#i really really really need to stop masking in therapy

[voxslays]

DAE-HO AS YOUR BF

BEFORE THE GAMES

First of all, this man is one of the sweetest in the entire damn series. He is the type to constantly be getting you flowers and your favorite types of sweets (whether that be chocolates, lollipops, baked goods, etc).

Always there to hype you up, no matter the situation. Even if you’re in the wrong. Dae-ho will never play the devil’s advocate, although he will make you think about your actions in a kind, stress and judgement free way.

Despite all your shared debt, Dae-ho still adores spoiling you in little ways. Picking little flowers from nearby meadows in Seoul’s natural parks. Buying you little trinkets that remind him of you; like bracelets and mini music boxes.

Will never let you walk home alone at night. This man doesn’t care how far away you are. Twenty miles? Fifty? He’ll get there just to make sure nobody touches or tries anything on your way home. He may be a little paranoid from his time in the marines.

When walking together, he’ll always have his large, calloused and veiny hand on the small of your back. It gives both him and you a sense of belonging and comfort—so much so, that it’s become a habit by now.

I imagine Dae-ho is a great listener who will sit for hours listening to your rants (and problems). But when it comes to him? He tries to hide it from you. Why? Because he’s scared you’ll find him weak and pathetic.

I imagine over the years he lived with his dad, his mental state was really hit hard. He still has trouble being open and vulnerable with you, but he tries his best. And he’s really glad to have someone as caring as you on his side.

DURING THE GAMES

Absolutely shocked and horrified when he sees you wearing the same green tracksuit as him—even more so when he hears why you joined. Because you wanted the you and him to have a better future together.

He always insists on giving you at least half of his food portions. He says it’s because you need the strength more than he does, even though it’s not true. In the end, all he wants is for you to survive, and is willing to do anything to ensure it.

Keeps you close during all of the games, but especially mingle. Heaven knows Dae-ho couldn’t live with himself if you died and he lived. He trusts and cares for Gi-hun and the others, but will always pick you first.

Every single time the song goes quiet and the platform stops, he’s nearly dragging you off the platform before the number is even announced, giving both of you a head start to the madness rush caused by the panic.

During the rebellion, all he can think of is you. After all you’ve been through together, how could he just leave you like that? And his negative feelings and thoughts are intensified due to his episode. Yet, tries his best to remain strong for your allies.

When he runs back to get ammo, he is so out of it, he barely even notices you running over to ask him what’s going on. He just watches in awe as you rush into action, grabbing the ammo from the dead guards pockets. All for him.

All he feels is warmth as you help comfort him as he comes down from his PTSD attack. In the end, he vows to get both of you out of there alive, no matter what it takes. By any circumstances. And in the end, that’s just what he does.

AFTER THE GAMES

When you are kicked out onto the separate empty streets you were first picked up on—card in mouth—you were confused. Until someone pulls of your blindfold. Dae-ho. You look up at his messy hair. He looks relieved.

He was now in one of his shirts instead of the green tracksuit you were so used to by now. Yet, even in his disheveled state, he still managed to be as handsome as ever. He quickly helps you to your feet and pulls you into a warm, enveloping hug.

The two of you walk to your nearest bank together, pulling out your cards and putting your player numbers in, unlocking them. Yet, even with all the accumulated wealth you now share, you both only pull out enough to pay off your debts.

You both go to therapy, although you mask the real reason why. How were you supposed to explain to a therapist you were visiting that you were in a series of death games without seeming absolutely crazy?

Dae-ho also becomes a lot more protective and clingy after you leave the island, as if scared to lose you (he is). Which is one of the reasons he proposes to you and buys a house for you to share. Together at last. No danger in sight.

To outsiders, it may seem sudden or too soon—but to you? It couldn’t have been soon enough. You and Dae-ho are ready to leave the games behind you, and this seems like the next logical step. It feels…right.

NSFW

Super good with his mouth and fingers. He has a long tongue and is extremely soft and agile with it. He is fingers are almost freakishly long and thick, perfect for his deep, controlled movements. Plus, he can be such a tease.

If he wanted to, Dae-ho could edge you all night long—simply drinking in your essence. Sucking on your clit, dragging his tongue through your thick folds and gummy walls. Letting his fingers slowly penetrate you as you moan uncontrollably.

Besides being a munch, he also has a huge dick. Around eight inches, to be exact—and thick af. Every time he slides into you, it’s a struggle. You cry out about not being able to take him every single time, and he is as gentle as can be.

He is never rough with you, even as his cock feels like it’s impaling you. Dae-ho always goes as slow as you need, not wanting to push you too far. In conclusion, he knows what he’s doing and is the gentlest giant ever made.

[genxnarumi]

talks to so many people and still lonely; is it that no one cares nor includes me….or am i just that good at keeping them at a safe distance away?

[neverendingford]

.

[lazyneonrabbitt]

Muzzled

FatWS!Bucky x Reader | Smut🔞

Face riding as therapy? Bucky thinks it's a wonderful idea.

Part two of Barrier, set way later in the timeline.

You and Bucky probably had the weirdest relationship of anyone you knew. Over the decades you had been together you had been separated by war accidents, evil organizations and helful allies, only to find a different version of Bucky each time your paths crossed once more.

Now, the most recent time of seeing Bucky again almost gave you whiplash as a wave of nostalgia hit you.

His hair was cut and styled short and he sported a gorgeous new arm. He didn't look like the tortured soul that came and took you to Romania but resembled his old boyish self once more.

He was Sergeant Barnes again.

Bucky still hesitated to touch you, his mind telling him he needed to make sure you hadn't stopped feeling for him romantically before he'd make a fool of himself.

Once he stepped into your apartment, though, that fear left him entirely.

On the wall sat a vintage Captain America propaganda poster that Steve himself signed. Next to it a small toy shield signed by Sam. A huge bookcase ran along the remainder of the wall and wherever he looked he saw memories.

Far off in the corner of his eye he spotted a familiar teddybear, now worn and clearly loved.

But what really caught his eye was all the different items of his she had scattered throughout the cabinet.

Books about the Howling Commandos, a small portrait picture he knew she had kept on her person during the war and even a little action figure of him and Steve stood ready for battle beside and old group photo.

Even--

..even his Winter Soldier mask sat proudly in a square along with a HYDRA file labeled with his name, and that small red book.

"Why did you keep this?" His voice was soft, his eyes focused on the items that represented his worst side, displayed so proudly in the open.

"Well, it shows I love all versions of you, even the one everyone else disliked." The way you said it so casually caught him off guard.

"But if you don't like having it here I can always put it in my nightstand.." You liked how that made a blush creep up his face. "I know you liked it last time you wore it around me."

You let out a full blown laugh at Bucky clearly remembering the events you mentioned. He picked up the item and turned it in his hand, inspecting all the intricate details on it.

Part of him was excited you loved the assassin and didn't cast him away or tried to pretend he didn't exsist, but part of him also felt extremely uncomfortable being around items that reminded him of a part of him he had tried to forget.

"If you put it on I'll sit on your face." You passed the ex-assassin with a wink as you stepped towards the hall connecting the livingroom to your bedroom, keeping him in your view as he stood, frozen and almost dropping the mask in shock.

By the time you reached the bedroom door he still hadn't moved. "Oh, Sergeant?"

"Y.. yes, peach." He quickly slipped past you into the room and sat down on the edge, mask still in hand.

Standing in front of him you toed off your shoes, crossing your arms as your eyes glanced at the mask for a second, signaling you were waiting.

You watched trembling hands lift the item to his face, his eyes focused on it as fear glinted in the blues.

"Hey, look at me." Your voice was soft and got his attention immediately. His eyes quickly lost the fear and clouded with something more primal as he took in your form only clad in simple but tasteful underwear.

A simple "Okay" was all he muttered before the mask went back up to his face and he secured it in place. "Happy now?" His hands moved to take it off again but you moved swiftly to stop him.

"Oh no, baby. I think you misunderstood." You placed his hands on your hips and yours on his shoulders, pushing him back onto the bed.

"I said," Crawling over him you sat yourself down on his chest. "Put on the mask and I'll sit on your face. Don't you want me to sit on your face, Bucky?"

God, you loved how expressive his eyes were. They told you everything you needed to know when his mouth couldn't cooperate with his brain. But you needed him to talk before you moved on, making sure he was still here with you.

"Buck, talk to me please. I need to know that you're okay with this." Your hand came up to rest against his temple and he nodded. "I'm okay. Still breathing."

You took his words in happily, smiling down at him and moving his hands again, motioning for him to take off your remaining clothes.

With you completely bare, Bucky's hands found your ass and kneaded the soft flesh making him hum in pleasure. "So soft.."

With each squeeze you maneuvered yourself further up his body until your core was hovering above his head. Bucky's was breathing hard in anticipation, his fingers drawing lazy circles on your clit to distract himself from the eery feeling of the mask over his face.

"Relax, Buck. Tap out when it becomes too much. Do whatever you want with your hands in the meantime." Your fingers found his hair and gently combed through it as you lowered yourself onto the mask. Your slick already coating the hard material from Bucky's touches.

On your first roll of your hips you felt Bucky's hands twitch beside you, laying against the bed. As you continued to gently move you took his hands and put them on you. One on your chest and one on the plush of your thigh.

"Feels good, Buck.." You sighed as he rolled a nipple between his vibranium fingers and kept pawing at your thigh and ass. He hummed beneath you, inhaling deep to take in your scent through the mask. Your arousal was starting to seep through the slits down the front, the holes making perfect bumps and valleys to pleasure yourself on. Bucky moaned at your scent invading his senses, your slick dtipping down from the slits. Beneath the mask he had his tongue out, lapping at the inside to drink up everything he could get to.

The groan he let out at your taste went straight trough you and you felt the hand on your ass leave you. The sound of him fumbling with his pants caught your ears and it only spurred you on, rutting against the mask with renewed energy. Your tired legs finding new strength to continue riding Bucky's face.

You felt his arm move beside you, peeking back to see him taking his cock in hand and jerking himself off as he squirmed under you. "Taste so good.."

As he jerked himself off to the taste of you, your hips kept rolling. The slits in the mask being perfect ridges for your clit to catch on and help you closer to the edge.

"Hah.. Buck, feels good.." You moaned as he toyed with your nipple, your hand on his vibranium wrist squeezing the metal. Your other hand still rested in his hair, tugging on the short strands with each ridge that caught on your folds. "Getting close.."

While you used Bucky's mask as a saddle, he stroked his cock and played with your tits. Moans and sighs filled the room as you both neared your end. Bucky wordlessly placed his hand on your hip, holding you down as you tugged at his hair, gripping the strands hard as your orgasm washed over you. With a few slow rolls of your hips you came down just as Bucky groaned into the mask, panting as he finished all over his hand and shirt.

With a lazy smile you laid down next to him. "So, how are you feeling about it now?" Next to you Bucky unclipped the mask and turned it in his hands.

"Yeah," he huffed, his smile widening as his gaze turned to you. "I think I can start liking this thing."

Bucky was sure you were still eyeing him, pulling the outside of the mask back to his lips and licking a broad stripe right over the middle, his eyes still focused on you in the process. Only when he noticed you squirming and rubbing your thighs together he stopped and tossed the mask aside.

"Now, are you gonna let your soldier fuck you properly?"

[gravedwe11er]

Got hit by a Mecha AU Swerve angst idea in the middle of the night, and I had to put it down on a page. Based on the @keferon Mecha AU and inspired by all the amazing Swerve/Blurr art I see around (seriously, yall are giving me so many ideas and I love it).

More often than not, nowadays, Swerve feels like an imposter in his own frame. His time spent as a human was so short, just an insignificant speck compared to the eons of his real life, his real lifespan, and yet...

Those few scant human years are the realest he can remember feeling.

The medics said it took fifteen cycles for anyone to knock on his door, to even notice his absence. And when someone eventually did, it was just- his boss. One of the engines was giving them trouble, and they needed all servos on deck. That's all.

None of the bots who he talked to every day, the ones he’d worked side by side with for years noticed he was gone. None of the people who would laugh at his jokes and drink with him at the bar had a single thought to spare for him. Nobody missed him, until they needed him for something.

Glum thoughts in the dead of night are one thing. It’s another thing entirely to know, without a shadow of a doubt, that it’s all true.

So of course Swerve figured out the holoform thing again. Sure, it’s still kind of risky, but now that he’s actually doing it on purpose, he’s been taking a few precautions – a good recharge, a full fuel tank, and an automated message to be sent off to the medics after a set period of time, in case he knocks himself out again. Actually, he nearly managed just that, the first time he tried it, overtaxing himself almost to the point of shutdown. The keyword being nearly, though! It did little to weaken his resolve, and after a few more tries, he now has a whole system figured out, one that won’t damage his processor.

Or, it probably won’t, anyway. He’s not about to go ask; someone higher up might order him to stop, which-

Yeah, he’s not doing that.

On this ship, Swerve’s got nothing. He might as well be nothing - he’s a trained metallurgist working as a common mechanic, amongst people who barely even know he exists. On Earth, he’s- well. It’s not like he was exactly a social butterfly, but people invited him for shitty cafeteria coffee, a few pilots liked to stop by for a chat sometimes, and if he fell asleep at his desk, someone would come shake him awake within an hour or two.

On Earth, he has Blurr. And that’s not something he’s willing to give up.

Swerve shutters his optics in his tiny room on the ship, and surrenders gladly to the pulling sensation overtaking his processor as his holomatter generator struggles to cross such a vast distance. Then, with a crackle and a fizz of static across his neural net, he’s gone.

When he opens his eyes, it’s to the sight of Blurr’s expansive private hospital suite, with the man nowhere to be seen. He’s been hoping for that, though- as a general rule, he tries to catch the pilot between press conferences and physical therapy sessions, so nobody starts asking questions about the dead man loitering around a celebrity’s rooms. Blurr has enough problems as it is.

Luckily, he doesn’t have to wait for long. Soon enough, Swerve hears several pairs of footsteps approaching the door, and he ducks into the bedroom, keeping out of sight. “Again, thank you so much for the well-wishes,” carries through the walls, barely loud enough to be audible – Blurr’s voice, he thinks. The ‘business’ voice. “But I really have to go now. The doctor will be visiting soon, you understand.”

There are polite sounds of assent, an exchange of a few more pleasantries before the steps retreat back down the hallway, followed by the quiet whoosh of the front door opening. Cautiously, Swerve peeks out of the bedroom.

Blurr stands in the doorway, back straight, with a bright, practiced smile on the visible half of his face. The other, the one with scars and still healing skin grafts, is covered by an elaborate mask, shaped to look like his mech’s helm. He gives the people outside one final wave, and clicks the door shut.

Then he turns around, notices Swerve and slumps.

Now wobbling slightly, the injured pilot leans his back against a wall, gingerly peeling the mask off of his face to revealed reddened, irritated skin. The smile he turns on Swerve is completely different from before, small and tired and slightly pained.

To anyone else, it would look like an insult. To Swerve, it’s a precious thing, a gift the star shares with very few people in his life - honesty.

“Swerve, hello!” Blurr greets him, sounding slightly out of breath. He’s getting the best care money can buy, but even that only goes so far- recovery will slow and painful, and not everything will go back to how it was. There are some scars the pilot will carry for the rest of his life, and just the thought makes Swerve’s holographic heart ache.

“Hi,” he answers enthusiastically, crossing the room to go help the injured man, only to get waved off.

“Thanks, but I’m good. I need to build up my stamina again.”

Swerve frowns a little, but steps away again. “Alright, if you’re sure. Just be careful! You can lean on me if you need to, yeah? I don’t want you to hurt yourself, so if-“

“Swerve!”, Blurr laughs, interrupting his awkward rambling, and he can feel his holoform’s cheeks going red. “It’s fine, really. I’ll ask you if I need help, alright?”

“Alright,” he mutters into the collar of his shirt and follows after the man, ready to support him if he stumbles. Blurr leads them to his bedroom, laying down on the mattress with a pained grimace, once again waving off any of Swerve’s offers to help. Instead, the man pats one side of the bed in clear invitation, and Swerve does his best to pretend his face isn’t looking like an overripe tomato as he sits, their hands almost touching. Judging by Blurr’s teasing little grin, he fails miserably, but- it made Blurr smile. He’d say that more than makes up for it.

They talk, for as long as Swerve’s holoform generator allows and perhaps a little bit beyond that. He asks after Blurr’s recovery, listens to the pilot bemoan the weakness of his atrophied muscles and endless physical therapy sessions. Learns more about the constant press releases, the pressure from command to return back to duty and perform his star pilot act once again.  They talk about anything and everything the man wants to share, from the important to the mundane.

In turn, Blurr asks him about his life, his day, his work on the ship. Which, here’s the thing- he didn’t really notice much it before his coma, but nobody else actually asks about him. Swerve talks a lot, and sometimes, other bots will even listen, but they never ask.

Except for Blurr. Blurr always asks now, and Swerve always talks and talks and talks, and the pilot never seems to mind. Sometimes, he wishes he knew how to express it, to show the man just how much it means to him, but- in a rare twist of events, the words never manage to leave his mouth.

Doesn’t make it any less true, though.

Every small, honest smile, every real, slightly ugly laugh he gets out of the man makes Swerve’s holographic heart beat overtime. He feels so happy, so at peace when by the man’s side, and he never wants to leave.

But he has to. Eventually, it’s always time to go, his systems warning him of impending shutdown and he hates it, he hates it so much, but he says his goodbyes. Blurr’s understanding about it, of course, and the pilot’s cheeky little wave is the last thing Swerve sees before he closes his eyes and disappears.

When he unshutters his optics, it’s to the sight of his empty, windowless habsuite.  Getting up from his berth, he feels a fleeting stab of vertigo – some echo of his human self’s instinct, warning him of a dangerous height, which, huh. That’s been happening more and more often. Something to ask the medics about, perhaps.

Then again, why bother. It’s not like he doesn’t know what the answer would be.

He misses Blurr already. Misses the warmth of Earth’s sun and the warmth of companionship, the warmth of a soft human touch. Misses his false life and false body, and the very real joy it brings him.

Sometimes, he wishes he never woke up, instead living out his fake human existence in blissful ignorance until his spark eventually guttered from the strain. Occasionally, he wishes he was human. Actually human, not just the holoform- muscle and bone and sinew, just like the rest of them, just like Blurr. It’s clear he doesn’t belong amongst his own kind, so… maybe it’d be better that way.

Most of the time though, he just wants to be on Earth; true frame, fake body, it doesn’t matter. He wants to hold Blurr in his servos, wants to feel like he matters to somebody, wants to-

He’s not really sure what he wants, exactly. He just knows it’s not this.

[heavyhitterheaux]

Wife and Mother To Be

Synopsis: While you and Joe are shopping for a friend's baby shower, he has a realization about his future with you.

Pairing: Joe Burrow x Girlfriend!Reader

Requested by @hoodharlow 😘💕

Please Do Not Repost My Content Anywhere

Standing in the baby section of Target and holding up two different onesies to compare them, your phone started to vibrate in the back pocket of your jeans. Placing one of them across your arm, you pulled your phone out to answer it and was greeted by a frantic boyfriend.

“Baby! Where did you run off to this time? You said we were coming in here for toothpaste and face masks. Next thing I know, I turn around and my girlfriend is missing! Are you at Starbucks again?! You ALWAYS do this when we come in here.” You heard your boyfriend say as you picked up and didn't wait for a proper greeting.

“You were literally standing there for fifteen minutes comparing different ones so I walked away. I'm in the baby section looking at clothes. And no, I already went to Starbucks and my drink is gone so I'll need to make another stop before we leave.”

“No, no, and no. I am literally taking you to lunch so no more stops and wait a minute, why are you in the baby section? Is there something you need to tell me?” Joe asked and you immediately rolled your eyes.

“For Gabby! Her baby shower is tomorrow, remember? Just come over here and help me pick things out for her.”

“Oh, right. Be right there, I'm walking over now.”

It was another two minutes when you saw Joe coming towards you and he greeted you by placing a soft kiss on your lips.

“Wait a minute, why do you have a cart? We got a basket when we came in here. What did you plan on buying her? The entire section? Am I paying for this?”

“Joseph, will you relax!? I'm just getting her a few things and then we can go eat. Now what do you think about these?” You asked as you held up the same two onesies to show him.

“Hmm, what is she having again?” Joe asked as he was looking at both of them.

“A girl, Joe. Both of these are pink.”

“So? What's your point? I wear pink too.”

“But not something that says princess on it!” You responded to him as you laughed.

“At least not yet anyway and I like both of them.”

“Okay good. Both it is and I’m ignoring you.”

“I should ignore you for leaving me by myself.”

“Oh, that's right. I forgot that you need supervision all the time.”

“No, that's you. I'm a responsible adult. You're the one who comes in here for one thing when you tell me you'll be back in twenty minutes but an hour goes by and you're nowhere to be found.”

“And you use whatever I bring back home so you benefit from it so I don’t want to hear it.” You told him with a smirk and now it was Joe’s turn to roll his eyes.

“Come on and help me. Sooner we finish, the sooner we get food and go home.” You told him and he quickly agreed as he started browsing the baby toys.

Before you knew it, another thirty minutes had passed by and the two of you had a cart full of different things for Gabby. You were satisfied with how much you had gotten, but Joe was still browsing.

“Babe, come on. This should be enough.” You told him as you came up behind and wrapped your arms around him as he was now comparing two different diaper brands and you suddenly got a flashback to the toothpaste situation.

“You can never have enough diapers though, right?”

“Sweetheart, we got her four packs already.”

“Yeah, but are those really the best ones? I think that these might be better in case she has a blow out. My nephew did that to me and I still have PTSD. Therapy was needed after that.” Joe told you as he put the other diapers back and you couldn't help but to laugh.

“Not funny, babe. I didn't realize how much shit could come out of someone so little.”

“It is funny, Joseph and I wish I was there to be able to see your face when it happened.”

“Keep going and I'm not feeding you.” Joe told you as he put the diapers you had gotten in the cart back and replaced them with the brand that he wanted.

“But, I need energy in order to ride you later.” You replied and Joe immediately turned a bright shade of red as you began to laugh.

“BABE!”

“What? What'd I say?”

“You know what you said. Come on so we can go.”

Later on that night you were sitting on the middle of the floor in your shared bedroom with Joe when he walked in to see what you were doing.

“You run away from me in Target and at home. Did I do something?” Joe playfully asked as he sat across from you and began to help you wrap the gifts for Gabby.

“Nothing at all, Joey. Doing this so I can spend the rest of the night cuddling my amazing boyfriend whom I love to the moon and back.”

“Just the moon, not further?”

“Well we aren't going to the sun unless we want to burn to a crisp so yeah the moon.”

“I'll take it.”

You were folding the onesies when Joe was simply admiring you. Before he could stop himself, he blurted it out.

“When are we going to have one?” He asked and your mouth instantly hit the floor, but you tried to compose yourself.

“Um, have a what?” You asked clearly flustered and Joe simply laughed.

“You know what I mean.” Joe responded as he pulled you to sit in his lap as he kissed the top of your head while his arms wrapped around you.

“You want a baby? With me?” You asked with your voice dripping with uncertainty.

“I want everything with you. I thought that much was obvious. And not just one baby, multiple.” He answered and you turned around to look at him.

“You're serious?”

“I love you and I'm as serious as a heart attack.”

“Well you low key just gave me one.” You muttered against his chest and he laughed.

“Don't you want that with me?”

“Of course I do. I want nothing more than to make it a reality. I just didn't really know how to tell you or if you were ready. I mean you are literally at the peak of your career.”

“Baby, you can tell me anything and everything. You know that. And so what? If this is something that we both want, we're going to make it work.”

“You're not messing with me?”

“Now, why would I do that? I want to make you my wife too whenever that time comes. Mrs. Sheisty has a nice ring to it, don't you think?”

Now it was your turn to shy away and hide in his chest and all he did was laugh.

“In that case, I can't wait for you and our daughter to have matching pink outfits.”

“Oh, so you want a girl first?”

“Of course, girls run the world and she is going to have you wrapped around her little finger just like I do now.” You told him as you poked his nose.

“If that's the case, you want to get started? I heard that making the baby is the fun part.”

[oceantornadoo]

IDK! HEAR ME OUT THO!!!

Simon, staging the break in and what not so he could push you back into his arms??? INSANE!

Delicious story. Thank you for the food! <3

so originally when i made that last fic (which unexpectedly blew up tysm everyone) i added in the creepy elements almost on accident?? but this and another reply has me thinking...

tw: slight humiliation (but you'll like it)=

simon riley wasn't a bad man. he also wasn't a bad husband. at least that's what he told himself.

when you had presented him with those divorce papers a bit ago (13 months and 4 days, but who was counting), he thought it was a bluff. a joke. he had gone too far in your last argument, and that was your reaction. when he told you he'd go to therapy, you stared at him with a look he'd only see on men in the battlefield. dead all the way through, a walking husk. so he signed them and went to therapy anyways.

the whole time, this whole 13-month break, where you had been 'building a new life' or whatever, he had been planning. internalizing the commentary his therapist would make, and then spitting it back out to you while you moved out of his place. every time you seemed to forget one extra box, and who's to say if he hid a couple in his room? he had a plan.

over time, simon really seemed to have learned so much from therapy. so much about communication. he had become open and welcoming, far from that man who would respond to your complaints with hard stares and a lack of words. so maybe you met for coffee a couple of times and that's how he knew about the cafe by your new place. maybe that's how he tailed you one night after a date, just to make sure this new guy didn't try anything (and not to figure out your unit number). whatever he did, he played a dangerous game by letting you have this illusion of freedom while balancing his presence in your life, just enough to make you want more. after weeks and week of stagnant progress, he needed one extra push. something small, not even a shove.

and if he happened to mention your unit number to a bunch of shady guys that hung out in the alley by your building? happened to brag about your pretty pussy and sweet-smelling panties? maybe mention your habit of not locking the window when you left for work? who's to say. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

and now here you were, back in his arms where you belonged. a little frightened but comforted in the knowledge that he could protect you. the ghost wasn't shed when he took his mask off, but you didn't need to know that.

--

your body was so used to being in simon's arms you didn't even realize you had been grinding on him for the past ten minutes. his boxers you wore were sticky with arousal as you grinded against his clothed cock in the dark. even in your dream, it was simon underneath you, no one else. "si." you panted, a near-whisper that only a military man could have heard. "dove?" he adjusted your sleeping positions, tossing the covers to give you more room to maneuver against him.

"i know i said that thing about the line not being crossed." he gave you a low chuckle. silly little girl. you had finally realized how much you needed him and he was going to milk you for all you were worth. "and?" you stopped. shit. he needed to seem more responsive. he moved you from his thigh to his boner using one arm, the other one snaking its way under your shirt to stroke your back. you moaned as he massaged the tension from the day's earlier events away, giving you sweet relief. the sweetness of the massage made a hard contrast to the friction in your core as he rubbed you against his hardened cock.

"spit it out, baby." he growled. "can you-fuck." his hand had moved to the back of your neck now, holding it in a tight grip. his hand was so large he could feel the pulse points on either side of your jaw, heart racing. finally. "can you get me off? just this once?" he snorted, moving you up and down against him faster, dragging your sensitive clit over and over. "what's the magic word?" he flipped you both around, pressing his body weight on top of you.

simon turned the light on, wanting to see how needy you were. you were panting, shirt sticky with sweat as your chest moved up and down with exertion. he hiked up your shirt and took off your boxers, exposing your sticky cunt to the cool air. he took a sniff of the fabric, noting your small gasp as if you didn't know how obsessed he was with you already. "magic word." your mouth dropped. guess you weren't getting off that easily. "please, simon." he clucked his tongue at that. "ghost?" he left out a short laugh, arms reaching out to tug his shirt off of you. your nipples were so hard, aching to be pinched and sucked just how you liked them. "not ghost." he reached over to his nightstand, pulling something out of the drawer. he fumbled with his hand for a second, then held yours up to the light as he slipped something on it.

"husband." the words left your mouth in a whoosh, eyes transfixed on your wedding ring that was on your hand. the one you had flung at him after he complained about the divorce papers, the one you said you'd rather die than wear again. and here it was, right back on your finger, sparkling in the lamplight.

simon captured your mouth in a rough kiss, entering you with his ring and middle finger at the same time. "so willing for your husband, hm? all puffy and wet. look at your cunt, darling." you both looked down at your pussy at the same time. it was squelching, your vibrator sessions not holding a candle to what your ex husband could do to you. you were almost embarrassed by how desperate your pussy looked, clit enlarged from its earlier friction. his fingers worked in and out of you, wedding ring covered in slick. you watched as he pressed his thumb to your clit in small circles, a tightening sensation in your lower belly rising to the surface. "simon, si-fuck" he gave your pussy a small slap, pulling his fingers out as you addressed him incorrectly. "husband, please." he entered you again roughly, drawing a low moan from you. he captured your nipple in his mouth, teething it just enough to make you hurt. punishment.

"please please please i'm right ther-" he pressed hard against your clit and sent you careening off the edge into your orgasm, back bowing off the bed. simon gave you small love bites as you recovered, hand still working your cunt to draw out your orgasm.

finally, he removed his fingers and drew back from you, forcing eye contact. he put both in his mouth, moaning at the taste of your arousal mixed with the metal from the wedding band. your jaw was still open, looking at him like you had never seen him before. like the sheep's skin had finally been removed, and now only the wolf remained.

"let's get you to bed, wife."

[pineapple-downside-up-cake]

Having a wretched day and decided to take it out on Ghost. I lost steam towards the end for which I am sorry. Smut coming next week as a consolation prize.

Olfactory memory? Yes? Yes.

Cw: PTSD, PTSD induced domestic violence, angst not quite comfort but we're trending positive

Ex-military Ghost with civilian reader.

You are sunshine. Heroin. The drug that's made him feel like he's swimming, not drowning, for the first time in decades.

There are things he can't tell you, but there are also things he won't. He may have, at one point of time. He had readied himself for it, waiting for a vulnerable moment, but he likes being just Simon to you.

Ghost is a relic of war, a hero buried in a box in his crawlspace.

It feels too late now.

He doesn't want to see the horror in your eyes, when he tells you about Roba. Things you should probably know, things that would help inform your interactions.

He's such a piece of dirt.

You deserve better, but for some fucking reason you seem to want him, and he has every intention of doing his best to be a good partner for you.

He helps around the house. He takes turns cooking.

He doesn't yell or snipe, even when you drive him crazy, leaving your dirty clothes on the bathroom floor.

He does his best to be there for you, and hopes that it's enough.

And it is. Before Scotland.

Look.

Look.

You've seen the Princess Bride. You know men in masks are not to be trusted.

You also know the man on your hands is more Wesley and less Dread Pirate Roberts, even if he looks like the brute squad.

You promised yourself, somewhat naïvely, that you wouldn't be a beacon for anyone ever again - you weren't strong enough to hold two heads above water, not forever, but damned if Simon doesn't make you want to try.

He'd crept under your skin with his dessicating wit and genuine interest in you, and maybe your daddy issues were showing, but there's a level of reliability in Simon you never thought you'd see in a man.

You found yourself going to drastic measures - you're embarrassed to say you haven't put in that much work for a guy since high school, but you like Simon.

A lot.

You haven't dealt with military personally, but you know there can be scars. Wounds that are harder to talk about than more common place traumas.

Simon still talks with his old squad, has an annual Guy Fawkes day cookout with them. Means he has people who know, who can understand without having to be told, what might go on in his head on darker days.

You are not to be left out, however. You have the whole internet at your disposal, and you research military traumas and coping strategies until you feel like you're preparing for your first puppy:

How to domesticate your vet.

God, Simon would be so irked if he knew.

You've prepared for just about anything, have coached yourself to respond calmly and be aware of potential triggers.

He'd almost laughed the first time you asked him if he wanted to leave before the fireworks started, but it wasn't mean - you'd caught him by surprise.

As he eases into civilian life, he starts taking you up on it - he didn't realize how tense he was, suddenly on, not until he starts healing.

Some of that is time. Some you, some the therapy.

He stops wearing a mask when he goes out, a security blanket he doesn't need anymore, although it's less conspicious in post-pandemic times.

Neither of you realized the mask was an unintentional coping mechanism for other things, not just a way of hiding his face in a world where he wasn't supposed to exist.

There were no winners in the 141 marriage pool. Not when MacTavish is the first to ring someone up.

You've resolved to keep commentary to yourself on the subject - what you and Simon have is good, and Johnny's mum swayed the odds in his favor.

The grounds they rent out are massive - understandable, since it's a clan wedding, but you really hadn't expected to have a whole croft to yourself.

Johnny's doing, to give you both a quiet place to retreat to, away from the periceremonial chaos.

Simon waits patiently for you to oogle.

The thatched roof building is charming, rose bushes coralled into neat rows against the foundation. You can imagine hens picking on the lawn and laundry hanging from the line.

The door sticks, takes a solid shove to open, and you find that while the outside is postcard-perfect, someone has put a lot of effort into modernizing the internals. What was once one room has been sectioned off into a cozy one bed, one bath.

A queen sized bed fills most the living space, with a pair of matched floral arm chairs at the foot.

It smells a bit...off, but you chalk it up to the exposed cobble. Much like brick, it isn't always easy to seal properly - and Scotland is not known for its arid clime.

You don't see it, but that's when it starts.

Simon twitches. His skin itches and crawls in a way he's not used to.

He figures he's just antsy from the trip.

He unpacks while you shower, stalks the perimeter, feeling restless. It clears while he's outside, when you head over for happy hour, and he forgets anything was wrong.

When you come back, buzzed and content from your merry-making, it's easy for you to fall asleep. You knock out like a light, one foot hooked around Simon's.

You can tune it out, adjust to the smell, but Simon can't.

He can't block it out. Doesn't even know what it is.

He tosses and turns for what feels like eternity, breaking out in sweat even though the night is cool.

He tries to scroll on his phone, use the internet to distract him, but the service is shit and the light hurts his eyes.

The itch is back, and he needs to get out. He needs to get out now, but the door is stuck and suddenly he's buried again, wet earth clinging to his nose, choking him on every inhale and he's clawing at the door like an animal locked in a cage.

You aren't that light a sleeper, and he doesn't respond when you call out to him. Your only excuse for the automatic touch is you've been lulled to false security - you've hardly needed any of the tactics you'd read about, and it's late and you were tired.

It's too much. You're a threat.

You realize it a second too late, when Simon whips around and grabs you by the front of your sleepshirt - his shirt - and slams the first two knuckles of his left hand into your solar plexus.

You drop like a rock.

The immediate, excrutiating regret of your epiphany flees as you curl in on yourself, gasping for breath like a fish on dry land. Tears well up at the corner of your eyes, shock and pain and an utter lack of air keeping you from shedding them.

You hear more than you see the door finally spring open. Ghost is out and gone before you can pull yourself together.

Even when your breath comes easier, you stay on the floor so you can kick yourself while you're down.

Page number one. Bullet number one. You'd successfully broken the primary advice of every single page you'd saved on loving someone with PTSD. Too complacent.

You're an idiot.

He stopped being Ghost and started being Simon again somewhere around the three mile mark. It was more than he was used to running, especially barefoot and in his boxers, but the heath was soft and had spared his feet too much damage.

The pain had helped bring him to his senses.

It hurt more to think that he'd hurt you, something he'd sworn he'd never do, not after watching how his mother suffered.

It takes another two miles to come to terms with what had happened, this time at a slow walk. He's not sure if this is something he can fix, but either way he needs a plan.

Needs to figure things out, tonight. Set the mold for his future.

He has to tell you and risk maybe losing you, that you'll decide it's too much for you, or not tell you and definitely lose you.

But between you and the shrink, he's been brainwashed to believe he deserves a shot at happiness.

You're sitting on the step to the croft, head in hands, when he comes back around dawn.

He can tell you've been crying, and something in his heart breaks. He'd made his decision hours ago, but he wanted you to give you time. Space to leave, to run to the safety of the main house if that's what you needed.

You get up without a word and open the door for him. You give him a wide berth, careful to avoid physical contact, but once inside you stall out. Standing in the middle of the room, looking lost and small and wondering just how much of what you had is broken now.

The silence that spans the next few minutes is the most stressful silence of his entire life. He guides you to a chair, tucks in a blanket around you like he would have even if he hadn't tried to break your ribs with his fist three hours ago.

Makes two cups of tea, and then retreats to the other side of the small space and sinks to the floor, leaving room for the history that's about to fill it.

"I need to tell you a story."

[perplexedjokist]

jonathan crane has a stutter which is harder to manage with his natural accent, as a child he learned to copy other people's speech not only to mask his stutter but also where he's from.

however it used to be easier because he didn't talk much in the first place, nobody asked his opinion and he never found anything particularly interesting.

unfortunately for him the bat of gotham certainly likes to start conversation.

during their first few fights and returns to arkham jonathan didn't say much other than the occasional small fear ramble, purely because he didn't want to get hit just because he's distracted by trying to mask.

around the seventh time the bat had caught him, he for some reason was driving him to the asylum himself.

jonathan who was covered in bruises and incredibly tired didn't say anything for the first bit of the ride.

"you don't protest when I take you in, why is that?" what a stupid question. jonathan doesn't answer for some time, trying to see if he can stay quiet without issue.

the bat asked again in a slightly different tone and it really does annoy the poor scarecrow.

"shut up." he doesn't think before he speaks, stuttering over the 'sh' sound and repeating the t. there's an audible pause but he doesn't look to see the reaction of the batman, why embarrass himself more?

he's aware he accepts defeat easily, it doesn't matter how many times he has to lose if in the end he'll keep getting away. as long as the bat stays nonlethal.

they stop at a red light, the batman has a tendency to follow road rules despite technically going against the police, jonathan finds it a bit funny.

"I can help you, you know. you don't have to be a criminal, if it's money you need that's an easy fix. and ... if it's help you need, I know the wayne foundation offers free therapy if you sign an agreement."

jonathan again stays quiet, trying to figure out the bats motive.

he hasn't been unmasked like a majority of petty thugs, batman seems to have some sort of code against revealing the mentally ill without their permission. which jonathan finds interesting to an extent and annoying to another.

"I am not ill! I am fear I will be fear forevermore I do not need your help." he surprises himself a bit by not messing up as much as he thought he would with f sounds, unfortunately more with I.

batman seems to find that amusing because he snickers, and the light turns green.

the rest of the ride is quiet and the walk would be too but unfortunately when the bat helps him out of the batmobile he decides to spark small conversation yet again.

"you're glove is broken." he exclaimed while turning jonathan's hands over, one of his gloves split down the palm and towards his wrist.

most likely a scythe mishap, no actual injury.

the bat snickers again while jonathan looks over his own hands and he pouts. what is so funny?

batman shrugs to himself and pulls him by cuffs to the gate of the asylum. the scarecrow has learned a few things these past months, the batman is a strange creature. and he hates bats.

[shizuturnspages]

Hi, I can request a yandere diluc, Childe, (I don't know which character else to add) with a cute and adorable reader but who is actually strong and professional murderer, thief, disguise, hitman and a horrible, He has an obsession with removing the organs of his victims (such as cutting their stomach to remove their entrails and feeling their warmth) twisted and sadistic Personality . Basically, the reader belongs to a murderous organization from birth and he also has a traumatic past. if you don't feel comfortable doing this, don't do it :D Thanks. (Oh and it is impossible to rehabilitate and give therapy to the reader, the reader is aware of his actions but still it is bad )

A Monster in Sheep's Clothing

Synopsis: You are not a victim. You are not helpless. You are a predator. And they? They are the fools who fell into your trap. But one thing remains certain— They will never, ever let you go. Pairings: [Separate] Yandere Diluc, Childe & Dainsleif x Cute but Sadistic Assassin! Reader

Diluc – The Knight in Shattered Armour

❥ At first, Diluc doesn't suspect a thing. He sees you as this small, naive person who has somehow survived in a cruel world. It baffles him.

❥ He thinks you need protection. He is ready to shield you from the dangers of the world. He doesn’t realize that you are the very danger he is trying to keep at bay.

❥ The moment he finds out the truth, he freezes. His blood runs cold. This isn’t just murder. This is pleasure. You kill for fun.

❥ “What… are you?” His voice shakes—not with fear, but with something deeper. Something more twisted.

❥ And yet, despite everything, he can’t let you go. He should despise you. He should turn you in. But he doesn’t. Because deep down, there’s a part of him that likes this.

❥ You are a monster, yes—but you are his monster. He tries to tame you, convince himself that he can control this. That you will never turn your knife against him.

❥ But every time he looks at your sweet, smiling face, he wonders… Would it really be so bad to let you be?

Diluc hates what you are.

And yet, he cannot let you go.

It sickens him, the way his heart clenches whenever you smile—sweet, innocent, deceptive.

He has seen what lies beneath that mask.

He has seen you, drenched in blood, humming softly as you dig your fingers into a man’s open stomach, warmth still clinging to his fading life.

He should have killed you.

Should have ended this the moment he realized what you were.

But instead, he burns with something he cannot name.

Something worse than hatred.

"You disgust me," he growls, grabbing your wrist.

You giggle, tilting your head. "And yet, here you are~"

Diluc’s grip tightens. "This needs to stop."

You sigh, eyes shimmering with amusement. "But you don’t want me to stop, do you?"

And when you lean in, whispering softly—

"Would you like to watch next time?"

Diluc trembles.

Not with rage.

But with something he refuses to name.

Childe – The Bloodstained Beast

❥ Oh, you think you enjoy the thrill of the kill? Childe lives for it.

❥ When he meets you, he immediately senses something off. There’s something in your eyes, something hungry. He recognizes it—because it’s the same look he sees in the mirror.

❥ But he doesn’t expect this. The first time he watches you work—sees the way you carve into a body with delicate precision, humming sweetly to yourself—he feels something dark curl in his chest. You’re beautiful.

❥ He laughs, shaking his head. “And here I thought I was the messed-up one.”

❥ Childe doesn’t try to stop you. He doesn’t want to fix you. No, no, no—he encourages it.

❥ “You like feeling their insides, don’t you?” His voice is low, teasing. “Don’t be shy, show me how you do it.”

❥ He sees you as his perfect match. A partner in blood, in chaos. And the way you act so sweet on the outside? It only makes it better.

❥ “I wonder…” he muses, eyes dark with amusement, “how many people have fallen for that cute little smile before you gutted them?”

❥ And the worst part? He wants you to do it to him, just to see how far you’d go.

Childe is thrilled.

He has always believed that love is best proven through blood, through battle, through the thrill of a kill.

And you?

You are perfect.

"Look at you," he laughs, crouching beside the fresh corpse you’ve just meticulously gutted. "So messy."

You pout. "I think I did a good job."

Childe grins. "Oh, I think you did amazing, sweetheart. But you know…" His fingers brush the blood on your cheek, smearing it further. "Maybe we should have some fun together next time?"

You blink, tilting your head. "You want to play with me?"

Childe chuckles. "Oh, darling—I want to dance with you."

And when he takes your bloodstained hand in his own, pressing a kiss to your knuckles—

You know he means it.

Dainsleif – The Reluctant Worshipper

❥ Dainsleif is torn. Completely and utterly torn. You remind him of something he lost. A fragile, beautiful thing that should never have survived in this wretched world.

❥ But that illusion shatters the moment he sees your work. The blood, the carved flesh, the glee in your voice. It disgusts him. It horrifies him. But most of all, it fascinates him.

❥ Dainsleif knows he should stop you. He knows you are beyond redemption, beyond saving. He knows you are something wretched. And yet, he can’t bring himself to leave.

❥ “You are beyond salvation,” he murmurs, watching you carefully. “And yet, I cannot seem to turn away.”

❥ He hates how drawn he is to you. He despises himself for liking the way you speak to him, for feeling something warm when you smile.

❥ But no matter how much he resists, the truth is undeniable. You have ensnared him. And he will never be free.

Dainsleif does not try to change you.

He understands you.

For what are you, if not a product of a world that has always been cruel?

He watches, silent, as you carve into another victim, your eyes gleaming with something twisted, something delighted.

"You enjoy this," he states.

You glance at him, tilting your head. "Should I lie and say I don’t?"

Dainsleif does not answer.

Instead, he steps forward, kneeling beside you.

"You do not fear death."

You hum. "Death is just another game."

Dainsleif watches you for a long moment.

Then, softly—

"Would you like me to play with you?"

And when you smile, wide and genuine, he knows—

You are his.

Completely.

Eternally.

And he will never let you go.

[mysunshinetemptress]

I’m sorry

Alexia Putellas x reader

Not strong enough part 2

Warnings: ehhhhhh

As you finished your heartfelt words, a heavy silence hung in the air. Alexia looked at you, her expression shifting from anger to a mix of surprise and realization. The weight of your words seemed to settle on her shoulders, and for a moment, it felt like time had come to a standstill.

She hesitated, the fiery intensity in her eyes dimming. "Y/n, I... I didn't realize... I didn't understand," she stammered, her voice softer now. But you had already made up your mind, the pain of constant comparisons and belittlement becoming too much to bear.

You zipped up your bag, your movements steady, and headed towards the door. "I need time to figure things out, Ale. Maybe we both do," you said calmly, looking into her eyes one last time before stepping out into the night.

A year had passed, a whirlwind year filled with nerves and a newfound sense of self. You'd quit your accounting job, a bold move fuelled by the bitter taste of Alexia's words. Following a suppressed passion, you began painting again, sketching again, falling back in love with art again. Your talent blossomed, your designs vibrant and imbued with a quiet strength. Freelance gigs trickled in, then flowed abundantly. Your apartment, once sterile and beige, became a reflection of your creativity - bold colours, quirky furniture, and walls plastered with your artwork.

Life wasn't perfect, but it was undeniably yours. You were thriving, a quiet confidence radiating from you. The ache for Alexia had dulled to a distant memory.

Still you hadn't expected the air to get caught in your lungs when you saw her. Alexia. Here at your gallery, a forced smile plastered on her face. Her eyes darted around the room, a flicker of desperation replacing the usual arrogance. As you mingled with guests, she edged towards you, her face a mask of unease. Alexia, her once-golden glow dimmed by a weary tiredness. The memory of her hurtful words a distant echo.

Suddenly, a hand tapped your shoulder. You turned, surprised to see Alexia standing so awkwardly behind you. Her once fiery gaze was dimmed, replaced by a flicker of something that resembled… regret.

"They're incredible," she mumbled, gesturing towards your photos.

You offered a polite smile, the years of therapy showing their worth. "Thank you, Alexia." Alexia couldn't help but wince still at the use of her full name.

"Can we... talk?" she pleaded, her voice barely above a whisper.

Hesitantly, you led her to a deserted corner.

"I..." Alexia started, then stopped. Finally, the words tumbled out in a rush. "I was an idiot. A complete and utter one. You were right. I never saw you, not really. All I saw was a reflection of Jenni, a way to fill a void. But you, Y/N, you were a light in my darkness, the one who loved me for me, even when I didn't deserve it."

Tears welled up in her eyes, a stark contrast to the icy queen she used to be and you couldn't help the surprised expression that graced you features for a second at the sight. "I miss you," she confessed, her voice cracking. "I miss your smile, your quiet strength, the way you believed in me even when I doubted myself."

You listened, a million emotions swirling within you. The anger had subsided, replaced by a deep sense of peace.

"Alexia," you began gently, "I saw your work," she continued, her voice dropping to a whisper. "It's incredible, Y/N. You're incredible."

A flicker of warmth sparked in your chest, a remnant of the love you once held. But it was quickly extinguished.

"I'm happy," you said, your voice firm. "Here, with this. I don't need to be anyone's trophy, Alexia, I don't need to be your trophy, I'm enough now, and i've realised i've always been enough"

Alexia's eyes welled up. "I know," she choked out. "I see it now. And I miss you. God, how I miss you."

You shook your head, a sad smile playing on your lips. "Missing someone doesn't mean they're the right fit for you, Alexia. We both needed to grow in different directions."

You sighed tears welling in your own eyes now "You needed to learn to love yourself without me or Jenni, and I needed to find myself, my own voice. What we had was beautiful in its own way, but it wasn't meant to last."

The truth hung heavy in the air. Alexia, finally seeing you for who you truly were, an independent, talented woman, was a sight that would have ached you a year ago. Now, it was a mere footnote in the grand story of your life.

A tear escaped, tracing a glistening path down her cheek. "Is there any chance...?" she started, hope flickering in her eyes.

You considered it for a moment. The anger was gone, replaced by a quiet understanding.

The silence stretched, heavy with unspoken possibilities. You looked at the painting to your left your eyes catching your favourite painting, a testament to your resilience still Alexia's mark had been left on it a small crown on the top left corner, blended so well that only you knew it was there. The future stretched before you, open and bright. A small, hopeful smile touched your lips.

"Maybe," you finally said. "But not today. Today, I celebrate my success."

Disappointment clouded her features, but there was also a flicker of understanding and hope.

As you turned to rejoin your friends, her voice stopped you. "Y/N," Alexia called out, her voice raw with emotion. "Thank you. For everything. And for showing me what I lost."

You offered a small smile, a silent promise of maybe hanging in the air she just had to be patient. You walked away, leaving Alexia with the echoes of your laughter and the realisation that sometimes, an angel can be worth more, mean more than any god. You had found your voice, your wings, and you were ready to soar. The world was vast, brimming with possibilities, and you, the once-disappointment girlfriend, were finally ready to claim your place in it.

[boxofshadows]

How Pro-Heroes would react to y/n getting attacked by a villain and ending up in the hospital

✦Includes: Midnight, Eraserhead, All Might, Ms. Joke✦

A/N: sfw!! requests are open if your fav isn't here! I'll write for anyone~★

Midnight

Midnight is incredibly good at hiding her emotions, I believe. Shes used to wearing a mask 24/7 in her hero role, so when she finds out you'd been hospitalized by a villain, she puts on a mask of levelheadedness. She would feel guilty if you had to comfort her after you'd just been traumatized.

Course, you aren't used to this side of her, so you assume she doesn't care. You end up breaking down and asking if she even cares.

"Of course I care, love, did I make it seem like I didn't?" "I'm so sorry baby, I just didn't want to stress you more."

After that, things smooth out. If you don't mind the eventual scar, she'll make it into a joke and flirt about it. "Y'know, I always thought scars were attractive~" and similar things.

If you don't like the idea of a scar, she offers comfort, and a way to hide it until you're more comfortable. "If you want, I can help you hide it and minimize it."

Shes very affectionate the entire time, she doesn't leave the hospital until you basically force her to go check on your cat and get some actual sleep.

Secretly blames herself for not being able to protect you.

After you get out of the hospital she doesn't treat you like glass, persay, but she does NOT let you do anything against your doctor's orders.

She also helps you sign up for therapy and reminds you that whatever happened wasn't your fault. (Hypocrite much?)

Kisses you and reassures you 24/7

It takes a bit for her to stop blaming herself, but you work together:)

Eraserhead

Most emotional man I know of. "logical" my ass.

Aizawa is immediately at your side. Like he will run across rooftops to get to you. He has NO chill. Part of me believes he gets to the hospital at the same time as you.

Clingiest motherfucker alive. Every ten minutes in the waiting room it's "Can I go in yet?" To the nurses. He doesn't sit down once.

Once he gets to you literally nothing is capable of getting him away from you.

He comforts you whenever you need it, deep down he knows there was nothing he really could've done to get there sooner. He's completely and totally focused on you.

When your other friends get the clear to see you, Joke takes pictures of you and him sleeping in the most awkward position

Brings your favorite blankets and foods

Makes you a playlist of classical music to help you sleep

Anything you need, bro is on it immediately

Once you're released he refuses to let you do anything strenuous. He opens the car door for you, helps you get buckled, etc etc.

He does take the hint when you ask to shower alone, and backs off a bit after that.

He offers to ask Recovery Girl to heal you, and brings you painkillers when you need them.

He understands your paranoia after the incident and helps you learn basic ways to keep yourself safe.

All Might

Would get to the hospital as soon as he could, but knows that you'd want him to stay and finish any responsibilities.

If he's in the middle of something, he finishes it as fast as he can and then gets to the hospital.

He gets there just as you're being taken to a room

Instantly asking if you're okay, if you need anything. The second you say you need something he's on it.

Also a clingy motherfucker

But he knows how to distract you from whatever hurts with dumb jokes and pictures of his student's progress.

Knows how to fill dead air basically. Doesn't really ask about the villain unless you bring it up, just to make sure he doesn't potentially trigger anything.

Listens empathetically when you tell him about what happened.

Offers to get you food, but you're both indecisive so it's just a back and forth of:

"what do you want to eat?"

"idk, I'm good with whatever, what do you want"

"you're the one in the hospital bed, what do you want?"

"you have to go get it, so-"

"fine, (food you hate) it is."

"..."

Won't treat you like glass, he knows what it's like and fuckin hated it.

Still offers to help you though, he just doesn't want to suffocate you

Takes you on drives across the coast to get a break from the city

Ms. Joke

Tries to act like she wasn't worried and knew you'd be fine the whole time

She didnt

She had to call Midnight to calm her down

Makes jokes about you "being apart of the club now" (having been attacked by villains) and then apologizes for what happened

Brings you treats and things to make you smile (comfort items, silly things she saw at the store, etc)

Has Nemuri smuggle your guy's tiny dog in and out like twice

Sits in silence and watches you sleep

Brings you headphones to drown out the annoying beeping

A little over protective afterwards

Clingy, but not Shouta clingy.

"you should go home"

"why, is something wrong?"

"you haven't left the hospital in a week, you clown."

"oh yeah. Oops!"

"..."

"ok ok I'm going!"

Showers, but also washes the exact same clothes and rewears them just to fuck with you "you didn't say I had to change"

"tell me you washed those, em, or you're on the couch and the dog gets your pillows."

"Of course I did!"

[stillnotyourmusebitch]

I can’t stop thinking of demon! Adam going through development and reaching the point of like,, doing something nice without anyone telling him to do it, purely for the sake of doing it. Something he never would have done before. Even if it’s something as small as sitting down with you while you’re watching your favorite movie or show and not shitting on it the whole time, just to keep you company. Or something like that. I dunno. I’m just a sucker for slow burn subtextual romance.

THAT, and the reader seeing his face beneath the mask, looking him the eyes, and smiling a little. Even if they say nothing. I feel like that would stick with him.

Exactly. Demon!Adam lives in my head rent free now. I know this weren't a request of sorts but I kinda wrote something for this

random ficlet below

Demon!Adam x GN!reader (Fluff)

DemonSinner!Adam is something that plays on my mind a lot. He still doesn’t believe in the whole redemption shit that Charlie is laying down but if it gets him a glimpse of seeing heaven again he is willing to try.

-----

Adam was bored and needed something to do that would put off the inevitable “therapy” session with Lucifer’s brat later. So that must be why he finds himself outside your room. He knocks lightly on your door. You didn’t answer, he knocked again louder this time. Still no answer. So he opens the door and peers in.

“Hey errr (Y/n) Charlie asked me to check on you.” A blatant lie but he won’t tell you that.

He sees you’re watching TV.

“Huh? What no shitty nickname this time?” You mumbled around a mouthful of popcorn. Adam walks over and flops down on the couch next to you.

“Oh yeah, nah I didn’t really feel like it.” He grabs a handful of your popcorn.

You quirk a brow.

“Also Charlie said nooo giving nicknames to people that demean them and also who don’t want it and people were given names to be used blah blah blah.” He shoves the popcorn into his mouth. “So what are we watchin?”

“I'm watching a movie I really like so if you're staying either shut up or fuck off.” You sink back into your blanket cocoon.

*10 minutes later*

“What the fuck! This guy clearly likes her but she goes for the other bozo. Is she blind . . . . as well as ya know hot.”

You choke on your drink. You didn’t think that this would be his kinda thing but here he was emotionally invested in the film you had picked. You had really wanted to just wallow in your depression by binge watching trashy romcoms but what was really making you feel better was watching the ‘dickmaster’ himself rooting for the underdog to open up about his feelings to the lead woman.

You go to grab some popcorn but see the bowl is empty.

“Gotta pause.” You go to stand but he stops you.

“I got this.” He hides the good deed by quickly saying “And I need to piss anyway.” You pass him the bowl.

“Not in the popcorn I hope.” You rearrange yourself back in your blanket burrito.

“HAA, You nasty but don’t watch without me. Coz that is a dick move.”

“You know all about those.” You mutter into the blanket. But Adam had gone to the hotel kitchen to make popcorn.

You chose to scroll on your phone until he got back. There were a few messages but you didn’t really feel like answering them. You flop on your side. You can always move when he came back.

While you waited in silence for Adam. You think back on how he really was getting better. After seeing him slowly open up to Charlie’s ideas and seeing that he can be a good guy when it suits him. You smile to yourself.

Your door slams open.

“Okay I’m back bitch.”

Nevermind looks like he has thrown up his walls again.

He lays out the armful of snacks and the bowl of popcorn that looks way bigger than the bowl he left with. He sees you on your side.

“You comfy down there?”

You groan and slowly sit up again. He sits back down but wraps an arm around you and hugs you into his side and nothing more.

“Okay we can continue now.” He grabs the popcorn and rests it on his lap.

You set the movie going again and snuggle just a little bit closer. For popcorn reasons of course not that Adam was nice and warm and you felt safe next to him.

“Clearly she don’t know a good thing when she sees it.” You pipe up after about three minutes into the film again. You had seen this film so many times but there was one scene that always brought out annoyance in you.

“Right!! She needs to open her eyes this guy clearly loves her for who they are and not some fake ass bs that other . . . what?” Adam stops mid-sentence looking down at you resting against his chest.

You blink a few times before realising you are staring “Huh oh nothing.”

You focus back on the screen in front of you.

The climatic end of the film was approaching and the main lead were confessing their love and as the credits role you can here someone crying. You glance up and see Adam wiping away tears.

“You okay.” You sit up and reach for the tissues on the table to hand them to him.

“What!!! I’m fine. Of course I’m fiiiine. Shut up bitch.” He grabs the tissue box from you.

“If it helps I cried the first time I watched this movie.” You wrap the blankets tighter around yourself.

“I . . . ah . . shit.” He saw you curling further in on yourself. He feels guilt crawling into his stomach. “Sorry, I’m . . .Ugh. Look I’m bad at these feel your feelings crap that Charlie spouts. But it was a good film and yeah I cried but . . .”

“It don’t make you any less of a man.”

“Yeeeah I know. Of course I know. I’m the first man.”

“Huh back to that are we.” You bump shoulders with him, making him laugh.

He pulls you back into his side “So what are we watching now?”

------

I really didn't mean for this to be as long as it was. I'm sorry

[luci4theminorannoyance]

Hi! may I request something? the residential masked fellas (Ghost, Konig, Keegan, & Roach), x therapist!reader, who's a billionaire? (shocking part, the billionaire part was not mentioned by our reader) I imagine reader spoiling their s/o with gifts & affectionate stuff they deserve, while helping them get a sense of theirselves or something like that 😭 (most of the cod characters need therapy, to be honest) BUT- they start to suspect how on earth did reader get all of the stuff? cause i'm sure reader gifted them the expensive kind- but anyways, reader just casually just says their a billionaire, like it's normal- how would they react to this?

Please take care of yourself & stay safe !! 💖

a/n: you take care too!!! Sorry to all my followers for not posting in forever 😔 I had family stuff going on, and I’m a bit burnt out so I couldn’t come up with story plots for some of the characters

konig:

-konig is a well off man to begin with, but doesn’t use much of the money he earns with his impressive title as he has little idea what to actually buy when it comes to things being worthwhile, and hence since you give him so many gifts, his house is mostly filled with gifts then actual things he bought

-always took the gifts at face value and adored the thought put into them and never really thought to think of how much money you must spend

-eventually though, one of his few off duty friends asked why he had such high class things in his house as they pointed out gifts you had simply given him and he started to get quite curious himself

-called you up one night to ask, waking you up as he asked a simple “uh- maus? You know the mixer you got me last week when I said I wanted to make cookies is 800 dollars, why??”

-you had to stop laughing out loud from his confusion since you thought you had been open with it due to the amount of things you simply gave him

Roach:

-stayed in his cramped barracks a lot of the time and very rarely replaced any of his tearing gear because he was too tired to do so, he just generally didn’t care how the public saw him and had little care on himself

-of course that changed when you practically threw him new clothes, new gear, new facial care for his tiny apartment he used when off duty. He started to actually enjoy getting to indulge in a massage or a face mask while he simply felt all clean

-of course, he thought it was all temporary, that you were just spending a particular amount on a well paying month, but as it went on and on continued, he started to get more and more confused

-one day when you took him on a shopping trip, he saw you check your checking account and THATS when he realized that you planned to pay for his every whim personally and could without damage… a very flustering experience

Ghost:

-never truly is off guard even when off duty or around people, it’s built into him from trauma and past and his job doesn’t help to much with that

-however, he does have a particularly interesting hobby that calms him down more then most things can, even you (although he adores you with all his heart). And that hobbies is photography. Of things he enjoys, that is. He never put money into a very good camera, never seeing the need in doing so until you bought him one…

-he cherishes that camera more then he cherishes his mask, which is saying quite a bit. He didn’t know how much he actually needed the upgrade till he saw the difference in his photos

-he of course, shows it off to his team. And soap points out exactly how pricey it must be for a lil old therapist to buy. he starts to get worried, did you spend money you didn’t have on him? Did he take away from your own funds? Did he just take it and not think about the damage you might have created yourself without even thinking twice???

-calls you on his burner phone in a tiny bit of a panic, but it doesn’t show too much under his gruff tone. He lets out a sigh he didn’t notice he was holding in once you told him that you in fact had the money to buy that camera 100 times over

[doctorbitchcrxft]

Everbody Loves a Clown | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Eventual ? )

Word Count: 5956

Warnings: Canon violence, canon gore, coping with parental death, clowns lol

A/N: Special treat since the first episode was kinda short! Happy reading, everyone!

Mobile Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Playlist

The only light in the middle of the clearing in the woods came from John’s wrapped, burning body. You stood wordlessly between Dean and Sam, watching as the pyre burned to ash. Dean stared silently while his brother fought tears.

It felt so odd to have spent so much time looking for John— a man you'd only met in passing during a hunt a little over a year ago— to now be standing in front of his burning corpse. It almost felt anticlimactic if you detached emotion completely from your situation.

On the very real and guttural side of things, though, you knew that having spent so little time with John after looking for him for almost a year was going to take a horrible toll on his boys, especially your Dean.

Sam spoke for the first time in hours. “Before he.. before... did he say anything to you? About anything?”

Dean refused to look at you or his brother, but said, “No. Nothing.”

An obvious lie.

***

Over a week after John’s funeral, you were watching Dean work on his car at Bobby’s. Bobby had been nice enough to let the three of you stay with him while Dean got the Impala back in working order.

Selfishly, every time you looked at Dean, you wanted to come right out with your feelings. Although, he was grieving, and you did not want to take advantage of his vulnerability. You wouldn't want your relationship to be born out of such a terrible tragedy.

However, you would continue to be there for him however he needed, even if that meant sitting next to him in the hot sun silently for hours and handing him a wrench every once in a while. You knew better than to ask if he was okay. You’d lost your father, too and knew he wouldn’t be okay for quite some time.

At first, he’d barely tolerated you sitting next to him. He fought you on everything you tried to do for him, but you got him to shut up after a few days. You knew he knew what you were playing at, and you could tell he appreciated it nonetheless.

Sam, on the other hand, wasn’t nearly as well-fortified against his emotions. You could hear him crying in the next room almost nightly, and it broke your heart. But you would rather Sam cry than build himself up against negative feelings the way his brother did. He was more into the touchy-feely-hug-it-out therapy style, and you were more than happy to give that to him. These boys needed you to be strong for them, and you would happily do so for as long as they needed. 

“How's the car coming along?” Sam asked, approaching you and Dean, who was under his car. You sat next to where his boots stuck out with a tool box in your lap.

“Slow,” Dean responded.

“Yeah? Need any help?”

“What, you under a hood? I'll pass.”

“Need anything else, then?”

Dean rolled himself out from under the car and stood up above you. You looked between Dean’s face, set in hard lines, and his brother’s puppy-dog stare. “Stop it, Sam.”

“Stop what?” the younger brother asked innocently.

“Stop asking if I need anything, stop asking if I'm okay. I'm okay. Really. I promise,” Dean scoffed.

“Alright, Dean, it's just—” Sam took a deep breath. “We've been at Bobby's for over a week now, and you haven't brought up Dad once.”

“You know what? You're right. Come here. I'm gonna lay my head gently on your shoulder. Maybe we can cry, hug, and maybe even slow dance.” You knew the bite in Dean’s voice was all a mask.

“Don't patronize me, Dean,” Sam returned. “Dad is dead. The Colt is gone, and it seems pretty damn likely that the demon is behind all of this, and you're acting like nothing happened.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Say something, all right? Hell, say anything! Aren't you angry? Don't you want revenge? But all you do is sit out here all day long buried underneath this damn car.”

“Sam, let it go—” you tried, but Dean continued to talk over you.

“Revenge, huh?” Dean chuckled humorlessly. “Sounds good. You got any leads on where the demon is? Making heads or tails of any of Dad's research? Because I sure ain't. But you know, if we do finally find it— oh. No, wait, like you said. The Colt's gone. But I'm sure you've figured out another way to kill it. We've got nothing, Sam. Nothing, okay? So you know the only thing I can do? Is I can work on the car.” He got back down under it.  

“Well, we've got something, alright?” Sam crouched down next to you and handed you a cell phone. “It’s what I came out here to tell you. This is one of dad's old phones. Took me a while, but I cracked his voicemail code. Listen to this.”

Dean pushed himself out from under the car again and sat up next to you as you played the voicemail. “John, it's Ellen. Again. Look, don't be stubborn, you know I can help you. Call me.”

“That message is four months old,” Sam explained.

“Dad saved that chick's message for four months?” Dean raised an eyebrow.

Sam nodded.

“Who’s Ellen?” you asked. “Any mention of her in your dad’s journal?”

“No. But I ran a trace on her phone number, and I got an address.”

***

You and the boys ended up taking one of Bobby’s beat-up minivans to the Roadhouse Saloon; the address Ellen’s voicemail led to. 

“This is humiliating. I feel like a fuckin’ soccer mom!” Dean groaned as he parked the car.

“It’s the only one Bobby had running, dude,” you reminded him. You followed the boys into the purposefully dilapidated-looking building.  

“Hello? Anybody here?” Dean asked loudly. No response ever came. All you could hear was a fly buzzing and a light popping. You caught sight of a man passed out on the pool table facing away from you. 

“Hey, buddy?” Sam said. He turned back to you and Dean. “I'm guessing that isn't Ellen.” He headed into a back room to look around. You walked a little ahead of Dean, only turning around when you heard him say. “Oh god, please let that be a rifle.”

You whipped out your gun and turned to see a pretty petite blonde holding a cocked rifle to Dean’s back. “No, I'm just real happy to see you. Don't move.”

“Hey!” you said. She looked to you, but didn’t move her gun from Dean’s back. “You shoot him, and you’re dead,” you told her.

“Well, he moves, and he’s dead,” she replied.

“Ladies, Ladies, please,” Dean smirked. “You know, you should know something, miss. When you put a rifle on someone, you don't want to put it right against their back. Because it makes it real easy to do…” He turned around fluidly and grabbed the rifle. “That.”

The blonde punched him square in the nose and took back the rifle. You cocked your pistol, catching her attention. 

“Sam! A little help, please!” Dean said. 

“Sorry, Dean, I can't right now. I'm a... little tied up.” Sam walked out with his hands on his head and a shotgun pointed at the back of him. An older woman walked out holding it. “Sam? Dean? Winchester?” she said.

“Yeah…?” Dean said.

“Son of a bitch,” the woman muttered.

The blonde spoke up next. “Mom, you know these guys?”

“Yeah, I think these are John Winchester's boys,” she answered, lowering the gun and laughing. “Hey, I'm Ellen. This is my daughter Jo.”

Jo lowered her rifle as well. “Hey,” she smiled.

“Oh, we’re just supposed to be cool now?” you remarked, still pointing your gun at the blonde.

“(Y/N), cool it,” Dean warned. You did as told and slowly lowered your gun, still stand-offish. 

“You're not gonna hit me again, are you?” Dean asked Jo. 

Ellen handed him a small towel filled with ice. 

“Thanks. You called our dad, said you could help. Help with what?” he asked as he took it from her.

“Well, the demon, of course,” she stated as if it was obvious. “I heard he was closing in on it.”

“What, was there an article in the Demon Hunters Quarterly that I missed?” Dean snarked. “I mean, who- who are you? How do you know about all this?”

The brunette scoffed. “Hey, I just run a saloon. But hunters have been known to pass through now and again. Including your dad a long time ago. John was like family once.”

“Oh yeah? How come he never mentioned you before?”

She looked down and softened her voice. “You'd have to ask him that.”

“So why exactly do we need your help?” Dean questioned.

Now you wanted Dean to cool it. “Relax, man,” you warned.

“Hey, don't do me any favors. Look, if you don't want my help, fine. Don't let the door smack your ass on the way out. But John wouldn't have sent you if—” Ellen stopped suddenly. “He didn't send you.” She looked frantically between Dean and Sam. “He's all right, isn't he?”

Dean refused to look at her, but Sam answered instead. “No. No, he isn't. It was the demon, we think. It, um, it just got him before he got it, I guess.”

Ellen looked sad. “I’m so sorry.”

“It's okay. We're all right,” Dean replied.

“Really? I know how close you and your dad were.”

“Really, lady, I'm fine,” he growled.

“Dean, relax,” you urged him quietly.

Sam continued the conversation with Ellen. “So look, if you can help, we could use all the help we can get.”

“Well, we can't. But Ash will,” she smirked.

“Who's Ash?” you asked.

“Ash!” she called.

You turned to the man on the pool table as he jerked up and flailed up. “What? It closin' time?”

Sam snorted. “That’s Ash?”

Jo hummed. “Mm-hmm. He's a genius.”

You looked at her, skeptical. 

“Sit, please,” Ellen said, and she and her daughter moved around the bar opposite you while you slapped a folder down in front of Ash. He sat across the bar from you.

“You've gotta be kidding me, this guy's no genius. He's a Lynyrd Skynyrd roadie,” Dean remarked.

Ash grinned drunkenly. “I like you.”

“Thanks,” the older brother smiled, seeming slightly confused by the drunk.

“Just give him a chance,” Jo urged.

You opened the folder and pushed it toward Ash. “That’s about a year’s worth of John’s work. See if you can make heads or tails of it.”

Ash shook his head as he looked through the papers. “Come on. This crap ain't real. There ain't nobody can track a demon like this.”

“Our dad could,” said Sam.

“There are non-parametrics, statistical overviews, prospects and correlations, I mean, damn!” Ash’s cadence made you giggle. “They're signs. Omens. Uh, if you can track 'em, you can track this demon. You know, like crop failures, electrical storms— You ever been struck by lightning? It ain't fun.”

“Can you track it or not?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, with this, I think so. But it's gonna take time, uh, give me—” he thought for a moment— “fifty-one hours.” He got up to leave, but Dean stopped him. 

“I, uh, I dig the haircut.”

He waved his hair around dramatically. “All business up front, party in the back.”

Jo walked around Dean, flirting a little. You could’ve killed her. 

He offered Jo a polite smile, but you apparently were not doing a good job of hiding your jealousy.

“Easy, tiger,” Dean chuckled, shooting you a smirk. 

You could practically feel Jo checking Dean out. 

“She’s looking at you like a hunk of meat,” you replied, talking through your teeth. 

“What, you mean, like you do?” he replied, smirking.

“I do not!” You paused at his deadpan look. “I mean, sometimes, maybe, quite possibly, but not right now.”

He nodded. “And you know, I, uh, I appreciate that.”

“Do you really? Sounded like you had a gun to your head when you said that,” you giggled.

He looked back at you sincerely. “You know I do.”

"I do just have... one question, though," you said, unable to stop the words coming out of your mouth due to the sudden, subtle flirting coming from Dean.

He nodded for you to continue.

"I'm assuming you pieced together what I was gonna tell you back at the hospital," you trailed off.

Dean nodded again, the ends of his lips tugging upward.

"You're not... freaked out?"

He shook his head, still smiling. "Opposite of freaked out."

You could feel your cheeks heating, and you looked down at the bar in front of you. Dean's chuckle was music to your ears despite the way it spurred on your embarrassment.

Then, Sam approached you and Dean. “A few murders, not far from here, that Ellen caught wind of. Looks to me like there might be a hunt.”

“Yeah. So?” Dean asked.

“So, I told her we'd check it out.”

***

Dean continued to grumble about the “stupid minivan” the whole way to your next hunt. Sam did research as you scribbled in your journal. Helping the boys was a task you wouldn't give up for anything, but it was beginning to bring up some negative emotions and memories for you. Journaling was helping to calm the storm inside you.

“You've gotta be kidding me. A killer clown?” Dean scoffed.

“Yeah. He left the daughter unharmed and killed the parents. Ripped them to pieces, actually,” Sam responded.

“And this family was at some carnival that night?”

“Right, right. The, uh, Cooper Carnivals.”

“So, how do we know it’s not some psycho in a clown suit?” you piped up.

“Well, the cops have no viable leads, and all the employees were tearing down shop. Alibis all around. Plus this girl said she saw a clown vanish into thin air. Cops are saying trauma, of course,” Sam explained.

“Well, I know what you're thinking, Sam. Why did it have to be clowns?” Dean mocked.

“Oh, give me a break,” the brunet muttered.

You smiled but refused to make fun of him, because “everyone is afraid of something.” 

“You’re scared of clowns?” you asked.

“Yeah, he still busts out crying whenever he sees Ronald McDonald on the television,” Dean told you.

“Well, at least I'm not afraid of flying,” Sam deadpanned.

“Planes crash!”

“And apparently clowns kill!”

"Boys—!"

“Yeah, you’re right,” Dean mumbled. “So these types of murders, they ever happen before?”

“Uh, according to the file, 1981, the Bunker Brothers Circus, same M.O. It happened three times, three different locales,” the younger Winchester explained.

“It’s weird, though, spirits are usually bound to specific locales, y’know,” you said. “So how's this one moving from city to city, carnival to carnival?”

“Cursed object, maybe,” Dean suggested. “Spirit attaches itself to something and the, uh, carnival carries it around with them.”

“Great. Paranormal scavenger hunt.” You crossed your arms over your chest.

“Well, blame Sam. It was his idea. By the way, why is that? You were awfully quick to jump on this job.” Dean threw a look to his brother.

“So?”

“It's just… not like you, that's all. I thought you were hell-bent for leather on the demon hunt.”

You eyed Sam strangely, too.

The younger Winchester softened. “I don't know, I just think, this job, it's what Dad would have wanted us to do.”

“What Dad would have wanted?” Dean turned his face to Sam.

“Yeah. So?” Sam challenged.

“Nothin'.”

***

You and the boys decided to join the carnival after the second family had been murdered to get a closer look at the happenings during the carnival. “Friends close, freak-shows closer,” Dean had said.

When you entered yet another tent in search of the show’s organizer. You found a man throwing knives at a target; all landing near but not quite on the bulls-eye. 

“Excuse me, we're looking for a Mr. Cooper; have you seen him around?” the older brother asked.

The man turned around and pulled off his sunglasses. “What is that, some kind of joke?” 

“Oh. God, I'm— I'm sorry,” Dean said.

“You think I wouldn't give my teeth to see Mr. Cooper? Or a sunset, or anything at all?”

Dean whispered to you, “Wanna give me a little help here?”

You shook your head. “Not really.”

“Hey man, is there a problem?” a voice interrogated from behind you. You turned to see a very short man in a red cape.

“Yeah, this guy hates blind people,” the knife-thrower said.

“No, I don't, I—” Dean’s gorgeous smile was doing nothing to help him in this situation.

“Hey, buddy, what's your problem?” the short man scowled.

“Nothing, it's just a little misunderstanding.”

“Little?! You son of a bitch!” The man went to charge Dean.

“No, no, no, no! I'm just— could somebody tell me where Mr. Cooper is?”

You and Sam snickered.

“Please?” you asked. 

The short man looked up at you, and his gaze softened. “Sure, sweetheart, follow me.”

“Thanks,” you smiled, looking back at the boys. 

Dean’s jaw was clenched for a reason you weren’t quite sure of. When you asked, he said, “Just don’t like anybody else callin’ you that.”

You smiled lopsidedly. He could be really sweet when he wanted to be.

Mr. Cooper met you at the door of his office and invited you in. “You three picked a hell of a time to join up. Take a seat.”

You looked at the available seating options, and Dean motioned for you to take the normal of the two chairs. You obliged, and Dean stood behind you, forcing Sam to sit in the obnoxious pink chair with a giant clown face on it. He sat on the chair hesitantly and refused to relax into it. 

“We've got all kinds of local trouble,” Mr. Cooper continued.

“What do you mean?” you asked.

“Oh, a couple of folks got themselves murdered. Cops always seem to start here first. So, you three ever worked the circuit before?”

“Yes, sir, last year through Texas and Arkansas,” Sam responded.

“Doing what? Ride jockeys? Butcher? ANS men?” 

“Yeah, it's, uh, little bit of everything, I guess.”

Mr. Cooper eyed your group strangely. “You three have never worked a show in your lives before, have you?”

“Nope,” Dean grinned. “But we really need the work. Oh, and uh, Sam here's got a thing for the bearded lady.”

“You see that picture? That's my daddy.” The showrunner pointed to a black and white picture on the wall of a man in a fedora in front of a ferris wheel.

“You guys could be twins,” you pointed out. 

Mr. Cooper smiled thoughtfully. “He was in the business. Ran a freakshow. Till they outlawed them, most places. Apparently displaying the deformed isn't dignified. So most of the performers went from honest work to rotting in hospitals and asylums. That's progress, I guess. You see, this place, it's a refuge for outcasts. Always has been. For folks that don't fit in nowhere else.

"But you three? You should go to school. Find a couple of girls. Marry this one, maybe.” The man gestured to you. “Have two point five kids. Live regular.”

Dean went to say something, but Sam leaned forward, his eyes serious. “Sir? We don't want to go to school. And we don't want regular. We want this.”

You turned to him skeptically, as did Dean. 

Mr. Cooper told the three of you to return in a few hours for training, which you were a little surprised by the suddenness of. 

“I guess they really are desperate,” you said as the three of you left the carnival holding your uniforms to go change into. 

“Were you serious?” Dean asked his brother.

“What?” Sam furrowed his brows at him.

“That whole, uh, I-don't-want-to-go-back-to-school thing. Were you just saying that to Cooper or were you, you know, saying it?” Dean pressed further at his younger brother’s hesitance. “Sam?” 

“I don't know,” he replied.

“You don't know? I thought that once the demon was dead, and the fat lady sings ,that you were gonna take off, head back to Wussy State,” Dean deadpanned.

“I'm having second thoughts,” was all the younger brother answered with.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I think. Dad would have wanted me to stick with the job.”

Dean stopped Sam. “Since when do you give a damn what Dad wanted? You spent half your life doing exactly what he didn't want, Sam.”

“Since he died, okay? Do you have a problem with that?”

Dean’s voice hardened but remained sarcastic. “Naw, I don't have a problem at all.”

***

Later that day, you returned with the boys wearing a bright red “Cooper Carnival” jacket to begin your “janitorial job.” You were waiting for Sam or Dean to call you to tell you when to meet up with them for further investigation.

Before you had gotten a call from either, you noticed a little girl tugging on her mother’s jacket. “Mommy, look at the clown!” She pointed at something off in the distance. 

You followed her line of sight only to see nothing.

“What clown?” the mother asked. “Come on, sweetie, come on.”

You called Sam immediately. “Hey, dude. I got something.”

***

The three of you then chose to stake out the family’s home that evening. Dean had just relayed to you how the blind man overheard him calling Sam about the case and had to tell him you three were writing a book about the supernatural.

“Dean, I cannot believe you told Papazian about the homicidal phantom clown,” Sam snorted.

“I told him an urban legend about a homicidal phantom clown. I never said it was real,” Dean argued. He pulled a gun and cocked it. You jumped over the seat and shoved his arm down. “What are you, nuts? You’re gonna get us busted.”

“Oh, and get this,” Dean continued. “I mentioned the Bunker Brother's Circus in '81 and their, uh, evil clown apocalypse? Guess what.”

“What?” you and Sam asked.

“Before Mr. Cooper owned Cooper Carnival, he worked for Bunker Brothers. He was their lot manager.”

“So you think whatever the spirit's attached to, Cooper just brought it with him?” Sam questioned.

“Something like that.” The older brother shook his head and sighed. “I can't believe we keep talking about clowns.”

***

You and the Winchesters had been stalking these poor people’s home for hours now. Well, you and Sam had, at least. Dean, on the other hand, was dozing in the front seat. You shook him awake when you saw a phantom clown appear at the front door.

“Dee, look,” you said. 

He hummed and sat up, scrubbing a hand over his eyes. He turned and looked at you when he saw the girl leading the clown inside. 

You jumped out of the car and went through the back entrance of the house. You hid around a corner down the hallway from where the little girl and the clown were.

“Wanna see Mommy and Daddy? They're upstairs,” you heard the girl say. At that moment, Sam leapt out and grabbed the young girl who screamed.

Simultaneously, you shot at the clown while Dean cocked his shotgun again. “Sam, watch out!” he yelled. 

The clown leapt out the window, turning invisible as it shattered the glass of the front door.

The parents ran downstairs and began shouting at you and the brothers. You and the brothers dropped the girl and sprinted away, hearing the girl whine, “ Mommy, Daddy, they shot my clown!” as you headed out.

***

A while later, you and the brothers pulled off the side of the road and ditched the crappy van Dean had been driving you around in. You pulled the license plate off the back of the van and stuffed it in your duffel bag.

“You really think they saw our plates?” Sam asked you.

“I’m not taking any chances,” you said.

“I hate this fuckin’ thing anyway,” Dean grumbled. He began to lead you and his brother off the side of the road. “Well, one thing's for sure.”

“What?” you asked.

“We're not dealing with a spirit. I mean, that rock salt hit something solid,” Dean responded.

“Yeah, a person? Or maybe a creature that can make itself invisible?” Sam suggested.

“I don’t know, man, I’ve never heard of a creature like that. And it’s definitely not a person. I have no idea what the hell it could be,” you huffed.

“Did it say anything in Dad's journal?” Dean asked.

Sam cleared his throat and said, “Nope,” pulling out his cell phone.

“Who are you calling?” you asked him.

“Maybe Ellen or that guy Ash'll know something. Hey, you think, uh, you think Dad and Ellen ever had a thing?” Sam smirked.

“No way,” snorted Dean.

“Then why didn't he tell us about her?” retorted Sam.

“I don't know, maybe they had some sort of falling out,” the older brother shrugged.

“Yeah. You ever notice Dad had a falling out with just about everybody?”

You chuckled, but Dean simply nodded and looked at the floor. 

Sam lowered his phone. “Well, don't get all maudlin on me, man.”

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean this ‘strong silent’ thing of yours, it's crap,” Sam answered.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Oh, god.”

“I'm over it. This isn't just anyone we're talking about, this is Dad. I know how you felt about the man.”

Dean started walking a little faster. “You know what, back off, alright? Just because I'm not caring and sharing like you want me to.”

Sam caught up with his brother easily. “No, no, no, that's not what this is about, Dean. I don't care how you deal with this. But you have to deal with it, man. Listen, I'm your brother, all right? I just want to make sure you're okay.”

“Dude, I'm okay. I'm okay, okay? I swear, the next person who asks me if I'm okay, I'm gonna start throwing punches. These are your issues, quit dumping them on me!” the older Winchester said gruffly.

“What are you talking about?” Sam questioned.

“I just think it's really interesting, this sudden obedience you have to Dad. It's like, oh, what would Dad want me to do? Sam, you spent your entire life slugging it out with that man. I mean, hell, you, you picked a fight with him the last time you ever saw him. And now that he's dead, now you want to make it right? Well, I'm sorry Sam, but you can't, it's too little, too late.”

“Why are you saying this to me?”

“Because I want you to be honest with yourself about this. I'm dealing with Dad's death! Are you?”

You looked between the boys and knew Dean was handing Sam a load of bullshit. However, you decided to stow that conversation until you could get him in private.

Sam swallowed harshly, looking upset. “I'm going to call Ellen.” Sam walked a little ahead of you and Dean on the phone.

While Sam spoke to Ellen, you walked beside Dean wordlessly.

“(Y/N), you don’t have to act like I’m a bomb about to go off,” Dean said.

You looked up at him. “I’m not. I just thought you’d appreciate a little silence instead of me asking you to ‘share and care,’ as you put it.”

He nodded. “Thanks.” He intertwined his fingers with yours, allowing you to support him in that simple way. He rubbed his thumb over yours and continued to walk next to you. 

When Sam got off the phone, he turned back to you and his brother. “Wha—” He looked down at yours and Dean’s entwined hands and shook his head. “Nevermind. Rakshasa.”

“What's that?” Dean asked.

“Ellen's best guess. It's a race of ancient Hindu creatures. They appear in human form, they feed on human flesh, they can make themselves invisible, and they cannot enter a home without first being invited,” Sam explained.

“So they dress up like clowns, and the children invite 'em in. Why don't they just munch on the kids?”

“No idea. Not enough meat on the bones, maybe?”

“Well, that’s grotesque,” you noted.

“What else'd you find out?” Dean questioned.

“Well, apparently, Rakshasas live in squalor. They sleep on a bed of dead insects.” The younger brother grimaced.

“Nice,” you deadpanned.

“Yeah, and they have to feed a few times every twenty or thirty years. Slow metabolism, I guess.”

“Well, that makes sense. I mean, the Carnival today, the Bunker Brothers in '81—”

Sam cut his brother off. “Right. Probably more before that.”

“Who do we know that worked both shows?” You raised a brow.

“Cooper?” Sam replied.

“Yup.” You thought for a moment. “That picture of his father looked just like him. Maybe it was him.”

“Well, who knows how old he is?” Sam added.

“Ellen say how to kill him?” Dean asked.

“Legend goes, a dagger made of pure brass,” the brunet explained.

“I think I know where to get one of those.”

“Whoa, whoa,” you said. “Before we go stabbing Cooper, I wanna make damn sure it’s him.”

“Oh, you're such a stickler for details, sweetheart,” the older Winchester teased you. “Alright, I'll round up the blade, you two go check if Cooper's got bed bugs.”

***

You and Sam followed instructions and went to Mr. Cooper’s trailer. Dean had left the two of you to go find the blind man. Inside the trailer, you didn’t find any bugs he was nesting on. Just a plain, old twin mattress. 

“What the hell are you doing in here?” a voice called from behind you.

You wheeled around to see Mr. Cooper. “Oh, hi! Just the guy I wanted to—”

“Save it,” Mr. Cooper told you. “Get the hell out of here. Oh, and uh, you’re fired.”

You nodded. “I figured.”

You and Sam dashed out of Mr. Cooper’s trailer and over to where Dean had told you he’d be. When you arrived at the blind man’s tent, Dean stumbled out of the door.

“Holy shit, hey,” you said after he’d scared you.

“Hey.”

“So, Cooper thinks we’re Peeping Toms, but it's not him,” Sam explained.

“Yeah, so I gathered. It's the blind guy. He's here somewhere.”

“Well, did you get the—”

“The brass blades? No. No, it's just been one of those days,” Dean sarcastically replied. 

“I got an idea. Come on,” Sam said. You and Dean followed him to the funhouse. As you began to go through, the door slammed behind you between you and the brothers.

“Great!” you groaned. 

“(Y/N)!” Dean yelled, banging on the door. 

“(Y/N)! (Y/N/N), find the maze, okay?” Sam called to you.

“Okay!” you called back. You somehow stumbled your way through the maze and found the brothers. “Oh, thank god,” you sighed.

Sam broke a pipe off the organ a bit ahead of you. 

“Where is it?” you asked.

“I don't know, I mean, shouldn't we see its clothes walking around?” Dean answered. A knife flew right past your head, clipping your ear. “Fuck!”

“(Y/N)!” Sam called. “Where is it?”

“I don’t know, Sam, the thing’s invisible!” You jumped up, reached above your head, and grabbed a lever. When you pulled it down, steam poured out of the vent. 

“Sam, behind you! Behind you!” you heard Dean say. You began to run in the direction of Dean’s voice through the steam. When you arrived at him, there was a bloodied lump of clothes on the ground with a pipe sticking out from its chest. You turned to Dean who was pinned to the wall by two knives on his arm and helped him free himself.

“You okay?” he asked you. 

You nodded as you pulled the last knife out of his jacket.

“I hate funhouses,” he grumbled.

***

You sat next to Dean at Ellen’s bar, and she laid a few beers in front of you. “You kids did a hell of a job.” Ellen nodded at the brothers. “Your dad 'd be proud.”

Sam half-smiled. “Thanks.” He got up to walk over to Ash, and Jo took his place.

“So,” she cleared her throat.

‘Damn, this girl is bold,’ you thought.

“So,” you said.

She ignored you and focused on Dean. “Am I gonna see you again?”

Dean turned to her, surprised. “Do you want to?”

“I wouldn't hate it.”

You rolled your eyes and got up from your chair, heading over to Sam and Ash. You could feel Dean’s eyes on you as you walked away. You knew you had no reason to treat Jo poorly; she was just a young girl with a crush. She had no idea that you and Dean were at all involved. You truly didn’t even know if you and Dean were legitimately involved to begin with.

You noted Ash’s bizarre-looking laptop with exposed wiring and his stack of papers. “Whatcha got there, Pinky?”

He snorted at you. “I’d say I’m a little more Brain than anything, but where ya been? Been waitin’ for ya.”

“What, Ellen didn’t tell you about the clowns?” you asked.

“Clowns? What the fuck—”

You snickered as Dean walked up behind you. “You got something for us, Ash?”

“You find the demon?” Sam questioned.

Ash shook his head. “It's nowhere around. At least, nowhere I can find. But if this fugly bastard raises his head, I'll know. I mean, I'm on it like Divine on dog dookie.”

You laughed. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, any of those signs or omens appear, anywhere in the world, my rig'll go off. Like a fire alarm.”

Dean reached for his laptop. “Do you mind…?”

Ash gave him a look, and Dean pulled his hand back from the keyboard. 

You smirked a little at the sight. “Ash, where did you learn to do all this?”

“M.I.T. Before I got bounced for... fighting.”

“No way!” you exclaimed.

He smirked at you and took a sip of his beer. 

“Okay. Give us a call as soon as you know something?” Dean said, suggesting to you and Sam it was time to go.

“Si, si, compadre.” Ash took the beer Dean had placed down and chugged the rest of it. 

You followed the brothers to the door. Ellen stopped you before you could leave. “Hey, listen— if you kids need a place to stay I've got a couple beds out back.”

“Thanks, but no. There's something I gotta finish,” Dean said.

***

“So, you get Jo’s number?” you asked back at Bobby’s junkyard. You sat cross-legged on the hood of one of the cars next to the Impala Dean was working on drinking a beer.

“What?” he asked incredulously. “Why would you think that?”

“Well, she obviously likes you. Kid was shamelessly flirting with you, so I just assumed—”

“No, (Y/N).” He put down the wrench he was holding. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“Well, okay, I just thought—”

He walked over to you and stood between your knees. He ran his hands up and down your thighs. “I’m telling you, I wouldn’t do that.”

“Dean, stop it. You don’t have to come over here and flirt with me just ‘cause I got jealous” you said. 

“I’m not,” he assured you. “Look, we haven’t had a chance to talk about everything—”

“And I don’t need us to. I know you need time after your dad—”

“Would you let me finish?”

“Yeah, sorry,” you muttered. 

“But I have no interest in Jo. She’s layin’ it on a little too thick for my taste,” he smirked.

"I don't know, Dean, your bar hookups always lay it on pretty thick," you reminded him.

"Yeah, guess you're right. But she's not you. So I'm not interested."

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Okay, well, I’m gonna go get some more beer. You want one?”

He nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

You headed back inside and passed Sam on the way. You found Bobby inside and began to update him on the situation with the brothers.

“I don’t know, Bobby, neither of them are doing well,” you said. “But it’s Dean I’m the most worried about.”

“Why’s that?” the older man asked.

“He’s just… bottling it up. He wouldn’t even let me sit next to him while he worked on his car for the first week we were here. He’s worrying me.”

“Sounds like Dean,” Bobby nodded. “But I think if anybody can get ‘im to open up, it’s gonna be you.”

You eyed him strangely. “What makes you say that?”

“He’s just… different with you. I think he puts up a bit of a front with Sam. But never with you.”

You nodded. “I’ll keep trying.” You grabbed two beers and again passed Sam as he came back into the house with tears in his eyes. As you approached Dean’s car, you heard slamming metal on metal and Dean grunting. You quickened your step to get to him, holding a beer in each hand. When you arrived, you saw him hitting the Impala’s trunk with a crowbar over and over again.

“Dean, what the f—”

He looked up at you and fought back tears. You put the beers on the car behind you and slowly approached him. You opened your arms to him and wrapped them around his torso, and he finally responded by burying his face in your hair. You could feel him still trying to stifle his tears, but it was clear he was unsuccessful. You let him hug you for as long as he needed to.

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h @fandomloverrr @metalmonki @onlyangel-444 @yu-winchester @benniwiththefanni @daisychaingirl @immagods @missmieux @yoongi-holland @littledebbieinabigworld

[rinniereads123]

One-Shots

SOME OF THESE STORIES ARE MATURE! READ THE WARNINGS AND TAGS BEFORE YOU READ!

Last updated 03/09/2025

★ - personal favorites | masterlist | other recs

Black - @jamesbuchananxsteviegrant

Reader Has To Safeword

For As Long As You Need Me - @whatthetumblfck

A recent mission turns out some unexpected results, and you end up a little (a lot) worse for wear.

Daydreamer - @imtryingbuck

Bucky marries Y/n to create an alliance between their families and kingdoms, their marriage isn’t one of love but Bucky soon finds himself falling for her.

To Mend a Soldier - @vunblr

Pressed by a worried Sam, Bucky reluctantly agrees to try an alternative -and, if you ask him, weird- therapy program: rent-a-mom. What starts as an obligation soon turns into something far more meaningful than he ever expected.

scary? my god, you're divine - @sinner-as-saint

Your marriage to Bucky Barnes was crucial in stopping the rivalry that had been getting rather violent recently between the two families. You agreed to it. But there was one little problem. Although people knew of Bucky as being a ruthless, fiercely loyal, and feared hitman, no one had ever seen his face. In the rare occasions when he’d been seen out during assignments, it was rumoured that he always wore some sort of mask which covered most of his face. So you ended up marrying a man, and had no idea what he looked like. But surely that wouldn’t be an issue. It’s not like his one touch would get you addicted. Who cared what he looked like? It’s not like you could grow to love someone like him anyway… right?

yours to hurt, yours to love - @purple-babygirl

They had a deal. She would surrender her control; he would take it. Love had no place in such a relationship, did it?

Come Find Me - @bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky

You get left behind on a mission, and Bucky goes to save you.

★blurred lines - @ellemj

When choosing a female agent to send back in time to gain young Sergeant Barnes's trust, everyone's in agreement that it should be Sharon. Until Bucky, the man that you barely get along with, speaks up and lets everyone know that it could only be you.

Shared desires - @veltana

You and Bucky decide to explore something new with Steve.

The Push and the Pull - @delaber

There’s nothing Bucky wants more than to be with you - and for that reason alone, he has to break both your hearts.

Little Bookworm - @heytheredelulu

Your boyfriend can’t think of anything more adorable than watching you read. One night while you’re in the shower he picks up the book you left on the nightstand: “Haunting Adeline by H.D. Carlton” and thumbs through it, very quickly realizing just what kind of books his sweet little bookworm is really into.

Anywhere Away With You - @thevillainswhore

Old ghosts from your past threaten to disturb the peace you’ve made with your new life. Will temptation steer you away?

★The Ties That Bind Us - @thevillainswhore

Even though Bucky is your ex-husband, you still have to see him often because of your shared son. But the heated tension, the spark that is still very much alive after your divorce, finally reaches its peak when you come home from your date.

Warrior/Worrier - @delaber

After a mission gone awry, Bucky finds himself on your doorstep in the middle of the night.

Pink in the Night - @d0wnb4df0rf1cm3n

Some interesting rumours have been circling around about Bucky. Little do you know, it's kinda your fault.

Love Hurts - @urdepressedslut

You and Bucky get into a heated argument, things are said and done and now he won’t speak to you. You don’t think you can handle him ignoring your existence.

in losing grip, on sinking ships (you showed up just in time) - @mellowsaturns

When the Avengers pick up unusual activity, they realize that not all of Hydra was destroyed. One unidentifiable face sends the team into a frenzy but Bucky knows it. He could recognize those eyes anywhere.

I Hate You - @ellemj

After ending up on SHIELD's radar, you're moved into the tower against your will. Of course, you can't stand the one man that you have the most in common with.

One More Night - @marvelouslizzie

You and Bucky Barnes are fuck buddies for a while. The problem is you have feelings for him but you don't think he reciprocates and it just makes it impossible to continue your relationship. Little did you know how much he wants you and how hard he's trying to keep it casual.

The Things We Carry With Us - @pellucid-constellations

You were injured on a mission and didn’t tell anyone, leaving your already rocky relationship with Bucky crumbling. Was it really hate he harbored for you, or was it something else? 

Control - @bucky-bucket-barnes

John Walker makes the dire mistake of messing with Bucky’s girl. This misstep causes a major fight to break out between the two, ending in nothing but blood and rage.

I Can Save You This Time - @pellucid-constellations

It’s the 4th of July and you’ve never been more sick. Turns out you aren’t the only one in the compound that stayed home from the celebration.

Shaken Up - @jamesbuchananxsteviegrant

Steve and Bucky find their girl passed out.

Under Pressure - @banditthewriter

Y/N hides a nasty injury from the team until they know everybody is safe, and then they collapse. Bucky worries about Y/N.

Injuries - @flowinglocksofbuck

you get injured on a mission and Bucky freaks out

Wicked - @str-spangled-banner

You were injured during a mission two weeks ago and put to much pressure on your healing wounds, doing more damage than you thought possible. Bucky fears he will lose you.

Necessary Evil - @bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky

Y/N gets seriously injured and Bucky takes care of her.

fingers fantasy fulfilled - @purple-babygirl

If Bucky's doll wanted his metal fingers then that was exactly what she was going to get.

Lavender - @wkemeup

Not every nightmare is the same and Bucky doesn’t always wake up as the man you know. 

Give Me A Sign - @lostgirlmuseum

Bucky asks the universe for a reason to live. The universe delivers you.

Fulfilled Fantasy - @sergeantbarnessdoll

Y/N admits to Bucky that she wants to have a threesome so he has Natasha help fulfill her fantasy.

Hottest Night of Your Life - @bossbtch1

Bucky and Steve joined you for a night out at the club, but things took a dark turn when a stranger spiked your drink. Bucky and Steve were more than willing to "take care" of you.

Sharing is Caring - @sad-not-glad

Soft Dom! Steve x Sub! Bucky x Dom! reader

My Queen - @adrinktostopyourthirst

The post-battle energy rush needs a release. Suddenly, there's a willing soldier at your disposal.

Overreact, Overstimulate - @jamesbuchananxsteviegrant

Reader Falls Into Subspace During Sex With Bucky And Steve

all the apple cider and no more haunted houses - @witchywithwhiskey

you and bucky barnes have a love-hate relationship—you love him and you believe he hates you—but when your friends insist on going to the scariest haunted house attraction in the area, the experience ends up forcing your real feelings for each other out into light

my everything - @mrsbarnesblog

The last thing that Bucky ever expected to see was the love of his life from the past trapped in one of the Hydra bunkers in the cryofreeze chamber. Yet here he was almost two days later, staring at your still unconscious body through the window at the medical wing, imagining the horror and disgust on your face when you found out that he was no longer the innocent and happy boy you knew before.

you were mine just yesterday - @notafunkiller

It's been a while since your break up with Bucky happened, but you're still not over him. You try to move on, go out, and have fun with your friend, Steve, but you end up in the same bar you two went to often. It also just happens that Bucky is there too, with Natasha by his side. It doesn't take long for you two to end up getting into old habits.