#twist your ankle accidentally? sucks for you. there are no benches here. to sit you must go buy a drink at a cafe.

[ame-to-ame]

public transit... *collapses to the floor*

[hanibalistic]

#796986 | HWANG HYUNJIN.

genre | fluff, high school au, crush au

word count | 1824

warning | none

note | thank you for requesting, i hope you like this!

request | @childofthecycle​

having a crush on someone is about a lot of things.

it is about awkwardly pacing around the classroom for over five minutes, just walking and talking to your friends, pretending that you have a lot of things to tend to when you are just hoping he would finally look up from his desk and see you walking around the space.

it is about the whispered rumors spreading through a class, talking about who is in love with who and who brushed hands with who. and whenever his name is mentioned with yours, you would deny, deny, deny, all the while wondering if he turned to take a look at you.

it is about the faint heat at the tip of your ears whenever you feel him next to you during assembly line up, your eyes desperately trying to take a closer look of his gorgeous yet not being brave enough to turn your head in case he would notice you.

having a crush is about hoping, it is about looking, and is about public secrecy. the thrill in almost being exposed but always making sure your feelings stay behind a pair of sealed lips, and the endearment of yearning to be looked at, while immediately turning away when his eyes are on you because you could not bear to be seen by him either.

"[name]... what the hell are you doing?"

jisung could tell by the way you ignored his question and simply moved your head over to peek at the basketball court outside the cafeteria.

there was only ever one reason why you would awkwardly hide behind a brick wall in the middle of the school ground, and there was only ever one reason why you would be interested in an unofficial, lunch-time basketball game.

it was all because of hwang hyunjin.

"you're gushing. stop it, stop gushing at the wall," he said as he stepped up to stand next to you, his hands stuffed in his pockets.

the way he pulled a face when he watched hyunjin dunk a basketball was not lost on him. even after so long, he was still not fond of the divine-looking, soft-spoken, almost-six-feet boy. and, to be frank, jisung wasn't sure if he ever will be, considering the countless trouble he has indirectly brought to his table.

listening to you talk on and on about hyunjin was one thing. jisung found hilarity in teasing you of your crush on the perfect student in your grade, especially when you would always start to ramble out incoherent words trying to save yourself from expressing too much of your embarrassingly romantic daydreams.

but oh lord, when you start going out of your way for him was when he couldn't help but think your feelings were starting to get a little ridiculous.

a prime example he would hold a silent grudge against hyunjin forever was when you twisted your ankle trying to impress him during the soccer unit in p.e class.

all hyunjin saw was you crying! there was noting impressive about that!

(yet, when he asked you if you were okay the morning came back in a cast, you were so giddy you almost forgot your feet were injured.)

"lunch is almost ending, we should go back to class," jisung said after he took his eyes off hyunjin and turned to you instead.

your eyes were fixated on hyunjin. even though the boy was moving about in the court, running and jumping and pushing and smiling, your eyes could always find where he has gone to. it was like your got lenses that specifically filter out and blur out anything that simply isn't hwang hyunjin. and you drowned yourself in your small, safe world where your love for him could expand as much as you want every time you watch him.

the smile lingering on your face, the kind of smile jisung knew no amount of jokes could bring out of you, was what made him keep his mouth shut whenever he felt like complaining about your crush on hyunjin.

you were so happy liking him, you always have been. he was in no position to defeat your spirit, and he in no way would make fun of your feelings for another.

plus, he wanted you to be happy. if talking about your crush on hyunjin would provide that, he would let you do it.

"alright, suit yourself," he muttered to himself after a scoff. "i'm leaving first, then. don't come whining at me later."

you did not hear a lick of what he said. your mind went hazy the second you saw hyunjin turn his head and looked at you, a smile still present on his face that would send you the delusion that he was smiling at you. fingers clutching the edge of the wall, you sucked in a loud squeal and immediately turned around to press your back against the wall, hiding.

you couldn't even find the time to wonder why jisung was no longer by your side. you were too occupied in the knowledge that you have been seen. not just by anyone but by hyunjin, by your crush, by him.

it was a short glance; you made it a short glance by shielding yourself too quickly, but it was enough to get your heart racing.

because when you are fond of someone, even the smallest detail was orchestrated by impenetrable fate. even the tiniest thing means something, be it just an accidental smile or a coincidentally shared glance. those little things become your midnight dreams and the pinnacle of your fictional scenarios.

they mean something. hyunjin means something, as well as your affection for him.

taking a deep breath to calm yourself, you shoved down the shy smile and slowly turned your body so you could peek out again and see if hyunjin was still looking.

it was likely wishful thinking, but you wanted to hope for it nonetheless, as the kind of thrill you get in crossing your fingers and hoping, and then the unique embracing of disappointment when it lets you down, was a bittersweet feeling you thought deserved to be felt. it was, graciously, addicting, with the way you gamble each time wondering if your prayers would be heard.

you were met with a face instead when you turned around. or, more specifically, hyunjin's face. it was a sweaty face, but somehow you still wanted to exert your affection for him through the less-than-elegant love language of biting. maybe just the tip of his nose, or the bottom of his lips, or even his arm.

hyunjin watched with surprised eyes when you stumbled back with a yell. he took a hesitant step forward, his hand ready to fly out and support your fall, but you regained your balance and steadied yourself only two feet more away from him. shrinking back into his bubble, he watched you with intrigue as you began fumbling with your words.

"i–um, i was just watching you play–i wasn't specifically watching just you, though! i was looking at the whole team and your friends–actually, yeah! i was just watching you all play because i had time on my hands, haha, because it's lunch, you know? it's lunch–"

hyunjin held up his hands gently, wanting to get you to calm down in the middle of your stuttering speech trying to explain why you two met eyes in the first place. your voice slowly trailed to a stop when you saw that he was laughing—cute, tiny laughs that meant no harm; it was more as if he found your bubble-soda eyes adorable as they gleamed with each word you spoke.

"can i say something...?" he asked after you stopped talking, and he waited until you give him a grim nod before he continued, "i didn't mean to scare you, i'm sorry. i thought it would be funny if you turn and i'm already here."

you furrowed your brows at him. "why would that be funny?"

he scratched his cheek faintly, uncertain. he knew he would catch you off guard, and he had wanted to see how you would react to being so close to him because he has caught you, on multiple occasions, staring at him and looking away when he saw. it was all for good fun, he didn't know he would freak you out this much, and neither did he think it would be funny.

"i have a bad sense of humor," he explained. "i'm sorry i freaked you out."

you huffed out a string of air, your neck heating up as the conversation went on. you should be panicking more, you thought, because you have never had a casual conversation with him before. but his kind demeanor made it so easy to feel calm around him despite your likeness toward him.

"it's fine, i probably freaked you out even more by peeking at your play anyway," you shivered, "that was creepy, wasn't it?"

hyunjin smiled, a dimple showing. he shook his head, wiping his forehead with the towel around his neck. "no, i think it's kind of cute, actually," he admitted, "frustrating, though."

"oh... sorry–"

"i would have liked it better if you were sitting on the bench instead of hiding yourself," he said. "hell, i probably would have done better too, who knows?"

your creamy eyes popped, and it blossomed all over him. he was looking for that—that sudden burst of joy in your eyes. he has only seen it a few times before, you were always turning away from him that he couldn't properly look at you.

it was like you wouldn't even give him the time and chance to come to his senses that he does think you are adorable, and he should probably talk to you before the year ends with you two being strangers.

how unfortunate that would be; another pure crush slain by the separation of the year-end graduation. thank god hyunjin came to his senses.

"i... i can sit by the bench tomorrow if you want," you suggested carefully, not daring enough to look at him.

he pursed his lips into a teasing smile, wanting to lean down so he could catch your lowered eyes, but he decided against it just to make you less anxious around him.

"thank you, [name]. that would be great,"

his name rolled off your tongue so smoothly, it was as if he has said it millions of times before. and maybe his heart has called your name when you were unaware, maybe his eyes have thought of your name countless times before he finally had it in himself to talk to you.

you breathed out a sigh. what a relieving feeling, like all the hardships have melted away.

this was what having a crush feels like. it is like having softness bleed into the rough patch of high school life, and you were glad hyunjin was the reason behind it.

[monsterlovinghours]

Okay. You asked for robofizz prompts and I think I have something. Character (reader or OC, totally up to you) works at Loo Loo Land as a maintenance worker for the rides and games. Their day is busy as hell because, let’s be honest, shit breaks down a lot there. But, out of the blue, management makes them robofizz’s new mechanic because he killed the last one. This is the first time they’re meeting the deranged clown and things get pretty, you know, when character tries to fix his sparking wires. 👀👀👀👀👀

oh fuck here we go y’all sluts better buckle up

Ducking behind a row of rigged carnival games, you let your work bag fall to the ground as you took a breather, wiping sweat and what looked like engine oil (but could be anything from burnt sugar to cremation ash) off your forehead. Taking a job as a ride mechanic had seemed like a good idea at the time; get into the park for free, discounts on funnel cake, access to all the shows. All you had to do was tighten a few bolts and make sure nobody got electrocuted too severely. 

But here, like the rest of Hell, imps like you were disposable grunt workers and nobody gave two and a half shits if you were overworked or exhausted. Everything was broken or breaking. You were shocked (metaphorically and literally) your first day when you saw that behind the novelty prizes and shiny veneers, the park was just a rat’s nest of rusted metal, sharp edges, and exposed wiring. Mechanics were routinely crushed or mangled or fried, and within a day another had taken their place. So far, you’d managed to avoid the various death traps and make it a solid month, which made you one of the more senior employees. 

Today was especially busy; there was some important fuck and his daughter at the park today, and orders were to keep the place running as smoothly as possible, though “smooth” was a relative term. It had seen you running like a maniac from one end of the park to the other, your uniform shirt coming untucked from your grease-stained pants as you jogged from one disaster to the next. Predictably, as soon as you had a second to take a breath, your phone went off, the splintering chitter of its message alert drilling into your ears. 

Another mechanic was down, this one working to repair one of the main acts. You groaned, big machines you were fine with, but intricate wiring and robotics? Not your strong suit. And this was the top-billed show, the most loved (or most feared) performer the park had to offer. Fizzarolli himself. You hadn’t seen the show yet, and his ominous circus tent was one of the only places you hadn’t yet been called to to fix something, but since you were currently the most senior mechanic on staff at the moment, and seeing how RoboFizz had just crushed his last mechanic, the job fell unfortuitously to you. 

Fantastic.

You sighed and slung your tool bag over your shoulder, walking briskly through the crowds to hastily erected circus tent, which had been cleared of people for the time being. You took a deep breath before ducking inside, blinking a bit as your eyes adjusted from the bright light of midday to the dim green glow that filled the tent. Some benches were knocked over, a few still had blood spatter on them, but you'd straighten that up later. At the moment, your focus was on the shadowed figure bent in unnatural angles slumped on the stage. His eyes and grinning mouth were lit with the same dull green, and they narrowed to slits when they saw you. 

"Its about ti-time you got here, toots!" He laughed, the sound skipping like a damaged record. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes as you knelt behind Fizz to access his mainframe; at least the rides didn't talk. 

"Yeah yeah, its busy work keeping this shithole operating, sue me." A few twists with a screwdriver, and the panel popped free, exposing the tangled wires and hydraulics, and you groaned inwardly. This kind of detailed work was way beyond your level of experience. 

"Ya waiting for a formal invitation ba-ba-back there, tinker? Get moving, I've got an audience waiting!"

"Hell's sake, keep your bells on. I'm not exactly a robotics expert." Clamping a small flashlight in your teeth, you started to poke around inside the hydraulics, looking for any leaks or broken connections. Not seeing anything right away, you probed deeper, focused on finding the problem in the less than adequate lighting. Had you been more experienced in dealing with robots, you would have perhaps remembered to inspect the outer body for any exposed wiring. As it happens, you did not, and your inexperience led you to brush against an exposed set of wires that threw sparks and burned a dark, circular mark on the back of your hand. The pain made you jerk back on instinct, yelping and cursing. It took you a moment to notice that the posture of the clown had changed, straightening from his slumped position with his head cocked sharply to the side. With the soft ratchet of moving machinery, Fizz turned his head 180 degrees to look at you, and you noticed more quickly now that his stare had changed as well. Before, it felt derisive, a touch irritated behind the ever present smile he'd been programmed with. But now there was more intent inside the green, more interest...almost as if he were leering at you.

"Ohhh," he rasped, "so its gonna be that kind of show?"

You were confused, until you noticed a dot of red within the green, a new light in the mainframe, with tiny lettering indicating what new function your little spasm had switched on. 

18+ Mode On

Your eyes widened as the reality of your little mistake finally began to sink in. It was a well known fact that Fizz had an “adult” mode, mainly for private shows where wads of cash exchanged hands behind closed doors. Sometimes, the crowds at night were bigger than the crowds during the day. Sure, on a lonely night or two, you’d wondered just what a sex-capable robot clown could do and if shelling out a small fortune would be worth it. Now, it seemed, you were about to get an accidental freebie.

“Fuck.”

“That’s the idea, sweetcheeks.” Fizz got to his feet with a whir and a shower of yellowish sparks, his body jerking so that the back panel slammed shut, hiding his exposed mechanics and thwarting any attempt you might have made to switch his mode. From somewhere within the tent, jaunty calliope music began to play, the pitch slow and wavering at first, like playing a record on the wrong speed. “So what’s your ple-pleasure, sweet stuff? Your ol’ pal Fizzarolli can do it all-upstairs, downstairs, butt stuff, you name it.”

“I...uh…” Your entire body felt numb, frozen, unable to do much more than stare as he advanced toward you, looming over you with that malevolent, leering grin still on his fanged mouth. “I’m not...I mean, I don’t…”

Fizz paused, his head once more cocking sharply to the side as he regarded you, then he let out a laugh, the bells on his hat jingling as his head did a complete roll on his shoulders. “Aww, looks like someone’s sh-shy! Don’t worry, tinker,” he growled in a smug, condescending tone, reaching down to pat you on the head. “I’ll take the reins on this one. You just sit back and enjo-jo-joy the show!”

With a sinister chuckle, he lunged for you, wrapping his entire body around you like an electronic boa constrictor, that laugh still buzzing in your ear as he coiled tight, then unwound himself, flinging your body towards the ceiling of the tent. There was barely any time for you to pull breath into your lungs to scream, and then suddenly, you weren’t falling anymore. Something else was wrapped around you, something cold and biting as steel. Around each wrist, each ankle, your waist, and your neck, whiplike appendages were wound, thin and covered in shifting metal plates. You were being held in midair, suspended like a puppet; if the advertisements you’d seen plastered around the park were any clue, you would guess that you were getting a taste of the “real tentacle action” Fizz boasted. Indeed, from within the loose panel on his back was where the appendages seemed to originate. 

As he stalked closer, you gulped, the sickly green glow of his eyes bathing your face and throwing your shadow in harsh relief against the canvas wall. Fizz wasted no time, and with only a deranged giggle as a warning, he shoved his hand beneath the untucked hem of your shirt to slide into your pants, cold hand cupped firmly between your legs. Barely a sound had left you, everything happening so fast you could barely process, let alone react, but a moan left you now, the silk of his glove and the ruffle around his wrist feeling so strange and yet so good as they brushed against your most sensitive parts. Fizz chuckled, or at least, he attempted to, the sound glitching into a series of strange beeps in response to your apparent openness to his touch.

"Boy, hardly touched at all and you're already moaning? You must need it ba-bad, impling." He leaned closer, eyes narrowing, and you shied away from those sharp teeth, so close to your face. Without warning, that hand between your legs began to vibrate, and you yelped, wriggling in your bonds.

"Ohhh...oh fuck…!"

"Like I said," he crooned. "That's the idea-ea-ea." The vibrations cranked up a notch, and you could no longer keep still, your breath coming faster, tail thrashing behind you out of sheer pleasure. Truthfully, it had been a long time; when you were fighting to keep a roof over your head and passing out from near exhaustion the second you returned home at night, there wasn't much time to try and get laid. It was lonely and it sucked, but that's life. Now, touched for the first time in what could have been centuries for all you knew, your toes curled inside your work boots, tears forming in your eyes as your hips bucked against his hand. It was so good, so fucking good, and with every increase in speed, your moans and cries got louder, more desperate, until-

"Ah-ah-ah, tinker, no you don't!" Suddenly that hand was gone, all stimulation withdrawn, and you whimpered. The tentacles around your extremities tightened in response. "You thought I was just gonna let you co-come so soon? Poor, dumb little imp-slut, it ain't gonna be that easy."

You swore, your teeth bared in an impotent snarl, but the clown only laughed, more carnival-striped tentacles unfurling and wrapping around you, the metal cold against your overheated skin. Now fully immobile, you were lifted higher, splayed out, shaking and wanting. The new appendages began to nudge and press around your body, seemingly exploring your form while the clown stepped between your spread legs, hands groping at your trembling thighs. His smirk was near evil, merciless, piercing as a laser as he watched his tentacles divest you of every stitch of clothing, torn and tossed aside without care. The tips of his jester hat brushed along your legs as he leaned closer to your core, mouth opening to graze the tips of his sharp teeth along your inner thighs, chuckling when you writhed, uncertain if you were trying to pull away or get closer. “Please,” you whimpered, not quite knowing what you were begging for, your body reduced to firing synapses and electric pulses of pure need.

Again, that mocking giggle issued from somewhere behind his sharp teeth. “Begging now, slut? You really want it tha-a-at bad, huh?” His open mouth neared your center, and you noticed now that there was heat coming from him, like the brush of warm breath, and saw a faint reddish glow shining from somewhere within his maw. “Want Ol’ Fizz to make you come again and a-again like the greedy little tramp you are?”

“Yes,” you choked out, so far past caring how desperate you sounded. “Yes, please, please, please!”

A soft whir was your only warning before something long, warm, and slippery was sliding between your legs; your body spasmed, jerking against the restraining appendages, your head lifting to see his striped tongue pressing against you, coated in shiny lubricant. He licked experimentally at you, seeing how much pressure you liked and where you were most sensitive, continuing his brutal teasing as the needle-sharp tips of his fingers raked down your thighs, nearly drawing blood. Then that mouth opened impossibly wide, eyes narrowed to knowing slits as that tongue probed at your entrance, nudging against it before shoving inside with no warning. Gasps and choked half-words fell from your lips at the delicious stretch of being suddenly, violently filled, his tongue twisting and pushing, the stripes not just for decoration but denoting a raised, almost ribbed texture. 

When it began to vibrate inside you, you couldn’t help but scream.

He cooed filth up at you, still able to talk despite his mouth being wrapped around you, voice distorted from the vibrations. Yellowish sparks would issue from his limbs as he fought to keep you still, burning against your skin like vicious little kisses. You weren’t coaxed to the edge so much as dragged toward it, your orgasm slamming into you with near physical force. The clench and thrashing of your body didn’t slow him; if anything, the vibrations intensified, more tentacles issuing from him to stroke and tease other erogenous zones, your entire body his to play with, helpless against his ruthless pursuit of your ruin. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as he ripped your pleasure from your body with no care to be gentle, teeth and hands leaving marks in their wake. You were his slut, his eager imp-whore, his pretty little toy; at least, you didn’t deny it when he growled these claims up at you. As long as he didn’t stop, you would be anything he wanted.

But while he couldn’t grow tired or drained, you certainly could, and through a veil of tears you begged him to stop, half afraid that he wouldn’t. Fizz paused, then slowly unwound himself from around your violently shaking form, tentacles disappearing back inside the panel they had come from. He regarded you curiously, still grinning as you collapsed in a boneless, shaking heap, unable to do much except pant for breath. Finally, you looked up at him with hazy eyes, your sweaty hair falling limply in your face.

“Didn’t you have a show to do?”

Fizz threw back his head and laughed, the bells on his hat jingling merrily, a stark contrast to the cold, malicious sound of his glee. “Not the sharpest t-t-tool in the shed, huh, tinker? Look around; you a-are the show.”

To your horror, you could see dozens of yellow eyes pinned to your naked form, imps of all shapes and sizes, eyeing you hungrily. The light of day outside the tent was gone, and the depraved crowds that only came around at night had filtered in while you were...preoccupied. Ruby skin turned a mortified burgundy as you scrambled to cover yourself with any scraps of your clothing you could find, but Fizz wrapped his arms around you and hauled you to your feet, his arm secure around your waist as he bowed to his audience-your audience. They began to applaud, some whistling, others throwing out lewd comments. Fizz pulled you into his side, the hand on your waist slipping just a little lower.

“Seems like we make a pretty good duo, dollface,” he rasped, showing off his pointed teeth in a lascivious grin that at your already weak knees nearly buckling. “Whaddya say we gi-gi-give them an encore?”

[shreddedparchment]

I am so needy for your writing. *giggles* >>> Bucky x Reader w/ “So, I accidentally did a thing and now I need your help.” & “Every time you speak I either wanna kiss you or throttle you.”

You can be as needy as you’d like! I hope you like this one. It was actually a lot of fun! And I stole one line of inspiration from a movie, let’s see if anyone can guess the line and the movie! I failed at drabbles again! Too long for a drabble…oh well.

Hurt

You hesitate as you look at the phone on the weightbench only five feet away. You know you need to call someone, anyone!

This also means that there’s only one person to call.And you really don’t want to call him. Your stomach twists itself into nervousknots and flutters as you think about dialing his number.

You shut your eyes tight, suddenly nervous beyondreason. It actually makes you nauseous and you swallow around the large lump inyour throat.

“Give me strength…” You beg no one in particular.

He might be away on mission, but would Thor give you thecourage if you pray to him?

You gasp as you try and put your weight on your rightfoot and intense pain shocks your system. Quickly you lift it from the ground.

“Fuck.” It feels worse than you feared.

You extend your leg again but just so that you can lookdown at your foot. You know that as soon as you take off that shoe it’s goingto be swollen like a balloon.

You whine very quietly like a useless puppy, hating thefeeling of being helpless.

The phone on the weight bench begins to buzz andcarefully you hop over to it. You fall forward as you reach it but steadyyourself with both hands flat on the cushioned seat as you regain your balance.

The screen of your phone lights up flashing, almosttaunting you with the name of the only other person who hadn’t gone on themission to Russia.

Sergeant Barnesflashes one more time before you quickly slide your finger across the screen,answering it. You press the speaker button too so that his voice echoes aroundthe large gym.

“What took you so long to answer? What the hell are youdoing?” He asks, the annoyance in his voice permeating the space.

You shut your eyes, made more nervous about asking for hishelp knowing he’s already upset.

“Hello?” He asks, his annoyance more pronounced at yourdelayed response.

“I’m here! Jeez, I thought you took that stick out ofyour ass when you moved in?” You lash out angrily, hurting, nervous, andwondering why you irritate him so easily.

Silence follows your angry retort and it lasts so longyou’re afraid he hung up. “Hello?!”

“I’m here.” He replies evenly, calmly.

“Why did you call me?” You ask, a grimace on your faceas you shift so that you can sit down and pick up the phone to hold in front ofyour face.

More silence. Then, “What do you want for dinner? Idon’t want to eat alone.”

What the fuck? Since when has Sergeant Barnes everwanted to eat with you?

You give your head a shake, moving passed the shock sothat you can ask for what you really need.

“Sergeant Barnes-“

“Bucky.” He corrects you.

“Bucky, I-” It feels weird to call him by his nameand you hesitate again, nervous once more with your stomach in knots.

“What?” He presses.

Best to just do it quick, right? “So, I accidentally did a thing and now I need your help.”

“What thing?!” He demands, on alert, his voice hard.

“I was lifting weights in the gym and I guess maybe Ididn’t secure the weights on the dumbbells correctly? Anyway, long story short,twenty-pound weights fell on my foot and I think it’s broken.” You finish witha sigh and then wait for him to speak but he doesn’t.

In fact, the line is dead quiet. “Bucky?”

You look at the phone and see that it’s still connected.

“Sergeant Barnes?” But as you lean towards the phoneagain you hear the line go dead. “Buck-?”

With a heavy sigh you put the phone down beside you,your heart heavy. Maybe he doesn’t care to help? Last thing he wants is to betroubled.

A full minute passes in which you stare down at yourfoot, sucking air through your teeth as you contemplate removing the shoe.

A loud crash behind you makes you whip your head around,twisting your torso to look towards the doors that are suddenly and violentlythrown open.

Holding them open with his arms held wide, Bucky stands scanningthe gym with his wide and muscular chest heaving as he tries to catch hisbreath. His eyes, blue and full of fire finally find you.

He struts towards you with wide steps and a worriedscowl. As he reaches you, he moves to stand in front of you then quickly squatsdown to look at your feet.

You swallow hard as he turns his gaze on you.

“Which one is it?” He asks, looking from the left to theright foot.

You slowly hold out your right foot and Bucky scootsback a little as you do.

With careful hands he holds your ankle and lifts it uphigher. “Does that hurt?”

You shake your head.

He grabs your heel and it makes the top of your footsting.

“How about that?” You grimace slightly and hold out yourhand, shake it to show him it hurts a little.

He places his hand underneath the middle of your footand lets it rest against his hand. You gasp and shut your eyes as your foot throbswith pain.

He quickly removes his hand and frowns up at you thenvery carefully takes off your shoe.

You’re almost crying when he pulls the shoe off yourfoot as it squeezes it tight. When it slips off it continues to throb but feelsmuch better too. Bucky runs his metal hand slowly down the length of your calf,comforting you? That’s what it feels like. Why?

With your shoe now off, Bucky looks your foot over.“It’s definitely broken. It’s really swollen. I’m gonna take your sock off,okay?”

You nod, and grab hold of the bench to brace yourself.He slides it off and you shut your eyes, afraid to feel the pain.

“Jesus…” Bucky gasps as your sock comes free.

“What?” You demand and open your eyes to look at yourfoot.

It is indeed veryswollen but also blackening quickly. The bruise is nasty and makes the wholeinjury look worse.

“Why didn’t you just ask for help with the weights?!”Bucky growls at you, slightly shouting.

You frown at him, bristling at his tone, “Because Ididn’t want to bother you! I know how irritating you find me. Excuse me fortrying to keep the peace.”

You shout back at him and he looks slightly confused fora split second then he’s scowling again.

Without warning he suddenly stands, shoving his armunderneath your legs while his other finds the middle of your back. He liftsyou easily.

“You don’t irritate me.” He grumbles then makes for thedoor. “You make me nervous.”

At first you don’t know what to do with both your armsor the small confession of you making him nervous. As the two of you cross intothe common room and head down the hall for the elevator, you slowly wrap yourarms around his neck, which effectively pulls you closer to his face.

His arms tighten beneath you.

“Why do I make you nervous?” You ask.

He looks down at you, frowning at your question.

“Because…” He says simply.

He presses the button for the elevator and you wait forit to come.

“Because why?” You insist.

He looks down at you again and his steel blue eyes flashthat fire you’d seem before in the gym and his scowl softens.

The elevator dings its arrival and he boards thenquickly presses the button for the med bay.

“Why?” You ask again as the elevator descends.

He looks at you once more but this time his eyes shiftto your lips.

“Every time you speak I either wanna kiss you orthrottle you.” This second confession has a much more immediate effect and hequickly pulls his gaze back up to the elevator doors.

You feel the heat rise in your neck and ears and yourstomach erupts into endless and dizzying flutters. Did you hear him correctly?

Only one way to find out.

“Well, um…which one is it now?” You ask and swallowhard, chasing the lump of nerves away.

Bucky looks down at you with his eyes searching yoursfor any sort of rejection. When he doesn’t find one, he doesn’t give you achance to prepare yourself.

He leans down and hungrily presses his lips to yours. Heopens his mouth, tasting your lips as your head swims, and your hands grip theback of his neck tightly.

When the shock wears off you allow him to part your lipswith the tip of his tongue and welcome the deeper kiss by wrapping your armsaround his neck more, closing the space between you.

“Mmm.” You mutter against him, quietly, a whisper as you’refinally getting what you’ve been wanting for a long time.

This prompts him to slowly pull away, an easy andrelaxed smile on his lips.

“I guess I’m not the only one that’s been pining?” Hewhispers.

“Please tell me that I’m the reason you stayed home fromthe Russia mission, because I never thought that the former Soviet assassinstaying behind was a good idea.” You whisper in a rush. “What if they need you?”

“You’re definitely the reason I stayed behind. I thinkyou need me more.” He admits and quickly kisses your lips again before heshifts so that he can bury his face against the side of your neck.

You run your hands lovingly along the back of his head,sighing, relieved to finally have what you’ve been waiting for since he movedin.

“Good.” You whisper, happy and content as Bucky snuggles closer despite the opening elevator door.

Forever Tag List@until-theend-oftheline @jessieray98 @dsakita @coldfacedwarf @just-trying-to-survive-marvel @fairislesheets @jewelofwinter @mannls @moonlessnight14 @sovereignoblivious @pandazlazykid @lilulo-12 @moli1497 @shifutheshihtzu @the-real-mary-jane @pastelxvirgo @just4muggles @vulpecula-minor @wildefire @mdgrdians

[artificialqueens]

Check You Out - Chapter 3 - May

A/N: So, I recently made the incredibly intelligent mistake of deleting the file with this chapter off my phone, and emptying the recently deleted folder accidentally, so this is a lot later than I expected it to be. Anyway, I hope you guys like it, feedback is always appreciated 💝 (also I set up a side blog if you want to check it out @artificial-may)

The early morning sunlight filtered through the window, lighting up the dust mites mottling the air. Bianca turned her phone on and off, counting down the minutes until she could open the large roller doors at the front of the store and let the day’s customers in.

She glanced out the window, and noticed that the car park was abnormally empty. Usually, the car park on a Saturday morning would be a third full, today there was a red ute and and a bike propped up against a tree. Groaning, she leaned her head on the wall. It would be a slow day, and that kind of day was the worst. Slow days meant customers thinking they could have long conversations with her just because there was no one else in the queue, which made it hard to bite back the cutting remarks that often rolled off her tongue. It was a little mantra Bianca had. The customer is never right.

Her phone buzzed on the till, signalling it was time for the store to open. Unlocking the heavy bolt she heaved the roller up and returned to her till, and tapped her acrylic nails on the bench. The store was empty, which wasn’t abnormal, but Bianca had gotten used to one little thing. Adore.

Since their last meeting, Bianca had indeed checked out Adore’s Instagram, as well as every other social media account she could find. She’d almost fallen into the habit of expecting the green haired girl in the early morning. Rolling her eyes at herself, she ceased her tapping as an elderly man entered the store.

A few minutes later, the sliding doors opened with a faint puff of air, and Adore rushed through them, obviously in a hurry. Only stopping to give Bianca a quick hello, she disappeared into the aisles, only to reappear holding her drink.

“Sorry I’m in a rush,” she said, too loudly, “I have work soon but I overslept and was late here-” “Hold up,” responded Bianca, “you have a job? Isn’t your job getting drunk and being the pretty little indie musician you are?” “Well, yes,” said Adore, “but that doesn’t pay for petrol, so I work as a receptionist down the road. I go from here to work, and it just so happens that today I was due to start five minutes ago. So sorry to be like this but see ya Bianca.” And then she was gone, the coins for the drink left in a little pile on the counter.

Picking them up and putting them into the till, Bianca looked once again out the front window, at Adore’s retreating figure, and the very slow trickle of people coming in through the doors. She realised she was grumpy, and she was grumpy because she hadn’t gotten to talk to Adore that morning.

Smiling to herself as an idea popped into her head, she left her till, and went and grabbed a bottle of Berocca. In no particular hurry, she returned, and tucked the drink just under her counter.

That gives you plenty of time to talk to Adore tomorrow, thought Bianca, her stomach fluttering a little in anticipation. •••• “Do you even see the point of having a break today?” asked Courtney stormed into the staffroom. Willam shrunk a little into her chair. Although they always had breaks at the same time, Courtney never really spoke to Willam, except to maybe toss a weak insult. Despite the friendliness Courtney had showed just a few weeks earlier it had all dissipated over New Years.

“Well,” quipped Willam, “the demand for fresh fruit and vegetables stops for no man.” Courtney turned, wide eyed. “But it has!” she exclaimed violently. “The store’s practically empty.”

Willam had noticed that. There had been fewer price checks, fewer people at the deli counter, fewer jobs to do. It had been great, in Willam’s opinion, but for someone obsessed with their work like Courtney, Willam could understand how the busy days could be curses.

“Well if you want something to do you can always clean the fridge or something.” Courtney’s nose wrinkled. “I don’t know the last time this thing was cleaned,” she said gesturing to the fridge. “I don’t use it, ever since people started eating my food out of it.” Willam swallowed, knowing that she had been one of the people who had eaten Courtney’s salads and smoothies when they had first started appearing in the communal fridge.

“I mean,” said Courtney, the fridge door now open, “I don’t know if this gnocchi has pesto on it, or if the green stuff is mould,” she continued, brandishing a Tupperware container with some sketchy looking pasta inside. Willam grimaced.

Shutting the fridge with a bang, Courtney slumped back down into another plastic chair. “This sucks,” she said. A long pause ensued. Willam recrossed her ankles, and waited.

The awkward pause stretched on.

“So…” she said, trying to relieve the tension that was thick enough to be cut with a knife. “Why did you go vegan?” Courtney’s delicate eyebrow raised. “That’s heavy for small talk.” “It is?” asked Willam, mentally kicking herself. “Look, there’s a lot of factors, I guess I just didn’t like the connotations meat and all that had. I don’t like the idea of something being harmed just for me.” Willam nodded, and Courtney checked her watch, then sighed. “I’m supposed to receive a call soon,” she said, apologetically, “see you later.”

She left, Willam watching her go pensively, wondering at the change that had occurred between them. •••• “Is there any point me being here right now?” asked Sharon. “What do you mean?” asked Phi Phi. In the past few weeks Phi Phi had found that Sharon had mellowed a bit, turning from hatred and contempt to everything in the store, including Phi Phi, to just general dislike of the job. “I mean, no one’s here, no one’s going to be here and if they are, you and Violet can deal with them easily,” said Sharon. “I don’t need to be here.” “You’re getting paid,” Phi Phi reminded her. “Yeah for doing nothing. I could be doing something I actually want to be doing.” Phi Phi leaned forward on her till. “What do you want to do?” “Like right now-” “Nah not now. What would you prefer doing with your life. What’s your endgame?”

“I don’t really know for sure, but I want to sing and I want to travel and I want to spend my time before I have to be an adult actually enjoying myself, not stuck in a box, waiting for customers that aren’t going to come.” Phi Phi nodded. “That’s good, you know that you have passion I guess.” “Everyone does, what are you passionate about?” “I-I’m doing a law degree at the moment,” she responded after a pause. “But it’s not what you want to do is it ” “Well, no.” “So what do you want to do?”

Phi Phi hated this conversation, she normally would weasel out of it with some half hearted excuse about law was her passion, but for some reason she found herself telling Sharon. “I want to go into fashion design,” she said, her voice low. To her surprise, Sharon didn’t laugh or snicker as she’d expected her to, instead she nodded her head. “That’s cool. I reckon you’d be good at it.” “My parents don’t want me to,” said Phi Phi, “they-” “Who cares what your parents say,” responded Sharon, twisting a ring around her finger. “Do what you want, it’s your life isn’t it?” Phi Phi turned to respond, but was stopped by a group of teenagers queuing at her till. She smiled at Sharon, and lifted up her closed sign.

As she turned to the customers at her till, Phi Phi’s mind was racing with dangerous questions. Why don’t I quit my degree? What’s stopping me from design?

Why does Sharon’s opinion matter so much to me? •••• Violet was bored out of her mind. Her shift, which had started around two hours ago, had inched on slower than she’d ever known time to pass. Rather than serving customers, she’d spent the majority of the time picking at her nail polish and planning her schedule for the next week. She was contemplating sitting on the floor and taking a quick power nap, when a woman came into her line of sight and placed a basket of groceries and a reusable bag on the conveyer with a heavy thud.

Looking around the store, Violet could see the store was getting busy - or at least as busy as it could be. She also spotted a familiar head of blonde hair headed toward her till, and her heart skipped a beat.

“Hello?” asked the lady in front of her. “Can I get some service?” Violet apologised profusely, and began to scan items as quickly as possible, because there was now a blonde figure cloaked in layers waiting patiently. Violet sent a half smile at Pearl, and was pleased to see she had received one back.

After what felt like far too long, Violet finally handed the lady her receipt, and turned to Pearl. “‘Sup,” said the blonde. “Hey Pearl,” responded Violet. “How are you?” “I’ve been going well thanks,” said Pearl and they both chuckled at the awkward formality between them. Violet scanned Pearl’s groceries languidly, in an attempt to stretch out what was sure to be the highlight of her shift. She was about to ask if Pearl was doing anything that evening, when her register let out a long beep, and the screen turned completely black.

Shit, she thought, searching behind the register for the on button, thinking the can of tomatoes in her hand had knocked it. Pressing on the button, the screen stayed black.

Very slowly, but surely, people were lining up behind Pearl, and the line was slowly stretching further into the store.

Shit, she thought again, banging her till with her hand, shaking the screen desperately trying to get the till to work again. Supervisor to lane 4,“ she called over the PA, hoping Phi Phi would be able to come and sort out the situation, but the supervisor just shook her head sympathetically as she gestured at the queue trailing from express.

Of course the one time the till breaks it gets busy, thought Violet. “Is everything alright?” asked Pearl, eyes wide with concern. “Yeah, um my monitor’s just having a moment,” replied Violet, watching the queue. Banging it one more time with her fist, the screen flickered back on, showing the can of tomatoes had been scanned 75 times. Groaning, Violet called Phi Phi again, knowing she’d never be able to void such a large amount without the supervisor code.

After everything had been sorted out, and Pearl was finally paying for her things, she said, “sorry to be such a problem today.” Instantly Violet responded, “you’re not a problem, it’s good to see you,” cringing at how she sounded. Pearl smiled, and flushed a small amount, although it could have just been a trick of the light. “It’s good to see you too. Enjoy the rest of your shift Vi,” she said as she walked off.

“Why am I not a supervisor yet?” asked Violet, as she handed her till to Phi Phi at the end of her shift. “I’m one of the best workers here.” Phi Phi snorted. “Maybe it has something to do with the fact you keep flirting with certain customers,” she responded, laughter in her voice. Violet smirked. “What’s the difference between flirting with a customer and flirting with the new employee.” Violet felt a sharp sense of satisfaction at Phi Phi’s mouth dropping open. “I’m…not…” she stuttered.

Just at that moment, Sharon walked back in to the store on break, looking stormy. Phi Phi went a deep shade of red. Violet chuckled as she pranced out the door. •••• “Do you want to catch up sometime outside the calming fluorescent lights of this supermarket?” Katya asked half an hour before they closed the store, “like go to Chipotle or something?” “Will you pay for my guacamole?” “Bitch who do you think I am? I work minimum wage at a supermarket!” Trixie laughed loudly, and responded, “but seriously that’d be great. I’ll just double check I’m not going out with my boyfriend or anything and I’ll text you.” She smiled at Katya but the blonde’s face had fallen a tiny, almost imperceptible amount. “I didn’t know you had a boyfriend?” “Yeah, it’s um kind of new,” responded Trixie. She felt suddenly awkward for some reason, her insides knotting with a strange emotion that she quickly recognised. Dread. “It’s not a big deal is it?”

Katya’s face lit up again, a goofy smile stretching from one ear to the other. “No of course not.” Though her tone and face was cheerful enough, Trixie couldn’t help feeling as though there was something off about the whole expression. Come on Trixie, she thought, you’re allowed to have a boyfriend. If Katya can’t get over that it’s her fault. “What else are you keeping from me? Next you’re going to tell me your entire family is actually the mafia’s founders!” “Well, now my secret’s out you rotted Gila monster.”

Trixie laughed, thankful for the relieve, though there was still something dark and uneasy in Katya’s eyes.