there, the beginning and end of the scar can be seen under the pad.

“You’re right, it is What i wanted, and I was selfish and, evil to do something like that.”

“Really?” He said with such Fake Shock, Wednesday couldn’t be angry at him for it. He looks back at the wall and then from the Corner of his good eye, sees her sit next to him.

“(Y/n), Im sorry…” She Mutters, (Y/n) turns to face her, she could barley look at him.

“You’re disfigured because of me, when you went down I had this sense of fulfillment and pride, but then, it felt like needles were tearing though my heart. I always thought I’d enjoy that sensation but I didn’t. I was selfish, bitter and angry, I hope you can forgive me.” Wednesday lays out her apology, it’s dead air for a moment until (Y/n) sighs.

“First of all, I’m not disfigured..” he grabs the tape and pulls it off, the scar wasn’t entirely bad. The bloods Coagulation around his scar so no bleeding, just your puckish rouge like scar now, his eye looks just fine, albeit a bit red.

“Second, if you want to make it up to me..” he begins, “Kiss it to make it feel better.” He said with a smug smile, Wednesday was actually taken aback, seems his attitude has always stayed intact. “But if you don’t want to—“ he trails on, before feeling her palms grip his face, more accurately the cheeks of his face and she lays a cold but, loving kiss on his closed eye. She lets go and (Y/n) stares at her, actually at a loss for words, he couldn’t hide his smile. He scoots over and lied back, laying his head on her lap, Wednesday was less than enthusiastic about it, his eye looked up to hers.

“Ye know, this might be dumb to say..” he starts,

“But what?” She replies.

“You kissing my eye, I actually didn’t see that coming..” he chuckles, Wednesday closed her eyes, trying to stiffen a smile to not show.

“Heh.. I love you, Wednesday..”

“… I love you too..”

[talesofadragon]

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭 𝐌𝐞 𝐌𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐁𝐥𝐮𝐞

Chapter III - Synopsis: There's something profoundly heartfelt about Y/N and her daughter. They're the portrait Steve has always longed to behold—the kind of magic no artist could ever capture. He’ll be damned if he ever lets their vibrant hues fade away.

Pairing: Professor!Steve Rogers x Student!Reader/Mum!Reader

Warnings: Age Gap (14 years. Both are adults), teacher/student dynamic, abusive relationship, gaslighting, emotional manipulation, terrible partner, co-parenting. 

Genre: Angst | Fluff | Emotional Hurt/Comfort | Slow Burn | Age Gap | Teacher/Student

Word Count: 4.4K Words

All Masterlists | Paint Me Midnight Blue Masterlist

𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐋𝐄-𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐃 his credentials before logging into the online platform. He had always been meticulous, exceedingly determined to overcome headwinds that stood in his way. Yet, technology was one of those pesky challenges that seemed determined to thwart him. Whenever he thought he finally got the hang of it, the insidious alien would be one step ahead, either pulling a new update from under its sleeve or decisively crashing and glitching—outright mocking him every single time.

Maybe it was because he was an artist. And artists often clashed with that treacherous leech, mixing like oil and water. But today, Steve hoped for a touch of mercy from his computer since Y/N had agreed to attend the class virtually.

Under normal circumstances, this class was offered on-site. But this was one of those rare instances where Steve had the upper hand and could bend the rules to his advantage. After all, what was the point of being Chairman of the Arts and Culture Department if he couldn’t make a few exceptions? As long as he agreed to teach this one class online, no one could contest it. No one would even know.

Steve had logged into the virtual classroom with a sense of accomplishment, feeling as content as Bob Ross on The Joy of Painting. With ten minutes to spare before the class began, it was no surprise to find Y/N’s profile in the virtual waiting room.

He cleared his throat and hovered his cursor over the “admit” button. Steve expected Y/N’s face to pop up—her image pristine as always. Or, if she decided to turn her camera off, then he anticipated the soft cadence of her “good morning” filtering through his laptop’s speakers. Instead, his camera framed large, midnight-blue eyes—two luminous gems reminiscent of precious jewels and full of innocent wonder.

“Hi!!” Nyla, the owner of those sparkling eyes Steve remembered from their day at the park, greeted him with a wide, radiant smile. She waved energetically, her face nearly pressed against the screen of the device Y/N was using for the online session. 

“Well, hello there, Little Princess."

Steve’s smile grew wider, genuinely delighted as he watched Nyla’s giggles cause tiny tremors in her small frame. Nyla was perched on a wooden chair. Steve saw a cozy kitchen with sage green walls and charming white cabinets behind her.

“I’m not a princess,” the little girl said with a shy smile, her elbows resting on a round wooden table and her little hands propping up her cheeks. “I’m Nyla.”

Steve gasped dramatically, covering his mouth with his hand in mock surprise. This elicited another burst of giggles from the toddler.

“No! How can a young girl with such beauty and cuteness be anything but a princess? That’s outrageous. I refuse to believe it.”

“But it’s true! I don’t live in a castle. I don’t even have a crown.”

Steve hummed thoughtfully, examining her through the screen. He tilted his head and peered intently at her head. “Well, I don’t see a crown on your head,” he pointed out, pretending to scrutinize her for hidden regalia. “But I’m not falling for that. Cinderella didn’t have a crown at first, neither did Belle, Ariel, or Snow White,” he listed, catching Nyla’s rapt attention with each name. Something good came out of his friendship with Tony Stark, the owner of this university, and the father of young Morgan Stark, who was currently in a Pocahontas phase.

Nyla listened intently, her blue eyes sparkling with admiration. “You know almost all of them! Are you a prince?”

Steve’s lips twitched, tugging to the side to draw a grin on his face. “I don’t live in a castle,” he quipped. “I don’t even have a crown.”

“Silly you! Princes don’t always wear crowns!”

“Well, if that’s the case, then maybe princesses don’t always wear crowns either. So, I’m sure you must be a princess in disguise.”

Steve mock bowed, his hand resting over his heart in a dramatic gesture. It had been a long while since he had a carefree conversation, away from the weight of responsibilities, meetings, and deadlines. He had missed this—living in a bubble of make-believe, adrift from the real world. 

Wasn’t this how art was born? Wasn’t creativity a child of uninhibited imagination, meandering along endless fields of wild inventiveness?

Nyla shifted, her lips parting and her hand raising in the air. As she began to speak, ready to continue their delightful chat, another voice suddenly emanated from Steve’s speakers—belonging to someone much older than the toddler.

“Ny! Sweetheart, how many times have I told you? Don’t lean on the table while standing on the chair. You could hurt yourself.”

As Y/N rushed into view on Steve’s laptop, she wrapped Nyla in her arms, gently lifting her off the table and settling her back into the chair. With her back turned to the screen, she was oblivious to the camera, which gave Steve a clear and unobstructed view of her backside.

Pink swept across Steve’s cheeks, his throat suddenly feeling dry. Though he was raised as a gentleman, the first half of the term could not negate his genesis and nature. In other words, his natural instincts prevailed, drawing his eyes to Y/N’s ass no matter his best efforts at looking away.

In his defense, Y/N was wearing purple pajamas—her long-sleeved top tucked into bottoms that were either unusually snug or simply accentuated her curves remarkably well. It wasn’t just her striking eyes that commanded attention; her silhouette, subtly framed by the tight fabric, held a magnetic allure all its own.

What the hell are you on, Rogers? Get a grip, you fucking moron! You sound like a horny teenager.

 “Uh… good morning, Miss Y/L/N.”

Y/N jumped at the unexpected greeting, almost knocking over whatever was on the table in her haste to turn around. Steve couldn’t blame her; even he cringed at how restrained and awkward he sounded.

“Professor Rogers!” Y/N exclaimed, gripping the table for dear life. Her mouth moved, but no sound came out, at least not loud enough to be picked up by the speakers. She glanced between him and her daughter. “I-I… uh. How long have you been on the call?”

“Not long. About five minutes.”

“Five minutes?”

“Yes.” Steve cleared his throat, trying to hide his amusement at Y/N’s fluster. He craned his neck, his eyes returning to Nyla. “I had wonderful company.”

Y/N followed his gaze, turning her attention to her daughter. Steve wondered if she did that partly to hide the growing blush on her cheeks.

“I didn’t touch anything,” Nyla asserted, anticipating her mother’s question. “The screen was blank, then it just popped up!” She raised her hands next to her face, all ten fingers spread wide for dramatic effect. “I was just taking a look.”

Nyla’s innocence and cuteness seemed to ease Y/N’s demeanor. The older woman’s shoulders relaxed as she gently stroked Nyla’s hair. She kissed her cheek and whispered something in her ear. Nyla nodded understandingly, then jumped off the chair. She gave Steve a shy smile before scurrying away to sit right next to Y/N.

“I apologize, Professor. I realized I had forgotten my glasses, so I went to fetch them. I didn’t think you’d be on the call this early, or I would have taken the time to mute myself and turn off the camera.”

As Steve watched Y/N put on her glasses with a slight blush, the lenses accentuated the sparkle in her eyes, making them look even more captivating. They fit her well.

“There’s nothing to apologize for, Miss Y/L/N. I’m about to begin the session. Feel free to keep your camera on if you like. And if you have any questions, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Noted, Professor. Thank you.”

As his students filled the classroom, Steve began explaining the next chapter in their course: Neo-Expressionism. While contemporary art aimed to advance creative ideas and styles, it did so by building on the palettes of its predecessors. This movement marked a return to figurative painting and emotional intensity with a contemporary twist and a more confrontational approach to presentation.

As an introduction to this style, Steve wanted to keep it light, especially since almost half of the students seemed distracted, too lost in their thoughts. He glanced at Y/N, surprised to see that while she had muted herself, she still kept her camera on.

From his peripheral vision, he saw her jotting down notes. Nyla appeared engrossed as well, pushing her chair closer to where Y/N sat. Y/N, in turn, fondly gazed at her daughter, bending down to gently scoop her into her arms and place her in the chair.

Booping Nyla’s nose and tickling her stomach, Y/N reached to the side to bring the coloring books and pencil case closer. She observed her daughter coloring while her little feet enthusiastically kicked in the air with delight.

Steve’s heart swelled, and he sounded overly enthusiastic when he featured Riding with Death by Jean-Michel Basquiat, but it wasn’t like any of his students were paying much attention. He fielded occasional questions from the crowd as he showcased works by Anselm Kiefer and Georg Baselitz next.

His laptop pinged. Of course, Y/N would be the only one engaged enough to ask thoughtful questions, even when she wasn’t physically present.

Y/N Y/L/N: What are the defining features of Neo-Expressionist art, and how do they differ from earlier Expressionism?

Steve smiled unabashedly, his expression clear on the camera as he mouthed one word: “smart.”

He straightened up and spent ten minutes explaining the differences between the two movements.

“Neo-Expressionism, meaning New-Expressionism, infused the earlier epoch with a new sense of purpose. While early Expressionism emerged in the early twentieth century as a response to societal conflicts and World War I, Neo-Expressionism thrived in the late twentieth century, challenging conceptual art and minimalism. In essence, Neo-Expressionism rebelled against these movements to create more vivid and visceral art, both literally and figuratively.”

The rest of the class continued in this vein, with Y/N being the main instigator of his artistic discourse. Even when other students raised their hands, Steve had to stifle a groan, suspecting their questions would pale in comparison to Y/N’s.

Not that he was favoring her over his other students—except that he was. So far, she was the only one who hadn’t made him question his decision to pursue academia as his next career step.

“Alright, this concludes today’s class. Please sign your names on the attendance sheet on your way out. You can email me any questions you have about this chapter so far or visit my office during the allocated office hours,” Steve announced, as eager students signed their names and left his class.

Smiling at each student as they passed, Steve began to pack his things, placing his books and notebook into his satchel. After flinging the bag around his neck, he picked up his laptop, keeping it open to avoid interrupting the call with Y/N. She was still on mute, with no sound coming from her end, but her camera remained on, showing her pursed lips as she jotted down more notes in her book.

It was a long walk to Steve’s office. When he opened the door and stepped inside, he let out a long exhale of relief. After setting his satchel aside and placing his laptop on his desk, he sank into the comfort of his snug office chair. The chair's wheels whirred as it skidded across the tiled floor. Steve adjusted the laptop and flashed Y/N a bright smile.

“Do you have any more questions, Miss Y/L/N?”

Y/N looked up, her gaze disoriented. She blinked twice at the screen, clearly startled by the end of the class. She had been so engrossed in her notes that she hadn’t expected the session to be over.

“Oh… uh, Professor Rogers. No, that’s okay. I can come by your office another time to ask.”

Steve chuckled softly, his amusement evident. Y/N’s cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink.

“We are, or rather, I am already in my office, Miss Y/L/N,” Steve said with a smirk. “It’s office hours now, so feel free to ask me any questions you might have. No matter how many questions you’ve scribbled in the margins of your notebook.”

Y/N let out a small laugh, her head dipping to hide her lightheartedness. Nyla glanced at her mother, her blue eyes darting between Steve and Y/N. Seeing her mother searching for a question, Nyla seized the opportunity. She leaned closer to the screen, her small frame angled towards it as she asked, “Did they use crayons or watercolors during New Expressy-m?” She had the most serious expression plastered on her teeny tiny face, ears perked up and eager to hear the response. 

Y/N’s hands flew to cover her mouth, probably in an attempt to mask her amusement. But even though Steve and Y/N wore matching grins, their hearts easily melted at the innocence and cuteness of that question. 

“They used a lot of tools, Little Princess,” Steve replied, noticing Y/N’s interest in the nickname he used for her daughter. “Mainly acrylic paint. But who’s to say they didn’t use coloring pencils or watercolors?”

 Nyla bobbed her head understandingly, taking in everything Steve said. She tapped her index finger against the side of her mouth, her gaze steady but her thoughts whirling around her little head. “Are ac-lilic paints the big girl paints Mama uses sometimes? 

Steve swiftly caught Y/N’s nod while his focus remained uninterruptedly on Nyla. “Yes, that’s correct.”

“Are artists only artists because they paint and draw?”

“No. Art is versatile. It means that it doesn’t have one form. Anyone can be an artist. And it looks like you are one! Are you a secret artist, too, Little Princess? My, my. Can I sneak a peek at those coloring books you have? 

The most radiant smile decorated Nyla’s face. The toddler excitedly squealed, reaching for her coloring books. One was already open, displaying a half-completed image of a ballerina. Nyla gripped her book tightly, proudly displaying her work for Steve to see. 

Instead of the soft pink and light colors that usually accompanied a ballerina’s image, the tutu was a vibrant shade of purple, and the ballerina’s hair decorated her face in a halo of wild embers—orange and phoenix red shadows hung like an autumn crown atop her head. 

“This is…wow. I’m speechless.”

Y/N snorted, unable to rein in her expression at the double meaning behind the phrase. She covered it with a cough, distracting her daughter with a hand around her waist. 

Nyla, for her part, did not seem to understand or suspect any subliminal implication. She jabbed her finger across the page, tracing the purple tutu, reminiscent of Maleficent’s envenomed magic. 

“You said that art in New Express-ym is vibrant,” Nyla explained the reasoning behind her technique, emphasizing the “i” in vibrant. “I made the bal-rina in their style. Is it pretty?”

“No, it’s not,” Steve replied. In the split second it took him to continue, he noticed two things. The first was the tremor of Nyla’s lips and the silver mist in her night-sky irises. The second, equally striking, was Y/N’s clenched jaw and acrimonious eyes. But Steve was undeterred as he said, “It’s glorious. Why aren’t you a student in my class, Miss Nyla? You’d give your mother a run for her money!”

Nyla laughed. Her euphonious and soothing sound filled his ears and spread through every corner of his office. She bounced up and down in her seat, her excitement sparkling like iridescent fairy lights on a cozy summer night. She hugged her coloring book tighter and beamed at her mother. Y/N was also smiling, a transparent sheen threatening to become visibly emotional in her eyes.

She cleared her throat, though whether to stop herself from crying or to clear her airways, Steve couldn’t tell.

“Ny, didn’t you promise to read me the new story you were learning the other day?”

Gasping, Nyla nodded eagerly. She opened her mouth to respond but then turned back to the screen. “What’s your name?”

“Steve, Little Princess,” Steve answered with a soft smile.

Nyla mimicked his expression, then turned her attention back to her mother. “Can Steve stay to listen?”

Precious. So freaking precious.

Unfortunately, Steve could not. For various reasons, none of which were due to the one Y/N mentioned. She carefully peeled the coloring book from her daughter’s hands, her fingers intertwining with Nyla’s tiny ones. “Ny,” she said softly, like the whispers of a spring breeze caressing flower petals after a long absence. “Professor Rogers has to get back to class.”

“But–”

Y/N gently lifted her daughter into her arms, placed her on her lap, and kissed the crown of her head. “We’ll have to say goodbye for now,” she said softly, brushing her daughter’s hair aside and rocking her as she spoke. “I’ll tell Professor Rogers all about the story when I see him.”

“You promise?” Nyla’s irises gleamed with hope, her little pinky extended towards Y/N.

Y/N’s pinky wrapped around hers. It amazed Steve how Nyla’s hand was even smaller than Y/N’s. “Pinky, double sugar-coated promise.”

Nyla surged forward, giving Y/N a wet kiss on her cheek. Her bright eyes met Steve’s, her happiness radiating even through the distance between them. “Bye, bye, Steve!”

“Bye, Little Princess. Thank you for your time. See you soon, Miss Y/L/N.”

“See you soon, Professor Rogers. And thank you, truly.”

The screen turned black faster than Steve had anticipated, the silence both loud and deafening in his empty office. For the first time in a while, the quiet was a welcome reprieve. In the solitude, ideas swirled and emotions flared in the back of his mind. He reached for his sketchbook and grabbed the charcoals from his desk. With vibrant, bold strokes, he sketched with abandon, letting his emotions flow freely as he tried to give form to love and laughter.

“Come in,” Steve’s voice resonated through his office, cutting through the rhythmic scratching of his pencil on yellow paper. The dark lines shaping the silhouettes were an extension of his focus, his thoughts too absorbed in the image to stray.

He heard the door creak open, followed by the soft click of heels on the floor. Steve lifted his gaze from the sketch, an expression of mild disinterest clouding his eyes. “Miss Y/L/N,” he greeted, almost awkwardly, as he noticed her standing at the door. He quickly closed the sketchbook, his feet shuffling as they found solid ground. “Why are you still standing? Please, take a seat.”

Y/N nodded politely, settling into the chair opposite Steve. She waited for him to make himself comfortable, his sketchbook set aside and his hands intertwined on the desk. “Professor Rogers,” Y/N began, her voice soft, “I won’t take up much of your time. I wanted to thank you—for the last session, I mean.”

It had been two days since Y/N had attended the online class. He had seen her today, but she had arrived later than usual. Technically, she had been on time, but the room was already crowded, leaving no chance for a private conversation. Not that he expected one. He was just glad she made it.

“There’s no need to thank me, Miss Y/L/N. Your dedication didn’t waver even virtually, and for that, I must thank you for taking the class so seriously.”

Y/N’s cheeks flushed with a delicate pink, deepening as her eyes met Steve’s. “That’s too kind of you, Professor. You’ve always been so thoughtful and accommodating to your students’ needs. And in that regard, I also wanted to apologize.”

“Apologize?” Steve’s eyebrows furrowed in surprise. “Apologize for what?”

“For our earlier interaction in your office,” Y/N clarified. Steve didn’t press further, but she noticed his confusion. Inhaling deeply, Y/N straightened her posture. “Earlier this semester, you wanted to adjust my grades. I reacted… rather aggressively to your offer. And I’m terribly—”

“If anyone should be apologizing for this situation, Miss Y/L/N, it certainly isn’t you. I’m the one who’s sorry.”

Steve’s voice was firm and precise. Y/N’s fingers nervously picked at the skin on her hands. “Professor?” she responded, unsure of how to proceed.

Steve stretched his fingers, almost as if he was reaching for her hand. A second too long, his brain caught up to his actions. Briskly, his fingers retracted, curling inside his palm and under his thumb.

"You’re not just the best student in my class; you’re the best I’ve ever had the pleasure of teaching," Steve said earnestly, observing Y/N’s newfound shyness. "What I saw at the park and during Wednesday’s session only strengthened my belief in your abilities and character. However, I realize my actions might have overstepped. I want you to know that favoritism was never my aim, and your impressive achievements have earned you every bit of recognition and success in my class.”

Y/N blinked, her gaze fixed on Steve. Her tongue flicked out to moisten her lips as she absorbed his words. She nodded slowly, the only sign she acknowledged his sentiments.

Steve waited for her response, giving her space to process his words. To his surprise, Y/N delivered the last thing he expected. “I will be dropping out of your class.”

Steve’s posture stiffened, his eyes widening. “What?”

Y/N tightened her grip on her bag, her purse in her lap seemingly more interesting than the professor before her.

“As you know, I…have a special situation. Not that I’m seeking or ever sought special treatment! Besides you and Professor Barnes, the university’s administration office is the only one aware of Nyla. I wouldn’t have disclosed it if the records didn’t require it.”

“Is everything alright with your daughter, Miss Y/L/N?”

 Y/N sighed heavily, and it was then that Steve noticed the strain on her shoulders. 

“I am Nyla’s primary, or to be more specific, only caretaker, Professor Rogers,” Y/N shared. Though her tone held no remorse and accepted no shame, yet there was a layer of hesitance there. “She’s my first priority. My life revolves around her and so does everything I do. I take morning classes to accommodate my kindergarten schedule. But, unfortunately, Nyla has been facing issues with them.”

“What kind of issues?” Steve blurted out before he could restrain himself. He opened his mouth again, to apologize for his slip, but Y/N continued.  

“The children there have been horrible to her due to…certain reasons. And with her mother being a twenty-two-year-old college student, the administration isn’t taking my concerns seriously.” 

Steve’s heart ached under the weight of her words. Almost instinctively, he let his hand move to Y/N’s side, his fingertips brushing against hers with a feather-light touch. Her breath caught, and her eyes locked onto the contact, a flicker of surprise and vulnerability crossing her face. He made no attempt to move closer, his fingers lingering in place—barely making contact but reaching out with a silent offer of understanding and support. 

Y/N’s delicate fingers trembled slightly against his, a subtle tremor that spoke volumes. Steve felt a shiver run down his spine. He blamed it on the nerve endings beneath his fingertips.

“And what happens now?” Steve asked. 

“I pulled her out,” Y/N replied sheepishly, her dejection evident in the tremor of her voice. “I tried to fix it as much as I could. But it looks like the only solution is to homeschool Nyla for the rest of the term. It’s too late to enroll her anywhere else.”

“And you’re taking an extra semester off to tend to her needs?”

“Yes,” Y/N affirmed without hesitation.

“Miss Y/L/N.” Steve bit the inside of his cheek, his tone almost like a reprimand. “Y/N,” he added, surprising himself by using her first name and drawing a look of surprise from her. Steve lowered his head slightly to meet her gaze, offering a warm, sincere smile that reflected his admiration and empathy. “You are truly admirable. One day, your daughter will look back on what you’ve done for her and feel immense pride in having you as her mother.”

Y/N’s tears began to flow, cascading gently down her cheeks. Seeing her vulnerability struck something deep within Steve. He hesitated, feeling a pang of helplessness as he observed her from across the desk. Acting on impulse rather than thought, he reached out with the lightest touch, catching a single tear as it glistened on the edge of her cheek.  He brushed it away with a tender stroke, his fingers gliding across her face like delicate butterfly kisses on a silky canvas.

Y/N’s downcast eyes raised, two gemstones hidden behind a glassy frame. Devastatingly beautiful, Steve’s mind murmured. A classical masterpiece.

“As your professor, and as someone who cares about your well-being, I cannot allow this to happen.”

“But–”

“No, buts, Y/N. There must be a way. Why don’t you enroll her in the university’s early childhood center?”

The mention of the center made Y/N pause, but she remained unconvinced. “It’s expensive, Professor.”

“It’s free for faculty and staff,” Steve countered promptly.

“But I’m neither faculty nor staff.”

Dammit! Steve had forgotten that detail. His mind raced with possibilities, frustrated by the unfairness of the situation. Perhaps it was his hero complex, his altruism as Bucky had pointed out, or maybe just a reminder of his own past. But Steve was determined to help Y/N—especially because she was Y/N.

He withdrew his hand, already missing her warmth. If only she had worked at the university. He didn’t want to involve Tony or even Hill; Y/N didn’t need additional scrutiny or accusations of favoritism. But there had to be something he could do!

 His eyes fell on his files and closed sketchbook. Was this really the right time to be overwhelmed by paperwork?

‘You really need an assistant to help you file through all these papers,’ Bucky’s words twirled in his head. 

And then it clicked! He didn’t trust anyone with his material. But Y/N wasn’t anyone. 

He smiled widely, his joy contrasting with Y/N’s solemnity. “Miss Y/L/N,” Steve said, hope lacing his voice. “What if I told you I might have a solution?”

Requested by @crazyunsexycool

At this point, this series depicts the love Steve is starting to have for Nyla. Isn't she the freaking cutest?! I mean, if this melts your heart, then you're definitely not ready for what chapters 4 and 5 will be bringing!

Let me know how you're feeling about this series so far!

All the love,

Sab.

[ellethespaceunicorn]

Love, Napoleon!: Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Sweet Desserts and Sweeter Kisses

Rating: Explicit, 18+, Minors - DNI

Pairing: Napoleon Solo x Black!OFC

Fandom: The Man from U.N.C.L.E.

Word Count: 1.9K

Series Summary: Love letters can only do so much, sometimes you need a grand romantic gesture. This is the love story of Napoleon “Leon” Solo and Roberta “Bobbie” Collins.

Chapter Summary: Bobbie and Leon entertain Gaby and Illya.

Warnings: p-in-v sex, creampie, fluff

A/N: Unbeta’d, we die like people who tried their best. 

Dividers by: @saradika-graphics 

Support/Reblog banner by me

Cover Art by me

Series Masterlist

My Masterlist

“Leon! It’s been six months. You are now legally obligated to introduce me to your friends.” Bobbie moves around the kitchen, checking on various dishes on the stove and in the oven.

“Gaby is beside herself to meet you,” Leon acknowledges from his post, leaning in the doorway to the quaint kitchenette.

“Well, see? Gaby is excited, so why aren’t you?” She challenges, pulling out a baking dish from the oven and setting it on the counter.

“It’s not Gaby that I’m worried about. She’s a sweetheart once you get past the tough exterior. But Illya? Tough is all he knows. I can’t exactly blame him,” he says, looking over to where Bobbie picked her head up and looked at him for more information. “And I can’t exactly tell you why that is. Sorry, love.”

“Right, right. Need-to-know basis. But not to worry; I’ve got a secret weapon for Illya. I made a dish specifically for him. And if I know anything, it’s the way to a man’s heart, and that is through his stomach. So, even though this is nerve-wracking as all get out, I think he’s going to at least tolerate it,” she huffs, balling up a dishtowel before tossing it on the counter.

Napoleon walks up behind Bobbie and wraps his arms around her, his head resting on her shoulder as he pulls her into him. “You know, I am so proud of you for putting all this together for my friends. You’ve done so much to make everything perfect, and I think you deserve a little treat of your own.”

“What are you-” Bobbie starts, only to be cut off by the shock of Napoleon’s hand smoothing down her sweater-covered breast and further down over her corduroy knee-length skirt. When it disappears under the fabric, she squirms. “Leon, they’re gonna be here any minute!”

“Well then, I’d better make this fast,” he whispers. Walking backward, Napoleon rests his hips against the counter behind him. Holding Bobbie against himself with one hand across her middle and one in her panties, he continues toying with her swelling clit until her legs buckle. “There she is, so close already.”

“Leon…please,” she trails off, her wringing hands at her sides. She knows if she reaches for his hand, he will stop. Throwing her head back against his chest, she looks up into his face and witnesses how much he truly enjoys having this power over her. That doesn’t stop her from pleading with her big brown eyes.

“Oh, you know exactly what that look does to me,” he growls, leaning down to capture her lips with his own. His hand that was around her middle comes up to cradle her face, his thumb caressing her cheek as she stands on her tiptoes to deepen the kiss. Breaking the kiss, Napoleon turns them around to face the counter, pulling Bobbie’s skirt up and her panties down. “That kiss of yours is going to be the death of me.”

He has his pants unzipped, his cock pulled out, and inside of her in record time. He knew he wouldn’t last long, not that it mattered. His main goal is to get her off so her mind clears. He moves his hips back before slamming them back in, and she is already putty in his hands.

Within minutes, he has Bobbie on the brink of her orgasm. He’s holding her there, his hands on her hips, as he maintains a punishing pace. With every thrust, he pushes her closer to the edge, only to catch her before she can fall. Only when he’s ready will he allow her to come crashing down.

Judging by the footfalls and the sound of the front door of the apartment building closing, he doesn’t have much time. Luckily, he knows how to play her body. His right hand finds her puffy clit while his left hand migrates to her throat. 

Whispering into her ear, “Come for me, pretty girl. Let go and show me you can follow directions like I know you can.”

As if by a magical spell, her walls clamped down around him. He had every intention of fucking her through her orgasm; he really did. But the grip her pussy had on his cock was enough to send him right over the horizon with her. His hips are still as he empties inside her, all while still managing to hold up both of their bodies.

Extricating himself from her hold, Napoleon squats down to pull Bobbie’s underwear back up her legs and rights her skirt again before fixing his clothing.

“I am going to be thinking about my cum leaking out of you all night long,” he sighs, kissing her forehead when she turns around to face him.

Just as she opens her mouth, three sharp knocks sound on the door to her apartment. They fuss over each other for a moment, making sure it doesn’t look like they were just having sex. Once done, they go to the door to greet their guests.

Bobbie swings the door open, greeting the couple in her apartment. “Gaby, Illya. I’m Roberta, but you can call me Bobbie. So nice to finally meet you. I was starting to believe you might be a figment of Leon’s imagination.” She takes their coats, and Napoleon gets drinks ready for them.

“I hope Leon’s imagination flattered me, at least,” Gaby laughs, sipping her dirty martini and winking at Napoleon.

“I only told her the good stuff,” Napoleon replies, bringing a Sazerac to Bobbie and a Manhattan for Illya.

Illya nods to Napoleon, smiles at Bobbie, and remains silent.

Bobbie ushers everyone to the dining table before she starts to bring out dish after dish of foods that are almost too beautiful to eat. Leaving dessert as a surprise, she comes back to the table, and everyone starts to serve themselves. As the first bites are taken, compliments are given to the chef.

“Bobbie, this is delectable,” Gaby hums, covering her mouth with her hand.

“Darling, you have outdone yourself,” Napoleon praises.

“Thank you. I’m so glad you like everything. I’ll be honest, I was nervous that I was going to burn something or undercook something. I was a wreck,” Bobbie giggles, looking over the faces of her boyfriend and her guests. “Eat up; I have a treat for dessert, and I hope you all like it.”

Illya eats in relative silence, not one emotion gracing his face. Bobbie has been secretly staring at him for most of dinner. When the meal is complete, Gaby volunteers to clear the plates away, and the women retreat to the kitchen. While they are out of earshot, Napoleon turns on the record player, and the smooth sounds of Peggy Lee’s Fever fill the air. 

“Peril, what game are you playing at?” Napoleon cuts to the chase, motioning for Illya to sit on the couch with him.

“It’s been a long time since I had dinner with a civilian. My social skills may not be the best. If I don’t say anything, I won’t accidentally-”

“Have a good time?” Napoleon supplies, cutting off Illya.

Illya rolls his eyes. “I’m not afraid to have a good time. I'm worried about getting close to new people. I don’t know how to be a civilian. I’m an agent,” he says, crossing his arms.

“She’s not going to say anything, so I will. You’re on the verge of being rude. So, do yourself a favor and speak to my lovely before she thinks you don’t like her; that’s if she doesn’t already think that,” Napoleon huffs, tilting his head at Illya.

The girls come out of the kitchen with dessert already plated with a big scoop of vanilla ice cream. Gaby places two plates on the coffee table while Bobbie serves Napoleon and Illya. Noticing the look of surprise on Illya’s face, Bobbie thinks the worst.

“Is there something wrong?” she supposes.

“Not at all. I haven’t had sharlotka since I was a little boy. My mother used to let me help make it for special occasions,” he marvels, taking a bite and closing his eyes before nodding and saying, “This is perfect. So was dinner. I apologize for my earlier silence; please don’t think I am dissatisfied with you.”

“Don’t worry about it. I figured you would be the hard sell. Luckily, I had the idea for the sharlotka and knew if anything, you’d at least be impressed by me,” Bobbie jokes, taking a bite of the dish. “Oh wow, you weren’t kidding. That is going in the recipe book, for sure.”

“I’ll have to get that recipe from you. I think you’ve made Illya’s new favorite,” Gaby chuckles, smiling at her husband when a blush creeps up on his face.

When dessert is done, the couples talk for a while over coffee before Illya notices Gaby nuzzling into his side and suggests that they end the night’s fun. By this time, Napoleon is already a pillow for Bobbie as she leans into him from her spot on the couch.

Napoleon picks up Bobbie’s head from his lap, depositing it on the couch after he gets up, not wanting to wake her up just yet. He walks Gaby and Illya to the door, saying goodbye on behalf of himself and Bobbie and promising to tell her that they enjoyed themselves.

Closing the door behind them, he walks over to the couch, where a tired Bobbie is now hanging halfway off the couch. He knows today was a struggle for her; planning an entire dinner and entertaining is no short order. He is so proud of her, not just for today but in general. He thinks the world of her, and nothing could change his mind.

Picking up her limp body from the couch, he takes her into the bedroom and lays her down. He removes her shoes and his own before climbing into bed next to her. He laughs when she cuddles into him and wraps an arm and leg around him possessively. He plants a kiss on her forehead and is met with a mumble from Bobbie.

“What was that, little one?” He presses, cradling her sleepy face in his hand, unsure of what he heard.

“I said I love you, Leon,” she confesses, ducking her head and looking up at him.

Napoleon breaks out into a grin and leans down to kiss Bobbie, only to stop at the last second before their lips touch. Looking into her eyes, he says, “I love you too, Bobbie.”

Bobbie melts in his arms. She knows how Napoleon dotes on her and spoils her. But this love confession of his means the world to her. She also knows that she has loved him for some time now, but the timing was never right to tell him. 

Until tonight, this moment could not happen. Napoleon knew that if she didn’t get along with his fellow agents, it would be quite tricky. But watching her win over Gaby so easily and Illya so charmingly cements in his mind that she is worth every ounce of his love.

Of course, if you ask him, he’s loved her since their first kiss. If he’s honest with himself, he still feels butterflies when her lips touch his.

Chapter 5 (TBD)

A/N: This story is far from over. OMG, I missed my babies so much.

**Tag List**

@deandoesthingstome @cakesandtom @brattymum96 @ambinxe @avengersfan25 @kebabgirl67 @kingliam2019 @astheskycries @enchantedbytomandhenry @rebelangel1102 @thabiddie23 @sweetandgentlecreature @foxyjwls007 @art2emily @titty-teetee @juliaorpll78

Let me know if you wanna be added (or removed) 😁 If you are crossed out, I couldn't tag you

[magical-grrrl666]

Creepypasta art April challenge

Day 4: draw your favorite slender

Wow I got behind on these! But I’m catching up today. For this prompt I chose slenderman… I don’t know why he has bell bottoms, he just does

[duhragonball]

Phantom Blood Liveblog JJBA ch.23-25

He said the thing! 🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞

Last time, Dio sent Zombie Jack the Ripper to kill our heroes, but he didn’t count on our guys using Hamon power to fuck him up.  So now Jack’s face is all messed up, but you should have seen the other guy. 

The other guy:

Well most of the art in Part 1 is great, I still say.

Zeppeli was styling all over Jack and making it look easy, but he orders Jonathan to finish Jack off, and to make it even more challenging, he tosses him a glass of wine to take with him as he chases Jack through a spooky tunnel. Zeppeli has a test for Jonathan: He must not only defeat Jack the Ripper, but do so without spilling a drop of the wine.  If he does spill the glass, then Zeppeli will abandon him, even if he wins. 

Speedwagon finds this absurd, since this is no time to be screwing around, but Zeppeli explains himself with the most awesome of analogies: a shark story.

So this guy got knocked off his boat by some asshole sharks, and he gets tangled up in his own net under water. If the sharks don’t get him, he’ll surely drown, so he cuts off his own leg to get free, then uses his own blood to lure in the shark so he can kill it with a harpoon.  “What the hell does this have to do with wine?” Speedwagon asks.

Zeppeli doesn’t seem to know either, so he falls back on the analogy he gave to Jonathan before he went into the spooky tunnel: the northern winds make the Vikings.  What this means is that the adversity of the harsh winds made the Vikings strong, and so too will this test of Jonathan’s resourcefulness and skill.  If he can’t pull this off, then he’ll never stand a chance against Dio.

I’m pretty sure this was all built hundreds of years ago, but I forgot the backstory behind all this.  Windknights Lot was supposed to be this training ground for knights, and this tunnel on the road to the town has this spooky dungeon next to it, so I’m guessing this was something the knights built for LARPing Zelda games. Jack has this gigantic weapon with a bunch of huge knives on it, and he almost gets the drop on Jonathan, who douses his torch to avoid giving away his position. He searches in the dark for a bit, trying to stay mindful of the tactical insights Zeppeli has taught him during the Jack the Ripper Fight.

Finally, as he gets closer to Jack, he notices that the wine is rippling in the glass from the vibrations given off by Jack’s undead power.  Using his knowledge of Hamon, Jonathan can detect Jack by sensing the disturbances in the liquid. 

This gets Jonathan all fired up, and he pinpoints Jack on the other side of the wall, where he plans to ambush him.  But Jonathan just punches through the wall and...

YEAH!  HOW’S THAT TASTE, DUMMY?!   “From Hell” my ass, you ain’t nothin’!

Moving on, the gang approaches Windknights Lot, and Speedwagon pleads with Zeppeli to teach him Hamon power too, so he can help them fight Dio. Zeppeli insists that Speedwagon lacks the resilience-born-through-tragedy that he and Jonathan share, but he does offer to try to activate his diaphragm or something.  Then he punches him in the gut.  He tells Jonathan he made a mistake in his technique, but it sure looks like he’s just screwing with Speedwagon.  On the other hand, this is basically how he began training Jonathan, so this might have been a good faith attempt. 

Then some kid steals all their stuff using a Wile E. Coyote gadget. He escapes into the far side of a pond, where he thinks he’d be home free, except...

Zeppeli can walk on water!  And Jonathan can kind of do it too, except his Hamon isn’t as strong, so he sinks down to his ankles.  Speedwagon just falls in, of course. 

The kid tries to climb up a cliffside to get away, but Jonathan uses Hamon to cause part of it to break off, so the kid falls and he catches him.  But then zombies come out of the ground and Zeppeli realizes that Dio set a trap for them.

Moments later, the kid, named Poco, snaps out of it and wonders what’s going on.  Turns out Dio hypnotized him or something, and used him to lure the good guys to this battleground, at this time of night.  It’s a clever trick, since Dio and his zombies can’t operate during the day.  And that’s what worries Zeppeli, because the Stone Mask was dangerous enough when no one knew what it could do.  For someone as cunning and evil as Dio to have it is pretty much the worst-case scenario. 

So the crew goes to work taking out all the zombies, and it is glorious.  Part One-y mayhem at its finest.  Zeppeli just takes a bunch of them down like dominos, and Speedwagon hits them with a sledgehammer because fuck yeah.

Jonathan makes his fist enormous and destroys a zombie.  Oh, wait, I’m sorry his fist was always enormous.  I got confused from all this beef. 

Zeppeli confronts Dio and challenges him to come down and fight, but Dio isn’t interested.  He gloats that he’s nearly healed himself from the burns he suffered from the fight at the Joestar mansion. Zeppeli angrily demands to know how many innocents he consumed to heal himself, and Dio asks him how much bread he eats or something.

Hell, let’s just look at it again.  This is fucking awesome.  I’m more partial to “Hey, Baby!” myself, but this scene is a winner from every angle. 

Zeppeli tries to take Dio out with Sunlight Yellow Overdrive, but Dio blocks it by freezing his own arm! Just like a real vampire-- wait no!  No!  Vampires don’t have Iceman power!  Well, Dio does.  He can evaporate all the moisture in his arm all at once, and that chills his flesh, and freezes anything that comes into contact with it. 

The upshot of this is that by using this trick, Dio can freeze Zeppeli’s arm, and disrupt his circulation, which is what he uses to direct Hamon from his blood to his hands.  And so Zeppeli’s attack can’t be launched. 

Dio tries to finish off Zeppeli with his other arm, but before Zeppeli can try to block it Jonathan jumps in and intercepts the blow.  Also Poco was hanging on to Jonathan’s backpack for dear life, so I guess it’s a three-on-one situation now. Good luck, Poco...

[l0nesome-dreams]

Last Line Challenge

Rules: in a new post, show the last line you wrote (or drew) and tag as many people as there are words (or as many as you feel like). 

taged by @whiskygoldwings

(I hope I’m doing this right 😂 I’ve never participated in a last line challenge before! + I don’t really know who to tag 💀✨)

I’ve been feeling extremely unmotivated to draw or write within the past few days despite wanting art of my kiddos. I scrambled through my documents and found some lil snippets of dabbles I’ve got sitting around. Here is one about the dragon hybrid Voorpret AU:

Voss gave Lee a leg up into the ceiling.

“Okay next,” Voss motioned for Vance to come over to him, helping him up into the ceiling with Lee, “Jeez vod what have you been eating?” Vance poked his head out from the missing panel in the ceiling.

“Do you want help up here, or do you want to stay in the hall so the science freaks can come do experiments on you too?” He said resting his chin on his hand.

There was the sound of a door opening down the hall which alerted Voss still standing in the hall.

“Okay okay I take it back! Just get me up there!” Voss whispered loudly. 

He backed up a bit getting a running start before jumping into the air grabbing hold of his batch mates arm. Vance dragged him up, closing the panel before anyone could see them.

“You’re one to talk vod’ika. You weigh a ton.” Vance said a grin forming on his face as his brother looked up at him. 

Though his face was covered Vance knew Voss was deadpanning. 

“Come on you two we can sort this out later. Right now we’re trying to find Voor.” Lee said, crawling further down the vent system. 

The two clones followed suit crawling after her. 

“Hold up a sec,” Lee checked her vambrace, the location of where Voorpret was being held blinking softly, “we may need to get into the halls again the vents don’t seem to go that far, or at least this system of vents.” Lee sighed, continuing to crawl forwards.

They could still travel a bit further until they reached the end of the vents before they’d have to move around in the halls. This compromised their plan, but whatever shape Voorpret was in was what would determine their plan of escape. 

“How much further we-“ Vance was cut off by an agonizing scream.

They all stopped in their tracks. 

“What the kriff was that?” Voss whispered.

Lee looked down at her vambrace again.

“I don’t know, but let’s keep moving so we don’t find out.” Lee said, her voice laced with fear. 

When they did reach the end of the vents, Lee slid the panel aside and Vance lowered Voss down into the hall.

“Where is everyone? I haven’t seen a soul in this facility since we’ve been here. You sure this is the correct location?” Voss said, catching Lee as she hopped out of the vents. 

“Positive.” Lee said while removing her blasters.

Vance hopped out of the vents into his brother’s arms.

They moved against the walls keeping quiet. The trio was starting to feel uneasy at the idea that no one was here. This was a Separatist facility, they were typically crawling with people.

“This is the room.” Lee whispered, pressing the panel to open the door. 

When it slid open the trio was greeted by a massacre. Blood was splattered across parts of the walls and what looked to be a trail of blood that had been dragged from the door panel to behind an examination table. Bodies were laying around, some unrecognizable, limbs torn off, faces nothing but blood. 

“What happened here?” Vance said, flicking on his light that was attached to his helmet.

“Whatever did this,” Lee began as she stepped further into the room examining the mess, “wasn’t human.”

“They should’ve known better to keep wild animals in this place, let alone in cells like these,” Voss motioned towards the destroyed holding cell, “We’d best leave, it’s probably near by.” Voss said.

“We need to find Voorpret quick before whatever did this gets a hold of-” Vance was cut off by a creaking sound.

They all whipped around adrenaline rushing through their bodies. Nothing was there. 

“I don’t like this guys.” Lee said backing up from where the noise had come from.

She felt a drop of something cool hit the back of her neck. She looked up and nearly screamed. 

A mangled body lay over the pipes above her head Voorpret hovering over it staring down at Lee. His eyes were practically glowing, and they held an expression not that of a human, but rather a beast. So animalistic that even Lee couldn’t see through them to Voorpret himself. Pure lust for blood coursed through his begin, and something new that sent pleasant tingles through him when he caught the scent of his love. He was being driven by pure instinct at this point and no one would be able to stop his pursuit.

Lee backed away from him slowly as he climbed down from the ceiling a low, guttural growl emitting from him. 

“Voor? What’s gotten into you?” Lee said, putting her blaster away and holding her hands up, “Voorpret please stop. You’re scaring me.” 

He continued stalking towards her, Vance and Voss armed and ready to engage their threat. 

Voorpret lunged at Vance who proceeded to fire stun shots at him. Voorpret easily slid right past them, scaling the wall again. 

“Run!” Lee shouted, pushing the other two troopers out of the door nearly tripping over Voss’s foot.

They bolted down the halls of the facility splitting up. Voorpret went after Lee without any hesitation ignoring the blaster fire from his brothers. 

“LEE!!” Voss yelled as she took off down the hall, Voorpret in tow.

Lee rounded a corner not daring to look back. Voorpret slipped when he came around the corner, skidding into the wall then clamoring back up to his feet in a desperate attempt to catch his prey. Lee slammed her fist into the control panel, closing the door between them in hopes Voorpret wouldn’t be able to get to her. He obviously had no interest in either of his brothers, but Lee had no idea why he was after her specially. 

A loud scraping sound echoed through the halls as Voorpret grabbed hold of the door. Lee staggered backward as the clone began prying the door open. She took off again reaching a dead end in a large examination room. She scrambled around finding a medical cabinet to hide in breathing heavily as she heard Voorpret’s claws tapping against the cool durasteel floor. She clasped her hands over her mouth praying he wouldn’t find her.

“Oh mesh’la where’d you run off to with that pretty face of yours?” He purred, sounding awfully close to Lee’s hiding place, “You smell so good, I promise I won’t hurt you love. I just want to breed you.” He clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth. 

Lee panicked, what did he just say!? She stopped breathing when he stopped outside of the cabinet, tracing the outside of it. 

“Where are you hiding lil one?” He cooed, walking off again to Force knows where in the room.

Everything went silent for what seemed like forever then Lee inhaled sharply when Voorpret was staring at her through a crack in the cabinet. 

“Hey mesh’la.” He opened the cabinet grinning wildly at her. 

"Voorpret, please no. This isn’t a good idea we’ve only just-“ Her words caught in her throat, face heating up at the way he was looking at her, “you know what I’ll just come out there.”

Lee carefully stepped out of the cabinet instantly Voorpret’s hands went to the wall on either side of her head caging her in. He would’ve already killed her if that was his intention, clearly he had something completely different in mind.

 “So compliant for me.” He said, his hot breath fanning across her face.

He no longer had blood on his face, but the wild look in his eyes still shown through. 

“Lee!” Voss came charging into the room, Vance right on his heels, “We thought he surely killed you but, oh.” Voss shut up the instant he laid eyes on the situation.

Voorpret was licking a stripe up the column of Lee’s neck, one thigh between her legs. 

“I’ll handle this, just get back to the ship and I’ll meet you two back there.” Lee said, grabbing hold of one of Voorpret’s horns and tugging his face away from her skin, “Just please leave before he changes his mind and kills the both of you.” Lee said, shoving Voorpret off of her.

The two troopers reluctantly left Lee to fend for herself closing the door behind them. Lee grabbed her blaster, switching it over to stun. 

“Voorpret you need to snap out of it. You’re not thinking straight,” Lee said, pointing the blaster at the hybrid as he stalked over towards Lee again, “Stay back Voorpret, or I’m going to have to stun you.” She hissed, backing away from him.

Voorpret grinned wildly, tail flicking back and forth, amber eyes locked on Lee’s.

“You know that has little to no effect on me Lee,” he said, voice sweet as honey, “I’ll just hunt you down all over again. Just put it down and let me have you.” He said, his hands twitching towards Lee ever so slightly.

Lee refused to lower the weapon and when he took another step towards her she fired a stun bolt at his chest. Like he’d said it had absolutely no effect on him. Lee let out a shaky breath when Voorpret returned to his original place directly in front of Lee…

(it gets a lil spicy after that, so I’m not gonna bother posting that at the moment 😂💀)

So uh yeah… he’s a lil crazy, must be that dragon in em. RIP Lee, your efforts and sacrifice will always be remembered 🫡🫣

I don’t really know how writing about others ocs works, but man I really wanna see how people write about these hooligans.

[ramblingsofafanatic]

Is That All You've Got?

Bahryn Fest is here!! Here's some art and fic of Kallus and Zeb as force users!

Word Count: 782

Relationships: Alexsandr Kallus/Garazeb Orrelios

Warnings: None.

Can also be read on AO3 here!

Fic under the cut:

"Who the hell is that?" Zeb asks as they duck behind a crate. 

"Why would I know?!" Kanan asks.

"It was a general question!" Zeb responds with an eye roll before ducking up to pick off a couple stormtroopers advancing in their direction. He’s not stupid enough to try and shoot the imp with a lightsaber. 

“That’s it, I’m going.” Ezra says before he jumps out from behind his crate an ignites his lightsaber. 

“That kids gonna get himself killed.” Kanan says before jumping out and igniting his own lightsaber. 

“You’re both gonna get all of us killed” Zeb says as he hops over and ignites his lightsaber as well.

“Three Jedi?!” A stormtrooper yells. 

“Finally, a real challenge.” The pompous imp says with a smirk. 

“I hate that guy already.” Zeb says.

“Seconded.” Kanan says as he and Ezra branch off to take on the new platoons of stormtroopers.

“Lasat, face me!” The guy says as he picks up on the Spectres plans.

“And who are you?” Zeb asks as he advances.

“Inquisitor Kallus,” He answers as he easily deflects Zeb’s lunge, “is that all you’ve got?” he adds on as he deflects another blow. Zeb tries to breathe through his anger, but unlike Kanan he didn’t have any fancy Jedi training, so he’s still trying to catch up. It distracts him enough that Kallus almost gets him, if it wasn’t for Ezra swooping in to help Zeb would have probably been killed. It sobers him up, and later in the Ghost, he asks Kanan if they can up the training. He will not be another lasat added to that inquisitor’s kill list. 

-

“You finished your new lightsaber I see,” Zeb says as he enters their room on base, he just got back from a mission and was looking forward to being with Kal in person again, not some grainy holo. Kallus straightens up from where he was slumped over a datapad on the bed and follows Zeb’s gaze to the new saber sitting on the desk. 

“I did.” Kallus answers slowly. 

“What colour is it now?” Zeb asks as he picks it up and moves to sit next to Kal. 

“I don’t know.” Kallus says.

“What do you mean ya don’t know?” Zeb asks.

“I mean, I don’t know,” Kallus repeats.

“You found the Kyber and built the entire saber without looking at the crystal?”

“Yes.” Kal says shifting uncomfortably, avoiding Zeb’s gaze. 

“Why?” He asks, trying to push ease and comfort over their bond. Kallus just shrugs. “Ya gotta look at it at some point y’know.” He adds. 

“You think I don’t know that!” Kal bites out before freezing as he feels Zeb shock through their bond. Zeb watches as Kal goes through calming exercises in his head. He can feel the turmoil Kal is putting out in the force, and it’s starting to worry him.

“What if it’s red?” Kallus asks quietly, if it wasn’t for Zeb’s good hearing he probably wouldn’t have heard it. Everything clicks into place for Zeb as he understands. 

“Is that all ya got? You’re worried it might be red?”

“Yea, I mean-”

“It’s not gonna be red.” Zeb cuts him off.

“But-”

“Kal,” Zeb cuts him off again before he can argue, placing Kal’s saber into his hands before grabbing his face and gently nudging it so he can look into the human’s eyes. “Let’s say it is red then. Not that it will be. But if it is, it doesn’t matter, you’ll still be Kal, I’ll still love you.”

“Garazeb,” Kal whispers before leaning in for a kiss, calming instantly at the familiar feeling of the lasat’s lips on his own. Zeb hums and returns the kiss for a second before moving to rub their cheeks together. 

“Now, you gonna ignite it?” Zeb asks as they pull back.

“You do it,” Kal says, trying to push the saber into Zeb’s hands.

“Nu uh, you gotta do this Kal, it’s your saber.” Zeb says. Kal sighs and shifts to hold the saber away from them so he can ignite it safely. Zeb tries his hardest to push encouragement through their bond, he watches as Kal closes his eyes before pressing forward on the switch. A brilliant blue lights up their surroundings and Zeb nudges for Kal to open his eyes. He smiles as he sees Kal gasp softly.

“Blue, my… my first one was blue, I never expected to see that colour again,” He whispers, staring down at his saber.

“Told ya, not red.” Zeb says with a grin.

“Shut up,” Kallus says with an eyeroll.

“Make me.” Zeb challenges, and it seems like Kallus isn’t willing to let that challenge go unanswered.

[scamanderishredmayniac]

Damn!!!!!! I’m supposed to be catching up with art challenges I’m taking part in. So behind on inktober, even more behind with snapetober, and not to mention tried to start huevember, but only managed to post 1 piece for that last weekend, so now I’m behind on that too. 😩 got so much to catch up on. Yet here I am wasting time. Just spent the whole evening watching videos of interviews, one after another of The day of the jackal. They keep coming fast. 🤦🏻‍♀️ I need to get down and do some art. Git lots of serious catching up and completing to do.

[luviestarz]

enhypen pt 3

no nut november

SUMMARY ▸ four men suppressing their carnal instincts for thirty days doesn’t sound plausible, but it’s no nut november, so victory is crucial. yet, there’s only one obstacle keeping lee heeseung, park jongseong, sim jaeyun, and park sunghoon from their prize: you. game on, boys.

[ NISHI RIKI AS YOUR HS TROUBLE MAKER BF — 🩹 !! ]

the 24-hour dating challenge - sunghoon

SUMMARY | being a famous youtuber isn’t easy, especially when you have to constantly come up with new ideas to keep your audience entertained. and this time, your viewers want you to date park sunghoon, your best friend of nearly a decade, for the entirety of 24 hours.

nicknames enha members as your bf would call you

⠀ ›››ㅤenhaffection — oneㅤ୧ ‧₊˚

summary enhypen hyung line and their small affection acts they make subconsciously

"keep kissing me like that and i'll marry you" (heeseung x reader)

☆ LHS 、⠀ INTIMACY AFTER DARK

🗒️ ⠀ treating hee's wounds at night.

𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐄𝐍𝐇𝐘𝐏𝐄𝐍'𝐒 𝐇𝐘𝐔𝐍𝐆 𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄

ᝰ SOFT TINT : LEE HEESEUNG

synopsis you kiss heeseungs lips and leave a small tint of color on them

the moment they realize they’re in love with you.

i’m your cat, meow - yang jungwon

PROMPT: in which jungwon is jealous of a cat

who in enhypen would agree to platonically kiss you.

CITRUS IN THE MORNING. - sunghoon

lovestruck! sunghoon just being Very In Love

strawberry sunday

summary. while spending your sunday on a picnic with jay, you decide to buy some sweet fruits for the both of you while he’s napping

. . . ⇢ ˗ˏˋ OT7 REACTIONS ࿐ྂ

YOU(R SHOELACES) ARE PRETTY. - sunghoon

p — PARK SUNGHOON x gn! reader. g — fluff, meet cute. w — swearing, secondhand embarrassment because sunghoon doesn't know how to to talk to cute people.

𝗚𝗢𝗢𝗗 𝗕𝗢𝗬 ━━━━ 𝗟𝗘𝗘 𝗛𝗘𝗘𝗦𝗘𝗨𝗡𝗚\

in which he tries to stay mad at you for not loving him as a worm.

PRETTY BOY : NISHIMURA RIKI

IN WHICH you convince riki to let you do his eyeliner

enha + reunions

summary: enhypen seeing their s/o after a long time!! :)

enhypen and their boyfriend types

BLOODBAG - heeseung

IN WHICH you are a princess betrothed to the vampire prince of the most feared kingdom in the world.

all eyes on you (enhypen)

or the moments that make everyone think you’re dating

⋆ OUR THING !

aka the things they do in a relationship!

⋆｡°✩ enha reaction - their s/o pranking them

vampire!enha x fem!reader hyung line! their reaction when they can’t resist the urge to suck your blood.

enhypen reactions masterlist

first kiss enhypen

the perfect date! masterlist

a series in which enhypen’s 02s competitive side shines through when trying to get your attention. the only solution to end this tiring rivalry? three dates with each of them in the course of three weeks.

IRRESISTIBLE ⌇ PSH

☆ 𝑪𝑨𝑻 𝑭𝑼𝑹 . . . yang jungwon a boy allergic to cat fur who risks his life everyday just to get a glance at the pretty girl who works behind the counter at manifesto cat cafe. ☕️ smau

the subtle art of swinging. - sunghoon

synopsis: park sunghoon is the spider-man. he's also your best friend. he's also hopelessly in love with you. between fighting crime and intercepting alien invasions, park sunghoon barely has the time to confess his feelings to you. lucky for him, you've got him covered. or, five times park sunghoon tries to ask you out, and one time you ask him out instead.

bf!jungwon catching some guy staring at you and tries to scare them off