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steviewashere · 5 months ago

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Thinking about a fic idea right now where Steve comes out (maybe with a little Steddie...maybe; might be best to start them pre-relationship in this). Walk with me here.

Steve Harrington who has always been a huge Wham! fan. And then eventually a huge George Michael fan. He's got all their albums. Collects magazines with interviews in them (y'know, if there's a U.S. release). So, he's pretty much up to date with all news, music info; that kind of thing. He's always on the money about when interviews are.

George Michael who comes out publicly in 1998 after his arrest. Which, you can watch the clip from the interview here. He's thirty-four at the time, had been private about his sexuality and romantic life up until then.

Steve who's freshly in his thirties.

He's thirty-one. He's had some thoughts in regards to his sexuality for years now. Since Robin came out to him in 1985, he's thought about little things. The way certain guys walked that caught his attention, maybe the plushness of their lips, how they styled their hair. She's introduced him to queer culture at the time—pride parades & protests, some lingo, the handkerchief code, etc. So, he's well aware of a lot of things before the CNN interview airs. He hasn't made any hard connections between his sexuality and the thoughts in his head; maybe he's had a few, soft, questioning moments like: Am I gay? Am I bisexual? Is this what I really think or am I searching for something I don't actually want? Am I just being too observant?

(Okay, thinking about pre-Steddie now. And a lot of platonic soulmates Stobin. Also, I totally (accidentally) half-wrote a fic. Stay with me here.)

Eddie's been a part of Steve's life since 1986. Somehow he survives (don't ask me the fine details, I don't know). And Steve tries his hand at being Eddie's friend because he kind of—no, really—wants a guy friend who's around his age. Cue their shenanigans: the chaos they cause together, the pranks they pull on their other friends, the shit Eddie makes Steve get into (drag racing (cars), stealing scrap from the junkyard, throwing rocks over the quarry to guess the impact they made, other little town shit). Eddie who learns that Steve's a true ally to Robin, so he comes out to Steve, too. They all form a very great, deep bond of solidarity. Become roommates outside of Hawkins, somewhere a little more progressive. They protect each other. Listen to each other.

Cue the day in 1998 when the CNN interview is being aired live, unseen up until then. Steve's already ready to watch, having taken up the middle cushion on the couch. Robin's on his left, criss-cross and making a set of beaded bracelets for the three of them. Eddie's on Steve's right, uncapping a couple bottles of beer to pass over. And they're watching with Steve because Steve likes George Michael and, well, they like Steve and his interests. So they're all there when George Michael comes out. They're all there when the words are said live.

Robin and Eddie are wide-eyed, then laughing something a bit triumphant, high-fiving over Steve's head, maybe chanting something: "One of us! One of us!" Maybe becoming huge George Michael fans as they speak. But, Steve's silent. He's sitting on the edge of his cushion, palms down on his thighs, staring off into nothing. All the celebration stops as the interview continues, words being missed. And Robin and Eddie share an odd glance, a questioning one. Until, finally, Robin asks, "Steve-O? You OD over there?"

Steve blinks back into existence. Mutters, "Did George Michael just come out on live TV?" Eddie answers him truthfully, voice a bit soft and concerned. Steve licks his lips, doesn't move his eyes from his socked feet. "...He knew for a little while," he comments. "Right? He knew for a while."

"Sure, Steve," Eddie answers again. "He probably knew about himself for a long time. Probably...Honestly, probably while he was still in Wham."

Maybe Steve nods at that. Maybe he just stays kind of stoic, thinking too hard. "He's thirty-four," Steve points out.

"That he is," Robin answers this time. "Thirty-four and proudly out."

Steve hums some sort of acknowledgement and then goes back to watching the TV, moment drifting away. He sort of watches in a daze. Up until he turns in for the night. Well after Robin has slumped over on the couch and Eddie's gone to bed earlier—because he has work, or so Eddie's said. And Steve maybe sits in his bedroom, up at his headboard, looking down at his albums. At his Wham! and George Michael albums. Turning the tapes over in his hands, reading the track lists, maybe tracing the edges of the cases with his thumbs. Thinking about how George had said he was telling his life story, even through some of his earlier solo work. He's thinking about how successful George Michael has been. And then he thinks about how George Michael came out later in his life. In his thirties, not in his twenties, not in his teens. Sure, yes, it was definitely more negatively criticized to do so, but it means something to Steve. To be thirty-four and freshly out. And he thinks, too, about being thirty-one and things clicking into shiny clarity—he's into guys, too. He's into women, but he's into guys. That word, "bisexual" looking like the final jigsaw piece. To be thirty-one and proudly out, too.

And he's comforted in that thought, as he drifts off to sleep.

And when he wakes up in the morning, he bustles around Eddie and Robin in the kitchen. They make a shared breakfast of scrambled eggs and sausage and toast with jam. They sit at the dining table, forks against plates, shooting the shit back and forth.

Steve cuts a slice of sausage, puts it in his mouth, eats as usual. And just as the conversation is beginning to drift again, he finally speaks what's on his mind. "I'm bisexual," he's able to proudly state.

Maybe Eddie and Robin cheer, too for that. They ask him for his taste in guys. Maybe they tease him a little. Maybe Eddie realizes he fits the bill a little; maybe he waits a little bit before taking a shot, but he still does eventually.

And right before they head off for their respective, regular lives outside of the comfortable space of their apartment, Robin knocks their shoulders together. "Proud of you," she states. "Thirty-one and proudly out. How does it feel?"

They're in the kitchen, washing and drying the dishes because Eddie left for work already with a promise to bring home pizza for dinner. They're in the kitchen, the lights a little fluorescent like the Starcourt bathroom. They're in the kitchen, in each other's orbits, two friends who've seen it all and will continue to see the world together.

"It feels...I feel good. Excited."

Robin smiles at him, something soft and understanding. And as his focus goes back to the plate he's about to hand off, she snorts. "So, Eddie, huh?" And he scoffs, rolling his eyes. She just laughs to herself. Then, when she's calmed a little bit, she states, "He kind of looks like Rowlf. You and I have a thing for Muppets, Stevie. Muppets."

And after their laughter dies down and they live out the rest of the day, Steve thinks about how he can send a letter of thanks to George Michael. And maybe he cherishes those albums a little closer. And he is confident in himself for the first time in a while, all because the representation he didn't know he was seeking, is finally right in his face.

Sorry that got long. But I'm just thinking about Steve who comes out later in his life. Maybe he couldn't make those connections because he didn't have the safe atmosphere to do so; feared the worst if his parents ever realized he didn't care too much about women sometimes, if his eyes drifted to men a little too much, fearing that they'd catch his contemplation. Maybe he found his safe space through Robin and Eddie, but needed a little more of a push and he just didn't find it yet. Up until now.

#stranger things #steve harrington #robin buckley #eddie munson #steddie #platonic stobin #bisexual steve harrington #coming out fic #fic idea

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auroralwriting · 5 months ago

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Hi love! I’d like to request a mob!bucky fic where he is the man that runs New York and the reader is his wife who convinces him to let her start opening hospitals and homes for people in need etc. one of his rivals tries to take her while at a charity thing and calls Bucky weak and losing his touch so he literally destroys him to protect his woman.

I understand if you are too busy but would love ya forever if you could write what has been in my head!

guard dog

mob!bucky barnes x wife!reader

bucky doesn't take too kindly to people hurting his wife.

word count: 1.7k | warnings: violence, cursing, bucky having a sweet spot for his doll ♡

i wrote this one so fast. thank you for this amazing request!! i hope i did your vision justice!

Everyone knew of Mr. James Barnes. He practically ran New York with every politician pressed under his palm, along with every rich business man and woman wrapped around his little finger.

The one thing you needed to understand about James, Bucky, as his wife called him, was that you were never to be messed with.

To Bucky, you were the epitome of innocence. No one was allowed to lay a finger on you or say anything that could even potentially upset you. You were his world, and he made sure it was protected.

Of course, he was absolutely right. You were truly an angel on earth, the truest definition of kind. Little did everyone know, while they were wrapped around Bucky's finger, he was wrapped around yours.

"Bucky, you cannot kill someone on a Sunday," You'd gripe. "Sunday's are holy days, and the days I make my cannoli. You don't want cannoli?" Bucky would give in, rescheduling to fit your needs. "And see if that guy wants a cannoli, too. If I were gonna die, I'd sure as hell want a nice, homemade cannoli."

You practically controlled his every little move. You kept Bucky somewhat grounded for a mobster. You also made sure to keep him from disappearing off the face of the earth.

"Hun, you mom's coming over for dinner tomorrow- No, I don't want to hear it! Anyone who had the guts to raise you and not lose their mind deserves a nice, home cooked meal with her family. Dinner, six o'clock, be there."

Your latest topic, though, was helping people. You didn't give too much mind to the people Bucky worked with, but your mind was set on the homeless. Some news report on CNN had utterly convinced you that you needed to be the change in the world.

"Buck, please!" You begged, latching your hands onto your husbands arm. "This is my calling!"

A small grin formed on Bucky's face, "I thought your calling was to foster little orphans. Or was it to start an animal rescue. Oh, maybe-"

"James, I'm serious!" Use of Bucky's real name was a sign you wanted him to take you seriously. "Please, I just want to help the innocent people out there who don't have anything or anyone."

With your puppy dog eyes gleaming at him, Bucky knew he couldn't say no. "Alright, alright. But I get to choose the place since I'm buying."

A large smile erupted on your face as you leaped to hug Bucky. "Oh, thank you! Thank you so much, baby!"

Bucky's wide palms rubbed your back softly as he kissed your head. "Anything for my precious world."

And so, the hunt for the perfect shelter was in place. Immediately, you called some friends to bounce ideas back and forth off them. Eventually, you decided on the name Feast. Food, emergency aid, shelter, and training. It was everything anyone could ever need. It was perfection.

Even Bucky had to agree, it sounded pretty solid. He was amused at the acronym, enjoying the excitement your project gave you.

After a few months, Feast was nearly up and running. To gather attention, you decided to host a gala. Bucky helped you invite anyone and everyone important. You needed to get Feast's name out there, and the big people were who would do it. Secretly, Bucky only agreed because he knew he could.. convince the ones who denied to lend a hand.

The night of the gala approached. You sat with Natasha, as she finished putting on her makeup. "Natty, you look so pretty already."

"Yeah, but you know Steve likes the shimmer. I just want to add a little bit more," Natasha replied, referring to her husband, aka Bucky's best friend. It helped a lot that your best friend was married to Bucky's best friend. Natasha and you did almost everything together.

"Steve would like you if you wore a cardboard box," You groaned. "Come on, we're going to be late!"

Natasha laughed as she stood up, "Alright, alright! You, Mrs. Barnes, are going to have a wonderful outcome I hear."

Your heart leaped at her words. "Really?"

"Yeah, I heard anyone's who's anyone is coming." You squealed at Natasha's words and lead her down to the limo where Bucky and Steve were waiting.

The moment Bucky laid eyes on you, he felt like he was falling in love all over again. "Doll," He breathed out, holding your waist carefully with both hands. "You're an angel,"

You blushed at his words, "You always know just what to say to me,"

"That's why you married me," Bucky teased, knowing all too well there were too many reasons to name as to why you married him. He still felt so lucky.

"You both look amazing," Steve complimented. "But if we don't get going soon, we'll be late."

Quickly, the four of you shimmed into the limo, having some champagne and listening to soft music while you made your way to the gala. You'd left all the interior planning up to Natasha, who's taste was the best in all of New York. You trusted her with your life. After making your way into the hall, it was solidified once more that Natasha was incredible.

The hall was beaming with gold and silver, a soft jazz band playing and a bustling bar full of the most appealing looking drinks you'd seen in a long time. You gave Natasha a thankful look as Bucky began to softly pull you away. He'd spotted the Mayor, and he was itching to make conversation.

It was probably two hours of chit chat later and you found your feet aching from your insanely high heels. You leaned up to Bucky's ear, "Hun, I'm going to go grab a drink. Want anything?"

"Rum?" Bucky muttered back as you gave an eager smile.

You sat at the bar, ordering yours and Bucky's drink. After a moment or so, you noticed the presence of someone in the seat beside you who wasn't there previously.

"Mrs. Barnes," You looked over to see Brock Rumlow. He, too, was a mobster. However, he wasn't one Bucky or Steve were particularly fond of. You didn't even know he was invited tonight. "What a lovely event this is."

"Oh, Mr. Rumlow," You said with surprise laced in your voice. "Thank you, it took a lot of preparation."

"I'm just surprised," Rumlow hummed. "Such a.. charitable thing your husband is endorsing."

You shook your head, "It was all my idea."

"Of course it was," Rumlow bitterly responded. "Barnes' pretty little play thing wanted a new passion project to occupy herself. How expected."

You felt your heart pang at his words. "Oh," You stuttered, losing any sense of confidence.

"I got you at a loss for words?" Rumlow's voice was low as he began to lean over your figure. It felt daunting rather than sultry. It felt dangerous.

"Rumlow, please back up a little bit," You pleaded as Rumlow's smirk grew. "I don't have any space."

"That's the point, baby girl." He continued to prowl over you like a hungry beast, ready to pounce on its prey. For a moment, you felt overcome with fear. The way Rumlow eyed you made you wish you had worn a more conservative dress.

Before you could blink, Rumlow was pushed back harshly. It caused you to jump up and into someones arms. You didn't even need to question who it was; you knew Bucky's touch anywhere.

"What the fuck were you doing with my girl?" Bucky growled as Rumlow shook himself out of shock.

"Just making conversation," Rumlow dryly responded. "She's a joy to talk to."

Bucky scoffed, "It looked like you were about to drag her out of here."

"And so what if I was?" Rumlow challenged. "What would you do, huh, Barnes? You've gone weak, she's making you lose your touch. You're just her silly little guard dog. No one's scared of you when everyone knows that you'd never do anything to upset your precious-"

Before Rumlow could even finish his sentence, Bucky was on top of him, punches pushing his head back and forth, left and right. The sickening sounds of skin against skin was too much for you to bare, but luckily, Steve had come right on time. He was quick to pull you behind him where Natasha was waiting to hold you in her arms.

"Don't you dare call me fuckin' weak!" Bucky yelled. All eyes were on the scene unfolding.

The crack of Rumlow's jaw was not to be missed as Bucky's fist collided with it so hard you could've sworn Bucky broke some of his teeth. "You think you can come here to my wife's gala and try me?"

You wanted to stop Bucky, but you could tell that with his anger, thee was no stopping him until he was done. More sounds of cracking, Rumlow's howls of pain, and the blow's of Bucky's beatings were all that echoed in the hall.

After a few minutes, Bucky slowly stopped, panting as he leaned over Rumlow breathlessly. It was then you stepped in, running behind Bucky and putting your hands on his shoulders. "Buck, c'mon. Let me get you cleaned up." Blood was splattered on Bucky's face, his fists drenched in it. You nodded to Steve who, once Bucky was standing, picked Rumlow over his shoulder and took him out of the building. Natasha waved the band who began playing, and everyone fell back into conversation almost as if nothing happened.

Bucky and you were silent as the bartender handed you some towels to clean Bucky up. "Did you see any of that?" Bucky asked softly, his tone much different than a few minutes beforehand.

"Steve pulled me behind him," You answered, wiping off Bucky's knuckles. They were already bruising due to the beatings on them.

"Good man," He nodded, knowing that he would have done the same for Natasha. They protected each other's girls, always. "I'm sorry this happened tonight. I didn't mean to ruin the gala."

You chuckled, forcing Bucky to look up and around. "Look, nothing's ruined. You don't think these people are used to this stuff?"

Bucky gave a soft smile in return as his fingers fell across your cheek, softly rubbing it. "What did I do to deserve you?"

"Endlessly protect and love me, to start." You cheekily replied.

"Yeah," Bucky nodded, kissing you softly. "Always." He added as he pulled away. "Now, come on. I don't think we spoke to the Stark's yet."

#bucky barnes #marvel fanfiction #marvel fic #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes x reader #marvel #bucky barnes imagines #sebastian stan x reader #bucky #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #winter soldier #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes

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joshdonnas · 3 months ago

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do you have any j/d fic recs? :D

Absolutely!! This fandom is really blessed with some of the best writers I've seen, so there's a lot of really good content out there to read, but I'll list some of my favorites under the cut ☺️

FAVORITE AUTHORS 💛

I thought I'd start by listing some of my authors, I’ll also be listing some of my personal favorite fics from theirs down bellow, but any of their works are totally worth the read:

FAVORITE FICS (in no particular order) 💛

running, by andyoureturntome (work in progress, rated M): "Matt Santos is running for president. Josh and Donna are just running away. Augmented canon for seasons six and seven. Ventures into AU territory from 6x18 on." (when I say this is one of my favorite fics ever you have no idea how much I mean it. it’s honestly so good, a must read in my opinion. it’s still in progress, and it’s not updated very frequently , but it’s still so so worth it (here’s to hoping we’ll get a next chapter soon!!).

the other side of the door, by sam_writes_fics (finished, rated M): "Donna wanders out of the bathroom, baffled by how late it is for the hundredth night in a row, and she drapes her coat over a chair before moving to plug in her cell phone. The blinking light catches her attention, and she flips it open. One missed call. From Josh. Perfect. Post-ep for 7x13: The Cold." (I honestly read this one every time I watch the cold)

say you’ll never let them tear us apart, by hanyolo (finished, rated M): "what would it be like in the santos era for josh and donna to get media coverage as a couple?"

love grows (where my donnatella goes), by sam_writes_fics (finished, rated T): "the first year of the santos administration in four parts"

how i love the view when i'm beside you, by JessBakesCakes (finished, rated E): "Josh and Donna on Valentine's Day; Chiefs of Staff era J/D"

cutting me open then healing me fine, by hufflepuffhermione (finished, rated T): "Josh and Donna are in the press room when it gets shot at, and the trajectory of a bullet changes the trajectory of their lives. Evidence of Things Not Seen AU."

there ain’t no need to go outside, by mikaylawrites (finished, rated E): "A lazy, rainy morning at home."

even cnn is wrong, sometimes, by BeneathAnOrangeSky (finished, rated M): "She snakes her hand between them, high instead of low, wrapping it around his bowtie. Starts to pull. And it’s this that snaps him out of it. Because Josh Lyman isn’t a press secretary and he isn’t a communications director and he isn’t Sam or Toby and he sure as hell isn’t Will, but he’s spent enough time around enough writers to appreciate the art of analogy (at the end of the night you wanna be able to pull it open like tony bennett), to recognize symmetry (donna? my tie’s falling apart), to understand that codas don’t exist merely in cello suites or stump speeches; that life makes space for sartorial bookends, too. Like bowties being tied, then untied." (utterly obsessed with the way this author writes)

gather ye rosebuds, by thefinestmuffins (finished, rated E): "A one and done smutshot, canon-divergent from 20 Hours in LA, in which Josh realizes where his rosebuds are and goes back to his hotel room to gather them."

we've been living on a fault line, by sam_writes_fics (finished, rated T): "6x02: Josh spends five days at Camp David, and every night all he thinks about is Donna."

burning slowly, my one and only, by thotsandfeelings (finished, rated T): "I can't stop thinking about you."

sacred new beginnings, by JessBakesCakes (finished, rated G): " But now, he doesn’t need her anymore – or he shouldn’t, anyway. So she’ll go back to her apartment, and he’ll go back to work, and things will go back to normal, whatever the hell that means. There’s something about that idea that makes his stomach churn."

an act of charity, by thatTWWgirl (finished, rated T): "A date with the White House Deputy Chief of Staff is put up for auction at the First Lady's fundraiser, and he's not too happy about it."

domestic days, by spooky_spacegirl (finished, rated G): "One day Josh and Donna look around and realize that, somewhere along the line, they have slipped into something that can only be described as Domesticated. One-Shot collection. Post-Canon." (so so so cute, never fails to bring a smile to my face)

this is the wonder (that's keeping the stars apart), by joshatella (shuuuliet) (work in progress, rated T): "A soulmate AU".

I want It all or nothing, no more in between, by scarmophogoghs (finished, rated E): "Want to go to Hawai'i? With me? Please?” (huuuge Hawaii fit we all cheered)

stuck with nowhere to go, by littlefoolswritings (finished, rated E): "what if it was only Josh and Donna who'd been left behind by the motorcade? just the two of them?)" (I love this one my god)

a pathological avoidance thing, by yanak324 (finished, rated M): "Josh isn’t sure what to make of the lack of surprise on the President-elect’s face when he explains why he’s taking time off. He has bigger fish to fry though." (this one is from Josh's POV, and this one is from Donna's!)

when a woman loves a man (who loves a woman), by BeneathAnOrangeSky (finished, rated M): "“You’re sensitive. It’s sweet.” She bites back a smile at the image she’s evoked. Everyone thinks they know the real Josh Lyman. Bartlet’s bulldog, political wunderkind, the man behind Washington’s curtain. But they don’t know him like this. She brushes a sweaty tangle of hair from his forehead and pretends not to notice when he leans into her touch. No, this side of him is reserved just for her. His mouth opens in surprise, voice pitching up a notch, “I am n—” “Your system,” she amends. “Your system is sensitive.”"

of the united states, by violet_storms (finished, rated G): "Fifty states, fifty sentences, fifty snapshots of Josh and Donna falling in love on the campaign trail."

on the line, by hufflepuffhermione (finished, rated G): "Josh and Donna and a pathological inability to hang up the phone."

you can run (but only so far), by swancharmings (finished, rated M): "The room is quaint, if a bit tacky, one sad sprig of holly greeting them at the door. A fine representation of how she feels this Christmas."

love is the only thing, by mikaylawrites (finished, rated T): "The Moss-Lyman girls read Little Women; Josh has a lot of feelings."

it was like autumn, looking at her, by cmbing (finished, rated T): "His eyelids flutter open, gentler than usual. Blearily, he catches the alarm clock blinking a red 7:48 a.m. If this were five years ago, he would already be on his third cup of coffee. If this were five months ago, he never would have made it to bed in the first place. But it’s now—and he wraps his arm tighter around Donna’s waist."

it's paradise as long as I'm with you, by thotsandfeelings (finished, rated E): "Hawaii."

only bought this dress so you could take it off, by hanyolo (finished, rated M): "josh has a thing for donna in red (as he should)"

nothing that i wouldn't do (to make you feel my love), by joshatella (shuuuliet) (finished, rated T): "Josh re-arranges his priorities. A Gaza hospital fix-it fic." (I'm always thinking about this one)

hell was the journey but it brought me heaven, by JessBakesCakes (finished, rated T): "On the drive, it starts to hit him. Leah was born on the anniversary of the Rosslyn shooting. What would this mean for him? Leah deserved a father who wouldn’t be absolutely miserable on his daughter’s birthday every year. Of course, he’d love to think that her birth could erase all of the negative feelings he’s ever had toward this day, that it could make all of the anxiety and trauma melt away. But if he couldn’t pull it together on the day she was born, the day she came into the world, what evidence does he have to support the idea that next year will be better? Or the year after that?"

there ain’t no need to go outside, by mikaylawrites (finished, rated E): "A lazy, rainy morning at home."

how to say I love you in subtext, by RhapsodyInProgress (finished, rated T): "If you know where to look and what to listen for, Josh and Donna have been telling each other how they feel for years. A series of vignettes on a theme."

annus primus, by hufflepuffhermione (finished, rated T): "The first year of the Santos administration, in twelve movements."

sit with you in the trenches, by swancharmings (finished, rated T): "”So you’ve got health and strength.” “And we’ll steal the rest?” “Bet your ass.” // Four ways they did exactly that."

oversight, by thefinestmuffins (finished, rated E): "War Crimes angst + hooking up" (a MUST read!!!)

can't call you a stranger (but i can't call you), by joshatella (shuuuliet) (finished, rated T): "King Corn. The elevator gets stuck."

for a long time, by onelargecoffeepls (finished, rated M): "Seven short glimpses into Donna falling in love with Josh based on "Love You For A Long Time" by Maggie Rogers."

this is how mythology is written (or: shards; scars; and whole again), by joshatella (shuuuliet) (finished, rated T): "The mosaic of Josh and Donna." (GOD this one!!!)

where the lovelight gleams, by JessBakesCakes (finished, rated E): "Donna brings Josh home for Christmas and has some thoughts about him in a holiday sweater; takes place during Transition" (OBSESSED!!!)

the way old friends do, by mikaylawrites (finished, rated T): "Donna, Toby, Charlie, and the chaotic people they love."

the first 100 days, by BimadaBomily (finished, rated T): "100 moments in Josh/Donna's relationship during the first 100 days of the Santos Administration."

like we were in paris (we were somewhere else), by BeneathAnOrangeSky (work in progress, rated M): "Josh, Donna, and the worlds they transform together // or: an ode to Paris (Taylor's Version)" (again, the way this author writes??!!?!)

find ourselves in the winter snow, by swancharmings (finished, rated E): "It’s when he leads her to dance, holding her impossibly close and swaying gently through the upbeat tempo, that she truly doesn’t know what to expect of the evening."

please linger near the door, by cmbing (finished, rated T): "They’re definitely not dating when there is a presidential dinner and they don’t think to invite dates. Instead, they assume they’ll go with each other. Him in a black tux, her in a red dress. Their arms are interlocked as they enter the ballroom, and Donna even goads Josh into dancing with her. It’s friendly, nothing more. They’re just having sex. That’s it."

with one hello, I'll never be the same, by JessBakesCakes (finished, rated T): "Josh and Donna and how 'hi' means so much more than 'hello'."

all you ever wanted from me (was sweet nothin'), by joshatella (shuuuliet) (finished, rated T): "Donna hadn’t had a nightmare about her ex since she started dating Josh, since well before she moved in with Josh after their week in Hawaii, since her life became better than it ever has been, since she became happier than she ever thought that she could be. Which is probably why she’s so shaken when the nightmare returns. Set post-series, in the Santos CoS era." (soooo sweet)

AUs 💛

i like shiny things (but i'd marry you with paper rings), by JessBakesCakes (finished, rated T): "In the aftermath of the First Lady's birthday party, Josh, Donna, and the rest of the Senior Staff deal with the fallout of Donna's realization that she's no longer a U.S. Citizen. CJ, Sam, and Toby have taken it upon themselves to get this figured out, and it’s a good thing, because Josh’s brain can only present him with one solution: Marry Donna Moss."

my days now end as they began (with thoughts of you), by flowersinapril (work in progress, rated T): "A new neighbour moves in next door to Josh and she isn't happy with how loud and chaotic he is." (can't wait for the next chapter of this one!!!)

sometimes it's like you grew up down the street, by starsontheceiling (finished, rated G): "Afterwards, he’ll say he did it without thinking and all their friends will laugh at him in disbelief, and he understands why but it’s still true."

you came like a resolution (under a starry sky), by JessBakesCakes (work in progress, rated G): "Donna, this is my brother, Josh. Josh, this is Donna. She lives across the hall"

an everlasting love, by sam_writes_fics (work in progress, rated T): "best man and maid of honor au" (has not been updated in a while but I love the idea of this pic so so much and I think about constantly)

think i missed the gun at the starting line, by ansatz (finished, rated T): "After qualifying for the Olympics in 2016, but being unable to compete due to an injury, Donna Moss is back, ready to run, and completely focused on earning a medal for Team Canada. Enter Josh Lyman, reigning Olympic champion with a heart of—you guessed it—gold. Two countries, two sports: one chance to fall in love?"

what if i told you, i feel like i know you? but we never met., by donnatellamoss (finished, rated G): "Donna Moss meets an unfamiliar face when she knocks on Sam Seaborn’s door for their English project. His name’s Josh Lyman and he’s good at bothering people."

absolutely smitten (never let you go), by JessBakesCakes (finished, rated G): "Josh feels all the air whoosh out of his lungs when he sees the teacher standing on the other side of the door. She looks at the group standing outside her door, puzzled for a moment, until her blue eyes lock with Josh’s. Her blonde hair is tucked neatly behind her ears, and pumpkin earrings dangle from her earlobes. She’s wearing a copper-colored fall sweater, adorned with leaves around the collar that match her bulletin board. Her ID badge dangles from her neck, one of those ink pens in a bright, funky color clipped to her lanyard. “Miss Moss,” CJ says. “This is Mr. Lyman from the high school."" (always thinking about this one honestly I need more!!!)

the campaign around the corner, orphan_account (finished, rated G): "Donna Moss is working for Howard Stackhouse's presidential campaign in 1998. Josh Lyman is working for Jed Bartlet's presidential campaign in 1998. The two cannot stand each other. Little do they know the person each of them is beginning to fall in love with over email is the other." (you've got mail au!!!!!!!!!!)

everybody talks (it started with a whisper), by JessBakesCakes (work in progress, rated G): "Being the White House Press Secretary, Josh realizes, is one of the toughest jobs in the administration to begin with. But with her co-workers' propensity for going viral, CJ certainly deserves a raise. The West Wing, set 20 years later." (soooo obsessed with this one MY GOD)

darling, so it goes (some things are meant to be), by mikaylawrites (finished, rated M): "The story of rising country singers Josh Lyman and Donna Moss." (so good!!!)

ballerina, you've must have seen her, by thababes (work in progress, rated G): "It was always supposed to have been Josh and Mandy. After their successful run of Carmen, it had been expected that The Washington Ballet would stick to what worked. There was never supposed to be another audition. Company principles seemingly traveling from role to role was the usual. It had been an unusual season — schedule conflicts and last minute alternate class partners — and suddenly, everything seemed to have changed. And it had all started when he had danced with her." (I think about this one constantly)

#this ended up so big and it's still missing a lot of fics I love aaaa #it brought me physical pain not listing some fics here but like I said read all the work from those authors #hope you enjoy them as much as I do anon!#fic rec #josh x donna #the west wing #request

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rabbiteclair · 11 months ago

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i don't think i could ever write fanfic for Bocchi the Rock because the only way I could be satisfied with it is if it was some kind of fucking... mixed media ARG

midway through she would start having a deep nervous breakdown, and the fic apparently ends with a link to a CNN article about how introversion is associated with a shorter life expectancy. the CNN article links to a youtube video discussing some of the science in further detail. however, if you watch the video it weirdly skews the algorithm to recommend you a particular other video, which shows people killing cows with captive bolt pistols in black and white while Sunn O))) plays

in the comments of the cow murder video is the second half of the fanfic

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foursaints · 9 months ago

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dearest saints would you like to give me a rosekiller prompt to write because the Writers Block is killing me and i love your rosekiller…

oh nonnie <3 DO I HAVE SOME PROMPTS

rosekiller au where they’re cursebreakers (possibly in the 1920s)… evan is the archaeology professor and the academic and a licensed gringotts employee & barty is the glorified grave robber and freelancer with a really concerning collection of cursed amulets. and they’re forced to team up

barty is racing to get into an elevator in time & evan is too busy for his shit so he’s AGGRESSIVELY jamming the door close button as he gets closer. but barty JUST makes it in on time and mashes every single button to be petty and then the elevator breaks

line cook!barty / food critic!evan fic of my dreams when…

small town religion au. barty is the traveling preacher’s son with something deeply wrong with him & evan is the strange, quiet, pious boy who’s rumored to do sacrilegious things in the woods. barty wants to show him something new behind the pulpit. barty thinks he could corrupt him worse

Winter Olympics AU but neither of them are actually in the olympics. barty has an obnoxious (but wildly popular) radio show & evan is the reporter for CNN and they’re paired together as the announcers the entire time and drinking the free hot chocolate from those tiny styrofoam cups while arguing

barty is a Dangerous Wildlife Photographer for national geographic and evan is the really overzealous PETA activist who would probably actually murder him before letting him get a single picture of the lion pride. barty thinks he looks hot in his “SAVE THE ANIMALS” t-shirt while evan is actively kicking over his tripod

#a #rose & thorn #LISTEN. I ALWAYS HAVE THOUGHTS!!!!!#these were all off the dome but i’m realizing i could probably keep going forever #saints speaks 🐇

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voylitscope · 1 year ago

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Stucky Recs: Pride Edition

So, the original plan was to do dystopias and apocalypses as the next theme. I actually started that post. It's sitting in my drafts. But then between work, moving, and other real-life stuff, I sort of ran out of days in May. Now it's mid-June. And since it is mid-June -- and since part of the whole point of these rec lists is the theming -- I thought I'd go for Pride recs instead.

We'll do dystopias in July.

I could have done a lot of different rules/qualifiers with this theming, but, for this time/post I went with, "actively has sexuality themes as a decently large plot point." I ended up with 12 fics.

Note: As part of my personal campaign to combat the persistent idea that every great fic in this fandom was written in 2015, I'm now marking recs of fics written post-2016 and recs of fics written post-Endgame.

Canon

🏳️‍🌈 Tin Soldiers | idrilka | Teen | 19,743 words

You know what's great? Fake pop culture, fake academia, and fake social media. This fic makes such good use of all of those things and is so smart about it. I love that this fic narratively sandwiches CA:TWS. So a large part of the point here is the public perception of Steve, and of SteveandBucky right before, during, and then after the events of CA:TWS, in a world where all of that is real. The way it's done is brilliant and feels so true and accurate to life. There is live tweeting and live reactions. There are news headlines. There's fandom culture and blogging. There are social media arguments. It's just so well done. There are a lot of fics that look, at least briefly, at the public perception/use of Steve's legend in some way, and a lot of them are fantastic. I'm just so especially of fond of this fic. There's a hyper-realism to it. Plus, it includes a scene of people live reacting to Steve spontaneously and bluntly coming out on CNN. It's some beautiful stuff.

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As Michelle Mbatha argues in The Anatomy of a Sidekick, “Barnes’ transition from a partner to a sidekick marks the point at which the relationship between Barnes and Rogers becomes that of a mentor and pupil, thus effectively prohibiting any potentially »unsavoury« readings of their partnership” (121). In this sort of dynamic, one which emphasizes the much more prominent age difference, there is, indeed, no place for any assumptions of queerness or any sort of code similar to that which permeated cinematographic works of the time, signifying penalizable, “forbidden” practices falling under the censorship guidelines (see also: The Celluloid Closet, 1995). Bucky, then, in taking his place as Captain America’s teenage sidekick, becomes figuratively castrated in order to appear effectively sexless and thus avoid any possibility of coding their relationship as queer.

Moreover, the insistence upon heteronormative and ultimately exclusionary interpretations of Rogers’ relationships with Barnes and Carter respectively, both in the comics and in biographical writings, comes from the need to reaffirm the image created by the American propaganda, which constructed Captain America to reflect the intrinsically jingoistic policies of the United States, to propagate the myth of American machismo and uphold the wholesome image of the American everyman at the same time.

🏳️‍🌈Let me be buried under your name | tempestaurora | Teen | 50,669 words | **Post-Endgame Rec**

Oh no. This one. So, sometimes, my notes on fics in my rec database have sensible things like comments about tropes or moments I definitely want to point out. Other times, well -- The notes on this one say, "DOG TAGS," and also, "OH GOD." Which is very helpful of me. To myself. But I will say more coherent words about it to all of you. I imagine that fics that have both wartime and post-TWS scenes are emotionally trying for us all, and this very painful, and very beautiful fic is certainly a good example of why. There is a heartbreaking quality to the wartime Bucky POV, the during Hydra captivity POV, and the post-TWS Bucky POV that has really stayed with me. Bucky's thought processes, and his descriptions of Steve at various points, especially, are so observant and vulnerable all at once. It's also all just -- Guttingly but wonderfully romantic.

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Maybe he’d read before the light died entirely. Steve had bought him a pulp novel at the market and Bucky had been working through it slowly, dragging out the story and making it last, to make the most of the pages. He’d likely read it three times over before trading it for something else, and even then he’d tell the story to himself – mythical, magical things he’d never even thought of existing; time travel and other worlds, aliens and laser guns and space ships, exploring the stars. His eyes fluttered shut, and he just listened to Steve’s breathing, to him drawing, to the birds outside the window. He’d more than once thought that he could live in this moment forever; that he’d be more than happy to live out the rest of his days just like this one, with Steve and a crummy apartment and a warm summer day. Screw marriage, kids, and a house in the suburbs – this was where Bucky pictured when he thought of home. This was what he’d be imagining on the cold nights in Europe. This was what he’d fight to come home to.

🏳️‍🌈We wear red so they don't see us bleed | unicornpoe | Teen | 2,161 words | **Post-Endgame Rec**

This is the most beautifully tense little fic. A canon-divergent-before-canon-starts fic (I never know how to classify those. If it's AU, but Steve and Bucky still move in together by like, 1939-ish... is it fully AU? Like, yes because them as childhood friends is important, obviously, but also -- in the grand scheme of overall canon -- sort of no?) that has Steve and Bucky sitting in jail cell doing this dance of little cues about each other. This is all little words and gazes and touches; there is a conversation under a conversation in this fic. They're having this casual chat as strangers in jail, except they're also having this whole second secret dialogue underneath it where they're trying to make sure they speak each other's language. Also? I adore this characterization. I love it.

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Bucky stands up and crosses the cell in two long strides, draping himself in clean lines along the section of free bench next to Steve; he pulls one leg up beneath him and stretches the other out, so that their ankles almost touch. Turned toward Steve as Bucky is, he can watch fully the sharp, barely-there movement of Steve’s eyes flickering down to their legs, and then back up to the wall across from them. He doesn’t turn to Bucky. It’s mostly silent in here. There’s a faint murmur of voices somewhere down the hallway, the quiet, steady tick of a clock hidden from view, the various noises of the men locked up with them—but other than that, nothing. “Where’d a guy like you learn to throw a punch like that?” Bucky asks finally, when he’s spent too long staring at the delicate, fucked-up line of this man’s profile, spent too long raking his eyes over and over again down the line of his feather-soft lashes. The corner of Steve’s mouth ticks up, just slightly, just a little bit.

Shrunkyclunks

💗I just met you (and this is crazy) | littlesystems | Explicit | 41,784 words | *Post-2016 Rec*

This is one of those fics that surprised me with just how much I liked it. I certainly wasn't expecting to dislike it, but I was not expecting to love it so much, either. It's a joy, though, just a total feel-good joy. It's a fic that has Steve and Bucky pretty instantly head-over-heals for each other, something I never ever object to, and the instant attraction works so well here. I think, too, so much of what I love about this one, is that they make each other so happy in it -- like the two of them truly just get dumber and happier and more in love with every 100 or so words of this fic. So then I get happier and happier as I continue to read it. Seriously, this fic is a joy in part because Steve's POV is so damn giddy and joyful about Bucky. I love that. It's good stuff.

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“You’re a person, Steve. And if people hurt you or take advantage of you, that’s not your fault, either. You should be able to go to a bar. You should be able to hook up with some guy. There’s nothing wrong with any of that. The fact that someone took pictures is the photographer’s fault. And the fact that newspapers decided to print it is the editors’ fault. And the fact that some fuckwad decided to lie for a quick buck is his fault. You may regret it, and that’s fine. But I don’t want to hear you blame yourself again. Got that?” Steve nods. His throat feels tight enough that he’s not sure he can speak. Bucky tips their foreheads together and they sit in silence, until Steve has naturally matched his breathing to Bucky’s - slow, deliberate, relaxed, and not geared up for a fight. Bucky kisses him softly, then.

💗The Voyager | notlucy | Explicit | 76,740 words | *Post-2016 Rec*

I am a sucker for the Steve and Bucky road trip fic. A very recently arrived in 21st century Steve on a road trip with a modern Bucky? All that time alone? In those motels? That might or might not have the right number of beds? This is a good trope that we should very much use forever. This fic is such a classic sort of road trip fic. Honestly, I've never been on any sort of proper, real road trip, but I'd like to think this fic feels like a road trip -- what they must feel like, anyway. There's such freedom in the storytelling here. There's a suspended sense of time in this fic. There's a way this fic rolls along with a pace that makes sense here, in this story -- it's a pace that definitely wouldn't work in all stories, which is exactly why it does, in this one. It's lovely, it's a little bit surreal, and it stays with you long after you finish it.

Quote:

“Wow,” Bucky managed. Words were difficult when faced with something so spectacular, the canyon spread out before them lit with the slow, smoldering burn of that deep, ancient glow. “Awesome,” Steve murmured, the word incongruous in his mouth. Bucky nearly poked fun, until he realized Steve meant it literally - what they were seeing was awesome. Smiling, he leaned his head against Steve’s shoulder before entwining their fingers, not caring a whit who might see them. Who might care. At that moment, Bucky wanted to tell the entire world, because he was in love. Except it wasn’t love. Strong like, maybe. Effortlessly increasing affection, sure. But not love. You couldn’t fall in love that fast. He’d only known Steve since May, after all. It was at most infatuation. Appreciation. Fascination. Bucky was a very level-headed person. It wasn’t love. But it was something.

Modern

🌈On The Back of a Raindrop | musette22 @musette22 | Explicit | 52,215 words | **Post-Endgame Rec**

Something I love to read in kid fics is any time that thing happens where it's not just Steve and Bucky acting like a couple without being together yet, but a group of people starting to act like a family unit in every single way -- except that no one has talked about that, or acknowledged it, and technically, someone is actually still the neighbor, or the babysitter, or, in this case, the gardener. I love that, and I love this fic, specifically. Featuring this sweetest and loveliest and healthiest family forming in a backyard garden over the months of a beautiful summer. It's so domestic, so intimate, and it happens so naturally over the course of this story. It makes everything feel so perfectly meant to be, so romantic, and so satisfying. Also! One of my database notes on this one is, "SARAH," because this is a fic with a very alive Sarah Rogers, and I love, love, love, Steve and Sarah's relationship in this fic.

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Now that he’s gotten to know him, seen him with the twins, has gradually watched Bucky’s tan deepening and bringing out the grey-blue of his eyes, Steve is so wildly attracted to him sometimes that it knocks the breath right out of him. It’s how he ends up sketching Bucky again on Wednesday, from his usual spot in the shade. He makes sure to make it a PG rendition this time, including Gracie and Miles as well, so that when later, Bucky asks him ‘Hey, whatcha drawin’?’, Steve can actually show him the sketch. Bucky is silent for the longest time when Steve hands over his sketchbook. For a moment, Steve almost panics, wondering if he accidentally forgot to draw Bucky’s jeans or something, but then Bucky looks up, a look in his eyes that Steve can’t quite pinpoint. “This is amazing, Steve. Could I… Would you mind if I hold on to it, maybe?” Steve blinks in surprise. “Of course, yeah. I mean, it’s not my best work. I could do you something better if you like.” “It’s perfect,” Bucky frowns, seeming almost offended Steve would suggest otherwise. “I love it.”

🌈One for Fiction | thepinupchemist | Explicit | 6,713 words |*Post-2016 Rec*

I very much enjoy a shrinkyclinky-ish modern fic where Bucky is a disaster about the fact that Steve, like, exists. I am just so here for this, and this very adorable fic is a top-tier demonstration of that. Featuring a Veteran-turned-librarian Bucky and a barista Steve, and a lot of awkward flirting. At a library! Also featuring a lot of Bucky being a disaster about Steve, but also a lot of Steve being like, "...have you? seen? or? met? yourself? You are definitely the catch here." It's cute. They're cute. This fic is cute.

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“Fun fact about the library,” Bucky went on, “As long as no one can see your computer screen, you’re allowed to look at porn. That’s protected under intellectual freedom.” Steve raised a brow. “Interesting.” They meandered back to Bucky’s display. The night, as far as nights went, was a quiet one for the library, and the cafe was a ghost town, but for the group of teenagers with bags of McDonald’s scattered across the table and AP History books open on their laps. “Where’d everyone get their pronoun pins?” asked Steve, as Bucky pushed his stepladder upright, collected his tape dispenser, and climbed back up to finish hanging the flag garland. “They make ‘em at one of our sister libraries,” Bucky said, “Have a pin press over there and everything. I’m picking up a couple of shifts for one of the ladies over there next week; you want me to grab you some?” See, Bucky used to be this smooth. He used to be this smooth all the time. Apparently, trauma and PTSD aside, he could still be smooth every once in a while. A pleased little smile tilted beautiful Steve’s beautiful lips. He said, “That would be awesome. Do they have pride ones, too? Like your rainbow?” Does Steve like men? Steve might like men. Be cool, Barnes. Don’t be weird.

🌈Wholesale Change | biblionerd07 | Mature | 83,320 words | *Post-2016 Rec*

You know how sometimes you're the captain of an NHL team, and you're very talented, but over the years you've gained a bad reputation? And so your people all but force you to do a The Bachelor-esq dating show? And you've been having a terrible few years and feel like your life is falling apart? And also you're bisexual and closeted because of the whole NHL thing? And also the camera guy on that dating show is your long-lost very attractive best friend? Who also used to play hockey? Look, this fic has a ridiculous premise. In the best possible way. It's a delightfully ridiculous premise. It's so much fun. There's literally a dating show. Steve gets mad about dating show manipulations and lies! And, you know, Steve definitely ends up selecting one of the dating show contestants. Steve definitely does not fall for Bucky instead! Steve definitely does not purposefully out himself on live TV. Steve absolutely follows the rules and sees the dating show contract through! Because as we all know, Steve Rogers follows rules and does what people with authority tell him to do. Always and at all times. So much fun. So delightful.

Quote:

“I’m so tired of lying,” Steve says. He almost sags with the weight of it all, now that’s admitted it. He was trying so hard to outrun it all. Outskate it all, maybe. But he’s been losing for a long time now. “I know,” Bucky murmurs. “I’m sorry. But I don’t think letting him tell the world is going to make you feel any better. You need to tell the truth on your own terms.” Steve sighs and leans his shoulder against Bucky’s. “I’ll talk to whoever I pick,” he says. They deserve that, at least. He doesn’t want to pick someone under false pretenses. Falser, anyway. “You won’t get much alone time,” Bucky warns. “But I’m sure you can find a way.” “Nothing gets in Captain America’s way when his mind’s made up,” Steve says in his cheesy commercial voice. It was a line from some ad campaign he did for a sports drink he didn’t even like. Bucky snorts. “I was thinking more about Steve Rogers,” Bucky says. “That asshole’s unstoppable.” And after a line like that? All Steve can do is kiss him.

🌈Songbird | chicklette | Explicit | 70,843 words | **Post-Endgame Rec**

I am very fond of this fic. It's music industry closeting -- but then planned sexuality revealing. Through lies. This is a fic that starts off with what should have been a one-night stand -- a great one, as one-night stands go, but a one-night stand. Except, pictures are taken of them very early the next morning, hugging, in front of Steve's apartment. And Bucky is very famous and very not out. Bucky's already got a damaged reputation and a host of other problems, and so his team decides that, actually, Bucky pretending to date some non-famous, pretty-faced, nice boy for a couple months might do his reputation some good. So, then, as you can imagine, being Steve and Bucky, the two of them spend the fic doing a very excellent, really great, just super good job, at sticking to having a formal arrangement. A no sex, no feelings, totally-just-a-business-deal-smile-for-the-camera-thing. They're total pros at it, okay? It goes so well for them. They definitely succeed. Just because, whatever, they quickly become friends and get close, it's totally still fine. They're definitely still doing really amazing at this, alright? They've got it under control. They're not going to crack on any of this. No sex. No not-for-the-cameras-kissing. No feelings. No one will cry at any point. Nope. They're So Good at this. Like I said, I'm super fond of this one.

Quote:

Steve smiles, his face going all soft and sweet, and it’s like a knife to Bucky’s heart. Ten more weeks, and someone else gets all those smiles. It’s a Goddamned shame, is what it is. His thoughts are uncomfortable enough that Bucky gets up and goes to the railing, looking back out over Manhattan. All the people there, living their lives, day in and day out. How many broken hearts is he looking at right now? How many people starry-eyed with new love? How many people, he wonders, comfortable in an old love, one that’s solid and still growing, deeply rooted, secure enough to be safe, but fresh enough to still bloom? “Penny for your thoughts,” Steve says, and Bucky tilts his head to look at him. “There’s a million love songs happening right now, just waiting for someone to write them.” “That’s awful hopeful, coming from you.” Bucky chuckles. “Nah, I was just wondering how many people we’re looking at right now with broken hearts.”

🌈Strong Saftey | queenmab_scherzo | Mature | 23,043 words

As a first note here, I will point out that this fic is a sequel to Targeting, and it is probably most satisfying when read with full context. But I really do think it can absolutely be read on its own. I really, really appreciate and love the way this fic handles Bucky and trauma. (the Targeting 'verse mirrors canon very closely, re: bad things happening to Bucky. Except that it's about college football.) Bucky's headspace here, and the way that then translates to his actual dialogue/actions is so, so well done. Plus, Steve and Bucky are preestablished in this fic, and it's healthy and lovely and romantic and makes me emotional-- Bucky is so hard on himself about everything, all the time, but he's got Steve, who is wonderfully loving and supportive. Also! Bucky befriends a cat. Also! Bucky legitimately has Steve saved in his phone like this: "Punk ��️."

Quote:

"Vanilla latte, no whip?" the barista calls. Steve goes to the counter for his drink, but keeps his ears open. "I just wanted to tell you—I came out to my high school team last week. And, um. It's gone really well actually." "Wow," Bucky croaks. "Yeah, it just, I've been scared about it for a long time, but then you told the whole NFL, so I thought—yeah. I just wanted to say … thanks." From the corner of his eye, Steve can see them shake hands. "Wow," Bucky says again. He clears his throat a little. "Thank you. I mean, thanks for telling me." "I'm headed out to visit Oregon now, actually." "Football?" "Yeah." "Holy shit," Bucky says, candid as ever. "That's legit, man. Good luck." "Thank you." The kid starts to turn away, then adds: "For everything." When Steve goes back to Bucky's side, Bucky is staring into the paper bag at his donut. He sniffs, audibly.

"Are you crying?" Steve asks quietly. "No." Steve can't see his eyes through the sunglasses, but his nose is really red. It makes Steve smile. He doesn't press the issue.

🌈Rough Edges | sparkagrace @sparkagrace | Mature | 33,278 words | **Post-Endgame Rec**

Showmances and Rivals-to-Lovers on the Stars on Ice Tour! There's a lot to be excited about here. This fic is such a delight, truly. I love it. You know that post that goes, "What is a rival other than a crush you're mad about having?" Steve spends the first chunk of this fic so disproportionately angry at Bucky for incredibly minor things. Like standing in rooms or... skating. It's amazing. But then there is bonding and heart-to-hearts. Often on skating benches! And, as it turns out, those two being around each other a lot is, as always, a very, very good thing, in the long run. One that helps them both. Also! Becca texts Bucky lots of pictures of Alpine -- pictures from Alpine. Also! Bucky and Nat have a somewhat frighteningly intense friendship/skating partnership and it's all just so, so great.

Quote:

Bucky continues on the corner edges while Steve sorts through one of the color groups. He thinks he has enough to make up branches of the tree that was displayed on the front of the box. He likes it when he finds the pieces that fit together, it’s like his brain fires little electrons of glee when they slot into place perfectly. He tries not to think about the fact it’s the same feeling he gets sometimes when he and Bucky execute their twizzles in perfect synchronicity. The same way he likes the sound of their prop swords clashing when they’re choreographing their throne number. Everything seems to feel matched when he’s around Bucky lately, like they’re synced partners as much as he is with Maria or Bucky is with Natasha. Puzzle pieces. Bucky seems to be enjoying it too. The quiet as they work together to put together this puzzle that neither of them would have looked twice at if they weren’t desperate for a distraction. A distraction from his heartache, from Bucky’s boredom… from the way that Bucky keeps looking over at him, from how he wishes they were doing this under different circumstances.

🌈Right where we are | steveandbucky | Teen | 10,395 words

This is actually the first fic in a whole 'verse, and they're all super sweet and super lovely. I really enjoy the way this Steve and Bucky build their relationship. I love seeing them get to have happier lives where they just get to be good for each other and good to each other, and this 'verse's Steve and Bucky, who do their best to communicate and who are so so cutely smitten from the gate, are great for that.

Quote:

“Hi,” Bucky smiles again, wider this time and the effect it has on Steve is embarrassing, since he can barely get out a greeting in response. Bucky looks ten times better in person. His now longer hair parted in the middle, and he has a two-day-old stubble, looking gorgeous in a navy blue shirt and dark form-fitting jeans. “Fancy running into you here,” he says as he leans closer to be heard above the music. Steve gets a waft of cologne, a sharp and somewhat sweet scent that draws him in as he briefly leans in to speak close to Bucky’s ear. “I’m just here with some friends, I swear I’m not stalking you.” Bucky laughs heartily, ducking his head and crinkling his nose as he does. It’s the cutest thing Steve’s ever seen, and fuck if he wouldn’t spend every minute of every day trying to get Bucky to laugh like that again. “Didn’t think you were stalking me. But what a coincidence, huh?” Bucky says, still grinning. “Nice to finally meet you, Steve Rogers.”

Bonus:

So, this is WIP, and I haven't started reading it yet. But! From everything I know about it, it absolutely fits what I'm going for on this rec list. Also, I've loved every other fic by @zenaidamacrouras1 that I've read. So while I can't actually rec something without reading it, I did feel like this should be in this post somewhere:

Unpredictable Synchronicity | Zenaidamacrouras1 | Mature | 106,788 words (WIP)

Second bonus:

These are fics that 100 percent should/would be on this list, except that I literally just rec'd them in my Brooklyn stories post. They are wonderful for all reasons described in the Brooklyn post:

Three White Horses | magdaliny | Mature | 16,601 words

Not In The Answer But The Question | aimmyarrowshigh @aimmyarrowshigh | Teen | 27,382 Words

Ill With Want | thedoubteriswise | Mature | 26,999 words

This turned into a very long post, but that feels fitting. Happy Pride! 🌈

Like I said, next up will be dystopias, apocalypses, etc.

More Recs

#SteveBucky #Stucky fic #Stucky Fic rec #Fic recs #Fic Rec Series #me rambling about other people's writing

184 notes · View notes

guppygiggles · 9 months ago

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Like Real People Do, Part 8! ♡ (Casper x Avery)

☁️ Summary: Avery's cloud form starts to emerge in public. Casper takes quick action to try and save him. Big crying scene -- BIGGER tickle scene. This fic is outrageously self-indulgent, even for me.

☁️ Warnings: Ler!Avery fans... this one is for you. Unspeakably, desperately vulnerable. Lots of crying. Discussion of trans (ftm particularly) topics. Men in their underwear (no genital nudity). If you can get through the emotions, I reward you with the biggest, teasiest Ler!Avery scene you can imagine. This is not NSFW, however… it is very suggestive. If you skip to the end... well, I just can't believe you! (Just kidding, read this however you want.💙)

☁️ Author's Note: I discuss being a demiboy/FTM pretty intimately here. Importantly, I do not claim to speak for every demiboy/gay/FTM/trans person. I am not a gender studies major, this is just my experience, and I do not have to justify it to anyone. Do not come in my messages/ask box with critical language about how I describe my experience. If you do, I will immediately block you.

This is a series now!

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8 *you are here

If you just got here and want to know more about my characters, you can read my comic starting right here!

My eyes frantically scanned the storage area. Luckily, it was vacant, at least for now.

Gary's Market was a relatively small grocery chain, and the stockroom was clean and well-organized. Large shelving racks stood in rows that reached the ceiling, and a small handful of pallets waited to be unloaded. Above us, rows of fluorescent lights hummed softly.

“Look for an exit,” I whispered, still grasping Avery's wrist.

“Casper, I'm so sorry-”

“Shh, no time for that now, let’s just get out of here.” I let go of him, walking to the end of the entryway and peeking around the nearest shelving unit. At the end of the hallway, past several rows of goods, was a glowing red exit sign.

“Oh, thank god. Let's go,” I turned back to Avery.

My blood ran cold.

I had not seen the employee who was approaching us; perhaps he had been in an adjacent aisle when we entered, had found what he needed, and was returning to the sales floor. Avery was still standing in the doorway, and as soon as the man rounded the corner, they would be face-to-face. The brunette twenty-something held a jar of peanut butter in one hand, and the only reason he hadn't seen me yet was because he was holding his phone in the other, texting with his thumb.

There was still space between us, but not so much that I couldn't read his nametag: David. “Hi, my name is David!” I imagined the smaller print said. It was difficult to believe the bored-looking youth, with his wrinkled uniform and beat-up Vans, would ever introduce himself that way.

Avery wasn't looking at me. If I called to him, the clerk would certainly hear. If I moved, I was sure to catch David's peripheral; he would see me, and then he would see Avery. There was nothing I could do; David was about to ruin my life.

What would happen, then? Would he scream? Would he pass out, as I almost had the first time I saw Avery? Would he tell his boss, then his family, then the news? His phone was already out – what if he took pictures? I imagined Avery's terrified face on CNN, Twitter, Tiktok. A cold sweat broke out all over my body as my insides twisted, a metallic taste filling my mouth. Was I really going to lose him – and like this?

Suddenly, Avery moved, his feet shuffling on the concrete floor as he widened his stance. His hands extended outward, fingers spread and clawed, as if he were preparing to grapple someone. His fingertips began to glow.

Was he going to attack this man?! My heart raced.

“Oh god, Avery, no!” I screamed internally. Whatever I imagined might happen to Avery would be infinitely worse if he harmed someone. He wouldn't just be captured and studied, he'd be killed. My blood pressure plummeted. I tightened my grip on the storage rack; I was about to collapse.

Then, the sound of crackling electricity filled the air. Until that moment, I hadn’t known electricity could sound like fire. A series of deafening pops rang out, followed by a blinding flash – then glass rained down on us as every lightbulb in the room exploded.

“What the fuck!” David cried as he dropped his phone.

Before I could react, I felt a cold hand on my arm, guiding me down the hallway toward the exit. The sign itself had gone out, too, but I could barely make out where sunlight seeped through the cracks. My knees were weak as Avery pulled me through the door and into the bright daylight, practically tripping over my own feet as I tried to regain my bearings.

The alley behind Gary's was empty, except for a pair of dumpsters and a few broken wood pallets. It was a clear day, and on the other side of the building, my car was right in the middle of the parking lot. We weren't out of the woods, yet.

I pulled Avery behind the dumpsters. His face was a mask of emotions I had never seen on him: guilt, shock, desperation. Fingers trembling, he carefully picked a piece of glass out of my hair. I could tell he was about to say something; I cut him off, cupping his cheek with my hand.

“Avery, stay right here. I'm going to bring the car around, okay? Stay right here behind this dumpster. I'll be right back.” I turned away before he could respond, jogging to my car as my heart shattered to leave him in such a state.

As I got in my car, I glanced at the store's entrance. The lights were on; I guessed the sales floor was on a different breaker than the warehouse. That was good – the less people who saw the lights go out, the better. I sped around back and parked next to the dumpster. Avery was right where I left him, huddled in a ball, face hidden in his hands.

“Hey, hey, it's okay… you're okay, you're safe now,” I comforted as I helped him into the back seat. Luckily, my car windows were tinted – practically a necessity in the desert where I was from. Afraid that David (or really, anyone) might come out the exit, I got in the driver's seat and pulled around to a secluded parking area. I climbed into the back, kneeling on the seat beside Avery as I put my hand on his shoulder. It was then that I realized just how small he was – I guessed he had shrunk to my height, maybe even shorter. He was still hiding his face in his hands.

“Avery… are you okay? I'm so sorry. I should have set an alarm… This is all my fault.”

“Casper, I'm- I'm- I'm so s-sorry!” He broke into a sob, his shoulders trembling as tears leaked out from under his hands. I saw, too, that the flat bottom of his head was dark and puffy. Water gushed from him, soaking his clothes. He wasn't just crying, he was raining.

“Oh my god, Avery, it isn't your fault! None of this is your fault!” I put my arms around him, hugging him into my chest. I hated to cry, especially when I was trying to comfort someone else, but I couldn't help it; my eyes stung as tears streamed down my cheeks, too.

“I- I should have known. I- I put you in danger,” he choked, his square glasses falling into his lap as he rubbed his pale eyes. He was completely soaked – so was my car seat – and as he cried, he was shrinking quickly. I panicked.

“You're shrinking! Avery, please stop crying! We're safe now, okay? I'll get you something to drink, alright? I'm not mad – at all – and I'm SO sorry. God, this is all my fault…” My stomach churned with regret. How could I have been so thoughtless? When we first met, I always set a timer on my phone, just to make sure we never ran out of time. As we’d grown closer, I'd become more and more lax. It had never been an issue before today, but now, my carelessness could have cost Avery his life. How could I live that down?

He looked up, then, to meet my eyes for the first time. Gently, he tucked a wisp of damp hair behind my ear. “Casper, i-it's not your fault, either. I know today was different from usual, there's no way you could have known. Please… don't cry,” he sniffled. “My heart breaks when you cry.”

“You don't cry! My heart breaks when you cry! So put that in your juice box and suck it!” Through my tears, I managed a small, but sincere laugh. Sniffling again, Avery giggled back. Regaining a bit of composure, he picked up his glasses, wiped the lenses and put them back on his face.

“How about we agree that, before we leave, we always set a timer. No matter what. Deal?” I kissed Avery's forehead, gently wiping the last of his tears. It was a bit wavering, but he finally gave me a real smile.

“Deal.”

+++

Avery protested, but I had to go back into the store to get our groceries. By the time we had finished crying, both of us were soaked, which earned me plenty of uncomfortable stares as I checked out. I had never been so thankful to be home.

He started to assist me with putting away the groceries, but I pointed sternly to the couch. “Dude, you’re shorter than me right now. You need to sit down and start hydrating, don’t worry about the groceries, I can handle it. Oh! I got you this.” I handed him a styrofoam cup with a dome lid. “It’s an ICEE. At first, I thought I should get you Gatorade… but your body isn’t like mine; you have ice crystals in there. I thought this might help you hydrate faster. It’s kinda like ice cream, but… different. It’s cherry flavored, think you’ll like it.”

Avery took the cup from me. His wet clothes hung on him like a tent in his diminished form – his glasses, too, were cartoonishly big for his shrunken face. I watched him sip slowly from the straw – then, his eyes lit up with an expression I recognized. He started to drink faster. I was delighted to have been correct in my selection; as he drank, he was rapidly growing in size.

“Heh, I’m glad you like it. Uhh… woah there, turbo, slow down. You’re gonna get-”

“Ow, ow, ow!” Avery winced, clutching his head. “Ahh… I’m not sure I like this, after all.”

I snorted. His mouth – normally a pale blue – had already turned purple from the red dye.

“Dude, you got a brain freeze. You can’t drink cold stuff that fast.”

“Ah, I see. It… tastes so good, though…” He started sipping again, his eyes forming half-moons of enjoyment.

I tittered. Relatable.

I worked on the groceries as Avery rested on the couch, sipping his drink and scrolling on his phone. By the time I was finished, he had returned to his smallest “normal” size – 6”3 (190.5cm ♡) and there was a big wet spot on my couch. I should have put a towel down, first.

“Alright, let’s get out of these wet clothes. I know you don’t have a spare set, here… but you can just wear your pajamas until your day clothes are dry, okay?”

It cost an extra thirty dollars per month, but it was worth it to have the tiny washer and dryer set in my unit. Standing over the washing machine, I peeled off my wet shirt and jeans, leaving me in my plaid boxers.

“What is this…?” Avery asked. I hadn’t noticed him leave the couch, and I jumped slightly. Though we had been together for several months, his quiet footsteps – and unexpected speed – still caught me off guard sometimes. He was pinching the hem of my binder. I realized that, even though my torso was mostly covered, I was still more exposed than he had ever seen me. Having fallen asleep unexpectedly the night before, I had never even taken my binder off.

“Oh… uh, it’s a binder,” I replied, embarrassed.

“What is it for?” Avery looked concerned.

My binder was wet, and at that point, I had been wearing it for well over twenty-four hours. I was uncomfortable, and I was sure I looked it, too. A sigh rolled from my chest. I knew I would have to explain this to him, eventually. I just didn’t expect it to be today, when I had already spent so much energy… well, fearing for our lives.

“Remember last month, when I explained queerness for humans? I know for clouds, you guys all get born the same, and you can kinda decide what your bodies look like. Well… for us, we get born how we get born, and sometimes we get born looking a different way than we feel inside. For humans, changing our bodies is actually really hard, and complicated… and sometimes, even if we feel a different way from how we’re born, we don't want to change our bodies. We just want to be seen for who we are inside, but in the bodies we're already in.”

I paused to look up at him – he was listening intently, his brow furrowed as he stared into my eyes. I shrunk under his intense gaze, blushing a bit.

“It’s rarely ever cut-and-dry, though, when we’re born a different way than we feel. Sometimes people get born in a ‘man's body,’ but they know they are female, and vice versa… but there are a lot of people who are in-between, too. Some people feel like ‘gender’ as a whole doesn't apply to them. Some feel a mix of things.

“I was born biologically female. Most of the time, I feel either male, or neither. It’s not that there's anything wrong with my body… it's just… when other people see me, I want them to see me how I feel inside. I wish I didn't have to wear a binder, but when I don't, people get ideas about me – and sometimes, I even get ideas about myself – that aren't who I really am,” I said, as if wearing a binder allowed me to pass consistently – it did not.

I was afraid to meet Avery's eyes, staring down at my wet clothes as they laid at the bottom of the washing machine. What would he think of me, now? Would he think I was just “confused,” as so many had said in the past? Even when they didn't say it out loud, I could tell. I could always tell.

A cool, soft finger crooked under my chin, gently tilting my head up.

“You will always be who you are inside when you're with me, no matter what your body looks like. Is that clear?”

My eyes welled with tears. I tried to look away, but Avery didn't let me.

“Don't let me find out that you've been wearing that thing longer than you should be – I know there must be safety precautions with something like that – and you never need to wear it when I'm around. In fact, I think you should take it off, right now. You don't have to do it in front of me, of course… but I can see that it's wet, and I can tell it's affecting your breathing. In fact, I've been able to tell many times in the past; I just presumed it to be a facet of your hypotension. Now that I know better, you can expect that I will be keeping you in check.” His intense gaze softened as a tear streaked down my flushed cheek. He encircled me in his huge embrace, a cool hand rubbing my back.

“Casper, I love you. I love you so much that it hurts, sometimes. Never feel like you have to perform for me, you are perfect just as you are.”

I trembled. I was frustrated to be sobbing for the second time in the same day, but Avery's chest was so soft, and his love was so big, I just couldn't help myself. Years of self-loathing and rejection poured out of me as he cradled my half-naked body against his chest.

“Shhh… it's okay, sweetheart. I know you must have been worried for months about what I'd think, but you don't have to worry any more.”

He pulled back from me, hands on my shoulders and a gentle, playful smile on his lips. He peered at me over the rim of his glasses.

“Now, go change, okay? I believe I made a promise to you earlier, and I intend to keep it.”

+++

Avery and I changed separately. I was soaked all the way through, so I donned new boxers and a fresh, loose t-shirt. It was a relief to be free of my binder. I inhaled deeply, feeling my ribs fully expand. Though I was still a bit nervous for Avery to see my chest, after so much crying, a flood of endorphins suppressed my fear.

As I entered the living room, Avery was already on the couch, hands folded neatly in his lap. He was dressed in his pajamas, and I could only assume he had been drinking more ICEE, because he was especially big and fluffy once again. Only the washing machine’s soft whirring broke the silence.

“Come here, dear.”

I took a few steps toward him, and then a sudden force – like a gust of wind – swept me from behind into his lap. I yelped in surprise.

“Hey, that scared me!”

“Hehe, sorry – guess I’m feeling a bit eager.” He smirked. My eyes widened. Until that moment, I had not realized exactly what he meant about his… promise.

It was the one he had made in the frozen section.

“W-wait,” I stuttered, my ears growing hot as I tried to scramble out of his lap. It was too late; with one large hand, he ensnared both of my wrists, lifting them over my head. I squealed. “WAHAHAIT!”

Avery laughed gleefully, showing his delicate round teeth.

“What, exactly, am I waiting for?” He teased. “Am I waiting for you to be ready for how much this is going to tickle? Because, I don’t think you could ever be ready for that. Hehe… you’re just buzzing with oxytocin right now, aren’t you? This is going to be so fun. Wonder where I should start?”

“Pff-hahahaha!” I laughed, trying to curl inward, which was impossible with Avery holding my arms up. As I pulled against his grasp, I fully internalized that my strength was no match for his. I also knew that as soon as he started tickling, I was likely to go limp as a ragdoll, too weak to fight. Despite the futility, it was all I could do to struggle while I still could.

“All this giggling when I haven’t even touched you, yet – I never tire of it. You’re so cute. Why don’t you save some laughs for when I start tickling, dear? You’re going to need them… trust me.” With his free hand, he wiggled his plush fingers threateningly in the air above my tummy.

“AHAhahahahavery PLEASE!” I could hardly contain myself; he hadn’t laid a finger on me, yet I could feel his damnably soft fingers already, dancing all over my body.

“Please what? Please don’t tickle your cute tummy? You know… I think it’s only fair that I should get to see it, this time. I did, after all, show you mine. As a matter of fact… I think I want to turn this snack into a full course.”

Avery stood, scooping me into his arms “bridal style” as I squirmed, howling in protest.

“Put me down! You can’t just manhandle me like th- ACK!” Chuckling, he deposited me unceremoniously on the bed.

“Can’t I?” He mused.

Then, he flourished his hand in a way I’d never seen before. Like magic, two ghostly hands – very similar in appearance to Avery’s – appeared out of thin air. Before I could react, each of my wrists were grappled and pinned to the top of the bed.

“What is this! This is cheating!” I objected, pulling at my arms. It was no use – apparently, any strength that Avery had, he was able to transfer to these apparitions, too.

“All’s fair in love and war, isn’t it, Casper?” Tittering, he straddled my waist, one knee on each side of my wriggling body. He pinned me so firmly that between his weight and his cursed “helping hands,” I could barely move. My blush spread like fire; especially with my binder off, I’d never felt more vulnerable.

“There we are… Now, let’s see what you’ve been hiding, hm?” Avery gently lifted the hem of my shirt to my lower ribs, exposing my tummy completely.

He paused, his eyebrows raising. As I watched, a pretty cerulean dusted his cheeks. His eyes practically sparkled as he looked down at me, making me flush even hotter.

“Oh… Casper. Just look at you. Goodness, I… I knew you would be lovely, but… oh, you are so cute. Just look at this little belly button…” With a silky fingertip, Avery drew a circle around the rim of my navel.

“PFFF HEHhahAHAHA!” I shouldn’t have been, but I was surprised by how much it tickled. My stomach muscles tensed beneath his delicate touch; it was completely undeniable, impossible to block out.

“Oh, wow... Your blush goes all the way down, doesn’t it~?”

I could hardly stand this any longer.

“Plehehehease…!” I begged, though not entirely sure what for.

“Ah, sorry. You’re right: It’s impolite to play with your food.”

With that, he lowered all ten of his fingertips to my tummy, wiggling them deftly into my taut skin.

“AAAAAHAHAHAHAHA!!!” I screamed with laughter, my hands balling into useless fists. My unrestrained feet kicked uncontrollably as my back, with the little space I was allowed, strained to arch off the bed.

“Oh no, does that tickle? Poor, sensitive Casper… have you forgotten what it’s like to be anxious, yet? No? I suppose I should keep going, then.” Avery giggled cheerfully, gently moving his fingers around my tummy, probing different spots randomly, just as I had done to him just a day prior. As always, his touch was so gentle; he always tickled with just enough force to excite the nerves beneath my delicate skin.

Fireworks exploded in my mind as the torture of sensation ran through my veins like electricity. I tried, but I was laughing too hard to even get a word out, like someone attempting – but unable – to tell the funniest joke they’d ever heard. Beads of moisture collected in the corners of my eyes as I shook my head, a halo of sweat forming on my pillow.

“What’s wrong, dear? Can’t stand the taste of your own medicine? I distinctly remember you tickling me, just like this. Could it be that you did so because you knew, if done on you, it would be simply unbearable? You’re already a mess, and we haven’t even gotten to your other spots, yet.”

Like a comedian pausing for effect, he stilled his fingers, grinning deviously.

“YOU’RE KIHIHIHLLLING MEHEHEHE!” I cried, finally able to somewhat form a sentence, though the tickle persisted long after he had stopped.

Avery laughed reactively – his big laugh, the one that I loved so much. My exposed, trembling tummy filled with butterflies.

“Would it be such a bad thing to die laughing?” He joked tenderly, leaning down to place a feather-light kiss on my tummy. Then he reached up, brushing the damp hair from my forehead. “Do you need a break?”

“...”

Avery lowered his tone, leering over his glasses again. “Before you answer, just so you know: I’m taking those armpits for a spin, next.”

The fluster I experienced was so powerful and so immediate, I saw stars.

“Y-Y-Yes, I need w-water,” I choked, imagining how crazed I must look to him. He chuckled, leaving the room for a moment, and then returning with a bottle of water. With a hand on my back, he helped me sit up. The hands holding my wrists relaxed, but not enough to give me free range of motion. I shot him a quizzical glance.

“Oh, dewdrop… You didn’t think I was going to let you go, did you?” He taunted, gently cupping my chin as he poured the water into my mouth.

I blushed furiously.

It was difficult to drink, as I was trembling from head to toe, but I managed… somehow. He set the bottle on the nightstand, and then I was trapped again, arms aloft as Avery sat on my waist.

He eyed me through his bifocals, a fingertip placed to his lips.

“Hmm… Under, or over your shirt?”

“What?!”

“Sorry, did I stutter? Under or over, Casper.”

“I-I-I…”

“What’s wrong, dear? Can’t you manage a simple, one-word answer~?”

My response was nothing but an incoherent whimper.

“Since it seems you’re feeling indecisive, I’ll choose for you. I choose under.”

“No! NO! AHAHAHahveery!”

He leaned forward, placing his fingertips on my bare lower ribs.

“Let’s just take a little trip, shall we? We’ll start right here.”

“NOHHOHOHO!”

“Then we’ll work our way upward, nice and slow…”

Avery walked his fingertips up my ribs, pausing now and then to wiggle into a soft spot.

“AAAAHAHA NOOO PLHEHEHEHEHASE!”

“You know, sometimes, it’s about the journey, not the destination… don’t you agree?”

His silky digits continued upward until they reached the top of my ribcage. I shook with laughter beneath him, my feet stomping the bed fruitlessly as my toes curled in desperation. I simultaneously dreaded and craved what was next.

“But, then again… it is nice to arrive, too~”

With that, he dipped his fingertips into each of my helpless armpits, scribbling gently into the bare hollows.

“Tickle tickle tickle,” he lilted, grinning.

My response was a delirious, unintelligible shriek. In my mind raged a five-alarm fire, searing any coherent thought to ash. With what little movement my restraints would allow, I thrashed beneath Avery, my heart palpitating so fiercely I was afraid it would escape my chest. Tears streamed down my burning cheeks, heralding my third cry of the day.

“Oh, my god… Your previous laughs were hardly a giggle compared to this. Have I finally found a favorite spot, sweetheart? Are you just too ticklish under these arms? Goodness… I could hardly tickle you any more gently, but even this is driving you nuts!”

I couldn’t respond – the tickle was so intense, so overwhelming that all I could do was laugh in futility. I had no strength left to struggle; my body lay limp beneath Avery as he killed me softly with those silky, gentle fingertips, stroking merrily away under my arms, destroying any hope I had of stringing two thoughts together.

After what seemed like an eternity – but in reality, must have been less than ten minutes – Avery stopped. The pair of hands that were holding my wrists released me, but I hadn’t even the strength to put my arms down. His cool hand stroked my cheek as he chuckled affectionately.

“Well, now… How do you feel? Have you forgotten what it’s like to be anxious?”

I sat up – tried to, anyway – and then collapsed back onto the pillow in a blissfully overstimulated huff. Avery started to giggle, which escalated to a delighted belly laugh.

“I’ll take that as a yes!”

“Avery…”

“Yes…?”

“If you don’t cuddle me – right now – I think I'm going to die.”

Still chuckling, he immediately enveloped me in his fluffy embrace, hugging me as if he were afraid someone would take me from him. I snuggled easily into his arms, cocooned in a heretofore unknown peace and safety. The last thing I heard was Avery’s characteristic lightning zap as the light flickered out; I was asleep before my head hit the pillow.

#tickle fic #tickle fluff #tickling community #casper and avery #like real people do #fluffylore #writing #my fic #romance #tickling #ocs #my ocs

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