#i was like no!! no!! but he's so funny!!!!!! and the second he showed up in game again i started taking screenshots of me n the bestieee

[applereid]

— WORK WIFE, AARON HOTCHNER.

this is my favorite hotch fic i’ve ever written! husband hotch i love u

“You’re married?” Emily blurts out in disbelief, standing beside your desk in the bullpen. Her brows shoot up as she takes a step closer, eyes locked on your left hand.

She gently grabs it, tilting it toward the light to get a better look at the ring on your finger. Her fingers hover like she’s afraid to touch it. The ring, gorgeous yet very obviously expensive, shines under the office lights.

“How have I never noticed this before?” she asks, laughter spilling into her voice. She glances at your face and back to the ring, thoroughly entertained by her own obliviousness.

You give a small shrug from your chair, leaning back slightly as you glance at the ring yourself. “It’s not really an oversized ring, I guess. Subtle enough to not be flashy— unless you’re actively staring at my hands.”

Emily snorts at that and settles down on the edge of your desk, her curiosity now fully piqued. Her eyes drift from your hand to the desk surface, scanning it for any signs of personal life.

Her smile falters slightly as she takes in the minimalistic setup— neatly stacked files, a couple of pens, your badge, but no photos. No hints of the mysterious spouse she’s only now just discovered.

“No picture of your husband anywhere?” she asks, clearly surprised.

You let out a soft laugh, fingers still tapping away at your keyboard. “Nope. I see him every single day. I don’t exactly need a reminder of what he looks like while I’m working.”

Emily cocks her head, pretending to be shocked, though the sparkle in her eyes gives her away. “Wow. Cold. At least tell me you have a photo of him on your phone. I want to see what this mystery man looks like.” She shifts forward slightly, elbows on her knees like a kid in gossip mode, the grin on her face growing.

Before you can respond, her eyes flick over your shoulder, drawn by the sound of footsteps on the stairs. She watches as Hotch makes his way down from the upper level, coffee in hand, moving with his usual composed stride. He crosses the bullpen and stops at your desk, setting a to-go cup next to your keyboard.

“Did you know she’s married?” Emily grins up at him, her tone light and teasing.

Hotch doesn’t miss a beat. “Yeah,” he says plainly. “I married her a couple of years ago.”

He glances down at you, his expression unreadable to anyone but you, and casually adds, “They were out of hazelnut creamer, so I got you caramel.”

Emily blinks and there’s a pause— one of those silences where time seems to stutter. Her eyes dart between you and Hotch, her brain clearly trying to process what she just heard. Then she laughs, shaking her head.

“Okay, very funny,” she scoffs. “Good one, Hotch.”

“I’m not joking,” he says, his brow slightly furrowed as he lifts his left hand and shows her the plain gold wedding band resting comfortably on his finger.

Emily’s laughter dies immediately. “Wait. What?”

“There’s no way in hell she would marry you,” she exclaims, half-laughing again, though the disbelief is starting to sound a little forced.

Hotch glances down at you with a look that’s equal parts amused and wounded, eyebrows raised as if to say Did she really just say that? You shake your head, already laughing as you push your chair back and rise to your feet.

“Oh, you poor thing,” you murmur affectionately, stepping toward him and looping your arms around his neck. You pepper kisses across his cheeks, offering exaggerated sympathy. “That was so mean!”

Hotch stands stiffly for a second, sighing as you shower him in affection. But the corners of his mouth twitch with amusement, and his hand comes to rest gently on your lower back, anchoring you to him even as he rolls his eyes.

Emily just stares, jaw hanging open slightly, her expression slowly morphing from incredulity to full on horror as the reality sets in. “Oh my God,” she breathes, shooting to her feet. “I am so sorry, Hotch. I didn’t know— I thought you were kidding! You’re not the kind of person who jokes like that!”

Hotch glances at her, unimpressed but not angry. He doesn’t bother responding— he’s far more preoccupied with your continued affection as you nuzzle his cheek again, giggling softly.

“Poor baby,” you coo, hands coming up to gently squish his face between your palms as you press one last kiss to his lips. “Don’t listen to her. I’m very happy to be married to you.”

Hotch hums in quiet agreement, still avoiding Emily’s wide-eyed stare as she blurts out a stream of apologies, her hands flying in every direction like she’s trying to physically take the words back.

He finally looks from her to you, amusement flickering in his eyes. Then, with a mischievous smirk that’s rare but undeniably real, he leans down and gives your backside a light, playful swat before placing a kiss on your forehead.

“Put a picture of me on your desk by tomorrow,” he murmurs low enough for only you to hear. “Please?”

You smile up at him, eyes warm and full of fondness as you nod. “Promise,” you say softly, reaching up to kiss him once more— quick and sweet— before sitting back down at your desk, already mentally selecting which photo to frame.

[stellamarielu]

Stellaaaaaaaaa…. That new pic has killed me!

Jack Abbot in glasses and he’s all shy and embarrassed about it in front of his younger girlfriend bc he didn’t used to need glasses, it’s a sign he’s getting older and it reminds him of the age gap…

But his embarrassment doesn’t last long when she forces him to keep them on and watch her worship his old man cock and balls with her pretty young mouth

Ok I’m getting carried away, time to crawl back into my gutter!

IM SICK. Him laying next to you in bed…. with his glasses at the tip of his nose… yeahhh

Tossing and turning because you can’t sleep. Twisting over in bed to see Jack sitting up next to you, his back against the headboard with glasses at the end of his nose, silently reading in the dim light of the bedroom.

He could hear you rustling, eyes gazing to his right to find your face smushed against your pillow with heavy lids, watching him intently.

His glasses came off in one quick sweep.

Folding the arms of his readers one at a time, before swiftly placing them on his bedside table.

You'd seen him wear them before, mostly at night when he read, or sometimes he’d bring them out to look at something you were showing him on your phone, griping because “the font is so small, who the hell can even read that?”

He made it a point not to keep his glasses on for extensive periods of time when you were around. He made a joke once that they were his "old man glasses" and you wondered if Jack abbot— the confident and headstrong emergency department attending— maybe had a slight insecurity when it came to his age, especially in comparison with yours.

"Can't sleep?" His voice was low with a gentle scratch as he dog eared a page of his book before allowing it to rest on his lap.

You shook your head from side to side against the fluff of your pillow.

"Can't get comfy." The words were hollowed out by a sleepy rasp as you threw him your best over-exaggerated frown.

"Can I help?" It was a genuine inquiry, but the smirk on his lips gave away his true intentions. His hand slid across the sheets, finding your waist underneath the covers. But, before it could trail any further, you sat up slightly.

"That depends..." You began to respond with a smug grin of your own, leaning up on your elbow, reaching across his body to grab the glasses from his bedside table.

"you wanna put these back on?"

His eyes were glued to the readers in your hand, just sitting in your grasp as you held them out in front of him.

"My glasses?" There was a subtle laugh in his words as his brows knit together in confusion.

He didn't take them from your hand, just stared at them in amusement and disbelief.

You sat up further, taking the book from his lap and tossing it to the end of the bed, your body replacing its position as you straddled him, sitting back on his thighs.

"I like them." The tone of your voice was soft and slow as you took it upon yourself to place the readers back on the bridge of his nose.

"I think they're sexy."

"You're funny sweetheart." He was trying not to scoff as a shy grin stretched across his face, his head shaking subtly in disagreement.

"Don't believe me?" You shifted your weight, crawling down his body until your careful kisses found the skin just above the waistband of his boxers.

His hand moved, fingertips adjusting the glasses that were now sliding further down his nose as he watched you between his legs. You caught it out of the corner of your eye— his hand toying with his readers— and for a split second you thought he might take them off again.

"They stay on, or I stop." The threat sounded harmless as it purred into his lower abdomen, your fingers slowly pulling at his underwear.

He playfully raised his hands, surrendering to your command.

"Yes ma'am." He smiled as he spoke, but the sound of his voice was far raspier than it had been all night.

With hooded eyes hiding behind the black frames of his readers, he brought a hand down to tangle in your hair as you dragged his boxers down just enough to take the tip of his cock into your mouth.

His head fell back, thumping against the headboard, as he made a mental note to start wearing his glasses a little bit more.

Your head bobbed at his hips as you took him deeper toward your throat, causing a muffled groan to break free from his chest.

Okay, maybe a lot more.

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

WE’LL BE ALRIGHT

PAIRING: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

WORD COUNT: 5.5k

SUMMARY:

Two truths and a lie:

1. You swiped right on the Tinder profile of JB, 33, only to discover that it was the profile of Bucky Barnes.

2. Bucky Barnes stole your heart then ghosted you all in the span of a single year.

3. You are totally and completely over him.

AUTHOR’S NOTE:

bucky barnes has had me in a chokehold since 2011 and it really took me all this time to write something for him smh. anyway, big thank you to @chaotic-mystery and @dindjarinslegs for letting me scream about this. and i’m coming for bob reynolds next, mark my words.

WARNINGS/TAGS:

fatws!bucky AND thunderbolts!bucky, mild thunderbolts* spoilers, second chance romance, alcohol consumption, mild angst, declarations of love, pet names (doll/sweetheart/baby)

explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact): kissing, dirty talk, nipple play, oral (f receiving), choking, unprotected p in v, multiple positions (missionary/prone bone), cream pie.

LINKS:

main blog | masterlists | ao3

Then

It’s Friday night and you’re on the couch, flicking through Tinder profiles to the soundtrack of a shitty reality show playing on your TV. You’re two glasses of wine deep and you’ve stopped scrutinizing most of the profiles and have settled for swiping right as long as they’re not holding a fish, a flag, or a baby.

You’ve had a shit week and you’re hoping to find someone to help you de-stress. If not, you’ll have to take care of things yourself (again) and while your vibrator is reliable (and doesn’t ask you questions about your investment profile like it’s foreplay), you’re craving something more. The weight of someone on top of you, the feel of them between your thighs, the rush of something new and exhilarating and hopefully satisfying.

The app dings, announcing a match between you and JB, 33. A message comes through shortly after.

JB: Are you okay?

You frown. Weird thing to ask in the first message. Surely it’s better to wait for the third date to ask something so personal.

Yeah, why?, you reply.

JB: Your profile says, “I need to be taken out. On a date or by a sniper.”

Don’t worry, it’s a joke. My therapist didn’t think it was very funny either.

JB: I’m pretty handy with a gun.

You snort.

Is that a euphemism for your dick?

JB: No, actually.

What a shame.

JB: I thought I wasn’t supposed to talk about my dick on here.

You click on JB’s profile and swipe through the pictures. He looks familiar and it takes your wine-addled synapses a few tries to make the connection but when it clicks you realize you’re looking at pictures of Bucky Barnes. As in, Captain America’s best friend, American prisoner of war turned Soviet assassin turned Avenger. You frown. There’s no way the Winter Soldier is on Tinder.

Swiping back to the chat, you begin to type.

You’re right. It’s much safer to talk about your gun.

JB: That sounds like sarcasm.

It definitely wasn’t sincere.

JB: Anyone ever told you that you have a smart mouth?

Anyone ever told you that catfishing people on Tinder with pics of an Avenger is a stupid idea?

At least pick someone who isn’t famous.

JB: Those are my pictures.

JB: And I’m not an Avenger.

Sure they are.

JB: Why would someone lie on their dating profile?

That does sound like something a 100 year old would say.

JB: 106.

You can’t help the laugh that bursts free, the sound bouncing off the walls of your tiny apartment.

If you’re really Bucky Barnes, then prove it.

JB: How?

Send a video of you waving in the mirror.

With the metal arm.

He doesn’t respond and for a while you think it’s because you’ve backed him into a corner. Whoever JB is can’t send you the requested video because he’s not Bucky Barnes and that’s the end of your excitement for the evening.

But then your phone pings with a new message from the app.

A video.

From JB.

You click play and the camera shows a tile floor before panning up to reveal a man’s reflection. His face is hidden by the phone but then he moves it a little to the right to reveal a chiseled jaw covered in stubble and pretty blue eyes, thick brows drawn together in either confusion or concentration.

He lifts a metal arm up in a wave and suddenly you’re desperate for the Earth to swallow you whole (maybe you shouldn’t say that — given the shit you’ve been through as a resident of New York, you can’t rule out the possibility of that actually happening).

You’re really Bucky Barnes, you finally manage to type.

JB: In the flesh. And metal.

So you are good with a gun then.

JB: I am. But I think I’d rather pick the first option.

You bite back a smile.

You want to go on a date?

JB: Isn’t that the whole point of the app?

You’ve got me there.

I’m free tomorrow.

JB: It’s a date.

Bucky asks you to meet him at a nearby bar the following night and you spend the day alternating between feelings of giddy excitement and nauseating anxiety.

You arrive a few minutes early to a quiet bar you never noticed in the years you’ve lived in your shoebox of an apartment a few blocks over. It’s all dark wood and moody lighting with booths along one wall and a stately bar taking up the other. There’s quiet jazz playing through the speakers and the bartender has an impressive handlebar mustache.

You choose one of the empty barstools and the bartender floats by to place a cocktail napkin and menu in front of you. You’re looking over your options when the door opens you look up to see Bucky entering the bar. He’s wearing a t-shirt that stretches across his impressive chest, highlighting his trim waist, a leather jacket and dark jeans that hug his legs.

He smiles when he sees you, a quick flash of teeth before he ducks his head and approaches you, taking a seat on the stool to your left. The bartender returns with another menu and napkin.

“Hey,” you say, voice cracking. Smooth. So smooth.

“Hi,” he replies. “Did you, uh, have any trouble finding the place?”

“No, not really. I’ve never been here, though. It’s nice.”

“Did you order already?”

“I was waiting for you.”

As if summoned by the conversation, the bartender returns to take your orders. Bucky opts for bourbon and you choose one of craft cocktails from the menu because you’re a sucker for a well made drink and Mr. Handlebar Mustache looks like he can deliver.

After one sip to calm your nerves (you were right, the man can make a damn good drink), a second for confidence, and a third for luck, you turn slightly on your stool, knees bumping Bucky’s beneath the bar.

“So,” you say, drawing out the single syllable. “I have to ask. Why are you on Tinder?”

He laughs. “Starting with the hard questions?”

“If you consider that one hard, I have bad news for you.”

“My therapist suggested it,” he admits. “Something about getting out of my comfort zone.”

“Well, they’re right about that. Nothing comfortable about online dating.”

“Right?” He takes a sip of his drink. “I’ve seen…a lot of shit and somehow I’m still surprised by some of the messages I got.”

“What’s the worst one so far?”

“A woman asked if the metal arm vibrates.”

You try not to laugh at the look of utter disappointment that flashes across his face. “Well? Does it?”

“No,” he deadpans. “But it is waterproof.”

“You might call that,” you wiggle your eyebrows, “handy.”

Bucky laughs and you watch him, the way he tips his head back and his shoulders shake with the force of it.

He has a nice laugh.

“That was terrible,” he tells you, but he’s wiping at the corner of his eye.

“Guess I won’t be quitting my day job to pursue my comedy dreams anytime soon.”

The rest of the evening is much the same, easy conversation and even easier laughter from you both. You steer clear of certain topics — superhero activities and pardoned war crimes among them. Your one drink turns into two and then you switch to water because Mr. Handlebar Mustache has a heavy hand and you don’t want to end up drunk enough that what little filter you have disappears entirely.

The bar has gotten a bit busier and you’ve drifted closer into Bucky’s orbit, your legs now tucked between his as you lean in close to be heard over the hum of a dozen conversations. You’ve caught him staring at your mouth with half lidded eyes more than once and it makes warmth pool between your thighs.

“It’s getting a little loud, do you want to head out?” You ask, a hand on his thigh, just above his knee. He nods.

Bucky takes care of the bill despite your objections and follows you out of the bar with a hand low on your back, just barely touching. On the sidewalk, he gently pulls you to the side, out of the way of pedestrians.

“I had a good time,” he says. “Best date I’ve been on since 1943.”

“Oh, yeah?” You step a bit closer, chest to chest. His hand grips your waist. “How did dates used to end back then, old man?”

He rolls his eyes. “Smart mouth. First, I’d walk you back to your apartment. Like a gentleman.”

“Mhm,” you hum. “Then what?”

“Then, you’d give me a kiss on the cheek.”

You tilt your face toward his, pressing your lips to his cheek. “Like that?”

“Just like that. But then, when you’re about to pull away—“ he reaches up, wrapping a hand around the back of your neck, “I’d pull you right back.”

You’re so close that you can feel his breath on your lips. “And then?”

“I’d kiss you.”

“You better start walking me home, Barnes,” you tell him. He smiles.

“Lead the way.”

The walk to your apartment is quiet but the tension between you is damn near corporeal and you’re practically buzzing with anticipation by the time you reach your building.

“This is me,” you tell him as you turn to face him. “I had a great time, too, you know.” You loop your arms over his shoulders. “In fact, I’m not sure I’m ready for it to end.”

“That so?” He asks, boyish smirk tilting the corner of his mouth.

You shrug. “If that doesn’t offend your delicate sensibilities.”

Bucky leans in and your eyes flutter shut just before his lips touch yours. The scent of leather and bourbon wraps around you and the rush of your blood in your ears drowns out the late night noises of the city around you. The kiss is sweet, gentle, until his teeth nip at your bottom lip and you gasp, giving him the opening to make it deeper, hungrier, an edge of desperation in the way his fingers curl against your neck.

He pulls away first, tongue darting across his lips like he’s trying to capture the faint taste of you on them.

“Wow,” you mumble. “That was…do you want to come upstairs?”

“But my delicate sensibilities,” he says, laughing as you smack him on the chest. He kisses you again, though it’s less of a kiss and more the two of you smiling against each other. “I’d like that.”

Bucky carves himself a place in your life.

His toothbrush next to yours on the bathroom counter. The coffee that he likes in your pantry. A book he’s been trying to read for a few weeks on your nightstand. A side of the bed that you consider his.

He brings you flowers from the farmer’s market and your favorite snack from the bodega down the street when he knows you’ve had a rough day. He makes you laugh so hard that your muscles ache with it.

You are so in love that your chest hurts just to look at him.

And then he disappears.

Now

Running into an ex-boyfriend at a coffee shop is already an uncomfortable enough experience. Add to it that your ex-boyfriend is Bucky Barnes, the devastatingly handsome face of the New Avengers, New York’s newest batch of superheroes, and you’ve got a recipe for the most awkward situation imaginable.

He’s waiting by the pick up counter, metal arm covered by his jacket and wearing a hat that you think it meant to act as some sort of disguise though it falls short of being effective, considering he has one of the most recognizable faces in the nation. You shuffle over to the same spot, keeping your head down and attention fixed on your phone, hoping he doesn’t notice you.

Despite the fact that he was there before you, the barista calls out your name first, placing your drink on the counter. Bucky lifts his head and looks around, a furrow between his brows. Then, as if the universe is playing a sick joke, another barista sets a second drink next to yours and calls out, “James!”

He doesn’t immediately reach for his drink and you just know he’s waiting to see if hearing your name called was just a coincidence. So, with a desperation for your caffeine fix and a healthy dose of feminine rage, you square your shoulders and march up to the counter, taking your drink without looking at him.

Bucky steps in front of you just as you’re about to make your escape and you look up into his familiar blue eyes, mouth going dry and stomach plummeting to the ground.

“Hey,” he says. “I thought that might be you.”

“Hi,” you reply tersely. “I knew it was you.”

He flinches slightly. “That’s…that’s fair. Uh, how’ve you been?”

“Pretty good. Well, except for that whole bit with the,” you wiggle your fingers near your head, “weird cinematic loop of traumatic experiences.”

“Right, right. That wasn’t great.”

“I’d ask how you are but I’ve already seen the headlines.”

Bucky sighs, taking off his hat to run a hand through his hair. “Look, I know—“

“Motherfucker,” you whisper, ducking your head down. Bucky frowns.

“What—“

Someone calls your name. Well, okay, not just someone. Your boyfriend, David, enters the coffee shop, walking up to you and wrapping an arm around your waist.

“I thought I was early enough to beat you here but I guess not,” David says, nodding toward the drink in your hand. He glances at Bucky, then does a full on double-take. “Holy shit, you’re Bucky Barnes.” He sticks his hand out toward him. “I’m a big fan.”

And Bucky, asshole that he is, looks you dead in the eye as he shakes David’s hand and says, “Thanks, man.”

“People used to tell me I looked a lot like you,” David continues, digging your grave of embarrassment deeper and deeper. “When you had short hair.”

“Is that so?” Bucky asks. “Yeah, I can see the resemblance.”

Which, okay, you understand how this looks. David does kind of resemble Bucky. He’s got blue eyes and a strong, square jaw and dark hair but it’s not like you went looking for a boyfriend that looked like Bucky.

You just have a type.

Besides, David was shorter than Bucky. There are definitely differences.

“I’m going to grab a drink. It was great to meet you,” David tells Bucky, shaking his hand again. “Be right back,” he says to you, leaning in for a kiss. You turn your head, his lips grazing the corner of your mouth.

“He seems nice,” Bucky says when David has taken his place in line across the room.

“Shut up,” you hiss. “You don’t get to judge.”

“I’m not judging.”

“You’re definitely judging.” You cross your arms. “Don’t you have superhero things to do?”

“I’m on vacation.”

“Nice to hear the New Avengers offer a robust benefits package.”

“You still have a smart mouth,” he comments, voice dropping low. Your brain short circuits and in your moment of weakness he reaches for the phone still in your hand, plucking it from your grasp with ease.

“Hey—“ you start to protest, but he’s handing it back before you can even finish the sentence. The screen is open to his contact information and it looks like he’s updated his number. “What’s this for?”

“If you need me,” he says easily. “I gotta get going. It was good to see you.”

Bucky leaves with the last word. You curse his existence even as you watch his broad shoulders disappear through the door and out into the wave of New York pedestrian traffic. David returns with his drink in hand, looking at you curiously.

“What?” You ask.

“How do you know Bucky Barnes?”

You shift your weight from foot to foot, searching for the right response. “We have…history.”

“History,” David deadpans. “Platonic?”

“Well—“

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he interrupts. “You dated an Avenger?”

“He wasn’t an Avenger at the time!”

“As if that makes this any better!”

“Why is this an issue?” You ask with a groan. “It was two years ago!”

“Are you only dating me because I look like him?”

“What? No!” You lower your voice. “Can we please just talk about this later.”

He seems to realize that you’re both still standing in the middle of a coffee shop, a dozen curious stares turned to you. “Fine,” he acquiesces.

You leave together, shoulders brushing on your walk to the nearby park where you planned to have your coffee that morning before everything was interrupted by a ghost from your past.

Things with David only get worse. He digs for more details about your relationship with Bucky and you snap at him to leave it alone. He grows tired of asking and you grow tired of avoiding until finally, inevitably, you get a phone call from him a week later.

“I can’t keep doing this,” he sighs. “I think we should just call it quits.”

“Fine,” you reply. “I’ll get a box of your stuff together for you to come get.”

“Seriously? That’s it?” He asks. “You’re not even going to ask me why?”

You can’t help but laugh. “Because you’re insecure that I dated Bucky Barnes and won’t go into excruciating detail about my sex life and how you compare to him.”

He sputters indignantly before finally landing on, “You’re such a bitch.”

“Charming,” you reply. “I’ll text you when your shit can get picked up.”

You hang up before he has the chance to respond. Tears of frustration prick at the corners of your eyes. You’re not upset about the relationship ending, not really, you just hate that somehow, Bucky Barnes managed to be the reason.

You call your best friend and she makes the appropriate noises of sympathy, followed by empty threats of bodily harm to David, before suggesting the two of you go out to get your mind off of the breakup.

You probably should have declined the invitation and stayed home because now you’re staring into the mirror of the bar bathroom, clutching the sink like it’ll make the world stop spinning (it doesn’t). Your friend is nowhere to be found and you’re ready to go home but the thought of calling an Uber in this state makes your stomach roll.

You pull up your contacts, finger hovering over Bucky’s name. Before you can change your mind or drop your phone in the sink, you tap the call button.

He picks up on the second ring.

“Barnes,” he says. His voice makes your breath hitch.

“Hey…it’s me,” you reply, squeezing your eyes shut.

“Are you okay?” He asks immediately. You huff a laugh.

“I’m okay. Just…I’m a little drunk and I think my friend left and I could really use a ride but if you’re busy, I could call an Uber!” You’re rambling. Bucky, thankfully, puts you out of your misery.

“Where are you?” You give him the name of the bar. There’s a shuffling noise and then he’s telling you, “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

You wait outside the bar on the sidewalk, arms wrapped around yourself. A blacked out SUV pulls up to the curb and Bucky steps out, turning heads as he rounds the front of the car to the sidewalk and looks around for you.

You take a tentative step forward and his gaze snaps to you, softening from mission mode in a way that makes your head feel fuzzy. He opens the passenger door for you, holds a hand out to help you into the seat, still a gentleman.

Your breath catches when he leans over, tugging the seatbelt across your chest and buckling it into place. He smells the same, you think, like leather and metal and mint. No bourbon, this time.

When you’re buckled, he shuts the door and walks to the other side of the car, sliding into the driver’s seat. You tilt your head back against the headrest, letting your eyes fall shut. It’s good to be sitting.

“You okay?” He asks.

“You already asked me that,” you reply, keeping your eyes closed. He sighs.

“Why didn’t you call Daniel?”

“David,” you correct. “We broke up.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

You turn your head, opening your eyes slightly. “No, you’re not.”

“You’re right, I’m not.”

And that shouldn’t make your heart beat faster, shouldn’t send warmth coursing through you but it does because it’s Bucky. You close your eyes again. This seat is very comfortable.

“You still in the same apartment?” He asks. The question sounds fuzzy.

“No,” you mumble. “Moved.”

“Can you give me the address?”

But you don’t hear that last question because you’re already asleep in the passenger seat.

You wake up in an unfamiliar room, in an unfamiliar (but extremely soft) bed, tucked beneath unfamiliar sheets. Your mouth is dry and your head hurts a little bit but not nearly as much as you deserve given how much you drank. There’s a glass of water on the nightstand and a bottle of Tylenol. You crack the lid and pour out two capsules, throwing them into your mouth and chugging down the water until the glass is empty.

You slowly get up and make your way across the room, checking to see if one of the doors leads to a bathroom. You’re thrilled that you’re right and that there’s even a conveniently placed towel, unopened toothbrush, and new set of clothes waiting for you on the counter. You briefly wonder where the clothes came from but given the opulence of the bathroom you’re standing in, you imagine anything is available at the press of a button.

By the time you’ve finished in the bathroom, you feel about ninety five percent human. The other five percent is the part of you dreading the conversation to come.

Because you know Bucky is somewhere beyond the bedroom door and the thought of seeing him in the light of day, after calling him to come to your rescue, fills you with dread. You give yourself a pep talk in the mirror and lift your chin, ready to face what’s beyond your bubble of safety.

You peek outside the bedroom door and find the hall clear. There’s soft music playing from somewhere further in the apartment and you follow the noise to the kitchen, where you find Bucky at the counter, his back turned to you. He’s in a tank top, which gives you an open view of muscles that you haven’t seen in two years but definitely remember. In vivid detail.

Bucky turns to face you when you’ve stepped into the room. He has two mugs of coffee in his hands and he slides one across the counter separating you. He’s already made it the way you like.

Asshole.

“Morning, doll,” he says.

“You don’t get to call me that.” You take a sip of your perfect coffee.

“You used to like when I called you that.”

“That was before you made me fall in love with you and then you disappeared,” you tell him. “And the next time I saw you was on TV, announcing your run for Congress.”

He at least has the decency to look a little chagrined. “I’m sorry. It wasn’t supposed to be like that.” You raise your eyebrows but say nothing. “I was ready for normal but I keep getting dragged back into fights.”

“Are you dragged or do you answer the call?” You ask. He stays quiet for a minute, thinking, the muscle of his jaw ticking beneath the stubble on his chin.

“Both, probably,” he admits. “I’ve done so much bad that it’s hard to pass on the opportunity to do something good.”

A tiny fracture forms in the wall you’ve built. “If not you, then who, I guess. Right?”

“Yeah,” he sighs. “Something like that.”

Silence settles, thick with what needs to be said and, worse, with what should have been said two years ago. He abandons his mug on the counter, coming around to stand in front of you, close enough to touch. His dog tags hang in the middle of his chest and you reach up to tangle your fingers in the chain, like you used to. He smiles, a tiny, uncertain twitch of his lips.

“I missed you,” he says quietly. “You have no idea how much.”

“You could have called,” you tell him.

“I didn’t know what to say.” His hand catches your. “You loved me?”

“I did,” you admit. “Still do, if we’re having an honesty hour right now.”

Bucky laughs, low and warm. God, you missed him. You didn’t realize the depth of it until he was within your reach.

“I did, too.” He wraps an arm around your waist. “Still do.”

“Yeah?”

He leans in close, lips ghosting across yours. Barely a kiss but every nerve ending lights up at the contact, making you feel like a live wire. He smiles.

“Can I call you doll now?” He asks. You act like you’re considering it, like the answer isn’t an immediate yes.

“Only if you’re going to make it up to me,” you tell him.

“How would you like me to do that?”

“Well, you are really good with your gun—“

Your response is cut off by your yelp when Bucky picks you up, one arm supporting your back and the other under your knees. You laugh as he marches back to the bedroom you woke up in, kicking the door open and tossing you on the mattress. You bounce slightly with the force of your landing.

“Someone’s eager,” you tease, lifting yourself up on your elbows. He smirks, crawling toward you on the mattress.

“You have no idea, doll,” he says, wrapping his metal hand around the back of your neck and pulling you in for a kiss that’s hungry and messy, a borderline desperate creeping in as he settles more of his weight on your body, hips cradled between your own.

His teeth dig into your lower lip, hard enough to make you gasp. He takes the opportunity to kiss your jaw, stubble dragging across your sensitive skin. He drifts lower, down your neck, sucking the skin over your pulse and making you squirm.

“So sensitive,” he teases, his hand working its way beneath your shirt, warm palm sliding up your belly. He pinches a nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger, making you whine. “And so needy.”

Bucky pulls away, just enough to get both hands on your shirt to lift it up and over your head. Both hands cup your breasts and you arch into the sensation. You’ve always loved the difference in sensation between his hands, soft flesh and unyielding metal but the same reverent touch. He bends forward to pull one nipple into his mouth, flicking his tongue over it until you’re writhing beneath him.

He drags his mouth lower, down your belly, until he reaches the leggings he left for you. His fingers curl into the elastic, dragging the fabric down your thighs until he can pull them off and toss them to the floor. You’re left in just your underwear and Bucky smiles beatifically at you.

“Already soaked,” he says, settling on his stomach between your thighs. He drags a thumb over your clothed pussy, circling the digit lightly when he reaches your clit. “All for me, huh?”

“Mhm,” you nod.

He kisses the inside of one thigh, then the other, before slipping his fingers beneath the gusset of your underwear and yanking the fabric to the side. He drags his tongue from your entrance to your clit, circling the sensitive bundle of nerves with broad, flat strokes.

“Bucky,” you moan, reaching down to tangle your fingers in his hair and pull. He groans, the vibration adding to the delicious torture of his mouth. “Oh, fuck.”

You lose the ability to speak shortly after that as Bucky lavishes you with attention. Two of his metal fingers join his tongue, sliding into your wet heat with ease.

“Christ.” He tilts his head against your thigh to watch you as he pumps his fingers in and out of you with an obscene noise. “Fuck me,” he groans, dragging out the syllables.

“Yes,” you gasp. “Please, Bucky.”

“Not until you come,” he says, curling his fingers and dragging them across that sensitive spot inside of you. “Come on, sweetheart.”

He slips a third finger inside of you and the stretch borders on painful, a slight sting that makes you feel like you’re on fire, ready to burst. When he returns his mouth to your clit, you’re a goner. Your orgasm crashes over you as you moan his name, grinding yourself up against his mouth and down onto his fingers.

Bucky eases you through it, waiting until your hips drop to the mattress before pulling away. The scruffy hair on his chin is shiny with your release, his blue eyes are dark with lust, and his hair is a mess from your hands.

“Open your mouth,” he commands, reaching up to slip his soaked metal fingers past your lips. “Clean ‘em real good, doll.”

You do as he says, keeping your eyes fixed to his. When he’s satisfied, he pulls his hand away and settles it at the base of your throat.

“You missed this, didn’t you?” He asks, squeezing gently. You smile up at him, bringing your hands to his forearm. “Yeah, you did. Bet you thought it about when those other guys fucked you, too.”

He releases your throat and gets off the bed only long enough to shove his pants to the floor. You get a brief moment to stare appreciatively, taking in the chiseled muscles and the old scars that you once had memorized.

“You’re so beautiful, Bucky,” you murmur. His expression goes soft as he crawls back onto the mattress and settles his weight above you, his cock dragging through the wet mess he’s made of your thighs.

He kisses you deeply, thoroughly, like he’s trying to erase any lingering memory of anyone who came after him. His hips flex against yours and you hitch your legs up, changing the angle of your body enough that the head of his cock dips inside of you, just slightly, just enough to make you gasp into his mouth. He pulls back, staring down at you as he sinks deeper, stretching you in the most perfect way.

“That’s it, baby,” he says. “Just like that, huh?”

The only answer you can give is a desperate noise as you wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer, his chest against yours. He starts an achingly slow rhythm that has stars bursting in your vision, your belly tensing with the first signs of release.

“You have no idea,” he mumbles against your neck, “how much I’ve missed you.”

“I think I have an idea,” you whisper, bringing a hand to his jaw. “Missed you so much, Buck.”

He bites at your pulse and moves his hips faster, driving you to the brink before pulling out completely. Your responding whine is cut short by his hands gripping your hips, twisting you beneath him until you’re flat on your stomach and he’s sliding back into you, the new angle making you feel impossibly fuller.

His weight settles on your back and he slips his metal hand around your neck, using it to lift your head up from the mattress. He squeezes your throat as he drives into you mercilessly, hips smacking lasciviously against your ass.

“You’re going to come on my cock, sweetheart,” he growls into your ear. “I need it so bad, come on, baby, finish so I can fill you up just the way you like, okay?”

Your second orgasm hits you like a lightning strike and your mouth drops open in a silent scream as your muscles tense and you squeeze around his cock. He moans a broken prayer of your name as his hips stutter in their rhythm and then go still as he comes, warmth pulsing inside of you.

Bucky collapses on the bed, careful not to drop his full weight on you. He gathers you up in his arms, holding you with your head on his chest. You listen to the beat of his heart as it slows from a frantic pulse to a smooth rhythm.

You tilt your head to look at him and he smiles. The whole scene reminds you of your first night together and a bubbly feeling blossoms in your chest.

“This won’t be easy,” he murmurs, bringing a hand to your jaw. His thumb rubs against your cheek. “I’m still fighting.”

“I know,” you reply. “As long as you come back to me after the fight, I think we’ll be alright.”

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed the fic, please consider reblogging or commenting — I love hearing from you!

[prettydaisygirl]

idk if you’ve seen the tik tok trend where you prank your bf by making a video and being like “okay so me and my current boyfriend….” and then the bf reacts but it’s really funny and cute and I’d love to see your spin on it with James!!!

Hi nonnie! This is so cute, I hadn't actually seen the trend before you requested this. BUT just before writing it, I watched TheWizardLiz do it with her husband, calling him her ‘current’ husband and it was hilarious haha! Hope you enjoy <3

boyfriend!James Potter x fem!reader 'current' boyfriend titkok trend ✿ 401 words

cw: fem reader, James gets his feelings hurt for just a second, mentions of future marriage, this is just a cute lil thing :)

james potter masterlist

°˖✧✿✧˖°

“Jamie,” You say to your boyfriend, who looks up happily from where he’d been resting his head on your shoulder. His arms are around you, hands on your thighs, your back pressed to his chest. “Do you wanna film a tiktok with me? People want to see what you look like.”

James, hopelessly in love with you and excited to have you showing him off to your followers, agrees with a series of quick, enthusiastic nods. You smile, pull up the camera and press the button. Part of you feels bad for what you’re about to do.

Your followers want to know what James looks like, yes… But they also want you to pull a little prank on him. A trend going around the app where you refer to your boyfriend as your ‘current’ boyfriend to see how they’ll react.

“Hi everyone!” You say with a little wave. James looks so cute beaming behind you, and he waves a little too. You already feel guilty and you haven’t even said anything yet. “So a lot of you have been asking me to show him, so this” You gently grab James’ chin with your hand and he looks at you adoringly, “is my current boyfriend, James.”

You see the change in his face instantly, like a dog getting scolded. The smile drops from his lips, his eyes dart to yours with a furrowed brow and you swear his ears would droop if they could. You continue to record his reaction.

“‘Current’ boyfriend?” His voice is more vulnerable than you’ve ever heard it and your heart breaks just a little. “What does that mean? You don’t… see a future with me?”

You break immediately. “No, baby, that’s not-” You’re quick to reassure him with a kiss and he perks up just a little bit. “It’s just a joke. It’s a tiktok prank.”

“Oh…” James looks at you recording and he seems to understand what is happening. His face brightens and he pulls you even tighter into his grip. “I’m your ‘current’ boyfriend because soon I’ll be your ‘forever’ husband!”

You look at him with a bit of a raised brow and he kisses you, making you giggle. His hands are all over you and you let the phone drop, completely forgetting you were recording at all.

Later, you’ll post it, and everyone will absolutely swoon over James and his reaction to you. #couplegoals 

°˖✧✿✧˖°

© prettydaisygirl

[fckmebarnes]

˗ˏˋ ★ silly little prank ★ ˎˊ˗

bucky barnes x reader

you play a prank on bucky by carving your initials into his dagger…

+18 MEN AND MINORS DNI. semi-hate sex! knife play. oral (bucky receiving) lmk if i missed any!!

You and Bucky had a quarrel, one that was going on for, quiet a bit. You weren’t sure why the two of you hated each other so much, but you both couldnt deny the sexual tension that was between you both.

Sam swore that everytime you both were in the gym, he could cut the sexual tension with a knife. You both shrugged it off though with “I hate her” and “I can’t stand him”.

But both of you couldn’t deny the sneaky touches the two of you shared, the way that Bucky stood close to you in briefings when there were plenty of chairs around the room.

The two of you knew there was something there, but didn’t want to admit it.

That was, until you heard his heavy footsteps down the hall, heading straight to you room. You heard Sam yell “Wacth where you’re going asshole!” As Bucky bumped into him on his way to your room.

You jumped in your spot as he thre the door open, his eyes full of rage as he stood in the doorway. You paused from reading your book and looked up to see his standing figure, as he walked closer to your bed and shut the door behind you.

“You think this is funny, don’t you?” You were confused, not sure what he was talking about until he held up his favorite dagger by the blade, showing you the mahogany handle.

You blinked, suddenly remembering what you had done. It was a dare by Sam one late Friday evening, the two of you were so drunk you could barely form coherent sentences.

“I dare you to carve your initials in Barne’s favorite dagger.” You shook your head as you dipped your wine, knowing that that would be a huge mistake.

“No way. He would have my head.” Sam laughed and shrugged knowing there was absolutely no way a Bucky would harm a single hair on you.

“Hey, it would be helping you. It would finally give him a reason to fuck you.” You almost choked on your wine as Sam spoke.

“He does not like me like that.” You tried to deny it, but you knew deep down it was true. That the two of you had feelings for each other.

And here you were, sitting on your bed watching Bucky hold his dagger in his metal hand, your initials showing. You put your book down slowly, closing it and setting it to the side. You crawled to the end of you bed, sitting on your knees and looking up at him.

“It was a dare, Sam dared me to do it-“ you paused as you felt a cool point on your cheek, slowly trailing down to your jaw.

“You think it’s funny, don’t you?” Bucky’s tone was dark, deep, a turn on. You looked up at him, his pupils blown out, and you could see an outline of his hard on in his jeans.

“I-“ you gulped as his face got closer to yours, feeling his breath against your mouth as he was inches from yours. You resisted the urge to kiss him, but felt a damp spot on your panties at the thought of his dagger against your cheek.

“Silly girl. You should know better than to mess with me. On your knees on the groun, now.” You blinked and crawled down without a second thought, looking up to Bucky through your lashes as he kept the point of the dagger underneath your chin to look up at you.

He licked his lips, slowly biting his bottom lip. You shifted on your knees, trying to create some friction between your thighs but to no avail.

“You’re going to do what I say, got it? Don’t speak unless spoken to.” You nodded your head, hands on your knees as he smirked. He motioned down to his zipper, and you knew exactly what he wanted you to do.

“Take it out, doll. I want to feel that mouth of yours.” You shifted as your hands fumbled with the button, popping it open and pulled the zipper down. You took out his dick, and it felt heavy in your hand.

The tip was red and angry, pre-cum on the very edge. You stroked his shaft, the soft velvety skin against your palm made you wetter. He dragged the blade of his dagger on your skin, not hard enough to draw blood but hard enough to make you take his cock in his mouth.

You licked around the tip slowly, feeling his thighs flex as you rested your hands on his legs, a soft moan coming from his lips as you swirled your tongue. He grabbed a fistful of your hair, and slowly thrusted into your mouth, moaning as he felt your hot, wet mouth around him.

“Fuck, this mouth feels so good. Didn’t know you could suck cock so well.” He thrusted his hips into your mouth at a slow pace, grunted as he got deeper and deeper, feeling his tip hitting the back of your throat.

You felt the small damp spot in your panties grow, shuffling your thighs together as he stopped inside your mouth.

“Don’t move. This is what you get for putting your initials on my dagger. Be my dirty whore.” He picked up his pace, feeling spit on the corner of your mouth and falling onto your thighs. You grunted as he thrusted deeper, moans falling from his lips and head tilting back.

“Gonna come in this pretty mouth of yours. You’re gonna take it.” He fucked your throat hard, spit covering his entire dick, spilling from your mouth. The sounds of you gagging filled the room and fueled his thrusts, making him curse under his breath.

His dick throbbed in your mouth as you felt him come, hitting the back of your throat as you swallowed obediently. He took a few more slow thrusts in your mouth as he milked his cock

He pulled out and put his dick away, looking down at you with tears in your eyes and spit all over your mouth. He knelt down and took your head in his fingers, making you look at him.

“Lesson learned?” You nodded your head as you licked your lips. He nodded and stood up, holding out his hand for you to take. You took his hand and stood up, Bucky guiding you to your bathroom.

“Gonna take care of you, doll. We have a lot to talk about.” He pressed a kiss against your forehead as he started your bath. He set his dagger on the countertop and looked at you.

Maybe you should do dares more often.

[anetherealpoetess]

are we ready, and i mean are we really ready, to stop pretending kieran culkin's oscar speech was cute? are we ready to talk about how the first thing he did when handed a little gold statue and a bit of power was to publicly humiliate his wife? the first thing he did was to get up on stage and say she owes him another baby now?

how she sank into her seat like a girl wanting to be swallowed up whole, smiling like we do when they are trying to pretend everything is fine. because hey isn't it so funny? don't they share a sense of humour? didn't she know the man she married? don't all the cutest couples joke about coerced reproduction? like men don't change the rules the second a room full of men start clapping for them. like men do not become monstrous the moment they get a bit of success.

but because he played a fun character in a fun show we cannot say anything about that fucking awful speech. i am tired. i am tired of women being expected to get it, to laugh, to play along with the humiliation ritual of being in love with a man who wants the world to know he fucking owns you now he won a little trophy so you better give him a child.

file this under: men resent women for 'gatekeeping' both sex and babies, and the moment a man gets a bit of power, he'll let you know just how deep his resentment runs.

[selfloverrrrrr]

Hiii can i please req yandere megumi corrupting innocent reader?😫😫 like reader is so helpless against gumi who’s like 2x bigger than her

Stealing?

Warnings : smut , heavy smut, unprotected sex, Noncon, Kidnapping, physically and emotional abuse, biting, size difference, Yandere Megumi, protective, jealous, obsessive, manipulative....

( All characters are aged up/18+)

Minors Do Not Interact

Read the warnings carefully....if you don't like my stories block me not report

Y/N’s POV

College is… chaotic. The kind of chaos where I am constantly juggling assignments, and trying not to lose your mind from the pressure. I loved my friend circles as well. Nobara, the girl who always helps me out with my overthinkings. She's the best girl's girl I've ever know. Then yuji. She's such a sweet gut. Funny, sweet. He's too.... Well let's not talk about that now... Then Megumi. He’s always been there. Quiet, composed, eyes that say too much but lips that stay sealed. I always felt safe around him. He walks me to classes, waits when it’s dark, and steps in when some creepy guy tries to hit on me in the library.

“Hey, Y/N,” Nobara waved as she jogged over. “You coming to training?” she asked. “Yeah. I wanna catch up with Yuji and Megumi too.” I replied. Then after the training is done. We were walking towards our Campus again when we heard a whistle. Looked at the direction. Saw a guy of our campus looking at me *creepy*. He disgustingly signed for a blow job pointing towards his dick. And after that yuji was about to launch but Megumi was faster.

He grabbed that guy's neck with one hand and pushed him to the wall. We all gasped. "Look at her again you'll know what the hell looks like in seconds" Megumi muttered. The guy was struggling to breathe. One of that guy's friends came to save. But when he tried to reach megumi grabbed his hand with his other hand and twisted it. He screamed in pain. "Megumi let him go... He'll die" I said. "Yes that's enough don't be too rough... If does this again we'll see... Let him go now" Yuji said and Nobara nodded.

Megumi finally let them go and they ran gasping for air. "I didn't know Megumi's like that.... I mean he seems like a silent guy" I whispered to Nobara. "He is like this actually... He used to beat up guys in high school who used to bother him. The whole school used to fear him" Nobara whispered back. I gave her a shocked look. "Yes... This emo isn't that emo you think he is" She whispered and laughed.

Megumi’s POV. Few days later.

It was too early for training today. Yuji was half-asleep, drooling on my shoulder. I didn’t have the heart to push him off—not that he’d wake up anyway. We were waiting for the others to show up for technique sparring, but my mind was far from training. Y/N walked by. Her hair tied in a loose ponytail. Hoodie too big. Laughing softly at something Nobara said. She didn’t even notice what she does to me.

She never notices how I follow her when she’s walking alone at night to make sure she’s safe. How I memorize every outfit she wears, every guy she speaks to, every look she gives. She’s mine. She just doesn’t know it yet. "You're drooling, idiot," I muttered to Yuji, but he didn’t even twitch. Suddenly, I felt it—a shift in energy. The lazy weight on my shoulder grew tense. A low chuckle slithered into my ear like venom.

"I know... She's hot." I snapped my head. Yuji was no longer Yuji. Sukuna. He was smirking. "Get the fuck out," I hissed. “Relax, kid. I just wanted to say… you’ve got taste. That girl—Y/N, right? Delicious little thing” Sukuna teased, eyes flicking to Y/N. "You do like her, don’t you? Don’t lie. I'm not an idiot like the rest of these dumbasses." He said. I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to. He laughed again, voice low and dangerous. "You’re so quiet about it. Lurking like a shadow. But you haven’t done anything, have you? Haven’t even kissed her. Tch... pathetic."

"She’s my..........we're just friend." I said. "You sure Yuji sees her that way as well?" Sukuna leaned in. "You don’t know about their late-night chats? Every night, Megumi. While you're asleep like a good little guard dog, your best friend is texting your girl." He said. My heart dropped. "You're lying." I said. "Am I?" Sukuna grinned, devilish. "I'm stuck with this brat 24/7. I see everything. The way he blushes when she texts back. The way he types and deletes messages like a nervous virgin. And trust me, you really don’t wanna know what kind of things they talk about sometimes."

I clenched my jaw. Hard. "You're trying to get in my head." I replied. "Am I?" Sukuna echoed. "You think he’s innocent? He’s a teenage boy with zero filter and a pretty girl giving him attention. Do you think he’s just talking about school and cursed techniques?" I hated how my stomach turned. How something cold twisted in my chest.

"You’re pathetic, Megumi," Sukuna whispered like poison. "You sit and watch. Let him flirt. Let her laugh at his jokes. You protect her, worship her from afar… while someone else is inching into her bed....You’re weak, Fushiguro. You could have had her years ago. But now, you’re watching her slip through your fingers like a coward. What are you waiting for? For Yuji to stick his cock in her first?” he said.

“Shut up.” I almost screamed. My heart arched. “Take her. Mark her. Chain her to your fucking bed if you have to. She’s yours. Not his.” he said. “You’re insane.” I said but my heart didn't agree with my words. “No. I’m just honest. You think love is gentle? It’s possession. It’s war. She needs to learn that.” sukuna said. “You’re wasting time protecting her like she’s some princess,” Sukuna sneered. “She doesn’t need a knight. She needs a master. Someone who’ll show her who she belongs to. Who’ll make her kneel and learn.”

“That’s not—” “What’s stopping you?” Sukuna cut me off. “Your morals? Your cowardice? You think that’ll keep her from spreading her legs for someone else?” he asked. My heart pounded. “Face it,” Sukuna continued, voice slithering through my ear like poison. “You’re not gonna win her by being soft. You’re going to lose her. Unless you make her yours. Break her if you have to. Love like yours doesn’t need permission. It needs control.”

“You think she’ll hate you for it? Who cares? Let her hate you. Fear makes people loyal. Fear makes them yours" he said. And just then Yuji groaned and slowly opened his eyes, stretching like he hadn’t just been possessed by a monster. I didn’t say anything. My head was burning. I needed proof.

Later that afternoon, Nobara invited us to sit together outside the cafeteria. I pretended to scroll my phone, watching Y/N and Yuji across the table. Laughing. So close their knees touched. He leaned in to whisper something in her ear, and she giggled. I waited for her to leave her phone on the table when she went to grab a drink. Yuji had gone with her. The moment they were gone, I reached for her phone. Opened the chat. Scanned. My blood ran cold.

Yuji: “That little skirt you wore yesterday? You really trying to kill me?”

Y/N: “Haha stopppp.”

Yuji: “Not joking. If you wore that in my room, I don’t think I’d let you leave.”

Y/N: “You're bad.”

Yuji: “Wanna be worse?”

There was a photo. Yuji. Lying back in his dorm bed. Shirtless. Sweatpants low on his hips. His hand was clearly inside the waistband. I scrolled.

Yuji: “You thinking about me now?”

Y/N: “Maybe.”

Yuji: “What would you do if I pulled you into my lap right now?”

Y/N: “Depends. Would you let me go?”

Yuji: “Not a fucking chance.”

My grip tightened around her phone. My knuckles went white. Another photo. A mirror selfie this time—sweatpants again. No shirt. The message below it:

Yuji: “Imagine me behind you like this. My hand under that cute little shirt you wear to bed.”

And she replied?!

Y/N: “Flirt much,huh? 🤭”

Yuji: “it's you after all.”

I know they hadn’t done anything yet. But it was close. It was dangerous. He was pushing it, and she was letting him. She trusted me. She talked to me about books. Walked beside me in silence. Called me “calm in the chaos.” And all this time she was letting Yuji talk to her like this? “Make her yours… Fuck her before this brat puts his dick inside her…” Sukuna’s words echoed again, like a goddamn curse, coiling around my brain. I looked up. They were still at the vending machine. Laughing. His hand brushed her back like it was nothing. Like he owned her. But he didn’t. He never would.

As the cafeteria crowd thinned, I stood up. "Hey, Y/N," I said casually, stepping behind her chair. "Can I talk to you?" She turned to me, all innocent eyes and soft curiosity. "Yeah, of course. What’s up?" “Privately.” I said. She blinked, then nodded, grabbing her drink. “Sure.” she replied. "Can you please come to my droom.... I really need to tell you something" I said. "It's okay..... We can go now. I was about to go to my droom anyways" She replied. Good.

Y/n's pov

We walked to his droom room. He opened the door. "You first" He said. I went inside the he. He locked the door. "Yk your droom always smells good and-" I was saying and suddenly he grabbed my face and kissed me. Roughly. Too roughly that I almost couldn't breathe. My bag fell on the floor. He tried to push his tongue in my mouth but I kept it close. I pushed him away. "What are you doing?!?!" I said loudly.

He just looked at me. I can't even get outside he's standing in front of the door. He threw his bag on the floor. Still staring at me. I walked back. He's walking towards me. "Megumi stop!" I said panicking. "Now you're scared of me? After all these days I've protected you from everyone?" He asked. "Megumi what's wrong with you?!" I said. I didn't realize and my back the door behind me. I was trapped. "Everything is wrong with me" He said. Then he opened the door and pushed me inside.

"Wait... Megumi stop please!" I said. He didn't replied. He closed the door and threw me on the bed. "Take off your clothes" He said. A shiver runs through my spine. "........what?" I asked. "You want me to rip that off?" He asked. "Megumi I-" He cut me off again. "I see what it is" He said and went up the bed. I was scared and tried to back off but Megumi grabbed my top and pulled it over my head and threw it on the floor. "Megumi stop!" I screamed and tried to cover myself. "Should have think about it before flirting with Yuji" He said leaning close.

"M-Megumi stop this please!" I said. "You weren't saying this when yuji was flirting with you" He said leaning close and pressing his lips on mine. I tried to push him away but he was pulling me closer. His hand slid to my chest and squeezed it. My body jerked off. I turned my head to the left to prevent his kiss. But he started kissing and licking my neck and jaw.

I grabbed his hand to stop him but he squeezed harder. I screamed. "Megumi stop this!" I said. "You thought I won't know?" He asked. He licked downwards and captured a nipple in his mouth, sucking on it. I was trying to push him away. "Megumi stop!!!!" Screamed. He looked up. And pulled down my pants with panties using one hand while looking at me. "I had planned everything how you gonna be mine how everything's gonna work out until you decided to go to the wrong person" He said.

I was breathing heavily. "Please I won't do anything again please-" He cuts off "you think I'm dumb like Yuji?" He asked and took off his sweatpants. He wasn't wearing anything underneath. He was pinning me under him. I looked away. He grabbed my chin and made me look at him again. "Don't look away.... I've waited for this for days...." He said a smirk appeared on his face.

He lined himself with me. "Megumi please please don't do this... Please! I'm begging you! I'm sorry... I'm sorry... I'm so sorry please!" I begged. Tears appear in my eyes. But he didn't. He pushed inside. I threw my head back. My back arched. I can't.... I can't. It's too big. It's thick. It hurts. He jerked forward and he was fully inside. I screamed.

It's too much. I've never done this before! I don't want it. I didn't realize when I started crying. He started thrusting. "Fuck.... Mmmhhhh..... Ahhh.... Fuckkkk.... Feels good.... Too good.... Ughhhhhh" He said between groans and moans. He looked down and me smirking. "Don't worry you'll get used to it" He said. He kept thrusting.I scremed. He didn't even give me time to adjust his size and started thursting in and out roughly. I was throwing my legs from pain and begging him to stop. And he was liking it so much. His thrust became harder and harder. I clenched around him tightly and he moaned loudly " ughhhhhh....ahhh s-so...ahhhh....so f-fucking tight " he started rubbing my clit with his thumb.

I bite his shoulder scratched his back to control myself. With a few more thurst I came. He was still thrusting roughly. I felt his cock pulsing inside me. I tried to push him away with all of my strength." Ughh...no no no no...ahhhhhh...no please no....ahhhhhh..... n-not ahhhh.....not inside... please please.... please Megumi I'm begging you....you're not even using protection" I told him between hiccups. He grabbed my throat and chocked me down to the bed.

"Isn't that more fun?" He said calmly with a smirk. I couldn't even believe what was happening to me. How could Megumi do this to me. Weren't we good friends??? The boy always kept silent, so the innocent is doing the most devilish thing to me??!! Within a minute he came inside me I could feel his seed inside me. He pulled out.

"You are mine... You always have been! No one will take you away from me! I'll keep breaking you until you understand that I am the one for you" He said biting my lip.

Give me your requests guys....

I love when you give me your requests 💗

[inafieldofstarflowers]

Obviously the first chapter of The Foxhole Court lays the groundwork/provides background for a lot of parts of the series (Exy, the Foxes, who Andrew is, hints at Neil’s past, etc.), but I think one of the most important (& honestly masterful) things Nora does in it is establish the relationship between Neil, Exy, and Kevin.

When we meet Neil, he’s literally on the bleachers in pain from watching the Exy court be turned back into a soccer field, because that’s basically a crime to him. While yes, this is a funny comment because it’s so deeply dramatic, the following explanation that it’s the one thing Neil has never been able to let go of through all of the identities he’s held makes it clear that Exy is something more to Neil than just a game; rather, it’s a symbol of his lost childhood, of the way things might have been if he and his mother hadn’t run. Still, Neil is torn about the idea of pursuing Exy, because his love for it is warring with his mom’s instructions not to play again in order to remain safe and under the radar.

Enter David Wymack with a contract—or, really, Kevin Day with a contract.

Even Wymack says that Kevin is the one signing Neil. Kevin, who Neil met once as a child, when they played a game of Exy together. Kevin, who has spent the years Neil has been on the run building his skills to become a star Exy player. Kevin, who has a career it is obvious Neil has followed closely.

At this point, Neil reaches two important conclusions:

He would be in danger of losing everything if Kevin remembered him, but he doesn’t seem to

The offer of a contract doesn’t matter, because Neil Josten isn’t real—no matter “how much he liked being Neil Josten”

And this is where (in my opinion) things get very interesting: as Neil thinks about the offer to play for the Foxes—& therefore with Kevin—he thinks that he doesn’t want to give up Exy because “It was the only thing that made him feel real,” and then follows this up with the thought that “[His] past was locked in Kevin’s memories. It was proof he existed, same as this game they both played. Kevin was proof Neil was real.”

Since Kevin was first mentioned, it has been in relation to his Exy career—his partnership with Riko, the broken hand that halted his career briefly, signing to the Foxes, the speculation about Andrew’s impact on that choice—because that is the thing about him that matters to Neil—or, perhaps more accurately, it’s the only thing Neil really knows about him. Neil’s concerns about Kevin remembering him are so loud that they can make it easy to overlook the fact that Kevin and Neil aren’t reunited childhood friends, they’re just people who essentially had a really fucked up playdate once.

The thing is, that day is the one with the biggest what-ifs for Neil, and as a result, Kevin is wrapped up in those what-ifs: for Neil, it’s become a question of if I had stayed, would I have reached stardom like Kevin has? Exy and Kevin, while not fully interchangeable, are certainly inextricably linked in Neil’s mind, and they are also both tied up in Neil’s dreams and regrets.

Why does this matter? Two main reasons: first, having this background shows us why Kevin is so important to Neil: no matter how much Neil doesn’t want to be Nathaniel anymore, Nathaniel was the one who was real. The only things at the start of the series that give Neil Josten that same feeling are playing Exy and Kevin Day.

Second, we are immediately shown that Neil’s perception of Kevin is not entirely trustworthy, because its foundation is one traumatic childhood event followed by a years-long parasocial relationship. And, while Neil certainly gets to know Kevin better as the series goes on and they actually start spending time together, there are many moments where Neil views Kevin through a lens that is too close to being “Kevin=star Exy player,” which results in him misinterpreting Kevin’s meaning (ie after Kevin learns who he is and Neil thinks he’s just concerned about their season even though Kevin’s telling him to run) or simply brushing over other parts of his personality (ie when he buys into the “Kevin only cares about Exy” idea some of the others have said). By making us aware of this early, Nora is preparing us to examine what Neil’s saying for bias by showing that he isn’t an entirely reliable narrator, and it’s done so well in just a few pages.

[mintyys-blog]

hi minty, could I request reader with an exhibitionism kink x Fratboy!Wally west? like they end up fucking on every surface possible

WHO NEEDS PRIVACY? | wally west x reader

DC COMICS MASTERLIST | WARNINGS: smut, little to no plot, swearing, fingering (foreplay)

Kindly respect my work. No reposts, translations, or rewrites — AI-generated or not — without my consent. © @mintyys-blog

You didn’t go to frat parties. You went to study groups. To your job. To your dorm, where your roommate’s anime figurines silently judged your nonexistent social life.

But here you were—standing in the too-loud, too-sweaty foyer of Delta Sigma Zeta with a Solo cup in hand and a “What the hell am I doing?” expression you tried to smother behind lip gloss and fake confidence.

You weren’t popular. Wally West was.

Like, absurdly popular. Fast-talking, always-smiling, devil-in-a-varsity-jacket kind of popular. The guy who’d never spoken more than three words to you in class but still somehow knew everyone’s birthday and drink order.

And you had a crush on him. Naturally.

So yes, maybe you came tonight with a plan. A small one. A “use-his-popularity-to-get-into-the-right-social-circle” kind of plan. Which sounded cold, but when you spent most weekends watching Netflix while the campus partied, a little self-serving ambition felt justified.

What you hadn’t planned on? Him noticing you within five minutes of walking in.

He was holding court in the kitchen, surrounded by people who all looked like their Instagram feeds were filtered in real time. He spotted you instantly. Paused mid-laugh. Cocked his head like he wasn’t quite sure what he was looking at.

Then he smiled. “Hey,” he called, leaning against the counter like a walking Abercrombie ad. “You stalking me or something?” You almost choked on your drink. “Please. If I was stalking you, you’d never know. I’m much better at it than that.”

That got a laugh. From him. From the people around him. And just like that, you were pulled into his orbit. You didn’t expect him to actually flirt. But he did. Shamelessly. Wally was the kind of guy who made you feel like you were the only person in the room even while he was making three people laugh behind you. He asked you questions—real ones. Teased you gently. Let his hand rest a little too long on the small of your back when he leaned in to talk.

“You’re funny,” he said at one point, eyes glinting. “You should come to more of these.”

“Parties?”

“My lap.” You nearly spat out your drink. “Oh my gosh.”

“What?” He raised his hands in mock innocence. “I said what I said.”

You didn’t plan on ending up in the laundry room.

But around midnight, after a chaotic game of Never Have I Ever (during which Wally definitely guessed you’d made out with someone in a public place and you definitely lied about it), he tugged you away from the crowd with a whisper of, “Come here, I wanna show you something.”

It turned out “something” was a dimly lit laundry room, half-clean, half-terrifying. And before you could ask what the hell he was doing, his lips were on yours.

He kissed like he flirted—fast, bold, just enough hesitation to check you were in it too. And you were. God, you were.

One second you were pressed against the wall, his hands gripping your hips like he’d earned them, and the next, you were lifted onto the washing machine.

“Tell me to stop,” he mumbled, mouth hot against your neck.

“I will,” you promised, breathless. “Eventually.”

You didn’t.

Somehow the machine turned on mid-makeout. You both paused as it started to shake, then looked at each other and burst out laughing.

“This is so dumb,” you said, wrapping your legs around his waist. “This is so hot,” he corrected. “The risk factor? Peak adrenaline.”

“You’re a menace.”

“You’re into it.” You didn’t deny it.

He kissed you like he wanted to ruin your lipstick and your plans. You let him. The walls were thin. You could hear music and footsteps outside.

“I swear if someone walks in—”

“We’ll tell them we’re doing laundry,” he said, sliding his hand higher under your shirt. “Like responsible adults.”

“On the spin cycle?”

“Gotta get it extra clean.”

You rolled your eyes so hard your brain might’ve reset. And still—you didn’t stop him. Not when he kissed down your neck, not when he muttered something about how good you looked up on that washer, all breathy and wild-eyed.

You liked this version of you.

The bold one. The one who didn’t care if someone heard. The one who got to be the center of his attention, if only for a little while.

And maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t about social climbing anymore. Maybe you liked being wanted by him for you.

Because Wally?

He wasn’t acting like this was casual. He was looking at you like you were daring him to fall, and he was considering it.

You weren’t sure what was hotter—the way Wally’s hands slipped under your thighs to tug you closer, or the steady vibration of the ancient washing machine beneath you that made your brain short-circuit in real time.

Either way, you were losing the ability to form rational thoughts.

“This is so…” you started, trailing off when his mouth found that spot under your jaw that made your toes curl.

“So what?” he murmured, teeth grazing your skin. “Scandalous? Filthy? A tragic misuse of household appliances?”

“Yes.” You pulled his face back up to yours. “All of the above.”

Wally grinned like a man who knew exactly how dangerous he was. His fingers curled into your hips, anchoring you in place like you might float away otherwise. And honestly? You might. Your pulse was on overdrive. Your dress was halfway to your ribs. Your legs were wrapped around him like you’d been rehearsing this since freshman year.

He wasn’t being subtle about any of it.

“God, you’re hot,” he breathed, trailing kisses down your neck. “How are you not already ruining someone’s life?”

“Because I’ve been busy ruining my own,” you said, tugging at the hem of his hoodie with a smirk. “But hey, new year, new goals.”

He laughed—boyish and bright—and then kissed you again, deeper this time. Like he forgot there was a party outside. Like the two of you had all the time in the world and no one was minutes away from accidentally barging in.

Your back hit the wall above the machine with a dull thud, and Wally paused, blinking up at the ceiling like he was having a holy shit moment.

“Okay. I don’t want to ruin the vibe,” he said slowly, “but I think I just had a spiritual experience.”

You cocked a brow. “From kissing me or the spin cycle?”

“Both,” he admitted. “But mostly you. Definitely mostly you.”

And just like that, the air between you shifted. It was still hot—still reckless and humming with bad decisions—but underneath it, something gentler was blooming.

He looked at you like you weren’t just a quick distraction. Like he wasn’t rushing this just to brag about it later.

“Still want to stop me?” he asked, voice softer now, hands steadying on your thighs.

You should’ve said yes. You meant to say yes.

But instead, you leaned forward until your forehead pressed against his, until you could count every freckle across his cheeks.

“Wally?”

“Yeah?”

“If we get caught, I’m blaming you.”

“That’s fair,” he whispered, already kissing you again. “I’d take the fall for you.”

He pulled your panties down, “lace? Naughty girl.” He put them in his pocket, “I’m starting to think you planned getting laid tonight.”

“So what if I did?” you smirked, tugging him closer by the front of his shirt.

Wally didn’t hesitate. He practically growled into your mouth as he kissed you again—hungry, wild, the kind of kiss that made you forget your name. His hands gripped your thighs and hiked your dress up without ceremony, dragging the fabric to your waist like it offended him by getting in the way.

“God, you’re driving me insane,” he muttered against your skin, pressing kisses down your neck as his fingers skimmed along the inside of your thigh. “You know that, right? You have to know.”

You didn’t get the chance to answer. His fingers slipping lower, testing just how ready you were for him. He paused, glancing up at you with that devilish smirk like he’d just won a bet.

“Yeah,” he breathed. “Knew it.”

Before you could throw back a sarcastic remark, he dipped two fingers into you—slow at first, dragging the motion out like he wanted to feel every second of it. Your breath caught in your throat, eyes fluttering closed as your head hit the wall behind you.

You were already soaked, and from the way he groaned under his breath, he liked that. A lot.

“Shit,” he whispered, his free hand gripping your waist as his fingers began to move—slick, rhythmic, deliberate. “You’re so wet for me.”

Your hips jerked forward instinctively, chasing the friction. The sound—wet, obscene—filled the room, almost louder than the music pounding outside. It made you dizzy. So did the way his eyes never left your face, like he was trying to memorize the way you looked unraveling under him.

His fingers curled inside you, brushing a spot that made your whole body jolt.

“Right there,” you gasped, voice barely audible over the roar in your ears.

“Ohhh, that’s it,” he said, grinning like a man who just figured out a cheat code. “Got it. We’re in business now.”

He adjusted his angle and did it again, and again—each stroke more precise than the last, his thumb brushing sensitive skin as his fingers pumped steadily, your slick coating his knuckles. You clenched around him without meaning to, and he felt it, too—his eyes went wide for a second like you’d just short-circuited him.

“Damn,” he muttered. “You’re gonna kill me.” You felt like you were floating, hips grinding against his hand, one of your shoes dangling off your toes, his name tangled in your throat but never quite making it out. Your fingers dug into his shoulders for balance, your chest heaving as your body arched into his touch.

He leaned in, mouth at your ear now, voice pure sin. “Anyone could walk in right now. You know that?” You shuddered.

“You’d let them see you like this?” he teased, curling his fingers again until your eyes nearly rolled back. “Let them see how pretty you look falling apart on my hand?” You didn’t answer—but the way your legs tightened around his waist said enough.

He laughed softly, and God, you could feel him—hard against you, barely held back, every muscle tense with restraint. You weren’t sure how much longer you could take it. You didn’t know if you wanted it to stop. All you knew was that you didn’t want it to end here. Not yet.

His hand moved with a rhythm that felt practiced and perfect—fast enough to make your breath catch, slow enough to drive you mad. You were gripping his shoulders like a lifeline, fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie as your body trembled under the intensity of it.

Your thighs were shaking. Your chest heaved. And Wally—God, Wally looked like he was thriving on the way you came undone for him.

“Look at you,” he murmured, voice low, teeth flashing as he caught your eye. “Didn’t know you could be this loud.”

“I’m—” You barely got the word out, biting your lip hard enough to taste blood. “I’m not usually—”

“Like this?” he finished for you, voice full of wicked amusement.

You nodded, breathless.

“Yeah,” he whispered, leaning close until his lips brushed your ear. “You are now.”

He pushed his fingers just a little deeper, and you moaned, the sound strangled and desperate as you jerked forward. Your hips ground against his palm, chasing pressure, pleasure, anything. It was instinctive. Mindless.

You were already gone.

He pulled back just enough to watch your face, your mouth parted, your lashes fluttering as your body rocked with each wave of heat building inside you. And when your hands slipped beneath his hoodie, skimming over his warm skin, Wally sucked in a sharp breath like you had just touched a live wire.

“You’re killing me, babe,” he muttered, dragging his mouth down your neck, fingers never slowing. “You’re gonna make me lose my damn mind.”

There was a knock. A sudden thud against the laundry room door.

You both froze.

“Someone in there?” a voice slurred. “I need to throw my jersey in the dryer!”

Wally pressed a finger to your lips, wide-eyed, grinning like the chaos was a bonus prize.

You didn’t speak. Couldn’t. Not with his fingers still buried deep inside you, not with your body screaming for release and your pulse jackhammering in your ears.

He leaned in slowly, mouth right at your temple.

“Be quiet,” he whispered. “But don’t stop.”

And he didn’t.

His fingers curled again—deliberate. Merciless. Your eyes slammed shut as you bit down on the sleeve of his hoodie to keep yourself silent, shaking under the weight of the pleasure curling like fire in your belly.

Whoever was outside the door gave up after a second, footsteps staggering away, music swelling louder again in the background. Wally pulled back just enough to see you, his thumb brushing your bottom lip.

“Still with me?” he asked softly. You met his eyes. And then you kissed him—hard, grateful, reckless. You weren’t stopping. Not yet.

Not when you could still feel his fingers inside you, slick with want. Not when your thighs were still trembling. Not when his voice was thick and needy in your ear, saying, “Come on, baby—let go for me.” You didn’t stand a chance, cumming around his fingers for the second time that night.

He pulled back just enough to catch your breath, his fingers still slick and slow, teasing and driving you closer to the edge. Your heart hammered so loud it almost drowned out the pounding bass from the party beyond the laundry room walls.

“You’re unreal,” he whispered, voice thick with need. His thumb brushed your skin in lazy circles, every touch electric. “I swear, you’re going to ruin me.”

Your breath hitched as his lips grazed the sensitive spot just below your ear, sending shivers down your spine. You pressed into him, desperate to feel more, to erase every line between where he ended and you began.

His hand slid lower, fingers tracing bold, deliberate patterns along your skin. The tension inside you coiled tighter and tighter, every inch of your body alive with raw, delicious anticipation.

Outside, muffled noises drifted in—the distant shout of a friend, the clink of a bottle—but here, in this charged bubble of heat and secrecy, nothing existed but the slick warmth of his touch and the wild, reckless promise in his eyes. You let your fingers tighten in his hoodie, your voice barely a whisper as you said, “Don’t stop.” He smiled—dark, confident, and utterly addicted—and obeyed.

You kissed him like you couldn’t breathe without it—needy, messy, all tongue and desperation. When you finally pulled back, your voice came out ragged.

“Wally,” you whispered, clutching the hem of his hoodie like it was holding your soul in place. “Do you… do you have a condom?”

He blinked, startled for half a second. And then he grinned—the slow, cocky kind of grin that made you want to slap him and kiss him at the same time.

“Babe,” he said, reaching into his back pocket without breaking eye contact, “I always come prepared.”

He held it up with a little flourish, the foil wrapper glinting in the soft light of the laundry room like it was some kind of prize.

You raised an eyebrow. “Do you just carry that around at all times?”

“Would you prefer I didn’t?” he asked, leaning in, lips brushing yours as he added, “Because that’d be a real shame—especially right now.”

Your stomach flipped. Your pulse thundered. The fact that he had it on him, like this was something he wanted—not just tonight, but maybe for a while now—lit a fire low in your belly.

“Good,” you whispered, reaching down to tug him closer by the belt loops of his jeans. “Then don’t make me wait.”

His smirk faltered—just for a second—as something hungry, almost reverent, flickered in his eyes. “Yes, ma’am.”

You barely heard the crinkle of the wrapper over the sound of your own heartbeat.

Wally stepped back just enough to slide off his hoodie in one smooth motion, revealing toned arms and a trail of freckles you hadn’t even realized you wanted to memorize. He caught your stare and smirked—cocky, but there was a softness beneath it, like he couldn’t quite believe this was real either.

“You good?” he asked, voice quieter now. Still playful, but gentler. Real.

You nodded, a little breathless. “You’re not gonna brag about this to your entire frat, are you?”

He stepped between your legs again, hands braced on your thighs, and leaned in close—close enough that his nose brushed yours.

“Only if you want me to,” he murmured. “But… I kind of want to keep this between us for a bit. Just mine.”

Your stomach flipped. Maybe it was the look in his eyes. Maybe it was the way he said mine like it wasn’t just about tonight.

And then?

Then he kissed you again—slow this time, deep and grounding. Like he wanted to memorize the shape of your mouth. Like he wasn’t in a rush anymore, even though you both felt like you were going to combust.

Clothes came off in stages. Some you helped with, some he practically tore off you. The cold air bit at your skin for half a second before his body was on yours again, all heat and want and reckless focus.

Your back hit the wall above the washer, your legs wrapped tight around his waist, and then—Everything disappeared.

His voice broke in your ear when you moved against him—low, ragged, somewhere between a curse and a prayer. Like he was barely holding it together. Like you were the only thing keeping him grounded.

Your nails dragged down his back, leaving hot, red trails in their wake, and he hissed through his teeth—sharp and breathless. One of his hands fisted in the side of your dress like he needed something to hold onto. The other slid beneath your thigh, gripping hard, lifting, angling, until— Oh.

Wally’s breath stuttered, and he buried his face in your shoulder, lips parting against your skin, gasping something that sounded like your name but didn’t quite make it all the way out. Like it caught in his throat on the way up, too wrecked, too real.

You held onto him like the world was spinning off-axis. And maybe it was. Maybe it had been since the moment he touched you.

It was messy. Dizzy. A blur of breathless moans and half-formed words. His name on your lips like a broken promise. Yours in his voice, like he didn’t want to stop saying it, like he wanted to carve it into the air between you, into your spine, into the spaces that hadn’t been touched by anyone else before now.

The washing machine thudded beneath you—off rhythm, knocking against the wall like it was warning you it couldn’t take much more. But Wally didn’t falter. He rocked into you with a steady, determined pace, the kind that didn’t beg or fumble—it took. Bold. Focused. Devoted to the way you melted beneath him.

His grip under your thighs tightened as he pressed into you again, deep, like he wanted to feel every inch of you wrapped around him.

You gasped—sharp, high-pitched—and your hips tilted into him without thinking.

“That’s it,” he breathed. “God, that’s—yeah, just like that.”

Every thrust sent you tipping further into the edge of something you couldn’t name, couldn’t slow down. You were all sensation. All heat. All desperate, clinging need. His cock throbbing against your slick walls.



He kissed you again—messy, open-mouthed, off-center. You didn’t care. Neither did he. His lips chased yours between every ragged breath, every groan, every time your body jolted from the force of him.

“I’m not gonna last,” he muttered, forehead pressed to yours, voice thick and hoarse. “You feel too good. You feel—fuck, babe—” You could barely answer. You were already unraveling.

Together, you fell into it—into each other, into every wave of sensation that pulled you under like a riptide. And when it broke, when the tension finally snapped— You didn’t come down gently. You crashed. Straight into his chest, his arms, his mouth whispering your name like it was something sacred.

Your back hit the cold dryer as you tried to catch your breath, legs still shaky, dress bunched around your waist like a trophy of war. Wally leaned over you, one hand braced against the wall, chest rising and falling like he’d just run laps around the block.

You blinked up at him.

He looked like sin incarnate—shirtless, flushed, freckles on full display, hair a mess from your hands. His grin?

Devastating.

“Okay,” he said between panting breaths, voice still a little wrecked. “So that… definitely wasn’t just about doing laundry.”

You laughed, a weak sound, your body still buzzing. “Pretty sure we broke the spin cycle.”

He glanced down at the washer beneath you, which was blinking red like it had given up on life. “That’s fine. I’ve got frat house immunity. They’ll just assume someone made it fight a raccoon again.”

You snorted, dragging your hands down your face. “Wally.”

He stepped back just far enough to help you off the machine, hands lingering a little longer than necessary on your hips, like he didn’t want to let go. And once you were standing—knees wobbling and all—he bent to pick up his hoodie, offering it to you without a word.

You blinked. “What’s this for?”

“Shielding your walk of fame,” he said with an obnoxious wink. “Also your dress is inside out and you lost a shoe halfway through. You’re not exactly blending in.”

You groaned. “Kill me.”

“No way,” he said, stepping in again, voice suddenly softer, teasing but sincere. “Then who am I gonna drag into closets and laundry rooms from now on?”

You met his eyes.

And that was the moment it hit you—not just the aftermath of what you’d done, but the way he was looking at you. Not like you were just a party hookup. Not like this was some brag to toss to the guys later.

No—he looked at you like he’d just found his new favorite secret.

You coughed, trying to play it off. “So… we’re gonna pretend this never happened, or…?”

“Oh no.” He stepped closer, one hand sliding into your hair, smug but fond. “I’m pretending like this is absolutely happening again.”

You opened your mouth to argue.

And then the door flew open.

“DUDE—” Some poor guy stood frozen, arms full of laundry, jaw hanging open as he took in the wreckage. The disheveled dress. Wally’s half-naked state. The deeply haunted look on the dryer’s face.

Wally didn’t miss a beat.

“Laundry’s taken,” he said cheerfully, pulling you flush against him. “Try the basement.”

Then he slammed the door in the guy’s face and turned back to you, eyes glittering.

“So. You wanna sneak out the back,” he said, “or do we walk out like legends?”

[murderbot-moodboard]

Okay, first thoughts on Murderbot (below the cut for light spoilers):

- I like that the show is emphasizing some of the things that are easy to forget as a fan who's read the whole series multiple times. Murderbot is a killing machine. It does consider killing everyone a legitimate option. It is not a human, it's a corporate product who's been forced to take a very pragmatic view of life due to its harsh experiences. All of this is good soup.

- Skarsgård as Murderbot is endearingly awkward and I'm really loving his performance!

- All the PresAux characters seem to fit pretty well with their book characterizations, and the small changes/additions only enhance their characters imo. I love them all and am gobbling up their added lore like Hostile One tried to gobble Bharadwaj (too soon?).

- Something that was never spelled out in the books but has been discussed by book fans is that Gurathin is kind of a human counterpart to Murderbot, and most of the things Murderbot dislikes about him are traits Murderbot itself has to some degree. The show seems to me to be deliberately playing up this theme, such as by having Murderbot and Gurathin react with similar disgust to Arada's comment about Murderbot's face, and showing Gurathin getting uncomfortable watching the visual of the throuple making out. I think this is a great choice and am really looking forward to seeing how their dynamic develops from here.

- Also, Gurathin is definitely acting more clearly like an asshole than in ASR, and that choice not only makes his character and the overall interpersonal dynamics more interesting, but it gives Murderbot a chance to make all sorts of snarky comments in its head which are very funny.

- Interestingly though, Gurathin is the one insisting on it/its pronouns for Murderbot early on, which could look like him being antagonistic but I suspect might be shown to fit Murderbot's preference later on. Also he is now show-canonically from the Corporation Rim, which is something that was sort of maybe implied but never actually confirmed in the books, despite its being the more popular fanon interpretation. (Fwiw I think it's the more interesting choice so it's nice to have confirmed.)

- Giving Mensah panic attacks seems like a good strategy for reflecting her inner fears and sense of responsibility in a way that translates better to TV.

- I laughed out loud at Pin-Lee's snark at the corporates, and I'm really interested in the way they're being fleshed out as a character who is aggressive but with a softer side, to paraphrase something Sabrina Wu said.

- Arada seems pretty similar to book characterization, and I love that we get to see her getting defensive of animals.

- Bharadwaj is more clearly going through it and her character seems more involved in the general events than at this point in the book, which are good choices.

- Ratthi seems pretty similar to the book so far, just with more details added which all seem consistent. We also got the iconic line "For fuck's sake, Ratthi!" lol.

- From Murderbot's early comments and what it sees of Pin-Lee's reactions, it's clear that the throuple is probably not going to be all smooth sailing, but any issues will likely be due to lack of clear communication about each person's feelings and preferences, so it's also theoretically solvable.

- The only thing that bothered me during the episodes was the parts where the audio was different or differently placed than what was in the trailers. But the changes between the first and second trailer (iirc) had already clued me in that they were being a bit flexible with the audio, so I wasn't as surprised as I would've been, I guess. Personally, since I tried not to have too many expectations outside of what was confirmed in the trailers and previews, it annoyed me that even those expectations weren't 100% reliable, but that's mostly an autism problem and I know I'll get over it.

- Other than the trailer thing I have zero complaints about the show so far! It seems to maintain the spirit of the books and their characters even in the parts that are added or changed, and I'm really, really looking forward to seeing the rest!

[sugardollcurse]

I LOVE your hcs with the boys so much（´ 3｀) ok so picture this.... there's a rumour in the papers that he's having an affair, can you do how he'd show you that it's actually false and how he'd prove that he really loves you ? ˆ𐃷ˆ

𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒'𝑠 𝑎 𝑟𝑢𝑚𝑜𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 ℎ𝑒'𝑠 𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔

𐙚 note ; thank you for always being so kind!! i hope you’re feeling adored today!! ✿

𓆩🕊️ john 𓆪

"You really think I'd be stupid enough to cheat on you?"

It’s some daft article in the Mirror.

Claims John was seen laughing “intimately” with an actress at a party. There’s even a fuzzy photo. You barely mention it, but he knows.

He catches you going quiet when you think he’s not looking. Biting the inside of your cheek. Folding laundry without speaking. That’s how he knows it’s gotten to you.

At first, he tries to laugh it off,

“You think I’d go for her? Christ, she’s not even funny.” But then he sees your face fall just slightly, and he gets serious real fast.

“Look, I’m a lot of things, but I’m not bloody stupid. I wouldn’t toss this” he gestures between you two “just for a daft party flirt. You know me better’n that.”

He proves it. Reads you lines from his songs in that dramatic fake-Shakespeare voice

(“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s giggle, luv”)

Follows you around the flat strumming nonsense love songs until you smile.

“You want proof?” he finally says, softer. “I talk about you to everyone. Paul’s sick of hearin’ your name, swear it.”

𓆩🕊️ paul 𓆪

"C'mon, love. That's not even my shoulder!"

Paul is devastated that the media would even suggest something like that.

The article has a grainy photo of someone who vaguely looks like him walking into a hotel with a girl, but it’s not him.

The hair’s wrong. The coat’s not his. The smile isn’t even close to being yours.

You don’t even bring it up, but Paul notices you’ve stopped humming his songs around the house. That’s enough to panic him.

He comes straight home with every receipt ever.

Swears he’ll call the bloody photographer if he has to.

He takes your face in his hands and says, voice thick, “Don’t let this rot get in your head, sweetheart. I love you. Only you. Always have, always will.”

Keeps proving it in little ways: he writes your initials in the margins of his notebook, takes you to the studio just to kiss you between takes.

He goes all out. Flowers, your favorite kind, hand-picked. A note tucked into each one, little scribbled things.

𓆩🕊️ george 𓆪

"Can’t stop ‘em printing lies. But I can show you what’s true."

The paper’s cruel.

Says George’s been “getting cozy” with some socialite at a club.

You weren’t even in town that night. You don’t ask, but George sees the shift, less eye contact, slightly less affection.

He doesn’t know how to say it at first. But it eats him up that you might think for even a second he’d choose someone else.

Comes into the kitchen one morning and just wraps his arms round your waist from behind, murmurs, “Y’don’t believe it, do you?”

When you hesitate, his arms tighten. “No. No, don’t do that. That’s what they want. It’s all rubbish, love. Every word.”

He proves it with his quiet devotion: he skips after-parties to be home with you.

He gives you his guitar when he’s writing.

He tucks your scarf into his coat pocket and calls it his good luck charm.

One night, you find a folded bit of paper in your coat, lyrics he wrote but never showed anyone. Scrawled at the bottom:

“You’re the only voice I hear through all the noise.”

He doesn’t say much. But when he kisses you that night, his hands trembling a little where they hold your face, you know.

𓆩🕊️ ringo 𓆪

“I don’t care what the papers say. You’re the only one I want comin’ home to.”

Ringo gets hit with a nasty one.

Claims he’s been “secretly meeting” a woman he dated years ago before fame. Total lie, but it rattles you.

He finds you reading it at the kitchen table. Frowns immediately.

“Don’t believe that rot, do you?”

You don’t answer right away. He gets real quiet, then pulls out a chair and sits beside you, knees touching yours.

“You know me,” he says softly. “I’m not slick. I’m not some silver-tongued fella sneakin’ round in the night. I’d never do that to you.”

You still look unsure, so he pulls out the box. The one he’s been hiding in the closet. Inside: a little ring he’s had made for you, engraved with your initials.

“Was savin’ this for later. But I think you need to see it now.”

“Y’know how I prove it’s false?” he adds, “’Cause I’ve been plannin’ forever with you, not anyone else. That’s real.”

He makes you your favorite tea. Writes you a silly poem that rhymes “cupboard” with “loved bird.”

He even calls up Brian and has him verify where he was the night the photo was supposedly taken.

He makes sure you know how loved you are, cuddling into your side when he watches telly, dancing with you in the kitchen to jazz records, introducing you proudly as “my better half.”

taglist: @sharksausages, @wavvytin, @wimpyvamps, @finallyforgotten, @lennongirlieee, @silly-lil-lee

[waywardsunlight]

I do really like how TOH deals with abuse with the framework they have. Even though Hunter doesn't think he's being abused, he has a few recited reasons why he doesn't leave: I can't survive on my own, nobody wants me because I'm broken, he's actually so nice to take care of me, he's the only person who understands me, Belos needs me there or something bad will happen, I don't want him to be hurt.

Since Hunter can't leave, there's a second level of thoughts he has through the show justifying his own abuse: I'm going to be replaced because I'm not good enough, I'm stupid, it's my fault that I got hit, the Titan chose me, I am hurting Belos by being broken, this is funny/ a joke, I have to do this for Belos otherwise Bad Thing.

In the realization part of Hunter's arc he starts reconsidering some of his thoughts. Steve brings up the time they were abandoned in a blizzard and Hunter dismisses it as being funny at first. He realizes it wasn't actually funny/ having your consent taken away is serious (just because it happened to Hunter by somebody he loved doesn't mean its ok). He later doubles down on the excuses until he has no way to justify it anymore and he realizes he's being abused. After the realization, Hunter refuses help and temporarily becomes homeless / has to deal with the reality of leaving his situation but finds out that a lot of the beliefs he had weren't real. Gus gives him his own lunch despite mistrusting him. Darius also contacts him and gives him a new mission to protect Luz. Hunter rebuilds his self worth slowly, and gets new hobbies and interests but occasionally relapses / still thinks he's broken and needs to hide / doesn't trust his friends. Then he has. a huge relapse because. obviously. Belos comes back and a lot of Hunter's fears get worse / he thinks he's crazy / he isolates himself and then loses his bodily autonomy and he has to combat his lack of self worth and his fears in order to even try to get out of it, knowing that it'll get him killed. And his support network is there for him, and it's . awful and devastating but they show the fuck up!!! And I. really like the ending of (this aspect) of his arc because like yeah you WILL find people who care about you no matter what your secrets/past is bc literally nobody cared when Hunter's secret got outed, they cared much more about his safety!! The ending is also sweet because Hunter is a pretty tragic character who ends up having their last bits of time on screen being silly with his adoptive family + support network like the reasons Hunter couldn't leave were real in some aspects but they were greatly exaggerated like. yeah he was homeless. being homeless isn't something to be ashamed of, its just a thing that happens to people. It is awful for him and traumatic and difficult to address but (most) people around him care about his safety regardless. Yea.

[submattsmxmmy]

ᯓ⋆˚✿ stepbro!chris nsfw alphabet

ᯓ⋆˚✿ A - Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Chris wouldn't be caught dead being clingy or needy for your attention after sex. He becomes rather avoidant after, not wanting you to think that he's there for anything more than that.

However, when you really need it, he'll cuddle with you until the two of you fall asleep. Although he acts like it's the biggest inconvenience in the world, he does really like these moments - spooning you with his legs tangled in yours, your warm body pressing against his, and the rhythmic sound of your breath lulling him to sleep.

ᯓ⋆˚✿ B - Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Chris' favorite body part of his own is his arms, more specifically his biceps. He loves wearing tank tops and cut off shirts around you to show them off.

His favorite body part of yours is your neck. He loves marking it up with his teeth and wrapping his fingers around it.

ᯓ⋆˚✿ C - Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Chris loves cumming anywhere - your ass, your thighs, your tits, your stomach, in your mouth, but he especially loves cumming on and in your pussy - especially since you're on the pill, but his favorite place to cum is on your pretty face. He can't get enough of the way you look up at him, smiling after he finishes on your gorgeous features, his pearly white fluids glistening on your perfect skin.

ᯓ⋆˚✿ D - Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Chris occasionally steals your lingerie to jack off into, and he's been doing it since before the two of you ever did anything sexual together. He always washes it and puts it back after he's finished busting all over it while he pictures it draped over your body. You've never caught him or noticed any of it missing, so he's decided to keep it to himself.

You secretly wish you'd come home and stumble upon Chris jerking off. You love the idea of watching him bust all over his hand while you're peeping on him.

ᯓ⋆˚✿ E - Eating you out (how do they like to do it?)

Chris loves going down on you. He loves the way you taste, the way you squirm under his tongue, and the way you moan his name when he closes his lips down around your clit and sucks on it with the perfect pressure. He sees eating pussy as an art form, and he's always dying to creatively express himself through it.

ᯓ⋆˚✿ F - Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Chris' favorite position is definitely doggystyle. He can't get enough of the way you arch your back when he pulls on your hair. He loves staring at your ass, watching it jiggle and slapping it hard, making you yelp and leaving behind red handprints on your plush skin. A close second favorite of his is when you're down on your knees with his cock tucked behind your plump lips.

For you, your favorite is missionary, or just any position that gives you the opportunity to gaze into his perfect blue eyes. There's something about the way Chris looks at you while he's choking you that makes you cum harder than any other position.

ᯓ⋆˚✿ G - Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Chris will definitely crack a few dark jokes here and there, but despite this, his demeanor during sex is rather serious, and if you try to joke around with him in a way that he doesn't find witty or clever, it would definitely ruin the mood for him.

"Oh, y'think you're funny? Shut the fuck up and take my cock, ya little slut."

ᯓ⋆˚✿ H - Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Chris keeps it all natural, occasionally trimming when his hair gets out of control, but for the most part, he just leaves it be.

He prefers when you do the same, and he'll sometimes ask you to put off wax appointments because he just has a little bit of a thing for body hair.

ᯓ⋆˚✿ I - Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Chris wouldn't use the word romantic to describe the way he has sex, but he is passionate.

You, however, have seen his romantic side. Despite how rough and unhinged Chris is when he's fucking you, there's something about the way he holds you, touches you, kisses you, and looks at you that you would describe as extremely romantic.

ᯓ⋆˚✿ J - Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Chris loves jerking off when you're not home for him to use. He loves looking at nude pictures you've sent him and using your satin lingerie as fuel for his dirty fantasies he has about you.

He often finds himself in your shared bathroom, one hand gripping the edge of the counter and the other hand using your panties to jerk off as he stares down at his phone, eyes glued to the various pictures of your tits, your ass, and your pretty pussy. He loves running his thumb over his tip, and he can't help himself from moaning your name while he does this, pretending it's your mouth in place of his hand.

ᯓ⋆˚✿ K - Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Chris has nearly every kink under the sun, but his big ones are when you call him daddy, when you cry and beg for him during sex, and when he fucks you so hard that you go dumb on his cock.

"Oh, Chris - I- F-fuck," you stumble over your words, struggling to get a coherent sentence out in between moans. "What's the matter, pretty girl? Did daddy fuck you so hard that it scrambled your brain?" He coos in response, relishing in how simple it is for you to forget your train of thought while he's railing you.

ᯓ⋆˚✿ L - Location (favorite places to do the do)

Chris loves fucking you everywhere in the house. He loves fucking you over the arm of the couch, on the kitchen counter, on the dining room table - anywhere he can get his hands on you that's out in the open where your parents could walk in on you at any given moment.

When they're home, though, he likes to keep it just a bit more private - fucking you into your mattress or his, railing you in the shower, or bending you over the bathroom counter and making you look into his eyes in the mirror while he takes you from behind.

You prefer having sex with him in his car over all other places, mostly because he drives you out to the mountains or the forest. You can be as loud as you want, and the risk of the two of you getting caught there is much lower than if the two of you were home.

ᯓ⋆˚✿ M - Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

What turns Chris on the most is your desperation. You begging for his tongue, his fingers, his cock, or begging him to let you finish is like music to his ears.

"P-please, Chris. So close. Can't take any more teasing," you insist, knuckles turning white as you grip the sheets beneath you, tears pricking the corners of your eyes and rolling down your cheeks as you wince in pleasure.

"So desperate for it, aren't ya?" He purrs, a smile curling on his lips as he takes in the sight. "That's it, pretty girl. Keep cryin' for me."

ᯓ⋆˚✿ N - No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Chris would never let you dominate him under normal circumstances. It would have to be a special occasion, or you'd have to blackmail him into it. Despite the fact that he's curious about it and secretly wants to see your dominant side, he'd never tell you that.

There are only two things you'd never do - anal and giving a footjob. (Chris has asked for both.)

ᯓ⋆˚✿ O - Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Chris loves giving you head. He's incredibly good at it, and he knows it. That's part of why he likes it to so much. He knows exactly how to flick his tongue in a way that makes you squeeze your thighs around his head and tug on his hair.

Even more than giving head, Chris loves receiving it. It's his favorite thing ever. Especially when he's in control. He loves looking into your teary-eyed expression while he's ramming his tip into the back of your throat over and over, his fingers threading themselves into your hair as he forces you to swallow more of him.

"Fuck. Such a good little slut for me. We both know you can take more, and we both know you're dyin' for it, aren't ya?"

ᯓ⋆˚✿ P - Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

The only time Chris is slow and sensual is when he's teasing the fuck out of you or edging you. At first, he's soft, his movements controlled and methodical, but once he builds to the hard, fast, and rough, he can't do anything else. Luckily for him, his relentless and unwavering pace is perfect for you.

ᯓ⋆˚✿ Q - Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Chris loves the quickies you guys have, considering that most of the time, you have to be quick about it, so the two of you don't get caught. However, you both appreciate it when you get to take your time and aren't in a rush.

ᯓ⋆˚✿ R - Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Chris' motto is 'high risk, high reward.'

He'll try almost anything once, and the more adrenaline he gets from sex, the better. He especially loves having sex in risky places where the probability of being caught or walked in on is higher.

Along the lines of risky sex, he loves BDSM positions and practices that are dangerous if you don't know what you're doing. Thankfully, Chris does know what he's doing, and he'd never put your safety at risk, but he loves choking you until you pass out and hog tying you when you've misbehaved.

ᯓ⋆˚✿ S - Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Chris can last for nearly an hour if he needs to, but he can also finish in under a few minutes. It depends on the situation and how long it takes you to finish first.

He can go multiple rounds, thanks to his high sex drive and all the time he spends playing basketball and working out. He'll fuck you as many times as you need, and he won't stop until you're shaking.

ᯓ⋆˚✿ T - Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Chris doesn't own any toys of his own, but he does like using your toys on you. He knows which vibrator is your favorite, and he loves bringing it into the bedroom to tease you with it and heighten the experience.

The only thing Chris wouldn't be down with is you having a toy that's bigger than he is. He'd certainly take it as an insult.

"What? My eight inches isn't good enough for you? Greedy fuckin' girl." He definitely wouldn't let you keep it.

Good thing he doesn't know about your nine-inch suction cup dildo you have hiding in your drawer!... or does he?

ᯓ⋆˚✿ U - Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Chris is the ultimate tease. He always keeps you guessing about his next move. He loves bringing you right to the edge over and over again, and he's not opposed to just not letting you finish at all if he didn't like your attitude that day.

ᯓ⋆˚✿ V - Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

If the two of you are trying to be quiet, Chris will definitely hold back a bit, keeping his noises to a minimum, just grunts here and there accompanied with a lot of low volume dirty talk.

However, if there's no reason to be quiet, he doesn't hold back. His sounds are loud, guttural, and almost animalistic. He'll growl, moan, and won't worry about the volume of his dirty talk.

You, on the other hand, have a hard time staying quiet regardless of the circumstances. Chris loves this because it gives him an excuse to clamp his hand down over your mouth when your parents are home. "C'mon, sis. You don't want your daddy hearin' your pretty pussy gettin' ruined, do you? Shhh. Stay quiet, then."

ᯓ⋆˚✿ W - Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Chris is incredibly jealous. If he even thinks you're looking at another man or another man is looking at you, he'll become possessive very quickly.

Typically, when Chris is in relationships or even just hooking up with a girl, he likes to let everyone around know that she belongs to him. Especially when he notices other men checking her out, he likes to establish dominance. He'll pull her close, kiss her, and wrap his arms around her waist, and it kills him that he can't do that with you.

ᯓ⋆˚✿ X - X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Chris is packing, and he knows it. He loves it when you tell him it's too big or when it takes you a moment to adjust to his size.

"Too big, hmm?" He coos with a self-satisfied smirk plastered on his face as he pushes it in just a bit deeper. "C'mon. We both know you can take it all."

ᯓ⋆˚✿ Y - Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

High. Incredibly high. It really doesn't take much to turn him on. At any given moment, Chris is ready to go, and your sex drive is about the same.

ᯓ⋆˚✿ Z - Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

It doesn't take long for Chris to fall asleep after. Usually by the time he's done fucking you, he went so hard, so rough, and so fast that he's exhausted.

You, on the other hand, especially if Chris falls asleep in your bed, you'll spend a little while watching him sleep. Not in a creepy way, but more so in an endearing way. Chris has caught you a few times, drifting in and out of consciousness, his eyes fluttering open to catch yours studying his gorgeous facial features.

"What are you lookin' at, creep?" He's jokingly asked you before, but he actually does find it sweet that you like looking at him so much. It strokes his ego that you find him so attractive.

[angellily920]

Fake It Till You Break My Heart (Pt.1)

Pairing: Thunderbolts!Bucky x reader (Fake Dating AU! Enemies to Lovers!)

Masterlist

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: none

Part 1

A/n: I needed to get back into some Bucky. Inspired by The Spanish Love Deception by Elena Armas

"I'll be your date to the wedding."

The words hung in the air like a ticking time bomb. You would know that deep voice from anywhere. Your shoulders tensed up, and you didn't dare look behind you. The silence was almost painful. You stared at your half-eaten doughnut. The deep voice spoke from behind you again.

"If you need someone that badly, I''l go."

Your eyes drifted to Yelena, with whom you had conversed two seconds before. "Is he really there? Or am I just imagining things?"

Yelena's eyes drifted behind you before meeting yours again. "He's right behind you." She plastered on a smile and looked at the man behind you. "Hey, Bucky."

A soft grunt was heard behind you, but you still didn't bother turning around. "Yelena." His greeting was flat. He exhaled, a hint of which gently caressed your back. His voice came out in a deep rumble. "Do I need to repeat myself a third time?"

You took another bite of your doughnut nonchalantly. Ignoring him was good. Maybe if you pretended he wasn't there, he would disappear. He had no right cutting into your conversation. Especially since he hated your guts. And that was putting it lightly. Perhaps abhor was a better word? Either way, you couldn't believe the words that had come out of his mouth. He of all people, volunteered to go with you. He exhaled again, this time a little louder. You could hear his metal fingers clinking together softly as he opened and closed his fist.

"Alright, fine. I'll be your date to your sister's wedding."

You sat straighter in your chair. He would be your date? Yeah, that screamed trouble. You looked at Yelena and burst out laughing. Where did that idea pop out of? Your shoulders shook softly as you laughed. He grunted behind you.

"What's so funny?"

You snicker again. You still haven't turned around to meet his gaze. "Oh wow, you actually are funny. And here I thought you were only hard frowns and judgmental scoffs."

Yelena looks at Bucky, his lips were set in a hard line, before looking back at you. "Uh...I think he's serious."

You tap the table and take another bite of your doughnut, shrugging. He walks around so that he is now in front of you. His icey blue eyes stare down at you. "I'm completely serious. I'll be your date. You said it yourself." He slightly tries to imitate your voice. "I desperately need a date for my sister's wedding or I will be the talk of the town and at this point I might just get a hobo off the street." He straightens up. "You need me."

You snap your eyes up to meet his. His eyebrows were furrowed, and his eyes were burning holes into your face. "I don't need you. Like I said, I'm sure the hobo off the street would gladly oblige."

This caused Bucky to scoff, and his hands clenched at his sides. "You're not serious."

"Oh, I am." You smiled at him sweetly, your eyes holding a fiery determination. He growled at that.

"Just think about it." His eyes roamed over your face one last time before he stalked away.

~~~~~ Three days. There were only three days before you had to fly out to Colorado for your sister's wedding, and you still didn't have a date. You ran your fingers through your hair in frustration, and Bucky's voice seemed to taunt you. You need me. You didn't need him. There were other people…except for the fact that they were all busy. And you just couldn't show up alone. You've already heard all the silent whispers and gossip. Poor girl, still single. Oh, she's still unmarried? Her younger sister is getting married before her? You could practically hear the people back in your hometown.

You decided it was best to go out for a much-needed cheesecake. You tugged on a hoodie and made your way out of the tower. The walk was fine, but looking at the clouds overhead, you hoped it wouldn't rain. You shook off the thought and entered the cheesecake place. You would think sitting alone at a table, shoving your mouth full of cheesecake, would be sad. and it kinda was, honestly, but you didn't really mind because the cheesecake was heavenly.

When you exited the shop, you groaned. Rain was pouring down, and you didn't have a jacket or an umbrella. Guess you would have to pull off the drenched rat look. You started your walk back to the tower, your shoes squelching against the concrete. Out of the corner of your eye you saw a very familiar black Camaro rolling its window down. You barely heard your name above the rain. You kept walking.

"Please, just get in the car."

You found yourself looking at a very dry Bucky in his car. He shot you a look that was less than friendly. You narrowed your eyes and shook your head. Bucky gripped the steering wheel tightly, and you swore he'd break it.

"Go home Barnes, I'm fine!" You called over the pouring rain. You looked ridiculous, getting soaked to the bone in the rain. A shiver may have passed through your body.

Bucky's jaw ticked and he exhaled. "Not if you catch freaking hypothermia! Car. Now." His voice left no room for argument. And was that a tingle down your spine? Absolutely not.

You walked over to his car angrily and yanked the car door open. You slid into the passenger seat, your clothes making a squeaky sound against the leather. He continued to drive as you rubbed your sleeve against the seat, causing a squeaky melody, wondering how long it would take for him to say something. It didn't take long.

"Have you considered my proposal?" He didn't glance at you, his eyes focused on the slippery road.

You sat in silence for a moment. You didn't really have anyone else, and here he was, volunteering. His hands shifted slightly on the steering wheel, causing his right arm muscles to scream against the fabric of his shirt. You may have stared for a second too long because Bucky cleared his throat and spoke again.

"Well?"

"Well, what Barnes?"

He exhaled sharply out of his nose. "Gosh, you are infuriating. The wedding. Your date."

"Oh…that." You squeaked against the seat as you repositioned. "Haven't given it much thought."

His metal hand tightened on the steering wheel, causing it to groan slightly under the pressure. "I can be your date." Firm. Irritated. That's how his voice sounded.

You clicked your tongue. "It's not that easy."

"Why not?" It was more of a bark than a question.

"Because…" You sighed. "It's not just a date I need. I need a fake boyfriend. You'd have to pretend to love me. And I doubt that's something you're capable of."

His jaw clenched tightly, and he hummed deeply. "I'm capable of a lot of things you don't know about." His voice came out in a deep rumble. "My acting skills are peak. I've gone on more undercover missions than you've seen rom coms."

You scoffed. "That's a ridiculously high number. I've seen a lot."

His face remained stoic. No twitch of the lips. Not so much as a noise escaped him. Stubborn, grumpy old man. You spoke again. "Besides…you never do something without gaining something in return."

"True." He growled out. "I have a congress ball tomorrow. I need a date."

Your eyebrows rose. "Ah…so that's why." You weighed your decisions. Public shaming from your small town if you attend the wedding alone, thus them all finding out you were lying about having a boyfriend. Or…bring Mr. Grumpypants along. "Fine." You gritted out. "I'll be your date for the dumb congress ball. And you be my fake boyfriend for the wedding."

You thought you saw his lips twitch slightly into a smile, but it vanished quickly. "Alright. Deal."

Now the only thing you needed to do was play nice with each other well enough to make people think you were dating. Not a problem at all.

[theseinfernalangels]

Oooh, my question is how would the fw boys act when they’re sick/how the girl would react to them being sick! I’m also soooo curious about Dain and Bodhi’s friendship, I feel like they were acting like friends in onyx storm.

You are really good at writing so no matter what you put out I’m sure it will be amazing! 🫶🏻🫶🏻

Thank you! ❤️‍🩹

Here’s the thing I’ve noticed about most guys: They act fearless and invincible when they’re injured, but when they’re sick? Oh, my gosh. They’re sick Victorian children. Here’s how our boys behave:

Dain: Surprisingly, Dain doesn’t get sick much at all — probably because he has the strictest health regiment of anyone at Basgiath. BUT, in the case where he does catch something, like a virus, maybe, he’s reasonable about it. Gets all his paperwork from leadership before taking off. He just needs help doing it — and that’s where you come in. When he’s not dozing off, he’s directing you what to write, since his hands are too shaky to hold the pen correctly. Takes it easy, much to your relief.

Bodhi: You will not find this man out of bed for the next week. He can handle a lot of things — bullying, assassination attempts, war — but gods forbid he gets sick. He drops like a sack of potatoes into bed and does not move. Drifts in and out of consciousness a lot; he really needs a lot of sleep and recovery time. While that’s happening, though, he likes it if you’re next to him or on top of him, since you add some relaxing pressure. Keep a damp cloth on his forehead and watch his lashes flutter with relief.

Ridoc: Sickly Victorian boy. “Mother, take me outside to smell the roses once more.” You haven’t seen anything quite as pathetic as Ridoc when he’s sick — but, who are you kidding? He’s still cute. His face is all flushed (not a rare sight), but he looks absolutely miserable. In any case, after you finish a copy of his notes, write down any and all said-during-class bullshit that he think would be funny, because he needs the pick me up. You didn’t know how upset he’d be when ill, but lucky for you, his friends are all too familiar. Sawyer dryly hands you a bottle from the healers and deadpans, “For the dying man.”

Aaric: For the first few times, he’s not exactly sure how to go about it. When he lived at home, he could just go to the healers and people would be able to take care of him. Now, he doesn’t have that — or so he thinks. You have to scold him back into bed, and the little whirl of his lips shows that he appreciates it, full stop. He doesn’t let it be an excuse for laziness, though. Get him the homework, and he’ll do it when he’s not sleeping.

Sawyer: So here’s the thing — you don’t know he’s sick until he actually says something, and he doesn’t say something until it gets too hard to deal with by himself. A common cold? He’s not going to make a fuss about that. A bad fever where he’s half-delirious? Yeah, he needs you, if him flexing his fingers to stop himself from making grabby hands at you from under the covers is any indication. He knows some medical advice from his sister, but in that state, his brain isn’t doing any comprehending. He kinda just goes along with whatever you do and prays that he feels better in the morning.

Liam: This poor boy. He can take the fastest time in the Gauntlet, win any sparring match, and kill a man — but he hates being sick. Glossy eyes and pouty lips. More than once in his sleep, you catch him murmuring about how he wants his mother, but she’s obviously not there, so you take the time to treat him with extra care, playing with his hair and whispering sweet nothings onto his skin. He gets you flowers afterwards as an apology for having to deal with him. 

Xaden: Another Victorian boy. We don’t give him credit for just how fucking dramatic he is, because while he may be stoic and lethal in public, he’s the exact opposite in private. It’s appalling the first time you see it. He doesn’t shut the fuck up for a second until you sit on his lap and let him run his hands all over you until he’s half-asleep, mumbling thanks and apologies for being so clingy when he’s sick. You don’t speak of it in front of people, but you secretly giggle to yourself, because it’s really cute.

Brennan: The responsible one. You don’t really have to take care of him, because he can do it all himself just fine. However, that being said — he still likes it when you take care of him, since no one else has done that for him in years. Take his temperature, make sure the room is decently tidy, and run your fingers through his hair while he’s half-asleep. Oh, that’s the good shit. He’ll make it up to you with kisses once he’s better. No, he won’t cuddle with you — even in his delirium, he knows he’s sick and doesn’t want you sick, too.

Garrick: Stubborn. There, I said it. You have to drag this man back to bed when he’s not feeling good — and good luck with that; you’re dating his 6’7” ass. He doesn’t believe in sick days, because battle doesn’t wait for the ill to be better. Eventually, after numerous attempts and pleading, you figure out that the only way to get him back in bed is to pull out a wide-eyed look, make your voice all soft, and go, “…Please? It would make me feel a whole lot better if you rested up a little, Gare.” He folds instantly. Back in bed — but his requirement is that you’re in his arms the whole time.

____________________

And about Dain and Bodhi — I don’t think of it much as a friendship more than mutual respect and section-buddy warmth. I think that Bodhi is one of the easiest marked kids to approach at first because of his sunny disposition. So, where Dain disliked Xaden and Imogen for their harsh demeanor, he didn’t mind Bodhi much because he treated everyone the same — including Dain, who everyone else was a jerk to because of his dad.

So, they get along pretty well already, and until Dain starts having issues with Violet, they’re pretty chill. I think that because of the chaos of Onyx Storm, they’re forced to get along anyway (for the good of the team) and let each other hold respective spaces for themselves. Fun tidbit, though: When General Asswipe — I mean, Aetos — disowns Dain, he feels pretty lost now that he’s missing both parents. Only one person notices, and that’s Bodhi — who subsequently spends the rest of the time being there for Dain, as much as time and Dain’s pride allows, reassuring him that he’s always got a place in the squad and that his dad’s approval doesn’t mean shit. We love boys supporting boys.

[a-purple-girl]

welcome to my rant about the current political situation in romania

this is the online dictionary, and this question popped up when i opened it today

"EU i support europe! EU" (european union) the answer choices are "of course" and "niet", the russian word for no.

some basic electoral info you need to understand this rant: the voting process in romania consists of two rounds of voting. the people who end up first place and second place at the end of round 1 are the only ones that make it to round 2. the winner of round 2 becomes president. the voting takes place in november/december. makes sense?

now, as most of the world is aware, our elections got cancelled back in december because of russia swaying the results . (and some fraud). essentially, thousands of bots based in russia started promoting a far right candidate named Calin Georgescu. they then paid actual people to promote him without divulging it. no one even knew who he was prior to election day. he won by a landslide, surprising everyone.

i mean it when i say this man in genuinely out of his mind. he has made many delusional declarations, such as:

repeatedly stating that he admires Corneliu Zelea Codreanu, calling him a “hero.” why is this a problem? because he founded the “legionary movement” in 1927, aka the iron guard, an religious fascist movement and political party that carried out political assassinations and participated in the romanian holocaust. over 200,000 jews and rromani people were deported and exterminated. the victims are so numerous that the exact number is not known even today.

he is also against c-sections because, and i quote, "the divine thread is being broken." 28% of women in romania cannot give birth naturally. without a c-section, there's a significant chance that they would die.

he admires Putin and says he's a wise leader.

he said romania gained nothing by being part of the EU, despite them providing our country with millions and millions of euros to catch up with the west after a dark, tyrannical, communistic period.

anyways, the elections got cancelled, as i previously said. the first round took place two weeks ago ish, and the first candidate was another far right man named George Simion. (he's the guy most people were scared of winning back in december). the second is the mayor of the capital, Nicusor Dan. he's almost disgustingly educated, like he graduated the Sorbonne?? as in one of the best mathematics universities. he also won gold in multiple international math competitions and graduated high school with a score of 9,87 out of 10.

the final round takes place this weekend. all estimates show a difference of 0.02% votes maximum. maximum. everyone is scared. i have friends that will genuinely move out the country if this guy wins. my friends are volunteering to give out flyers, despite exams, because you can't vote at 17.

and, here comes the funny part. this rapper named Martha Logue got out of retirement to release a Simion diss track. this guy is like the romanian equivalent of Yuno Miles (if you're not familiar with him, look up yuno miles- martin luther king)

the song is called "votati cu cap nu cu CUR"/"vote with your head not with your ASS" (making fun of the party "AUR" that Simion is a member of)

the lyrics are: "Îmi bag pula-n gura lor, îl votez pe Nicușor Flutur chiloții mamei lui George Simion Ca pe tricolor, legionarilor, fasciștilor Auriștilor, georgiștilor, bag pula-n gura lor" // "I put my dick in their mouths, I vote for Nicușor I'm flying George Simion's mother's panties Like the flag, for the legionnaires, for the fascists For the Aurists, for the Georgists, I put my dick in their mouths"

sources

https://www.digi24.ro/alegeri-prezidentiale-2024/declaratii-controversate-ale-lui-calin-georgescu-nasterea-prin-cezariana-este-o-tragedie-3020759?__grsc=cookieIsUndef0&__grts=58244274&__grua=80c6f2a6f29118cb043240a02d30efe3&__grrn=1

https://declaratiicalingeorgescu.ro