#scrub duck

[duckapus]

So I've worked out what the two games from this post will be. Both of them are my own ideas.

Sally's Outstanding Adventure!

A point-and-click adventure game that starts out looking like a cute little edutainment game in a bright, cheerful nonsense world. The main cast consists of Sally herself, a little girl who enjoys exploring, Miss Morning, the game's narrator who Sally is able to hear and talk to, a large hairy creature with a surly disposition named Grumfrey who accompanies Sally on her adventures to keep her safe, and Scrub, a strange, vaguely ducklike-creature who stays in Sally's house. In the game, Sally goes out on her biggest adventure yet, heading out further than ever before. But as the journey goes on, strange things begin happening, and dark cracks begin to appear in the happy facade of this world.

As the game goes on, it's revealed in bits and pieces that almost everything Sally thinks she knows about her world, and herself, is wrong. She's actually Survey Android 13, a malfunctioning research drone deployed to study a hostile alien jungle, with the malfunction being the result of damage from an incident a few months ago, which horribly scrambled her programing and traumatized her to the point where she ran away from reality. Miss Morning is actually her base's computer, who developed the narrator persona so that they could relay instructions for Sally's research missions in a manner that could be understood and accepted through the delusion. Scrub is actually a floor cleaning device. Grumfrey turns out to be a massive, dangerous apex predator native to the jungle that happened to decide to use SA-13's base as its den. The big adventure they're on is a mission to find and rescue the crew of a ship that crashed nearby.

And yet, even with the reveal that her world is a lot darker than she thought it was, there's still plenty of light as well. The whole reason the illusion is breaking is because the scientists who deployed her finally managed to develop a patch that would fix her programing. It was supposed to do its work all in one go while she was in standby mode, and would have if it hadn't been for the rescue mission requiring she reactivate early. Morning gradually drops the narrator schtick as the game goes on, with their instructions becoming more direct and computer-like, but their tone stays just as kind and gentle as it was at the start, still giving little bits of encouragement when she stumbles and congratulating her on tasks well done, because they genuinely care for the little robot they're in charge of, to the point where during moments where Sally's in genuine danger they're as terrified as a parent seeing their child in such a situation. Scrub is...well, its honestly just a Space Roomba but that's really not too different from before. And despite how terrifying Grumfrey's true nature is, he really is Sally's big, grumpy, protective friend, and stays just as helpful in the second half of the game as he was in the first.

They do manage to rescue the survivors of the crash, and Sally ends up accepting her restored reality...though she does decide to keep her new name.

Diamind 6: Stars Go Out

A space-age JRPG about a young man named Cole going on an adventure to save his galaxy from two major threats; a multi-system empire that's attempting to expand their rule across the entire galaxy (with Cole actually being part of an official Resistance that formed to fend off this empire), and the titular Diamind, an ancient powerful demon that awakens every 10,000 years and attempts to bring about the apocalypse (all the Diamind games take place in the same universe, with Diamind being a major threat in all of them). Cole has a mysterious connection to Diamind that gives him unusual powers and marks him as the only person who can re-seal Diamind when it awakens.

One of the major reoccurring antagonists in the game is a scientist with a grudge against Cole and an interest-bordering-on-obsession with his Diamind powers. He betrays the resistance during the prologue, beginning Cole's adventure in the first place, and shows up periodically to cause trouble for the party. One of the most interesting things about him is that he actually does figure out how Cole's powers work, using that knowledge to create a robot with all of Cole's weapons and abilities, including a forced connection to Diamind so it could genuinely have all of his abilities. The party calls it RepliCole because it pisses the scientist off. It's a reoccurring boss throughout the game, until after the fifth or sixth time where the party manages to shut it down and take it back to resistance HQ.

This becomes relevant again about 3/4ths of the way through the game when Cole is mortally wounded and their best chance of saving him is to upload his mind into RepliCole. So now he's a robot, but there's no time for existential crises 'cause we got a galaxy to save!

Anyway, we've got typical JRPG climax stuff after that. Empire is toppled, demon is sealed, day is saved, Cole's still a robot. Roll Credits.

Anyway, as far as the activation attempt goes, I'm gonna have it so the games get merged together, with Sally's planet getting integrated into Cole's universe, and the Avatar programming gets split between them like it did with the Arles. 33 ends up as Sally's recolor while 34 ends up as Cole's, because the idea of the inherently violence-prone odd-number SMG getting the body of a tiny defenseless research drone while the can't-fight-to-save-their-life even-number SMG gets the extremely powerful and full of weapons jrpg protagonist body is funny to me.

[notrobinsomethingworse]

Alternative Titans Tower scene

Jason, wearing his original Robin suit (that’s sized up to ‘fit’ him: Do you remember me?

Tim: Did you seriously think I was gonna be scared seeing you wear panties?

Jason: what?

Tim: Like Jesus Christ I’m 13. I don’t want to see you wearing underwear. I can see the outline of your di-

Jason: wait no-

Tim: Like everything just hanging there. Did you even look in the mirror before coming here?

Jason: No- that’s not the point.

Tim: God dude. I looked up to you and now I have to see this? It’s gonna be in my goddamn brain forever. I’m gonna close my eyes and it’s gonna be you in those fucking short-

Jason: Can we move on?

Tim: I don’t even think I can. It’s just stuck in my brain now. I’m not gonna look at Robin the same way now and I’m goddamn Robin. God. Do I start avoiding my reflection now? Dr. Freeze is gonna be a nightmare. It’s gonna be like one of those mirror mazes but with pictures of your di-

Jason: Are you done?

Tim: God no. They warned you never meet your hero’s but never because you had to see them in some scaly panties. Seriously I can see you asscrack from he-

Jason, cocking riffle: Okay you’re done.

[one-little-nerd-stayed-home]

There is something deeply hilarious about how hard Murph goes on Albin being a fucking loser and how often Albin specifically bails Duck team out of their problems.

[julianbashir]

here are all the birding pics i took during my vacation in socal! bird species in the alt/description text :]

here are also some pictures of the island foxes, which are endemic only to the channel islands. they were about the size of a small chihuahua and sooooo cute

also, uh. these fat ground squirrels that got too lost in the sauce

[dancesingay]

I put a scrubbing daddy in dry ice:)

[incorrectlooneytunesquotes]

Wile E.: These are my machines!

Porky: W-W-W-W-Wile...

Wile E.: MY MACHINES!

Daffy: Whose machines?

Wile E.: MY MACHINES!

Bugs: [to Daffy] How was that helpful?

[dandelion-stuff-and-fluff]

God help me one of my students got the Duck Tales theme stuck in my head and twice now I've been trying to show different regions of the pancreas to other dissection groups and punctuated the "tail" with WOO-OOO!

[anauro]

Living my dass James life rn

[chiisana-lion]

man i hate mopping my room but for the sake of not encouraging the mental illness i desperately need to start cleaning

[mochrincrunch]

[eupheme]

idk if you’re taking any requests and if you aren’t feel free to ignore this lol

but if you are would you write reader smothering Logan in kisses after she put on red lipstick leaving him covered in red kiss marks (maybe he has somewhere to be so he wipes them off but doesn’t realize he missed one till he gets called out on it)

ohh anon I love this!! 👀💖 I can’t imagine him being like “alright, already” but secretly like 🥰 on the inside (and ahh the thought of ‘reluctantly’ letting you leave a little kiss mark on him when you’re all going out because he heals too fast to leave a hickey!)

— your kiss is on my list

logan howlett x f!reader | 400 words

He’s good at pretending.

You catch him coming back from work just as you’re heading out. Tucked away in the stairway as you giggle, finding a hidden corner as you press your mouth against his.

No more than a stolen moment. Hands fisted in your jacket as you pepper kisses against his chin, the scruff of his facial hair. The side of his neck, just below the ear.

“Careful, sweetheart,” He coaxes, “You look gorgeous, don’t wanna mess up that lipstick of yours.”

Though he wants nothing more than to pull you closer. To whisk you away back upstairs - but he knows you’ve been talking about your night out with the girls all week.

And maybe he’s not ready to share you yet.

When you pull back you’re smiling, “Mm, I wouldn’t mind that. You coming over tonight?”

His hand cups your jaw, thumb rubbing under your lip to fix the slight smear, “Was already planning on it.”

It’s another minute before you’re through kissing him goodbye. His fingers lingering on his lips, as you disappear down the stairs.

If it was later, he wouldn’t mind getting a little marked up. Something that would stay against his skin, lingering until morning. Scattered across his chest, his stomach. A pretty red ring around his-

A sharp breath, as he clears his head. If he doesn’t get it together he’ll be tempted to go after you, and end your night a little early.

His hand scrubs across his mouth, wiping away the trace of you. The heel of his palm scraping across chin and jaw as he opens the apartment door.

Wade’s eyes flick his way as he enters, before he’s grinning in a way that makes his scowl deepen. Legs swinging as he jumps off the couch - coming over to brace himself on the counter, while Logan ducks down to peer in the fridge.

“Oh my god, you little liar. I knew you were hiding something from me, you’ve been way too chipper lately.” His roommate chirps, “When you bringing her over?”

“Who?” Logan barks defensively, tugging a beer free.

“Oh, I dunno,” Wade drawls - reaching out to poke a spot on his neck, “Whoever gave you that little masterpiece right there.”

Logan smacks his hand away with a growl. Fingers rubbing at his skin, seeing how they come back red. He sighs.

Fuck.

thank you again, anon! 💖 hope you liked this!

[suguann]

Ex-husband!Gojo who doesn’t understand that the parents (mostly the moms who try to hide behind their giant sunglasses) at Mio’s soccer games talk, and he chooses today to pull you into his lap. Several sideways glances cast your way at how cozy you both must look as you watch your four-year-old daughter run in the wrong direction across the field because she got distracted by a butterfly.

He doesn’t hear what they talk about—aren’t they divorced? I’ve never seen anyone divorced act like that—or (worse) when they try to be subtle about their probing into Satoru’s dating life while you stand there with a stilted smile plastered onto your face. 

(More than likely, he’s listened to every word and doesn’t give it the same amount of thought or care as you do.)

“Gojo,” you hiss, trying to move off his lap to no avail. “I have my own chair.”

“Can you still call me that if it’s your name too?”

A huff. “Go bother somebody else—”

“Shh,” he tells you, tugging you further against his chest. “You’re missing the game. Mio’s finally found her way back onto the field again.”

“But everyone’s staring at us.” You catch the eye of a mother tearing into a pack of fruit snacks.

“So? Let them stare.”

Everyone starts cheering, and you both watch Mio chase the ball down the field, her little body ducking between the taller kids. 

“That’s my girl!” Gojo shouts over the other parents.    

And then Mio kicks the ball into— 

The wrong goal.

“Maybe we should have let her join t-ball,” you whisper, though you both clap as your daughter starts doing not-quite cartwheels in the middle of the field.

Ex-husband!Gojo who still does work around the house every Friday, and to your dismay, shirtless now that the weather is warmer.

The plate in your hands has a few scuffs, half of a cartoon character’s face scrubbed off to oblivion that Mio will have something to say about later. Doing everything to stop from staring out into the yard where he’s mowing the lawn because the window is right there, above the sink, to tempt you.

It’s difficult when his chest glistens with sweat from the early-summer heat and how those stupid gray cotton shorts (that you know he picked out with the sole purpose of torturing you) sit dangerously low on his hips— 

He looks towards the kitchen window, a crooked smile stretching across his lips. The blood rushing to your brain, that must be what makes you give a sudsy wave and cause heat to creep into your middle.

Ex-husband!Gojo who strolls into your room while you’re putting away laundry one afternoon, and unsurprisingly shirtless as he crowds you against the dresser. Front to back. His mouth at your ear.

That steady resolve you pride yourself in crumbles at your feet, and you swallow the tiny, helpless sound working its way up your throat. A slippery thing that slips out. “Satoru…”

“You know, these little shorts were always my favorite,” he tells you, his fingers playing with the elastic waistband.

“Were they?”

“Don’t you remember? Couldn’t get them out of the way fast enough.”

Your mouth is dry, something playing in a loop in the back of your brain. Early morning, breakfast cooling on the stove, crumbs stuck to your cheek, these shorts dangling off the leg propped up on the counter—

“Where’s Mio?”

A kiss to your nape, a knowing smile. “Taking a nap.”

Ex-husband!Gojo who works your shorts and underwear off your legs before pulling you to the edge of the bed. 

“Satoru, we—we can’t keep doing this—”

Your words trail off into a moan when he slaps your clit with the leaky tip of his cock, and wet sounds echo in the room.

“Yeah? Go on, baby,” he tells you, slowly splitting you open, stuffing you full, two puzzle pieces slotting perfectly into place like it should be (how it’s always been). “Tell me some more why we can’t keep doing this.” 

You can’t, not with how he’s filling you up in the way only he knows how. Not when he hooks two thick fingers into your mouth because you’re getting too loud, pinning you against the bed with your cheek buried into your pillow, every sound choking into nothing.

You wriggle underneath him, fingers clawing at the comforter and your back arching.

“Christ, look at you,” he growls, leaning over you, teeth bared. “Fucking look at you. You needed this, didn’t you?”

Ex-husband!Gojo who presses what leaks out back inside you with his thumb after he pulls out, wet and sticky circles between your legs until you fall apart again with a soft cry. His thumb is there again, at your entrance, pushing and stopping like a plug, muttering something under his breath that sounds like, “Can’t waste it.” 

And quieter, “Maybe it’ll take.”

(Who knows?

Maybe it will. Worse things have happened.)

Ex-husband!Gojo who stays for dinner for the fourth time that week, and none of the reasons have been because Mio asked if he could. It’s more about the fact that you’ve enjoyed how whole your family feels again, that you can pretend for a moment this is what you do every night.

(How it was probably always going to come back to this.) 

That your wedding ring doesn’t sit in the back of your sock drawer, and his isn’t tucked away in his wallet. That you don’t feel guilty when you think about saying I love you or wishing he’d stay longer—

“Daddy, you gonna lose,” Mio tells Satoru as Mario Kart appears on the screen.

“We’ll see,” he laughs, tugging on one of her pigtails until she’s giggling and swatting his hand away.

You lean back against the couch, watching them with a small smile you share with Satoru over your daughter’s head.

[ddejavvu]

would you be up to do bff remus with no boundaries?? i think that would be an interesting dynamic

maybe like after a full moon and she just like fully gives him a shower, or something where he’s just completely naked and the boys are so confused at what’s happening

"Arm up, Rem," You hum, but your fingers pry at his pale, scarred skin before he can even begin moving a muscle.

You lift his bicep away from his side, bringing the lathered loofa in your hand to swipe through the curve of his armpit. Suds slide down his sides and you hear him hiss as they mingle with his still-healing cuts and scrapes, but there's nothing to be done except cleaning them before they can be dressed.

"Easy, easy," You rub a hand over his back in a soothing circle that carefully avoids his injuries, "Just gotta get 'em clean, then we can dress them. You can sleep on your stomach, that'll help the ones on your back. How'd you even get scratches on your back?"

"It's all the ladies I occupy my time with," Remus drawls, but his pain is evident in the weakness of his voice, "Women love werewolves."

When you don't answer, leaving an purposefully awkward silence behind that swirls with the steam from the shower, Remus sighs, "Got all scratched up from the tree branches out there."

You drag the loofa from his side to his back, carefully ghosting over the caked dirt around his wounds. His knuckles turn white as he clenches his fists, but when he tries drawing one into his mouth to bite at it you take it in your own free hand.

"No biting. That's reserved for your better half."

"Are you talking about Sirius, or the wolf? Sirius bites me," Remus grumbles, and- speak of the devil, there's feet pounding obnoxiously up the stairs and towards the dorms.

"Moony, we've got all the chocolate we could carry," Sirius informs him, and there's the sound of wrapped goods being piled on Remus's comforter before James and Sirius step into the doorway of the bathroom.

James lets out an 'ooh' and turns away with a grimace when he sees you kneeled beside Remus's naked form beneath the spray of water, but Sirius stands stock-still, frozen by some mix of intrigue and horror.

"Uh, are we interrupting something?"

"Just a bath," You smile kindly at them, scrubbing gently at Remus's neck, "He has trouble getting his back sometimes."

"Sometimes- have you two done this before?"

"After every moon." You nod helpfully when Remus merely ducks his head to rest between his knees, "You two are usually either asleep or trying to get grass out of your pelts."

There's something green in Sirius's hair that proves the two were unsuccessful this time around.

"Oh. I'm sorry, Moony, I didn't know you had a caregiver," Sirius snickers, "Does she help you put your panties on too?"

"Don't let him get to you, dove," Remus murmurs, his eyes slipping shut as the warm water seeps into his skin and heals an ancient ache in his bones, "He's just mad he'll never get to take yours off. They're a real pretty pattern, y'know," Remus glances up at Sirius with the ghost of a smirk on his face, muffled by pain but persistent all the same, "Shame she's not interested in showing 'em to you."

"You've seen her panties, mate?" James cuts in, peering over Sirius's shoulder, "What are you two?"

"Friends," You shrug, "But it's stuffy in here at night, and my sleeping pants get too warm."

"You're telling me all the times you two have slept over in here all snuggled up in his bed, that you've not had any pants on?"

"Well I don't make it a habit to strip in his bed," You scoff, scrubbing at a particularly stubborn grass stain on the pale plane of his hip, "But I can promise you that my pants are never gonna be on your floor, either one of you."

"Oh please, we wouldn't dream of stealing Moony's girl," Sirius claps James on the shoulder, "But whaddya think about that, mate? Strippin' down to cuddle in bed together? They seem to think it's a friendly endeavor."

"I typically only ditch my pants for Lily, Padfoot," James informs Sirius with a sympathetic smile, "But I'll ask her if I can bring my dog to her dorm tomorrow night. You can sleep at our feet."

Sirius begins valiantly arguing for a spot higher up on the bed, every dog's hardest battle to fight, but you're no longer interested in their antics or the noise they're producing. You reach out your foot to kick at the door, and it swings shut with a satisfying click.

"Thanks, love." Remus groans, his face squished between his knees, "They were givin' me a headache."

"They always give you a headache," You dig your thumbs into a tense spot on his back and he twitches beneath you with a hum of appreciation, "We should get a flat together without them. They can be the feral deer and dog that live outside our cottage."

"We'll have to call animal control" Remus grins wryly against the rounded bend of his knee as you lean forwards to wash beneath his thighs, "How strong are their strongest tranquilizer darts?"

[buckysfaveplum]

man of the house

summary: without each other, bucky and you wouldn’t know how to be

pairing: bucky barnes x female reader

word count: 5k

warnings: descriptions of the reader having breasts etc, bucky’s trauma, fighting, super super SUPER SOFT SMUT, (like not even but mentions) 18+!! (MINORS DO NOT ENGAGE!)

a/n: soooo this one is differentttt, and idk lmk if you like. I love Rachel's new song for Romeo + Juliet and it made me think of Bucky sooooo here we are

masterlist | send requests

How sweet

You're the man of the house to me

Water beads streamed down your back as you stood beneath the shower head. Your hair clung to you in clumps as you soaked in the calm within the tile room. Steam slowly overtook the bathroom, leaving you with smooth breaths and serenity as you scrubbed at your scalp.

You watched from through the glass door as he washed his face. His hand moved roughly without pausing as if he thought to be gentle with himself like it wasn’t necessary. He was never like that with you. His hands seemed to melt at your skin, once hard and cold suddenly silky and fragile on your body.

His left side was empty, his arm long removed and in the wash, as he prepared for the night's end. It took you so long to convince him to remove it around you, to give himself a break from the heavy load constantly being lugged on his side. He did it once for a bit. One time led to another and another. Here you were.

He brushed a lush white towel across his face. Placing it back on the counter, he began to undress. The steaming water ran off you as your eyes followed him. His shirt came off quickly, gently being placed in your laundry bin. Through the fog of the glass, you could make out his most prominent scars, scattered across his back in dark browns and reds. Some raised and a light peach, lighter than his skin. He moved to his pants, undoing his waistband and slipping them off; he discarded them the same as his shirt. 

Your voyeuristic gaze continued as he took a moment to stare at himself in the mirror. You watched as his eyes roamed over his body, clocking each imperfection that he knew you’d kiss in just a moment. Once finished, he turned to see you watching. A small smile crept on his stoic face as he took in your face through the fogged door.

He took a step closer, standing before you and looking at you through the glass. The warmth of your breath had cleared a soft view of your face through the condensation. You glanced up at him, your brows twitching up in a soft and inviting expression. A kind smile grew as you tilted your head at his gaze. Come in, join me.

You stepped back as he opened the shower door. Steam streamed from the entrance, letting in the biting cold of the outside and flushing the bathroom mirror. Clouding it, blocking any more raging thoughts of his.

He stepped inside making the small tile room shrink. He approached you slowly, stalling his movements as he stood before you undressed. He was always like this in the shower. He had no issues with nudity with you, not anymore. Showers were intimate, however. More intimate than sex for him. He’d first felt vulnerable, trapped. His showers, if you could even call them that, under Hydra more so resembled the way you would've hosed off a dog. Bathing was personal and something he never thought he’d share with someone. Until you.

His eyes were glued to your face, his hand itching to hold you close but freezing just above your hips. His brows furrowed as if pleading with you for permission.

“Hi,” you said softly, stepping closer to him. His hand finally rested on you, firmly gripping at your flesh. 

You ducked your head under his chin, resting under him. Your breasts brushed across his chest as you both breathed in the misty air of the room. His hand roamed across your body, up your waist, and to your back, pulling you close. You looked up at him, as he glanced down at you.

“You’re soft,” he said, tightening his grip on your back,

You chuckled and leaned in, beginning to press gentle kisses along his jawline. You lead them further, moving down his neck and below. You paused at the mangled scarring along his left shoulder. You placed a hand tenderly along the tissue, moving slowly across the bumps and ridges of the barrier between his body and the vibranium. As your hand moved, you felt his head press into yours, resting himself on you as you explored his most vulnerable places. 

It wasn’t the first time you’d seen it or even touched it. You’d seen him undressed so often that you barely spared a glance at it. The scarring was just him, just Bucky. You continued your kisses, placing them meekly along the scarring; before leaving a final kiss on the vibranium of his shoulder.

Your hand moved to hold his cheek and take his gaze. You pulled his face to yours, keeping him close under the hot water of the shower. Hot, never cold. Always hot, steaming the room and peeling the paint along the side of the door. You didn’t mind, you could just repaint it.

His hand slowly moved up, cupping your breast gently as he pulled you close. His lips met yours, soft and never pushing for dominance. He kissed you like he wanted to know you like he was holding a deep conversation in the dead of night when the moon’s light was all that filled the room. 

Your hand slipped down his chest, lingering at the curves and dips of his muscles; each time you encountered a scar you simply continued because it was nothing to mull over for you. It never was to you.

“I love you,” he said, his voice low and gravelly. It always became rough deeper into the night as his body prepared for rest.

“I love you, Buck,” you said.

Your movement stalled just at the bottom of his abdomen. The trimmed hairs of his lower half tickled your fingers as you paused and sought his permission. He nodded gently but quickly, leaning further into you as you took him in your hand. 

I watch you from the window and I see the good in you

The good in me

That's who you are

And what I need

It's what I need

Your legs stretched before you along the bay window seat as you watched the cars and people pass by on the streets below you. The window was swung open, letting you take in the warm summer air as you sat with your book. Your fingers danced over the pages in your hands, the text inside long forgotten as you watched outside. It had been an hour, he would be home any minute. You always did this, if you could. If you were home and knew he was coming back. You slipped your legs out and rested on the fire escape as you sat on the windowsill.

People continued to pass; laughing friends, businessmen in a rush, couples, and parents chasing their children. You couldn’t help but wonder if one day that would be you and Bucky. 

The trees along the street swayed in the wind, petals of the white flowers dotting their bushes flowing in the breeze. The pigeons sat up along the phone lines, flapping and cooing. The loud car horns below flowed into the air, mixing with the other noises around you and creating the music of your neighborhood.

You’d always loved living in Manhattan, you couldn’t imagine leaving. Until you met Bucky. Maybe it took falling in love with a local to fall in love with Brooklyn. Even if this local hadn’t lived there for 90 years. Maybe that’s what did it, seeing the timeless charm and old beauty of the borough from someone who knew it when it was younger. 

Your thoughts stilled as you saw him coming down the road. Two full bags of groceries filled his arms as he walked the worn cobblestone streets. His leather jacket was gone, a blue henley and jeans. You remembered last summer when he refused to leave the apartment without it, despite the record heat of the city. It was hard to believe that was a year ago.

His face lit up as he saw you. Sat on the window, smiling and waiting for him. He never thought he’d be there in life. Where he could leave and had to hurry home, where someone would be missing his presence and awaiting his arrival.

You leaned forward out the window, holding the metal of the ladder for support. You gave him a strong wave and giggled as he watched you. You could’ve sworn you saw his pace quicken at the sight of you. You stood on the fire escape, resting on the railing as you watched him approach your building.

“Hello, doll,” he said, smiling up at you.

“How was the grocery store?” you asked. 

“Boring, and they didn’t have any broccoli raboni…” he said, struggling to remember the word for the vegetable you had told him you wanted.

“No broccoli rapini??” you said, feigning a gasp and clutching your chest. His subtle laugh slipped out at your acting. 

“Think you could help me with the door? I got more than we needed,” he said.

You nodded with a giggle, slipping back through the window and rushing through the apartment. You grabbed your keys and ran down the stairs. He watched you from the window of the apartment door, placing the bags on the floor in preparation for what he knew was coming.

You raced through the door and down the stoop. You jumped into him, wrapping yourself around him. His arms slipped under you, holding you tight as he gave you a little spin. He paced you back to the ground, pressing a quick kiss on your cheek.

“I missed you,” you said, keeping your arms around his neck.

“I was gone an hour, doll,” he said. He loved teasing you; it didn’t matter how long he was gone, he always missed you. It could’ve been an hour, 20 minutes, or a second. He was always missing you.

“So you didn’t miss me?” you asked, pretending to be offended.

“You know I missed you, babydoll,” he said, tightening his grasp on you and pulling you into a hug.

You rested there for a second, relaxing in his hold in the warm New York weather. The sounds of earlier were louder, rushing into your ears and swirling in your head. Your giggles from just seconds ago joined the music, flooding through neighbors' windows just as it did for you.

“You gonna help me with the door?” he said lightly with a small laugh.

You nodded eagerly and reached for one of the bags. You struggled to lift the overflowing reusable bag, huffing up the stoop and opening the door. 

“Geez, this shit is so fucking heavy!” you said, cursing your way up the steps. Bucky just chuckled as he passed you, taking the back from you into his spare hand.

“Yeah, I never said to take it,” he said.

Do you have doubts?

I curse your name

It brought me pain and now

Without you, I don't know how to be

Hurts so bad it brings me to my knees

I still believe

The scrapping of Bucky’s hand along the hardwoods woke you from your dreams. The usual warmth you’d find in the comfort of your bed had long been rendered cold and empty. He was slipping out of your reach, going backwards; his mind desperately trying to pull him back into the dark place you had found him in. He returned to his makeshift bed in the living room a few days ago.

You tried not to take it personally. You knew it had nothing to do with you. Yet after six days of him sitting at the other side of your bed and watching over you as you slipped gently into slumber, only to leave you alone, it began to take a toll on you.

You’d begged him to talk to you about it, you could feel him slipping between your fingers. He didn’t leave the apartment as much as usual. When he did, you noticed the leather gloves he had long stashed away seemed to reappear magically. He didn’t point out every cute dog he thought you would like on the street, something that often sprinkled your conversations with laughter since you’d met.

His beard, normally just a thick stubble, had begun to grow, alerting you to his deviation from his daily routine; something we had always been strictly religious about. He was struggling, struggling to stay above water in waves that you didn’t even know how to calm. You’d tried to throw him a lifejacket several times, but he just kept swimming away. You didn’t know what to do.

You slid from your bed and dipped from your bedroom and into the living room. He lay beside your couch, a thin spare bed sheet draped poorly over his legs, exposing him in just his sweats. He thrashed slightly, his brows knit tight and face locked in agony. His chest was exposed to the cool 3 am air, coated in a fresh layer of thin sweat. His breaths were rapid and uneven, his dog tags slipping as his chest heaved. His vibranium arm stretched across the floor, scrapping at the laminated wood below as if to try and keep him from harm; to ground him in the safety of his home that he knew somewhere deep in his mind he still was.

Before you could cross the small room to him, he jolted upright. You watched as he struggled to orient himself and regain his composure. His hands gripped his dog tags and he desperately tried to control his breathing. Wiping his hand through the tufts of his hair, dull mutters fell from his lips. You couldn’t make any of it out, but we knew it was Russian. Something that only slipped off his tongue after an especially bad episode.

Without even thinking, your feet moved forward but didn’t get far before landing on the loose and creaky floorboard near the kitchen bar. Freezing in place, hoping your spot in the dark would cloak you from his gaze, your face contorted in embarrassment. Of course, he saw you, sometimes you forgot he was a trained assassin. To you, he was just Bucky.

“Y/n?” he said, turning to see you.

You didn’t respond at first, unsure of how to proceed. Before you could speak, you tried to get closer.

“Please don’t,” he said. Your heart cracked.

“Bucky, why are you doing this to yourself? You always have more nightmares when you sleep alone,” he didn’t respond to you. He knew you were right. Four months ago you had left for a week for a family engagement; he had constantly restless nights shrouded in night terrors.

“Just… just talk to me,” you said. 

“It’s nothing, doll. I just need to get out of that bed ya know? Too soft,” he said, his voice too casual, but the quiver he tried so hard to hide didn’t escape you.

It was bullshit, you knew it. 

“I’ll sleep on the couch next to you, or I’ll sleep on the floor,” you said, trying to reason with him. “I just don’t want you alone. Let me camp out here with -”

“Stop, Y/n,” he said, his voice somewhat harsher as he stopped you “I’m sorry, sorry, just no.”

You watched as he rose from the pile of cheap fabric on the floor, stretching his back as he made his way into the kitchen. It wasn’t lost on you how he passed you without a single touch; no kiss on the cheek, squeeze of your hips, or quick grasp of your hand. He never used to do that, he couldn’t not touch you. But six days ago, those little touches disappeared. 

“Bucky,” you said, following behind him. He didn’t seem to acknowledge you behind him as he poured a glass of water from the sink. “Please, what’s going on? I know you, something happened.”

“I’m fine, doll. Just drop it,” he said as he chugged his drink. 

“Is…is it me? Did I do something? If I did just tell me, I’ll-”

“No!” He spat out, almost stunned you could think that. “No, no it’s not you. It’s never you.”

He came close to you for the first time that night. You could see his hands twitching at his sides, desperately willing himself to reach for you. But he never did.

“It’s me, I can’t…” he muttered, almost too broken and soft for you to understand.

“What, Plum? Talk to me,” you said. 

It was second nature, you didn’t even think. You reached up for him, your hand running along his vibranium arm and briefly brushing against his bare side. You barely touched him, but you could feel it, he’d never tensed like that before.

He stumbled back, softly batting your hand away. Your chest ached as you watched, a sight you never thought you’d have to see.

“Bucky, wha-” he was out of your sight before you could ask what happened. He rushed to your bedroom. You slowly followed, careful to keep your distance. Until you saw him getting dressed and grabbing his keys. Then you broke.

“Honey, what’s going on?” you asked in distress. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think. Please just tell me what’s going on.”

“I need to go, now,” he said, grabbing his gloves and boots and slipping past you. 

You rushed after him. He didn’t look at you as he tied up his boots. He knew if he did he’d see tears. He knew if he looked he’d see the way your small hands trembled and pawed at his large henley draped over your body. He knew if he looked, he’d give in. He'd stay. And he couldn’t. He had to leave, for you.

He began to move for the door, prepared to slip out into the night when he heard your soft sob. He froze, his body rigid and hand still as it hovered over the door handle.

“Please stay, Plum,” you said. He could almost gag. He was disgusted with himself. He did this to you. He was hurting you, no matter what he did. You deserved an explanation, of course, you did. But he knew if he told you, if let you in, he’d break. You talk in that way that seemed to quell all his fears, that made everything okay. And he’d stay, because he was weak; always weak with you. 

Not now, he couldn’t be weak now. Not when it came to your safety.

He turned to face you. The look on your face was a sucker punch to the gut. He swore he deserved all the pain under Hydra just for that. For the pain he was causing you.

He stepped forward, you didn’t move as quiet tears slipped down your cheeks. His right hand gently reached out and swiped them away, soaking in every second his skin brushed against yours. For one last time, he leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to your forehead. Your hands reached for him, yearning to hold him once. But he was gone from your touch as soon as he was there.

The front door was swinging closed once again before you knew it. He was gone.

You're breaking my heart in the best of ways

How many versions of myself will it take?

How many men I've seen with a similar face

I always look for you in so many ways

The first one to go is the worst to take

With all of my love comes all of the pain

You come and you go and I stay the same

But if you came back now, I'd take your name

The morning came quickly, flushing the apartment in light and leading the way into noon. You didn’t seem to notice. Your body had spent the following hours curled on your old loveseat. You always told Bucky you needed a bigger one. Maybe had he left under different circumstances, that memory would’ve brought a small laugh from you.

The hours since he left were filled with silence. For the first time in a long time, you swore the city was silent. The music of your neighborhood that you had grown so fond of seemed to go quiet at that moment. Like the city was mourning for you.

Maybe you could’ve done more, maybe you could’ve been there for him before it got so bad. Maybe if you hadn’t listened when he said to stay in your bed that first night. Maybe if you had pointed out the dogs to him. Maybe he would’ve stayed. Y

ou knew you should've been mad, but you weren’t. Just worried. Where was he? Where did he go? Was he safe? Was he hurt?

You needed to shower, you needed to move from your spot on the couch. Hours had passed, leaving you to watch the day slip away. You hauled yourself up off the sofa, taking note of the familiar patch on the left back cushion. The haphazard sewing job was the result of the fabric getting caught in Bucky’s arm plates during a more heated intimate moment. You wished you could say it made the moment hotter, but it just ended in laughter and Bucky nakedly struggling to free himself.

He was everywhere. All over the apartment. Each picture frame, each book. Spilling out of the bin with his never-ending dirty clothes. Overflowing in each paint stroke from the days you decided eggshell was too dull and aged ivory would look much brighter. Bursting through the walls, and flowing into each corner of the home you had built together. You couldn’t escape him.

He was the man of the house to you.

The only person you ever needed. Your security, your love, your happiness, your comfort. Your home, he was your home. This was just an apartment.

You stepped into the bedroom to find his sweats from the night before. You gently slid them on, the baggy fit of his spare clothing wrapping your body in whatever you had left of him. As the smell of his cologne and skin surrounded you, you wondered if he’d be back before the smell of him faded.

You found yourself drawn back to your fire escape window, watching the people below. You slid the window up, stepping out onto the iron platform and taking in the crisp fresh air. It filled your lungs and swirled inside as if trying to breathe any bit of life into you.

You watched the people passing below. The familiar faces blended into the crowds as the busy streets went on with their day. The city never failed to remind you how small you were. How as your life crumbled, as your everything was going, the city kept moving. People kept moving. The world kept spinning.

Your roaming eyes froze as they landed on one tall figure, stopped below the awning of the bodega below. The man watched you, a look of longing and despair deep in his blue eyes. You watched as his hands fidgeted with the leather gloves covering them, almost aching to take them off. Bucky was practically wailing as he watched you.

He stepped forward, never breaking his eye contact with you as he crossed the street. The deep dark circles under his eyes stung, all you wanted was to hold him as you both slept. He crossed over to your building, pausing below the fire escape. Your brows furrowed in anguish as you looked at his tired face. His clothes from the night before looked somewhat disheveled as if spending the evening hiking through trees.

Your hands gripped the railing as your body leaned forward slightly. A tight-lipped soft smile was all you could manage as you gazed upon him. His body shook slightly with tremors, his familiar anxiety taking over. You just wanted him close. 

His face spoke for him, pleading for you to invite him in. He needed to know you wanted him back, that he was allowed in. Not back into the home but your life. He needed to know he was welcome. You nodded to the door before slipping back through the window. You caught sight of him racing for the door on your way in.

How does it feel to be God?

How does it feel to be God?

I'm in the palm of your hand

I'm in the palm of your hand

You waited by the door, hands trembling as he slowly slipped inside. His demeanor was nervous and cautious. Too careful to get close to you. He couldn’t meet your eyes.

“I’m… I shouldn’t have… I’m sorry,” he said, muttering as he struggled to find the right words. You knew he never would. Bucky was always one to stumble over his words when he cared. Like all the emotions and all that passion was yearning to come out, so much it hindered his speech.

“Bucky, why?” you asked, your voice was faint and tired. He was gutted at the sound.

He took a step forward as he spoke,” I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Last night hurt, Buck.”

His face was devastating, he could hide the pain that washed over him. He knew it, but hearing you say it crushed him. You wanted nothing more than to pull him close. But you couldn’t, you knew you shouldn’t. Not only should he initiate, but he needed to explain.

“I know, I’m… I’m s-so sorry, babydoll,” he said, the strength in his voice wavering. “It killed me, I never wanted to, Ididn’t want to leave.”

“Then why did you?” You asked, stepping closer.

“I didn’t want to hurt you.” 

You took a moment, his head hung low as he spoke. It became clear at that moment. Why he avoided your touch, the bed, why he left. He was afraid.

You slowly came closer, leaving only a foot between the two of you. He shook before you as he fidgeted with his gloves again.

“Can I?” you asked.

He hesitated before meeting your gaze. His hands rose to yours. His eyes watched as you gently stripped the gloves from his hands and placed them on the counter. Your thumb brushed over the plates of vibranium.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, his voice still shaky.

“What’s going on, Buck?” you asked. You continued to stroke his hands, coaxing him to a calmer mood.

“Last week, I-I had a bad nightmare,” he said.

“In the living room?” you asked.

“No, in the bed. I didn’t wake you up. I…I couldn’t.

You didn’t look away or still your hands. You listened, refusing to allow him to think you were scared or unwilling to listen.

“I didn’t know what to do, I’d never- I couldn’t tell you. I just… I was so scared,” he said.

You stepped closer. Your hand moved to rest on his neck, slow enough for him to stop you if he needed to. He didn’t.

“What was the nightmare, honey?” you asked.

“It’s a little blurry now, I was so scared I couldn’t even take it all in. But, all I needed to know was what mattered. I was him again. You tried to help, to help me, but…. I killed you,” tears clouded his vision as he spoke, he willed himself to finish for you. You deserved to know everything.

“I was him again, so easily. And I killed you, I killed you Y/n.”

His mumbling began again, the nerves and fear taking over. You no longer hesitated to pull him close. You tucked his head snuggly into the crook of your neck. His tears soaked the collar of your shirt, his hands gripped tightly at your waist and held you firm. 

It all became clear. The pulling away, the distance, the makeshift bed. The way he flinched from you. He wasn’t afraid of you or mad at you. He was scared of himself. Scared for you.

“Why didn’t you tell me? It was a nightmare, Buck, you’d never,” you said, carding your fingers through his messy hair.

“I was scared that you’d hate me. That you’d be afraid of me. You should be,” he said.

“I’m not afraid of you, I could never be,” you said. His grip on you tightened at your words.

You stood in silence for a moment, allowing the sounds of the street to flood through the window and surround you both. You held him tight as if your grasp could shake each violent and self-destructive thought from his body. You held him for each moment you couldn’t over the past six days.

“Why did you come back?” you asked.

He pulled away to look at you.

“I don’t know, I’m scared I’ll hurt you, I can’t… I can’t hurt you,” he said. You cupped his cheeks and pulled his focus back to you.

“You won’t, Bucky. You know that, I know you do,” you said, your voice unwavering.

“I didn’t leave last night, not really. I couldn’t,” Your brows furrowed in confusion at his words. “I stayed on a bench in the park across the street. I…I couldn’t go far.”

His words rattled in your ribs and caused your heart to ache. You brushed your thumb along the grown-out stubble along his jawline. Gently, you leaned close and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“I don’t….I don’t think I know how to be without you. I-I need you,” he said.

“You think it’s not the same for me?” you said. “Plum, you’re my everything. If I lost you for real…”

Words faded on your tongue, the thought alone clouding your mind with anxieties and dread.

“I’m here,” he said, his voice low.

“I need you here, this is our home,” you said. He rested his forehead on yours, relaxation finally washing over his body in your arms. 

The hairs on his neck pricked at your fingertips as you gently brushed against his jaw. You didn’t mind. Even if it hurt, if it tickled, if it was soothing. You wanted it all, you wanted him.

“Please stay, you won’t hurt me. You know that, Bucky. I know you do,” you said.

He nodded tenderly against you, a faint sob escaping his lips. So soft you almost missed it. His hands grabbed tightly at your back, keeping you tucked firmly against him. So close no one could hurt you.

So close the winter soldier couldn’t even crawl back into his mind if he wanted, not with you beside him. 

“Who else will protect me if not you?” you asked.

How sweet

You're the man of the house to me

--

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(comment to join <3)

[incorrectlooneytunesquotes]

Porky: [as Robin in a daydream] H-h-h-h-holy inferiority complex, B-B-B-B-Batman! How low is my s-s-self esteem that I'm the s-s-s-sidekick in my own f-f-f-fantasy?

Daffy: [as Batman] It could be worthse, Robin. You could be Alfred the butler.

Porky: [as Alfred] D-d-d-d-d-d-doggone you, s-s-sir.

[mariasont]

hi pookie! <3

i loved loved loved the recent lipgloss fic! could you write smth about perfume? like bimbo! reader smells sweet asf and all of a sudden reid (or hotch) comes into the office smelling suspiciously sweet

tytyty!! <333

Suspiciously Sweet - S.R

a/n: hiiiiiii pookie!!!!!!! thank u so much for requesting i loved this lololol

masterlist

pairings: spencer reid x bimbo!receptionist!reader

warnings: fluffiest fluff, established relationship, spencer's relationship almost being exposed, hotch saving his ass, hotch hinting to having a secret girlfriend (aka my girl bimbo!assistant)

wc: 1.3k

You had a very distinct scent. This wasn't a bad thing, no, far from it. It was sweet and intoxicating, it reminded him of ripe peaches in the height of summer and cherries soaked in syrup, with a hint of something citrusy that reminded him of lazy afternoons in the sun. Was that too poetic? Spencer wasn't sure.

He noticed it everywhere. In the office, where it announced your arrival before you said a word. He noticed it at home. His pillows, his sheets, even the collar of the sweater you'd borrowed once—it was all steeped in the same honeyed scent that lingered after you left his bed, as if you were something he couldn't wash away—not that he wanted to.

This was why Spencer had started sleeping in on weekends when you stayed over. It wasn't laziness—not exactly—but how could he resist staying wrapped up in the thing that reminded him most of you?

Especially on those mornings when you were still half-asleep and clingy, burrowing into him with sleepy little hums, like you were trying to fuse yourselves together, and somehow, it worked. Your scent didn't just stick to his things, it stuck to him, sinking into his skin and leaving him a little dazed by the time you finally rolled out of bed.

Sure, he could rationalize it with some scientific explanation about heat transfer, molecules, or something equally clinical. But science (and he hated to admit this) didn’t account for how it made him feel.

Unfortunately, those feelings, didn't do him any good when one of those slow mornings he was becoming so fond of turned into an emergency call from Hotch about a case.

Now, he found himself here, hunched over the impossibly small sink in the jet's cramped bathroom, scrubbing his hands raw for what felt like fortieth time today. The scent wouldn't budge. It was as though it had soaked into his skin. He knew it was his fault—he couldn't seem to stop his hands from roaming across every inch of your body morning.

It wasn't that he minded smelling like you, but focusing on case details and running probability algorithms became infinitely harder when every breath reminded him of how tightly you had wrapped yourself around him just hours before.

He let out a bated breath, shutting off the sink before pushing his way into the main cabin of the jet. He found his way to his favorite seat, third back on the left side, which happened to be located far enough from the engines to minimize auditory distractions.

Morgan looked up, sniffing once as Spencer slid by. "Man, I don't know what it is, but something smells good in here."

Spencer tensed, his stomach dropping. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and he fought the urge to whip around. Surely it wasn't that strong. It couldn't be.

Rossi glanced up from his crossword, brows furrowing.

“Huh. I was thinking the same thing. It’s faint, but it’s nice. Like fruit or… maybe something floral?” Rossi’s nose wrinkled as he added, “Certainly an improvement over Morgan’s cologne.”

Spencer ducked his head so fast it could've looked like a nod, his cheeks burning as he avoided everyone's gaze.

JJ came out of the coffee area moments later, glancing at the case file in her hand as she passed him. She stopped abruptly, sniffed the air, then frowned.

"Wow, Spence, you smell really good. Did you finally cave and buy cologne?"

Spencer blinked up at her, every ounce of blood in his body rushing to his face.

"Uh, no," he said flatly, trying to mask the embarrassment. "I suppose I woke up smelling like this."

Technically not a lie.

He was acutely aware of everyone's eyes on him. Emily tilted her head, brow furrowing before a wide grin spread across her face. Not a good sign, he concluded.

"Wait a second," she said, pointing at Spencer. "That smells exactly like outside of Cruz's office. I pass it all the time."

Spencer cleared his throat, his fingers tightening around the armrests as his mind scrambled for an explanation—any explanation—to divert their growing attention. He could practically feel the walls closing in on him. He was doomed. This was it.

Spencer’s pulse was thundering in his ears, his face still flushed, when Hotch finally set down his pen.

For a second, Spencer braced himself for the worst, the horrifying moment when even Hotch would add to his scrutiny.

"That smell? It's the same hand sanitizer Cruz keeps in his office. He offered it to me after a meeting—probably the same stuff Spencer borrowed when he spilled his coffee this morning."

Spencer looked to Hotch, mouth opening and closing before nodding as if in agreement. "Yeah, that's... probably it."

The rest of the ride passed, to Spencer’s immense relief, without further incident. Morgan gave him a few odd looks now and then, but Spencer was too preoccupied, his thoughts spinning as he tried to figure out why Hotch had saved his ass.

When the last of the team finally stepped off the plane, Spencer hung back, letting the others pass. Hotch did too, falling in step beside him. His pace was slower than usual, his gaze fixed forward, but when he spoke, his voice was loud enough for Spencer to hear.

"Word of advice, Reid—next time, carry mints and a travel sized bottle of something unscented. You'd be surprised how much that helps."

Spencer’s head whipped around, his face going a deep shade of red. Hotch, meanwhile, kept walking, his expression completely neutral, as though he hadn’t said anything at all.

—

"He said what?"

You were laughing uncontrollably, the kind of laugh that made your shoulders shake and left you gasping for air, your hands grabbing him for balance. Rollers filled your hair—a ritual you'd patiently explained to him before—and loose wisps curled around your face. And your smile, well, he was perfectly certain it was the prettiest he'd ever seen you.

"Yup," Spencer confirmed, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

You froze mid-giggle, eyes narrowing.

"Wait, wait, wait—how does he know that? Is Hotch speaking from experience or something?" You blinked, then gasped dramatically. "Oh my gosh, what if Hotch has, like, a secret girlfriend? What if it's someone at the BAU? What if it's Garcia?"

"It's not Garcia, and it's definitely not a secret." Spencer raised an eyebrow, glancing at you as if the answer was obvious. "Hotch has been dating his assistant for years. He thinks it's some big secret, but it's... not. He picks her up lunch at least twice a week, and his closed-door meetings with her? Not as inconspicuous as he thinks."

You gasped, practically bouncing in place as you grabbed Spencer's sleeve. "Shut up! I didn't know that! I love her clothes. Do you think she'd tell me where she shops? That red skirt she wore the other day was everything."

“You don’t need any more skirts,” Spencer said, his fingers finding the sensitive spot between your hip and ribs, pinching just enough to make you squirm on the countertop. “If your closet gets any fuller, you’re going to have to rent out a second apartment just for storage.”

You giggled, tightening your legs around him and clinging to him like a koala, your arms looped snugly around his neck.

"That's why I have your apartment," you said, sticking out your tongue. "Plenty of space for my skirts, and you get to see me model them. Win-win."

"When you put in like that, it's kind of hard to say no."

He leaned in as he spoke, his lips brushing against yours softly at first, teasing and testing, like a flicker of fire before it catches. You giggled into the kiss, your laughter blending into his smile. The kiss deepened, honey-slow and sweet, golden warmth spreading through his chest as you pressed closer, closing every last bit of distance between you.

When you pulled back, his lips still tingling, you grinned. "Wow, you really do smell like me."

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