#which makes a stark change in less time even stranger

[pocketramblr]

Canonically, All for One has a quirk that can detect lies so he could just straight up ask him are you my brother who I thought was dead for years? Would be funnier however if All for One just decided that his lie detecting quirk was malfunctioning because his pride can't bear the thought of his younger supposedly stupid and naive brother was able to outsmart him for many years.

Canonically, AfO has a quirk that lets him detect the "slightest malicious intent towards him" that he combined with other quirks later to strengthen it and while he uses it as a lie detector and says he got it in the earlier days, we don't know exactly when that was in relation to Yoichi's 'death'. So he doesn't even have to think it's malfunctioning! he just can assume that this guy who looks weirdly like yoichi is somewhat malicious towards him, probably out of annoyance to bumping his grocery cart and staring at him

[luvrodite]

NEW ROMANTICS JASON TODD (college!au)

↳ of course there's an attractive guy who sits a row ahead of you the one time you decide to swear off boys

You approach the beginning of the new semester with the same level of excitement reserved for doing the dishes. The only class you remotely look forward to is the literature elective you’ve chosen, a stark difference from the rest of the subjects you’ve got lined up, all incredibly dreary and tedious. The students in the arts faculty are, you find, significantly easier to tolerate than the finance bros, prep school daddy’s money boys that look right through you when you speak in class. 

Spring’s approach is near and evident this morning as you walk across campus, a gentle warmth on the back of your neck and the slow budding of jasmine outside the buildings, sweet smelling and pretty.

You dream for a moment, as you walk into the lecture theatre, of a life in which at seventeen you had chosen this. Sitting in an old, wooden hall of a lecture theatre, students in colorful and kitschy clothing, it’s nothing like the sleekness of the professions faculty. It’s a welcome change. You sit by yourself, and a wistfulness stirs up in your chest when a trio of students sit a few rows ahead of you, chatting excitedly to each other about their classes and the break. 

The reminder of your own break makes you cringe, the text messages on your phone radiating through the leather of your bag. 

It hadn’t been your greatest moment, choosing to go out with a boy from last semester’s econ class, but you’d gone through with it if only to put yourself out there. It had felt momentous at first, if only because you didn’t feel quite so wallflower-like and shy for accepting it, but in the end it had been nothing less than abysmal. The message you’ve been screening weighs heavy on your conscience, pressing into your stomach in demands of being acknowledged. 

You’d reply to it later, you vowed. But you were so swearing off dating.

You suspect that you are something of a joke to the universe, that there must be some entity somewhere that takes pleasure in your misery. The moment you make such a vow is when the most attractive man you’ve ever seen in your life crosses into your line of sight and you go still when he looks over at you momentarily, before sitting in the row in front of you. 

You have about two seconds to gather yourself, when the lecture begins, and it is not nearly enough time to recover. You force yourself to pull your attention to the front of the room, and away from the dark haired man that sits only a few feet away, typing diligently on his laptop. It’s ridiculous, that you’re so overcome, and more so by a mere stranger. 

But you can’t help the way your eyes slide over to him, several times, sneaking looks through your lashes at the curl of his hair and the lines of his jaw. The watch around his wrist glints as he types, large hands moving in fluid, controlled movements. 

You sigh. 

He walks into your class later that week, and you determinedly avoid eye contact, thankful that he sits at a different table even if you wish he’d sit at yours. You have very little doubt in your making a fool of yourself should he so much as look your way. No, you think. Better to keep your head down and try to enjoy the class.

It’s difficult when, going on a month later, you’ve only become more enamoured. Jason, you learn his name, is kind. It horrifies you. You might’ve stood a chance had he dismissed you completely, but you get assigned to a table together and he is attentive when you speak, so good at coaxing your opinions out of you that you don’t even realise you’ve spoken until your other tablemates reply. It unnerves you, when his mouth quirks up into a half grin, smiling at you across the desk like you’re sharing a secret, and you don’t quite know what to do with it. 

The streak of white that ribbons through his black curls, the scar that bisects his brow and jaw–all of it intrigues you. But still…you hesitate. There is comfort in not disrupting the routine you have built, even if at times it gets to be a little lonely. Better to admire from a distance, even if sometimes it feels as though maybe he thinks well of you, too.

A few weeks into the semester, when the assignments have begun to loom ahead of you, and midterms grow closer, you walk out of the classroom and hear your name called out from behind you.

It startles you, and when you turn your stomach dips at the sight of Jason slinging his bag over his shoulder as he catches up to you.

“Hi,” he says, a little breathlessly, falling into step with you. You blink, offering him an unsure smile.

“Hi,” you reply. When the both of you pause, you raise your eyebrows, stepping to the side of the busy hallway. “Is everything okay?”

His eyes widen and his face breaks into an easy grin. “Oh, yeah, sorry. I wanted to say, I thought you made some pretty good points, earlier in class. Are you doing anything, now?”

You blink at him, biting at the inside of your cheek. He waits patiently, and you’re struck by how pretty his eyes are, teal and bright, framed by thick, sooty lashes. A freckle below his eye moves with every blink.

“I was going to study,” you say, and it sounds a little embarrassing to say, when you look away and catch sight of the lawns out of a window, sun soaked and green with spring’s approach. 

Jason doesn’t seem to mind it so much, only nodding his head when you look back at him. He looks a little unsure, then, scratching at the back of his neck.

“Do you mind if I come with?” he asks and you blink again. He offers up a rueful sort of grin. “I’m writing my essay on that Keats poem you kind of mentioned in your presentation, so I wanted to pick your brain a bit on that.”

“Oh,” you say, a little stunned. The aforementioned presentation had been nerve-wracking, and you’d felt the weight of his stare throughout what felt like the longest five minutes of your life. It almost made you long for the disinterested stares of the finance students. Almost. “Yeah, no, sure.”

“Cool,” he dips his head. And then he lifts it, looking a little sheepish. “Do you mind if we make a stop to get coffee, though? I’m kind of dying.”

You can’t help a grin at the way he admits that, letting out a small laugh. “That’s fine. I need to eat something, anyway.”

The campus cafe isn’t too busy when you enter, and you’re grateful for the lack of a rush. Jason leans down to peer at the desserts on display, and looks at you. 

“What are you getting?” he asks, and you shrug, telling him your usual coffee order. He nods absentmindedly, muttering a “That sounds good.”

He steps up to the counter, and lingers by your side while you give your order. You try your very hardest not to pay him too much attention, but the brush of his jacket against your arm makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up and you stutter over your order. When it comes for you to pay, you’re taken aback when a hand moves in front of your own and a card that is very much not yours taps against the machine. 

You look up at Jason, baffled. “Hey! You didn’t have to do that.”

He looks dead serious and unabashedly unapologetic as he steers you off to the side to wait for your order and explains, “I’m crashing your study session, it’s only fair.”

“I said it was fine, didn’t I?” you bluster, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. 

“You can get it next time, if you want,” he says simply, shrugging his shoulders. “But my dad would never let me live it down if I asked for your help and then made you pay for your own coffee.”

Your indignation pauses at the mention of his dad, a little charmed by the serious wide-eyed look he gives you, shaking his head at the thought. 

“I’ll hold you to that,” you say, then, even warmer in the face by the implication that there’ll be a next time. But it feels like the right thing to say when he nods, a slow, pleased smile blooming across his face.

The both of you find a table in a quiet corner in the library after, sunlight spilling in through the window to warm your fingers as you pull out your planner, nodding as Jason speaks in low tones about the essay topic he’d chosen for his midterm. He sits across the table from you, long legs stretched out next to yours and you’re careful as you stretch your own under the tabletop. 

For all he’d worried about crashing your study session, Jason does not speak much except to ask your thoughts on a line or two, spinning his laptop around so you can read over the lines he’s written. He’s a good writer, succinct and poetic without it reading too flowery–for an academic paper. You bite back the urge to ask him if you can read the whole paper when he’s done. It doesn’t feel so much like you’re helping him, than studying in his company. It feels a little surreal, and utterly comfortable at the same time. The silence is content, and settles over the both of you like a light cloak.

By the time you call it quits, it is late afternoon, and you feel a little drowsy. You part ways at your bus stop, climbing onto your bus after he insists on walking you there. He waits there as you board, and you offer a hand up in goodbye as the bus pulls away, pocketing the sight of his own raised in return.

The next week finds the both of you at the same table, and so does the week after that.

BLANK BLOGS DNI YOU WILL BE BLOCKED!

reader in this au u r so beloved to me shy and a little lonely pouring one out for the wallflowers everywhere u r so loved (reader in my other series is probably more outgoing so i wanted to switch it up but i think she'd be friends with reader in this au)

[clubdionysus]

[BAD DECISION #50] Jeon Jungkook... Again

warnings: a lil pda, exhibitionism, public escapades, no grace! no decorum! fingering, a lil titty worship, oral (m), cowgirl (yeehaw!), squirting, creampie, yum <3

notes: wow i wonder what song came out the week this chapter of bd was first published lmao

wc: 9K

bd total wc: 540k (ongoing)

AO3 | MASTERLIST | MINORS DNI

From across the table, Jeongguk cocks a brow. Hair devastatingly dishevelled, his lopsided grin is an indication not only of the alcohol in his system, but also of the way he kind of just feels drunk around you all the time. He could be as sober as a cold winter's morning, stark and frigid, and yet one look at you, one laugh escaping from your lips, one intrusion of your perfume upon his senses, and he'd go loopy.

This is nothing new. Nothing unprecedented.

But it's also never been so abundantly unashamed in front of your friends.

The slightly tempestuous look in his pretty features is all your fault - but it's your words causing it this time.

Embroiled with a conversation amongst friends, you're all a little loose-lipped. Saying things you'd maybe be a little shyer admitting sober. The topic of discussion is sex, and more specifically, how marriage changes it.

"Oh yeah?" He challenges you. "What makes you so sure you'd never lose the spark with Mr. Hypothetical Disco Ball?"

Jimin laughs at this. "Mr. Hypothetical-" He cuts himself off. Shakes his head. Is still smiling. "Yeah, alright, Jeongguk."

Jeongguk throws him a quick glance, but doesn't bite. Just grins. Turns his attention back to you. "Well?"

"Well, I just wouldn't," you shrug. "Sexual compatibility is like, one of the most important things in a relationship."

The candles flickering in the centre of the table illuminate you in the prettiest of lights, Jeongguk thinks. Now well past everyone's bedtimes, Seoyeon and Yoongi have retired to bed (which is what sparked the entire conversation in the first place). Dokyeom and Seobi weren't far behind, and Nabi's been off chatting with a slightly forlorn-looking Hayun. Part of you feels bad for chewing her out like you did, that the lasting memory of one of her best friends' weddings will be a confrontation with you, but your tolerance has been waning thin. It was only a matter of time until you snapped - and in all honesty, you don't think you were that bad.

Jeongguk hasn't even so much as looked in her direction for the entire evening. You wonder if it comes naturally, or if he's deliberately restraining himself, then decide it's better that you don't know.

Music hums through a small Bluetooth speaker, everyone serving the reception having gone home. A nightwatchman roams occasionally, not disturbing you.

Your less-than-subtle exchange on the dancefloor a little earlier was interrupted by Jimin chaotically rounding up the boys for a sing-along rendition of some song you'd never heard before but that they all knew by heart. A testament to their friendship. A staple in their lives before you met any of them. A show of their friendships. The kind that endure.

Watching on with a fond smile, you'd toyed with the bird around your neck.

Coming to stand beside you, Nabi was smiling, too. Said, "I know this is probably the last thing you want to hear, but she's not all bad. This has just been... hard for her."

And you don't doubt that this all has been hard for Hayun. She'd had a life up in Seoul that she'd given up when she ended it with her boyfriend. Came back to the city for her home comforts only to find a stranger sleeping in the bed that used to be hers. Suddenly didn't know her place and decided you were public enemy number one for stealing it from her.

Or at least, that's how you rationalise it in your head.

"You tell her to send me that text?" You asked a little nonchalantly. "I don't mind. I just want to know."

Nabi was silent for a moment. Sighed. "Thought it might help ease things a little."

Glancing across to her, you offered a small smile. "Was sweet of you to try." You looked back to the boys. Shrugged your shoulders. "It's hard to believe she wants things to be amicable when she does things like that at the dinner table."

Though you were looking ahead, you noticed Nabi nodding. "I'll speak to her."

"Don't worry," you said softly. "It's not the time, nor the place. I can handle her being shitty with me - I just don't want it to interfere with... well, whatever Gguk and I have going on."

"Seobi says you're together."

Denying it would have caused more harm than good by that point.

So you nodded.

"Yeah," you smiled, but it was weak. You didn't want it to seem like you were bragging, especially when it's not even technically accurate. "Yeah. We're together."

Nabi smiled then, too.

"Don't tell her I said this," she started, needing to mention no names. There's no chance in hell you'd tell Hayun anything. "But I'm glad you guys have worked things out. It's the happiest I've seen Jeongguk in a long time."

"Really?" You had chirped. You aren't sure what sparked the surprise - Jeongguk's happiness being out of character or that Nabi was glad you'd worked it out.

"Mhmm," she nodded, equally surprised you don't seem aware of this. That may be why you and Jeongguk are so well-suited - you're both clueless. It's sweet, she thought, even if a bit naive. "He doesn't realise how much of a mood-maker he is, either. When he's happy, the rest of them are too. Things have been really nice, lately."

There was no ulterior motive for Nabi's admittance. No attempt for it to mean anything more than exactly what she said.

Reaching out, she squeezed your arm. "I'll handle Yun. Don't let it ruin your night."

And so she's doing exactly that as the rest of you sit around a single table, half-finished bottles of wine topping up your glasses, or sometimes just being chugged straight from. It's making your life a lot easier, so you appreciate Nabi choosing to speak with Hayun now, but you do also fear a bit of an emotional reaction. You don't want to end the evening with a fight.

However, it's Jeongguk challenging you, now - and oh, how you adore it.

"There's more to a relationship than sex," he says. There's a heat to the way he says that word. Sex . It's sordid, in a way. Something you do. Do together. Alone. In the confines of his room, or yours. Beneath pouring showers, in cheap motel rooms. Nowhere too promiscuous, but it's never too late to change that.

It's a funny thing to think about, sex. How taboo it is, yet how fundamental it is to your lives. Everyone at the table enjoys it, in their own way. Has their own ideals. Preferences. Potentially the most personal of all secrets is how we like to be fucked.

The man opposite you knows all your secrets. Could recite, word for word, an idiot's guide to making you wet. Step one: be Jeongguk. Step two: tits. Step three: call you pretty. Or a slut. Or a pretty slut. Preferably a pretty slut, actually.

Of course, he could write sonnets about it too. Verses that would make angels weep, and the heavens open. Biblical, almost, is the way he adores his pursuits of sin with you. Can't comprehend that is a sin, because nothing feels more heavenly than being inside you. Fucking you. Filling you.

The way he shifts in his position slightly lets you know he's thinking about it. Is excited about the prospect of it.

And yet he's looking at you with eyes that are full of stars, twinkling in delight as they're laughing at you; at your embarrassment for all the times they've witnessed you come undone for him. Teasing, but not mocking. Never mocking.

He's not looking at you like he knows how you like to be fucked.

He's looking at you like he knows how you like to be loved.

"Maybe," you shrug, pushing such silly thoughts away from yourself. "And it's not top of everyone's priority list - but it's pretty high up on mine."

Danbi hums in agreement. "Nothing beats make-up sex."

"You wanna fight real quick?" Taehyung jokes, making her roll her eyes - but the way she looks at him would indicate that a fight is not needed for him to get what he wants. It earns a little laughter from the entire table, and segues the conversation onto some other nonsense about arguments, and how they're important in a relationship, too.

Wrapped up in conversation, you don't notice Jimin reaching for the cigar tin that had been tossed towards the centre of the table. He pops it open, the discussion around him drowning out the sound as he checks how many are left of Yoongi's stash.

Sitting beside him, Jeongguk glances down at the open tin, too. Leans in his chair a little and says something to Jimin you can't hear, but as they both get to their feet, you assume they're going for a smoke. Is confirmed when Jeongguk looks to you, and brings his fingers to his lips, imitating the gesture of taking a toke. Knocks his head to the side, eyes wide and warm, offering you the chance to join.

Shaking your head, you smile. Silently say that it's okay. You'll stay put.

He nods. Purses his lips into a pretty pout and presses a kiss into the air. There's a glimmer of light reflecting from his lips ring, and it catches the attention of Danbi, who watches the pair of you with a smile. When you blow a subtle kiss back, she rolls her eyes. Waits until Jeongguk has left, and Taehyung is embroiled in conversation with Hoseok and Namjoon to quietly say, "You guys are so cute, it makes me sick."

"Hm?" You hum with a smug little grin, taking a sip of your wine. "Who?"

"Oh, give over," she laughs. "You and Mr Hayun's future husband."

Now this does make you laugh. "God, she really was insufferable earlier, wasn't she?"

"Insufferable, insane, take your pick," Danbi nods. "How are you feeling about it all?"

It's a simple question, you think. One that should have a simple answer, but it doesn't.

On the one hand, Hayun made her bed. She can't be throwing tantrums, demanding that she should sleep in yours just because she doesn't like the sheets she chose.

You know it's not that simple.

"A little guilty," you awkwardly admit, only to be met with a look of bewilderment from Danbi. Laughing, you gesture to indicate it's not how it sounds. "No, I just mean... She's clearly suffering at the moment, isn't she? Why else be that be delusional?"

"Some people just are."

"Yeah, but she doesn't strike me as the type," you shrug. "Like, I don't understand how she would have fit into a group of friends like this acting like that , you know? Gguk said once that she's threatened by me, 'cause I've stolen her 'place' - and I just don't understand how the place I'm in could have ever belonged to her. There's gotta be more to it."

Danbi isn't so sure. Thinks that perhaps Hayun has always been awful - but Jeongguk also once told you that just because you've only seen the bad doesn't mean there isn't any good.

Which is funny, 'cause as Jeongguk exhales ashy air from his lungs, back against a wall separating a garden from a seating area, cigar in hand, he's saying the exact opposite.

"Just never realised how bad it was," he admits. Shakes his head. Passes the cigar over to Jimin, 'cause it's the last of the lot. "And now B has to bear the brunt of it. Just isn't fair."

Jimin nods as he takes a toke. The end of the cigar glows as he does so. Takes him a second or so to reply.

"Take it you heard what she said to DB earlier?" Jimin asks, to which Jeongguk nods. "Seobi?"

It's Jeongguk who nods, now, to let him know that yes, it was Seobi who told him. Just a casual comment said in passing. The mention of you, and how pleased she is for him. Teasing of his bashful smile, and then, "Hayun was trying to wind her up earlier."

"Hm?" Jeongguk had hummed.

"Something about a pact, and a frozen cake," is all Seobi had followed it up with. "Anyway, your girl's got a good head on her shoulders - just thought you should know."

He isn't really sure what he thought he had been expecting - that Hayun would come through with her promise of a white flag? No. He didn't think that at all.

It was part of the reason he didn't encourage you to make peace. Knew she'd do something like this. Knows, because she used to do it to him, too. Fight with him, and make him feel as if he'd done something wrong. Would always apologise first, just so that she could use it for their next inevitable argument. Would question the integrity of his dedication to their friendship. Say shit like, 'you never apologise' , or 'I'm always the one trying to fix things.'

A few moons ago, you had fought with Jeongguk over Hayun, and her ability to walk all over him. He had told you that she was trying to make things right, and he'd believed it. Believed her . Just like he always had done.

Makes him queasy to think of it, now.

These days he sees it for what it actually was; years of manipulation foolishly understood to be genuine care. The things she 'fixed' were only ever broken by her in the first place, and Jeongguk suffered in silence for fear of tarnishing her reputation. He didn't want people to think she was a bad person, because he genuinely did care.

Did. Past tense. Doesn't give a shit anymore, and also doesn't have to worry about her reputation. She's tarnishing that by herself, alone. He doesn't care to polish it. Will let it rust, and fall into disrepair, and she'll only have herself to blame.

Like the cake baked in the haze of his infatuation, his fondness for her was left to go stale by Hayun. He'd thrown the cake out before he'd even met you. Jimin's orders. An indication that perhaps it shouldn't have just been the cake - should have been the girl, too.

"I've already told her to back off," Jeongguk divulges as Jimin passes him back the cigar. "She's hell-bent on... I don't even know what. She's just being a pain in my arse."

"Well, that's exactly it," Jimin supposes. "Pain in your arse, thorn in DB's side. She's causing you both issues. Conditioning you to associate DB with, I dunno, the feeling of being annoyed, or whatever. Psychology. I reckon Joon'll know the right terms."

"Think the right term is 'being a bitch'," Jeongguk smirks, but is scornful in his tone. It's rare for him to speak so bitterly, and especially about Hayun, but at times like this, it's justified.

"You're not wrong," Jimin laughs. Is rather pleased at the change in Jeongguk's tone. Once upon a time, he thought he'd never see the day.

Jimin has seen Jeongguk through it all. Knows he has a tendency to go a little loopy when he thinks he's in love.

Jeongguk's not been like that with you. Okay, yes, fine, he's done some obscure things and is a little bit of a seasoned fibber now, when it comes to the nature of your relationship - but it's all harmless. Aced his exams even despite his infatuation, which is a rarity. He's perfectly smart and absolutely capable of getting the best grades, but often he lets his heart take priority over his head.

Stern in how carefully you made sure he studied, Jimin knows your influence on him was good. Knows you've the potential to help push him in the right direction for many years to come. Hopes that it will come naturally, and not as a burden.

"If you want Hayun to treat you guys with respect, then you've gotta do it too," Jimin adds after a moment of soft contemplation.

A frown settles into Jeongguk's features, affronted by the suggestion he doesn't respect you. Of course he does.

"Watcha mean?" He asks, a little agitated in his tone.

"In the sense that you keep downplaying what you are," Jimin says kindly, knowing that he's struck a nerve. Wants to remedy the situation, but also knows if anyone can be honest with Jeongguk, then it's him. "Now, you know I love you both - but if I have to hear either one of you say 'oohh, we're just friends' one more time, I will skin you both alive."

Admittedly, this does make Jeongguk smirk a little. "I feel like that's an overreaction."

"I feel like it's an underreaction. Has been driving me mad for months," Jimin deadpans, but Jeongguk knows he's joking. "Look, just sit with her when we go back in. Show us all, whether you explicitly state it or not, that you want to be with her."

Jeongguk doesn't reply. Just takes a final toke on the cigar before stubbing it out against the wall.

"Gguk," Jimin says softly. "Nobody cares what you do, or where you sit. There are only two other people in that room who will care, and only one of them has an opinion that should mean anything to you. Do what you like - but Noah would always sit next to Allie. Always."

The table you're all sitting around is large and round, with a tablecloth worth more than the dress you're wearing covering the surface. It drapes over your knees and keeps you warm in the chill of night that's taken hold of the venue. You could, of course, put Jeongguk's blazer back on, but it's currently over the back of your chair.

Though it's easy to forget, when the surroundings are so beautiful, you're still technically outside. The pavilion walls offer no shielding from nature - and that includes the bugs flittering around in search of light.

Thankfully, given the time of year, there aren't that many, and one of the candles has the citronella scent that you know is supposed to keep them away.

There's one pest that you don't mind intruding on your personal space, though, and as he chooses to take the seat beside yours, you're quietly pleased.

Glancing across, you welcome him back. "Hey."

With an arm resting on the table, the other falling to your lap, Jeongguk leans across and presses an incredibly small kiss to your shoulder. It's intrinsically natural, as if he's been doing it for years. Knows he'll be doing it for years to come, so what difference does it make?

Though you don't verbalise a response, you feel a warmth bloom on your cheeks, and a pretty smile on your lips. There's a shyness to you. An inability to know how to act.

He's sitting so close to you that your chair may as well become a loveseat. The scent of cigar smoke sticks to him. It dawns on you all rather quickly how much you'd like to taste it. You think of his tongue, and how it so often strokes against yours. The pressure of his lips. His hands on your waist. Pretty whispers in your ears.

The hand of his that had fallen to your lap takes advantage of the split up the side of your dress. Slips beneath the material. Grips your thigh.

And still, he says nothing. Is listening into the conversation beside him. Laughs at all the right times. Adds adlibs to the anecdotes of his friends.

Yet his grip remains firm.

It's not until he hears you embroiled in conversation with Namjoon and Hoseok that his grip eases - only to then trail higher.

Jimin was right. Noah would always sit next to Allie.

But Jeongguk isn't Noah. He never had to strong-arm you into a date. It just sort of happened.

Just like the birds, and the revelations of fears and everything that came as a result of them - they just sort of happened.

The one thing that was always calculated was the way in which he would touch you. How it would benefit you. Serve your purpose. Help you.

In turn, yes, it would help him but it was never the primary principle. Maybe it's wrong for him to associate emotional intimacy so much with physical acts, but he's always been this way. Jimin's earlier critiques ring in Jeongguk's ears. Part of him fear he's about to take things too far - but fears are made to be faced with you.

He doesn't make it obvious as he husks. "What's the word, B?"

There's only one word it could be. It's reserved for one thing, and one thing only - and the way Jeongguk's hand is getting closer and closer to the warmth of your pussy, it would suggest that's exactly what he's after.

"Chess," you reply, a little breathless at the fact he's asking you that in this moment. You think if he were to ever sit down and play chess, he'd get a boner instantly. Associates it too closely with fucking you. "Gguk-"

He turns to you for a moment. Smiles. Says, "Don't let me distract you. Say the word, and I'll stop," then returns to his own conversation. Acts as if his thumb isn't stroking across the lace of your underwear. Acts as if he isn't teasing you beneath table, with all of your friends around.

You lean forward a little in your chair to protect yourself from any prying eyes. The tablecloth hides you away, but you're not an idiot. Jeongguk's hand is under the table. Sure it'll probably just look like it's on your lap, but you know it isn't.

He grips your thigh. Pulls your legs apart just a tiny bit. Just enough so that his index and middle finger can press against you.

It takes everything in you not to gasp.

Instead, you make a point to contribute to the conversation. "Yeah, but he's a little overrated, don't you think?"

Namjoon and Hoseok focus their full attention on you. Are shocked you would say such a thing.

You're shocked by the way Jeongguk begins to pulse the pressure of his fingers.

He's in his own conversation with Danbi. Is laughing. Sounds so pretty. You bet he looks it, too. God . The way he feels is divine. Takes everything in you not to react.

"I'm sorry?!" Hoseok shrieks.

"Yeah, sorry, gonna have to agree to disagree on that one," Namjoon says. "KAWS is an icon."

"But everything is so... samey," you argue. Truth be told, you like the novelty of his collections, and remember the first time Hoseok managed to snag one of his pieces. His sheer elation at owning some of his favourite artists' work is enough for you to like KAWS by association at the very least. You're just to say something that will get them talking - 'cause the docile roaming of Jeongguk's fingers is getting harder to ignore. "Hobes, have you told Namjoon about yours?"

A little bashful but desperately wanting to boast, Hoseok jumps at the chance - and just in time because you need to give Jeongguk a look.

Not a ' chess ' type look. Just a ' why the fuck are you the hottest man alive?' look.

"Hm?" he hums when he clocks you glancing over to him. "You good, B?"

He speaks loudly. Makes your conversation known. Not secret.

"Yeah," you say, and it's remarkable how controlled your voice is, given the fact he's now pushing your underwear to the side. It's just a thong. No hardship - though he'd rather you weren't wearing one at all. "All good. You?"

There's a little height to your pitch. Beneath his slacks, Jeongguk's cock throbs.

"Perfectly fine, baby."

"Baby?" you smirk at the public use of such a name. No one else is listening to your conversation - but they could be, and that's what makes it so erotic. That, and that fact he's playing with your pussy, but that's neither here nor there. Quietly, hiding the conversation now, you ask, "Why?"

All he does is shrug. Smiles. Pulls his hand from between your legs and is insatiably pleased to see a frown automatically appear in the form of a pretty little pout on your lips. He almost thinks you whine, but it's so cutely quiet it's hard to tell.

He glances across to the rest of the table, making sure no one is paying attention to you - then subtly brings his fingers to his lips. Anyone looking would think resting them in a contemplative pose. Wouldn't notice the small kiss against the side of his index finger, or how it hides his tongue swiping the taste of you off of it.

You say nothing. Swallow.

Eventually, he replies all rather nonchalantly.

"Said it's important," he reminds you. Clarifies, "That sex is important for longevity." From the corner of his eye, he can see Nabi and Hayun returning to the table. Boner killer. "You wanna head back to the rooms?"

You've spotted them, too. Know it's probably why he wants to leave.

But you shake your head.

"I never said chess," you shrug. Turn your focus away from him, and lean so that your elbows are on the table, obscuring anyone's view of your lap.

Taking the bait, Jeongguk also resumes his previous position. Smirks, and knocks his head to the side when he lowers his hand only to find your legs already spread for him. "Fair play, B. Checkmate."

Oh, it's serene hearing him declare you a winner as Hayun takes her seat. He pays her no attention as his middle finger slips straight beneath the lace, and sinks into your soaked hole. His depth is shallow, the positioning not ideal, but you know this isn't about an orgasm - and it makes you wanna whine.

Still, you glance back and whisper, "Don't make me cum."

He breathes out an airy laugh. Shakes his head with a smile so bright it could blind. "You think I'd give them the luxury of witnessing that?"

"Touche," you say, but cut yourself short as he gets a little deeper and closer to your sweet spot. You know if he gets it, you're in trouble. Still, you temper your reaction. Subdue it - but he can feel you clenching. He knows.

Taking a sip on your wine, you clock Hayun's eyes on you. Raise your brows. Smile, as you put your glass back down. Raise one of your hands in front of your mouth as you lean across to Jeongguk and whisper, "You ever do this with her?"

He turns to you. Is stern in his gaze. Pushes his index finger into you, too. Smirks as a soft groan catches in your throat, just for him to hear. "Never."

You nod. Smile. Are satisfied with his answer, and how he feels as his fingers begin to gently scissors inside you. The way you wanna moan for him is outrageous. Would do anything he asks of you right now.

"Good."

Jeongguk has done so much with you that he'd never dare of doing with anyone else. You've sparked something in him; started a fire that he doesn't think will ever burn out. It's almost like there's a star where his heart once was.

"What about you, DB?" Jimin calls across the table, getting you involved in his conversation. Hayun is sitting beside him, so you know that's exactly why he's doing it.

"Hm?" you hum for clarification, and Jeongguk doesn't even think about stopping what he's doing. Your chin rests in the palm of one of your hands, while the other goes to wrap around his wrist and give you a little bit of control - also makes it look like you're holding hands, but that's totally not what you want Hayun to think is happening.

He's gentle as strokes upwards. Moves only his fingers. Is as subtle as he can be.

"Playing would you rather," he explains. "Big honeymoon or big wedding?"

"Oh, honeymoon, for sure," you say. Look across to Jeongguk, and say, "You?"

His eyes are soft as he looks at you as if he isn't two knuckles deep inside you. "You said honeymoon?"

You nod.

He reciprocates.

"In that case," he faces Jimin again. Smiles. Brushes his thumb against your clit. "Honeymoon."

It's taking everything in you not to fucking fold.

You're so wet that you're pretty sure there must be indicators of your arousal on your dress, which mortifies you - but you need to leave. Need him alone.

"Gambit," you say beneath your breath, eyebrows knitting together as your body twists ever so slightly.

And he just fucking laughs. Admittedly, he does slow his fingers, which is ideal, then husks, "Gambit? Who the fuck taught you that?"

"Google," you reply, and he notices how breathless you seem to be. The eyes you're looking at him with are desperate. Repeat the chess term: "Gambit."

He nods. Pauses his movements completely. It's not 'chess', but he's understanding you need a breather.

"You wanna go, B?"

The way you nod - eyes all wide and pitiful, lips pouty and desperate for him - revokes any ability he has to be difficult.

"Okay, baby," he nods back. "Give me a couple of minutes, okay?"

Glancing down to his lap, you know exactly why he can't stand - and it's the exact same reason you hope you won't be able to stand properly come tomorrow morning. Slowly pulling his fingers from you, Jeongguk is careful. As hot as it was knowing he was inside you and nobody knew, the awareness of exactly what he was doing dawns on him. Would mortified if anyone realised. In fact, if they knew, he might just die.

His desire to work you up in front of other people has been a work in progress. Since that first time he teased you about fucking you right so that Jimin could learn pointers from him, it's grown and grown. There's something incredibly sordid about it. He doesn't even realise how fast his heart is beating. Thought he'd had control on the situation, but it was more like the situation had control on him.

Fingers wet, he keeps them on your thigh. Not really caring about your own mess, you put your hand over his. Intertwine your fingers. Are aware of how nasty and dirty it is - but it only makes you want him more.

You've both had a few too many drinks. Are both in the market to make some bad decisions.

And as you excuse yourselves from the table a couple of minutes later, Jeongguk's blazer over your shoulders, your arm wrapped around his waist, everyone knows exactly what's happening.

"Not on my bed!" Jimin calls after you both, as the rest of your friends joke and tease at your expense - as if they wouldn't do the same.

"Fuck off," Jeongguk yells right back, but is smiling as he does so. Presses a kiss to your hair. Whispers, "Ignore them."

"What?" you giggle. "Are we not gonna do it on his bed?"

"No, we're not," Jeongguk laughs right back. "Though now you mention it, when we're back home, we should probably rectify your lack of orgasms in his bedroom-"

"We are not fucking in his room."

" Sure ."

Truth be told, you'll fuck Jeongguk anywhere - especially when you're as desperate as you are now.

The pair of you haphazardly make your way back to the hanoks. There's not a second that goes by that isn't filled with laughter or mumbles of adoration. Occasionally, he'll pull you in for a kiss, and sometimes you'll do the same. It's all very sickening.

Above you, carefully planned by the happy couple for their big day, a full moon smiles down on you. Bathes you in her light. The skies are clear, stars abundant, yet none shine as brightly as the pair of you do.

When you reach your home for the night, Jeongguk wastes no time. Kicks off his shoes, and as you're getting rid of yours, he unhooks Hoseok's name from your door, and swaps it with his own.

"What?" he grins when you reprimand him. "It'll give him and Joon a chance to snuggle up."

"Jimin'll be a third wheel, again," you laugh pitifully.

"Maybe," Jeongguk nods, pulling around your waist to get you closer. Presses a teeny tiny kiss to your nose. "You have any idea how much I would have killed for the chance to snuggle up with you from the get-go? I'm doing them a favour."

"Oh, so you've always been obsessed?" You tease.

"Obsessed," he nods, and sinks down into a kiss. "Plus who knows - maybe Jimin will snuggle with them too. I hear polyamory is getting popular these days."

"Are you saying you wanna be poly?" you raise a brow, deliberately winding him up.

"Not a fuckin' chance," he grins. Keeps holding you tight as he guides you both to the room that now has both of your names on the door. He locks it as soon as you're inside, 'cause there's no way he isn't getting you naked tonight. "Never sharing. Too greedy." There's a tenderness to his hands as he cups our jaw. Pulls you in for a kiss, lips soft, tongue timid. As he pulls away, nose nudging again yours, he whispers, "I want to be with you, B. I don't care about the dates. Nothing will change between now and finishing them."

"If that's the case, there's no harm in waiting?" you toy with him a little, secretly in full agreement. You just like to wind him up a little too much for your own good.

"'Cause I don't wanna," he simply states. Pulls back a little and removes his touch from your skin. Hangs his head, chin to his chest. Shakes it. Looks at you once more, and you swear his eyes have never had such a gravitational pull to them before. You wanna drown in them; sink into his abyss. But then he frowns, and says, "I need to know that this what you want, 'cause if you turn around decide that you don't, I-"

The way he cuts himself off is painful.

"Gguk," you say, reaching for his hands. Pull him closer. "Hey?" you whisper, a hand on his cheek, aligning his gaze with yours. "I want you in any capacity you'll let me have you."

It's true. You want him as your lover, but you'll take him as your friend, if that's what he so desires. Feel honoured to know him. Think that perhaps he was put on this earth just for you.

"All of them," he whispers, nudging his nose against yours. There's a neediness to him now. Desperation. "Every capacity that exists. Every universe, every reincarnation, all of it. B, I want it all."

"You're right," you smile, pressing your lips up against his. "You are greedy."

"Told you so."

It's sweet, the way Jeongguk plonks himself down on one of the floor mattresses. Cute how he pouts, and reaches out for your hands. Adorable, even, when he gently pulls you onto his lap.

You're still in his blazer, so he pulls it open a little and dips his hand into the inside pocket. You'd noticed something in there earlier, but had just assumed it was a pen, or a lighter. It's his jacket after all, not yours.

Which is why you're so pleasantly surprised, all purry and pliant, when he pulls a tube of your liquid glitter from it.

"You wore less than normal today," he says. It isn't critical. Just an observation.

"Was worried it'd look weird in the photos," you admit. It was one of many reasons you chose to tone it down.

Watching with a fond smile as Jeongguk unscrews the cap, you say nothing. Just wait for him to hold the end of the wand by your face. Tilt your head ever so slightly so that he has access to your cheekbone.

"Would have looked pretty," he hums, as he begins to dab it against your skin. Smiles, when it begins to sparkle. Taps it out with his finger. Gets himself all glittery, too. Curls his finger and uses it to turn your chin and give him access to your other cheek. Repeats his steps. "The glitteriest girl."

Almost as if you're only just realising, you smile. "You really like the glitter, huh?"

The way Jeongguk nods, nibbling down on his bottom lip, looking at the glitter as he taps it out, has your heart beaming. "You know I do."

"Sometimes I forget," you smile a little cheekily, flirting with him for the sake of it.

Realigning your head, Jeongguk admires his handwork. Says, "Well, you shouldn't. I love it."

There's a silence between you both that is equal parts comfortable and terrifying. He could have just said he likes it. He chose to elevate the way he feels about your trivial little cosmetic choices. Deliberately, you think.

Are unaware that it was totally mindless. Uncalculated. Just a simple truth. He loves your glitter.

Nose nudging up against his, your body begins to move in a way that gets Jeongguk a little breathless. Glitter discarded to the side, his hands take command of your waist. Lets you take control of this moment, but is still very much an active participant.

Lips pressing down into his, you revel in the sensation of Jeongguk; how his stunted breaths feel against your cheek, exhaled through his nose, how with every press of his lips, his hands get tighter, too. There's something impressive about the tandem way in which his body works. He's forever aiming to please. Tries so hard.

And as you begin to grind against the bulge in his trousers, he's trying his best not just to give in and let you have him. Not for any reason. Just 'cause he always wants this to last as long as it possibly can.

While you'd normally agree, you're too needy to play the long game.

Reaching down for his belt, you're pleased that he lets you. Pleased when he pushes the blazer off your shoulders and down your arms. You shake it off, while he finishes unbuckling his belt.

"Sure?" he asks, just because he doesn't want you to regret not living up to the five-date rule.

"Positive," you nod, lips crashing against his as your hands clumsily race to unbutton his shirt. He reciprocates, pulling on the bows tied above your shoulders, letting your dress fall to reveal the barely-there underwear you're wearing. It's the dresses fault. You hadn't planned on looking so scandalous, but it was the only bra of yours that wouldn't show.

Mesh with a little lace detailing over your nipples, Jeongguk's never seen it before. Is always pleasantly surprised when he's greeted with a new way to find you unbearably sexy.

"God, I'm gonna fuck you so hard," he grits, not even realising he's saying it before he tugs the mesh down. His lips wrap around your nipple, sucking without hesitation. Your head is thrown back, the sensation so terribly missed. Hands in his hair, your body is his to devour.

Tongue swirling around your hardened bud, he truly is a new man because of you. Seldom days pass without thoughts of your tits, and how much he likes to suck on them. Something about it just gets him so hard. He knows he could probably work out some primal reason to do with fertility or whatever the fuck it is, but he doesn't care to. All he cares about is how much cock aches in his pants whenever he's got your nipples in his mouth.

"So good," you whine. "Fuck."

He switches sides, caressing your other nipple with his thumb to keep the pleasure going. He'd do this for hours, if you let him. Doesn't realise you totally would.

Humming a purr of pleasure as he sucks, Jeongguk lashes splay over his cheeks. He's so pretty when he's like this, you always think. So gorgeous when he's yours.

"Keep doing that, baby," you whine, and the sweetness of such a name makes him whine, too.

Pulling away for just a moment, Jeongguk dapples your chest in kisses as he presses your tits together. Manipulates them to get your nipples as close together as he possibly can - then wraps his lips around them both.

The curse you let out is euphoric. Has him smiling.

His tongue is wet as he licks across your nipples, head darting from side to side. He keeps your tits pressed close together and builds his speed. Doesn't ease up, but occasionally he does dip forward ward to suck on one of your nipples quickly.

It's as he's doing this that you get to work on his trouser buttons, desperate to do the exact same thing to his cock.

Pulling away, you strip yourself of your dress as Jeongguk rids himself of his clothes. It's frantic in a way that you haven't known for quite some time. Desperate. Pathetic.

And yet as you're greeted with the sight of his swollen cock, all big and engorged, leaking at the tip from how badly he wants to be inside you, you pause. Let the breathlessness of your chest heave as you get into position between his legs.

Slow as you sink into a feline pose, one of your hands instantly wraps around the base of his thick cock. "I've missed this so much."

Jeongguk grunts. "It's missed-" your tongue runs up his shaft. "Oh, fuck."

Words are difficult for him to form as you take his cock in your mouth. Just like him, you're not wasting any precious time. All you want is to make him feel good - and as your mouth wets him, tongue caressing, hand tight around his base, he knows he'll never love another pair of lips more (though your pussy is a close second (or joint first ( undoubtedly joint first))).

"Fuck," he grits as his hand tangles in the back of your hair, pushing you a little further onto his cock. There's something about this loss of autonomy that gets you wild. Makes you wanna submit to each and every one of his commands - and so you sink down even deeper than he's making you. Indicating permission for him to be rougher - but instead, grip still at the base of your hair, he pulls your back. Is unbelievably turned on by the breathlessness of you, pouty lips covered in spit, desperate to be around his cock.

It only serves to make you fucking drip when you realise he's panting too. "Need a chess gesture," he husks. Wants to be rough, but you're both drunk. Doesn't think it's the right time. "Can't say it when you're giving head."

"I'll just hit your leg, or something," you tell him, not giving a fuck and dipping back down to take him again - but his grip on your hair says otherwise.

"Uh-uh," he grunts, using the grip to pull you up again. There's something so innately dominant about it that makes you whine. He pulls you further upwards, dropping a hand to your waist to help his agenda. Gets you on his lap. His tongue in your mouth. His grunts in your throat. His heart in your chest. "I've missed this so much. You know how many times I've watched those videos?"

You know the ones he's talking about; the one filmed together in moments of lewdness. Moments that would look tame compared to how animalistic you both are now.

"Tell me," you pant, as you begin to grind against him, desperately hoping he'll choose to push up inside you.

"On repeat," he whispers against your throat, nipping it with his teeth. "Watched them on fuckin repeat, B."

"Yeah?" You purr. "You like watching me play with myself?"

"You know I fuckin' do."

"It makes you cum?" You ask, as if it even needs an answer. You just like it when he gets all chatty. Have missed how loose his lips get when the blood rushes from his brain to his balls.

" You make me cum," he grunts, all dignity evading him. Swears down he wouldn't even get close to an orgasm if it wasn't you in those damn videos. "I watch you , and I think about how you feel, how you taste. How you smell. Fuck. I see you like that, and it makes me wanna see it in motion all over again. 3D. Off-screen. Videos are good, but fuck ."

"This is better?" You softly whine as you finally sink down onto his cock, unprotected, and frankly without a fuck to give.

"You really do ask some stupid fuckin' questions," he smirks. Presses his lips into yours. Is rough. Doesn't care for perfection. Pushes deeper into you, and revels at the way your body stretches for him, the whine in your throat an indicator of just how badly you've needed this. "Normally so smart when you're on my cock, arent you? Huh? What's got you so dumb today, baby?"

Does he really expect you to form cognitive thoughts when his thick cock is stretching you out for the first time in forever? He must be mad.

"You," is all you manage to husk before his lips crash down onto yours, hips pulsing into a rhythm that has you moaning into his mouth. "Gguk-"

"That's it, baby," he whines. "Taking me so well."

There's an undeniable chemistry between you both; an acknowledgement that sex has never been like this with anyone else. That if you lose this, you'll never find it anywhere else. Jeongguk knows it just as damn well as you do. Refuses to let that ever be a reality.

His eyes drop to where your bodies meet, his thick shaft pushing into your swollen pussy. Finds himself breathless. Swallowing. Groaning, "Tell me how it feels."

He needs confirmation that you're going out of your mind like he is - and of course you are. It's the whole reason you can barely speak.

"So good," you gasp out. "Making me feel so good."

"Yeah, baby?"

"Yeah," you nod helplessly, brows furrowed, mouth ajar. There's a beauty to the way you bounce on his cock, and how the rest of your body moves too. Jeongguk thinks you should be in one of those red-light district shows in Amsterdam. Knows he'd pay an insane amount of money to watch you have sex - but the fact he gets to fuck you? For free? Ain't no way he'll ever take it for granted. Brushes his thumb against your clit and squeezes at your chest. He wants you to know how much he desires every single part of you. "Fuck, Gguk."

"Shush, shush, shush," he hushes you fondly, covering your mouth with his hand, pulling your chest down to his. Your hair cascades around his face, and he's glad for it. Wants to suffocate in everything you are. "Too loud, gorgeous."

"Thought you wanted people to know?"

"I want them to know I make you moan," he teases, uncertain of when your friends will head back, too. "Don't want them to know how you moan."

He's got a funny way of showing it as his arm wraps around your back to hold you in place as his hips begin to pulse up into you at such a speed you can't help but whine. His spare hand claps your wrists and holds them behind your back, too, rendering you at his complete mercy.

"Shhh," he coos, as if you can stop.

The only option is to bite down on his shoulder - and he finds that it only serves to turn him on even more.

"Good girl, baby," he praises. "Keep it quiet."

"Fuck you," you pant, but have to bite down again immediately with the way his hips thrash against yours. He's deliberately making this hard for you. Enjoys the way you can barely contain how he makes you feel.

There's a silkiness to the way he fucks you, his cock fitting you perfectly. The warmth of your walls and the pace of his hips creates a sensation that could never be matched. Will never be matched.

Turning your head to the side, you press kisses up his neck, barely able to control your whines. He tilts his head to meet yours, and kisses you without reservation. Is utterly consumed. The weight of your body on top of his is so comforting, and yet the sensation of your hot walls tightening around him is insanely sexy. You make him feel a dozen different emotions with each passing second. It's overwhelming. Unbearable. Too good to ever stop.

"Babe," you whimper as a familiar sensation begins to make itself known.

"I know," he nods. "Me, too. Oh God, you're so fucking good, baby."

You shake your head. You don't think he does know. Use all your core strength to sit up. He lets you without hesitation, and drops his grip. Knows you're gonna do whatever you need to do to make this good for yourself - and you start rubbing against yourself with more speed than he thinks he's ever seen, he realises what you meant.

There's a soft whine reserved for moments like these; that only come with orgasms like this one. Jeongguk wants to bottle them up. Save them forever. Instead, just has to drink them in, and watch on as the most beautiful, outrageous display of sensuality he's ever seen takes place right in front of him.

"Oh, fuck," he curses. Nods. Encourages. "All over me, baby. C'mon, Byeol. You know how I like it. Squirt for me."

His hips pick up the pace. He knows you need it. Knows that it only happens when you're overwhelmed by pleasure, and needs it more than he needs his own orgasm. Isn't even thinking about it.

The way you're whining, all breathless and pathetic, is like music to his ears. Spanking against your clit, you feel a numbness in your arms. The control you have is waning, the state of pleasure simply too much. It shoots from your toes to your tummy, and then there's nothing you can do except let the onslaught of your pleasure gush around his shaft.

"That's it," he encourages, still pulsing his hips for you. "Yeah, you got it, baby. That's it- fuck ."

Whimpering as you soak him, you can barely manage to get a word out, but manage to stutter, "Inside. Inside ."

He doesn't need telling twice. Waits until he can't take the clenching of your walls any longer, but can't wait it out entirely. Groans as his cock pumps into your pussy, coating your walls with his thick, hot, cum. The way his whines, eyes closed, back arching, chest stuttering is pathetic. Lewd. Gorgeous.

Collapsing down onto his chest, you can't speak. Nor can he. Are in a mutual state of fucked fucked out bliss. You're breathing far too heavily. It's a miracle you can breathe at all.

One of his hands lazily comes to rub up and down your back. Though he doesn't utter a word, you know that he's feeling the exact same way you are.

Soft in how he touches you, Jeongguk presses a kiss into your hair. Rubs a flat palm over his face. Exhales the deepest breath known to man, and eventually says, "I'm never going that long without fucking you ever again."

You laugh now, still breathless. "Almost forgot how good it was."

"Liar," he smiles, and presses a kiss to your bare shoulder, now. "The way we fuck, B... You don't forget shit like that."

Turning your head, you press a sweet kiss into his lips and ignore the uncomfortable dampness between you both.

The world is always quiet in the comedown of sex with Jeongguk. It's like there's an emptiness, for nothing will ever compare. You're not sure if it's a lifetime or mere minutes before you both eventually get up. A shower is needed and your friends are yet to head to bed, so you're in the clear. Shower together in one of the two shared bathrooms amongst you all. Jeongguk holds you constantly. Washes you. Kisses you endlessly. Treats you with such adoration you don't think you'll ever be able to convince anyone you're 'just friends'.

Tucked in the corners of the Hanok, the journey to your room from the bathroom is only six or seven steps. Wrapped in fluffy white towels - packed by Jeongguk, of course - you're both in a state of bliss as you begin to walk to your room. It'd be perfection, if the grating voice of a little shit who loves being proven right didn't start cackling.

"Hello, lovers," Jimin beams.

"Oh, fuck," you say in unison.

Thing is, it's not just Jimin.

It's everyone .

Jeongguk does not have the capacity to deal with any of them. Hurries you into your room.

"Get fucked, Jimin," he calls back, the sound of his housemate's laughter echoing into the night.

"I'd tell you the same," Jimin yells back with absolute joy as the door slams behind Jeongguk. "But I'm pretty sure you already have!"

[testingthewatersss]

Halloween Bucky Barnes x F Reader Oneshot 5000 words fluff, mild angst, comfort, very light-hearted and mild smut. 18+ MDNI Reader is Tony's sister, a non-enhanced shield agent who reappeared after TWS. The halloween party turns out much better than expected.

It’s Halloween.

Well, it’s the night before Halloween, but it’s also a Saturday. It’s the Saturday before Halloween, which means a party. 

A Stark party. 

This, of course, means that every single person who lives in Avengers Tower is expected to attend. 

Including Bucky.

She had told him that his attendance was not mandatory. Tony had mirrored the sentiment with less interest, too. So he probably could’ve gotten out of the whole affair, had it not been for Steve’s excitement. 

His clear, untempered excitement at the mere prospect of attending a party with his best friend. 

“It’ll be just like the good old days, Buck! Except you’ll only have one dame on your arm this time- I’d hate to see Y/N's face if you asked her to bring a friend for me”

He hadn’t had the heart to tell him that he really, really didn’t want to go.

The idea of a bustling party, full of strangers and loud music doesn’t sound fun to him anymore.

No, now it fills him with dread. Dread that’s only worsened by the addition of the ‘costume required’ rule, and his inability to get drunk along with the rest of the crowd. 

So, he’d nodded along, intending to address his concerns later. 

Maybe offering Steve a night out together instead. Just the two of them. That’d be much more akin to the ‘good old days’ anyway. It’s not like lavish billionaire parties were the kind of things they were doing together before the war. 

Even if he’s been dating one of said billionaires for over a year. 

Y/N is probably the main reason that conversation never happened with Steve. If she hadn’t been going there would’ve been no way in hell that Bucky would’ve even entertained the idea of going himself. 

But she is going. And the idea of a night without her is almost worse than the idea of the party. 

So now, it’s too late to back out. 

He’s dressed up like James Dean because out of all the ideas that had been thrown around, it was the outfit that seemed the least intrusive. It’s basically a leather jacket and some hair gel. Tony had scoffed at the concept, making a ‘Tin-man and Dorothy’ suggestion that had earned a scolding from Y/N, who had beamed at the idea and agreed to go as Audrey Hepburn to complete the look. 

He hasn’t seen her all day. 

He misses her, and it shows. 

Steve is at his side, dressed in an ornate ‘Count Dracula’ ensemble which, paired with the black spray he’s put in his hair looks awful. 

The fake fangs are funny, though. And his excitement had been infectious. The playful chattering and obvious glee had been hard to ignore all day, so, he hadn’t tried. He’d let himself get swept up in the atmosphere;

“She’s running late” Natasha announces, rounding a corner dressed as Marylin Monroe, “apparently there was a change of plan”

“What kind of change?” Steve asks before Bucky can— 

“She lost a bet” Bruce says, also coming into view. 

His costume idea is good. 

He’s dressed as Tony, complete with a fake arc reactor and drawn-on facial hair. 

If Bucky had a better relationship with the man he might’ve considered that one for himself.

“With who?” he presses, curiously spiking;

“Who do you think?” Tony answers gleefully, “You’re goin’ to love this”

He’s addressing Natasha when he says that, which he thinks is strange. But, Bucky purses his lips in silent consideration.

What kind of bet? he thinks, And why is Natasha going to like it?

A few more minutes pass in the same kind of ‘excited haze’.

Everyone is talking and most of them are drinking, glasses clinking in toasts. Steve has a beer in his hand, but Bucky knows that it’s empty now.  

His own is almost drained, too. The taste is familiar and comforting, even if it’s not doing what it used to in regards to calming his nerves.

His nerves are getting more and more frayed with every passing second that she doesn’t arrive. 

Everyone else is accounted for. 

Steve, and Tony. Bruce, Natasha, Clint, Rhodey, Sam, Wanda and Vision- all present, all wearing their outfits. 

God, even Happy has arrived, wearing his usual suit, but with the addition of sunglasses which he says make him a ‘man in black’.

Bucky thinks he looks a bit like a HYDRA officer who he worked for, once. He decides not to mention it.

“Come on, princess!” Rhodey yells, in the general direction of the stairs- “I’m sure your hair looks fine!”

He’s dressed as Fury. It’s funny, but, when no reply comes to his shouting, Bucky can’t help but frown. 

Tony, however, snorts out a laugh that makes all eyes snap at him. 

“What did you bet, anyway?” Steve asks

“That my new gamma-wave equation was compatible with her old nuero-partical theory-” he answers, “-She said it wouldn’t be because she didn’t believe I’d read her paper.”

“I meant what were the stakes” 

“Oh” Tony chuckles, knowing that only Bruce would’ve understood the concept of the dispute anyway, “If she won, I was going to have to cover the internship paperwork for the rest of the year—“

“—And if you won?” Natasha cuts in, suspicious. 

“He got to change my costume for tonight” Y/N's voice answers, from out of view.

Any relief that Bucky expected to garner from hearing her voice is dampened by how sullen she sounds. 

It doesn’t suit the usual lilt of her voice. 

It worries him. He feels both of his hands tightening into fists and is suddenly grateful for how he’d placed his beer bottle on the side. 

“Oh no you don’t!” Tony commands, instantly animated, “Back up stairs! FRIDAY- Que the music!”

“Tony!” Y/N objects, tone slipping towards pleading, “Ple-”

Her “please” is drowned out by the loud start of a song. 

A familiar song. 

Steve recognises it first. His eyes widening as every single person that has gathered in the common room moves, all adjusting their positions so that they have a clear view of the stairs.

Bucky is no different. 

He walks a little too fast, the vibration from the speakers filling him with urgency. 

‘Star spangled man, with a plan'

The tune builds, and then he feels his face click with remembrance;

It was the song they used to parade Steve around too. With a haram of women in short skirts-

“I’m going to kill you,” she says, louder than the music, “Tony, I swear to god—”

‘and I tell you there’s no substitute— the Star, Spangled, Man, with a plan’

and then, the venom in her voice makes sense. 

As she appears at the top of the staircase, almost unrecognisable, Bucky thinks it makes perfect sense.

So does her brother's untempered laughter, and the way that he’s snapping pictures on his cell phone. 

Her usually brown hair is blonde. Shoulder length in soft waves, her lips are painted bright, apple red, which, hair colour aside isn’t too abnormal for her, but-

God, she’s… she’s dressed like Steve.

She’s wearing the full Captain America suit, skin tight and colourful with the shield slung over one of her shoulders. 

As she starts to walk down towards the crowd, Bucky realises that his jaw is hanging open, so he snaps it shut. 

“Give us a smile, Cap!” Tony gears, cell phone aimed at his sister's face, “and maybe a salute”

“I will break your fucking jaw-” she threatens.

“Language” Natasha scolds, failing to conceal her grin;

Y/N's head snaps towards her friend, and then, she moves her hand, flipping her the bird before turning to glare at her brother again. 

“Can I at least lose this wig?”

“No” Tony answers quickly, “No, I think it really ties it all together”

“You’re an asshole” she hisses, “You’re not even wearing a costume”

“Yes I am” he retorts, almost offended, “I’m dad!”

“You’re who?!” she splutters, totally taken aback, “You- You’re going as dad?!”

“Yes” Tony replies with a smirk, ”but, young dad, y’know- not-”

“You haven’t even shaved” she says, pointing at his face, “He had a moustache- not a goatie”

“I couldn’t find a razor” he lies, not even trying to hide his glee, “and all I needed to finish the look was-”

“Son of a bitch” Y/N curses, realisation setting in, “you made me wear this so I could be your accessory?”

and then a ripple of laughter washes over everyone. 

Everyone except for Y/N, and Bucky, who is still staring at her, awestruck. 

“You’re a jerk,” she says when everything settles;

“That’s more like it” Tony says, “throw in a couple of ‘sons’, maybe a self-richeous speech about justice here and there-“

“Hey” Steve objects, suddenly realising that at least part of this might be at his expense, 

Tony beams again, excitement unwavering under his sister's glare.

and then there’s silence. 

The sibling's dynamic is strange at the best of times, and in situations like this, the entire mood of the evening is going to be decided by how well either party decides that they can take a joke. 

“Just wait until next year” Y/N sighs at last, “I’ll get you for this- I swear”

“I bet you will” Tony agrees, looking falsely contrite, “But for tonight-”

“I’m your star-spangled man with a plan,” she says, defeated.

He bursts out a “ha!” and turns to celebrate his victory with Rhodey and the others. 

 Y/N takes the moment of reprieve to finally meet Bucky’s gaze. She takes a few steps towards him, before smiling in acknowledgement of Steve, too. 

“Sorry about leavin’ you in the lurch with the outfit,” she says, “at least you’re basically just dressed as yourself.”

Steve chuckles at her, even though she’d been talking to Bucky, and then he comments on her hair. 

“It’s a wig,” she says off-handedly, “What’s in yours anyway? Shoe polish?”

That makes Bucky laugh for the first time that evening. 

A real, true laugh. 

He’s not even sure why. The jibe hadn’t been that funny. Not really. But he’s giddy with relief that she’s okay. That she’s safe and finally here, and her outfit is… ridiculous, he knows it is, but he can’t help but find himself captivated by it all the same. 

Y/N beams in response to his outburst regardless. Smiling at him with her with her painted lips like he’s the best thing in the world.

That’s how she always looks at him. It’s so familiar that he can almost ignore the costume. 

“It’s not your shield,” she tells Steve, “Or your suit, don’t worry”

“I wasn’t worried” Steve replies, “I was wondering how it fit you so well”

Bucky laughs again, and this time he realises that both of them are grinning at him. 

“You look great, doll” he says when he catches his breath, “I’ve never really been into blondes but I think you pull it off”

“I can’t wait to pull it off-” she mutters, tugging at the fake hair with dismay, “-but, thank you.”

And then, everyone’s moving. 

The room is a blur of motion. Everyone is abandoning bottles and cans and glasses and heading towards the elevators. 

And Bucky is holding Y/N's hand while he lets Rodgers knock against his shoulder and make jokes about candy. 

They have to split into groups for the cars. 

Y/N and Tony have to go together with Happy, so, with a pout and a kiss on his cheek, she leaves Bucky with Steve and Sam. 

Wilson teases him a little about how love-sick he is, but Steve doesn’t let the ribbing go on for too long before he silences him with a fatherly glare that makes him the target of the jokes. 

Bucky doesn’t have to come to his rescue because their car pulls up just after the Starks have left. 

He hates being driven around. 

The feeling of being forced to be still in the back of a moving vehicle is unpleasant. But not unfamiliar.

Steve is too polite to comment on the way that his flesh knuckles turn white as he makes a tight fist on his lap. Or, how on the way he flinches, hard, when they stop at red lights.

“Easy” Sam chides, ignorant of the reason behind the response, “we’re in an armoured car- relax a little”

“I think Tony called it luxury” Steve cuts in, trying to be supportive and change the subject, “but he’s right, Buck- Everything’s fine- 

“Luxury or not” the other man replies, “We’re still in the billionaire equivalent of an armoured tank—”

“Yeah?” Bucky gristles, tired of the patronising tone, “So was Howard Stark” 

His remark sours the atmosphere instantly. 

Steve goes to put a hand on his knee but he jerks it free before he really makes contact. 

Sam just falls into an awkward silence that Bucky thinks is much more tolerable than his attempt at conversation. 

They arrive exactly seven minutes later. 

He knows because he’s been counting. 

Y/N had taught him to do that. When they’d been talking about ‘coping techniques’ he’d scoffed at the usual suggestion of deep breathing. 

“Deep breathing doesn’t help when you feel like you’re somewhere you can’t catch your breath, doll”

“No” she’d agreed, patient as always, “No, I don’t suppose it does.”

She wasn’t the first person to talk to him about ways that might help him feel better. She was probably the first person to listen to him, though;

“What did you used to do when you really couldn’t?” 

He stared at her blankly for a few seconds before she’d taken pity on him and smiled. 

“When you couldn’t catch your breath.” 

Oh-

“You mean…” he’d gulped, “You mean when I was there?”

“mhmm”

“Whatever I was told”��

That was the first time he’d been really honest with someone who’d tried to ask him about that. The answer had slipped out before he’d had a chance to think about it, but when he’d had a moment or two to process what he’d just admitted, he’d been so embarrassed that Y/N's palm on his cheek had jarred him. 

Jarred him so much that he’d jolted in place, the panic that they’d been previously discussing flaring in an embarrassing display. 

“..Okay…” Y/N had exhaled, “… you’re okay…”

A jerky nod hadn’t reassured her much, but it’d been all he could offer her at the time. 

“What are you doin’ right now, huh? Nobodies telling you what to do now.”

“I-“ he’d stammered, suddenly unsure, “-I’m counting”

“Counting?” she’d pressed, curious “Alright… Let me know how high you get”

And then he’d been crying. He’d broken down and sobbed into her shoulder until his chest had stopped racing. 

Then, he’d been able to explain, very shakily, about how sometimes they’d kept him masked for so long that arbitrarily counting in his head had been his only way of not losing whatever scrap of sanity he’d had left.

He could always count. 

No matter what terrible thing was happening to him. No matter what heinous thing he was being made to do to someone else. 

He could manage counting. 

“So” she’d whispered, stroking his hair back, “That’s what you do… You count.”

and he still counts. 

and, because he’s been doing it for so long, he’s quite good at matching his silent clock to actual seconds. 

and, by the time they’re all exiting the car, it’s only been another 20.

The atmosphere is still awkward. Even with the removal of the car from the equation. 

“You okay, Buck?”

It’s Steve asking. Concerned, now. 

He feels a sharp stab of guilt when he blinks his eyes over to him and sees that it’s genuine. That the playful, childish excitement from before is gone, replaced by fatherly worry.

“I’m fine, Stevie” he replies, deliberately making his tone light-

When he sees that he’s not buying it, Bucky smiles. 

“I’m not a good passenger” he allows, “but I’m fine.”

That seems to work a little. The honesty does, anyway. 

“Look” Bucky sighs, placing his flesh hand precisely on his shoulder, “This is all a little hard on me…even the car rides-”

“-You’re doin’ awesome, Buck-”

“-Give it a rest” he chuckles, jostling him a little, “I’m workin’ on some stuff, don’t worry about me.”

The latter part is what sticks with Steve. 

He looks directly at his old friend, reading his face for a full 4 seconds before nodding in agreement. 

“I can’t take you seriously with that hair,” Bucky says, breaking the tension as they head towards the back entrance, “How did you do it?”

“Natasha gave me some spray stuff?” he says, almost like a question, “Apparently it washes out.”

“I hope it does” Bucky grumbles, flashing his ID at the doorman without meeting his eyes—

The inside of the party is alive.

That’s the only way to describe it. 

It’s like every single person in the building has merged into one singular being. And that being is having a blast.

There’s dancing and laughter and plenty of drinking.

The Stark’s always have an open bar, and it’s clear that this one is being used. 

Custom Halloween cocktails (and the signature glasses they come in) are littering the space, acting as extra decor as the multi-coloured lights dance through them. 

A woman dressed as a cat, holding a tray of neon green shots appears, smiling at Bucky as she offers him one;

“That I’d pay to see,” Tony says, coming up behind her, and drinking 3 of them in quick succession, “Terminator and Captain All-star doin’ jello shots”

Wilson, eye patch and all laughs, mirroring the billionaire and taking his shot with a grin. 

“Play nice” Y/N’s voice inserts, as the crowd parts to reveal her, “They don’t even get drunk from them, T— why would they want to do them?”

“For fun?” Tony replies, doing another 2 shots without coming up for air, “You’re gettin’ a little too into character there, cap”

As if to spite her brother, she declines the waitress's offer before making a show of politely thanking the next server who seems to be busying themselves following the more high-profile guests around. 

Any hopes Bucky might have had about spending the night with her are dashed a few minutes later by the arrival of the other Avengers… and then, a camera crew. 

A camera crew who find Y/N being dressed as Captain America captivating. 

And then, god— 

The addition of Tony’s costume? that’s the nail in the coffin. 

Every single person who doesn’t live with the duo is glued to them all night. 

Snapping pictures and laughing and ploughing them with drinks.

She only manages to slip away to Bucky’s side twice. 

The first time is because she catches him looking forlorn by a window.

That he’d been watching her reflection in but, still—

She’d nodded, making an inane excuse before crossing the room to press a kiss against his cheek. 

“Are you okay, handsome?” she whispers, directly into his ear.

“I’m okay” he replies, meaning it. “Waitin’ for Steve to get back with the drinks- Couldn’t face the bar.”

“Smart move” Y/N murmurs, tangling her fingers with his metal ones for a moment, “If you need me, come find me.”

“I haven’t lost you, doll” is the reply he gives her, nodding towards the window in half admission, and half explanation.

She laughs, kisses him properly and then, she ducks out of view with the playful salute that makes him very grateful for the privacy the party lighting provides.

The second time, they’ve been there for hours.

Steve is having the best time Bucky remembers seeing him have in… well, decades.

and frankly, it’s infectious. 

Bucky is laughing. Laughing, lips grazing a beer bottle as Natasha tells another embarrassing story about Rodgers that sounds strangely familiar.

He’s telling her that things haven’t changed that much in the past hundred years when he catches her. 

She’s stood, arm draped over her brother's shoulder with her head turned just slightly towards where he’s sat on a high stool that’s draped in fake cobwebs. 

She’s watching him. 

She’s just watching him with this, adoring look on her face that makes him blush even though he’s not meant to know that she’s looking.

Her gaze doesn’t linger. He never actually meets her eyes. She’s way too good for that to happen.

But his moment of distraction is noted by Natasha, who makes a jibe about him focusing on the wrong Steve. 

When Y/N separates from Tony to head towards the bathroom, Bucky makes his excuses as well, suddenly unable to bear another minute apart.

She actually does use the bathroom, which makes dread stir heavily in Bucky’s stomach. 

You’re acting like a stalker, Barnes, he thinks, hiding in the dark—

“Hey, Buck” Y/N greets, in a half-hearted impression of Steve, “You doin’ okay?”

The second part of the attempt is much better. 

So much better that he can’t help but laugh;

“That-” he chuckles, “is scary, doll. Please don’t do that again.”

She nods, beaming at him again. 

“You havin’ fun?” she asks, in her usual lilt, “You look like you are”

That almost sounds awed. He’s blushing, and her hand is reaching out to stroke his cheek and god, he’s leaning into her fingers;

“You were watchin’ me?” he murmurs, shy.

She chuckles, leaning in to kiss his brow. 

“Of course I was” she purrs, “seein’ you smilin’ like that, it’s the best part of a night like this.”

“A night like this” he echos, utterly entranced, “You mean Halloween?”

She shrugs and he can see the flush of alcohol in her face.

It’s beautiful. 

She’s beautiful. 

“See?” she murmurs, thumb on his lower lip, “You’re perfect…”

and, he thinks he might actually be melting. 

He’s pressed into the corner that he’d put himself in, and she’s wearing that stupid suit, and she’s blonde and for some reason, it’s not funny. 

Even though it should be.

It should be hilarious.

But, it’s… it’s not.

“That hairspray really has hold, huh?” 

He chuckles at that, as her fingers try and run through his hair. 

She gives up quickly, not wanting to risk pulling on the strands.

No, she wouldn’t ever do that.

“It’s yours,” he tells her lamely—

The spray… the hair— me…

The laughter she treats him to is nicer than the music that’s been playing all night. And the look of love on her face is sweeter than the bright red ‘blood’ orange cocktail that Natasha had made him drink. 

“I love you,” she tells him, “Sweetheart”

“I love you” he echos, “and I’ve been watching you too…”

“I know,” she says with a smirk, “You’re not half as subtle as you think you are, Soldier.”

“Maybe not” he agrees, leaning obviously towards her now, “but in my defence- everyone’s lookin’ at you tonight”

“Everyone” she agrees, a little grumpily, “I was really hopin’ that Tony was going to steal the spotlight, but I guess I can let him have this one.”

“People are lookin’ at him too,” he tells her, “if that helps”

“It does” she sighs, knowing that she has to get back to her brother soon, “It’ll help a whole bunch more when people aren’t calling me Cap’ and making jokes about blondes having more fun” 

He can’t help but chuckle at that. At the pout she’s wearing, and the way that there's a stubborn crease forming between her brows. 

“Are you?” 

“Am I what?” she asks, expression softening when she looks at him, again. 

“Having more fun?”

“Not yet” she replies, “but, if the way you keep starring at my ass in this suit is anything to go by then there’s still time for that to change”

That makes him flush hotter than he thought was possible;

He squirms a little. Embarrassed by the fact that he can’t deny the accusation behind her little joke. 

“I…uh—“ he stutters, trying to explain himself, “— um, I…I- di-“

“You don’t like the outfit?” her brow raises in a challenge.

Again, he can’t say that. It’s not true.

He toes at the floor, embarrassed by just how much he does like it.

“I better stop torturing you” she sighs, tone reluctant, “Let you get back to enjoying yourself with Steve.”

“I’m enjoyin’ myself with you,” he says, a little breathy.

“I know” she agrees, smoothing her hand down his front, straightening his shirt, “I know but Natasha has been watching us for 3 minutes, and I think she’s drunk enough to make jokes about us hooking up in the bathroom like high schoolers.”

“and that’d be bad,” he says lamely.

“That’d be bad” she agrees, playful laughter back in her tone, “Because while I’m stuck with Tony, you’re the one that’ll have to hear them all night.”

He nods, before pulling her in for a kiss. 

And then, she’s gone. 

And he’s back, ignoring the one sly dig about how long he spent in the bathroom, and how Y/N has also only just reappeared. 

She was right, he thinks, they’re lucky to get away with only that one dig. 

The rest of the night is fast. 

It’s loud and full of friends, laughter, and music. 

and a never-ending stream of drinks which Bucky can almost trick himself into believing are getting him buzzed. 

The routine of drinking them is calming if nothing else. 

The fruity ones are sweet, and the beer is classic and the shots, he finds out, aren’t that bad either. 

Even if he can’t taste them as they slip down his throat. 

He thinks he might’ve liked jello-shots, before. 

When they’d have actually served a purpose. 

The way that Steve is beaming at him is a purpose on its own he supposes. And they’re serving that one, so, he keeps drinking them. 

It’s not exactly like the ‘good old days’ but it’s nice. 

It’s very, very, nice.

The only thing that would make it nicer would be if Y/N had been able to escape the spotlight of everyone else for long enough to join him.

But, the way she’s smiling at him whenever he catches her eye across the crowded room takes the edge off.

The distance feels playful, not painful.

The glances and winks are flirtatious, and Bucky is loving it. 

He’s loving every single second of it. 

and then, it’s winding down.

The guests are leaving, pressing gracious kisses against Tony’s cheek, and then Y/N's and then it’s back to Tony—

He disappears before the room clears, arm in arm with a very female-looking Hulk.

There’s green paint all over his neck already, so it’s hardly a surprise. 

Banner hasn’t been drinking, and although he grumbles a bit about Tony’s choice of companion, when the fact that he’s dressed up as the man is highlighted, he realises that he doesn’t have a leg to stand on. 

When it’s time for the remaining Avengers to head home they separate into groups organically.

Somehow, Bucky winds up driving. 

He doesn’t complain about that, though. He prefers it. Even if Steve is a nightmare for interfering from the backseat. 

Wilson is black-out drunk. His speech so slurred that they’re not even pretending to understand him; and when they eventually pull up into the underground garage, Steve’s big brother complex fires up into high gear and he takes full responsibility for taking him inside and seeing him safely to his room. 

Bucky is thrilled by this. He doesn’t hide it well. Steve slaps his shoulder in mock scolding before he ducks away into the stairwell. 

He doesn’t know why he’s giddy on the way to his room. 

Well, he does. 

But he’s trying not to focus on it because it’s embarrassing.

It’s embarrassing because he’s excited by the idea of his girlfriend waiting for him in their room-

-Dressed as your best friend, he reminds himself, Dressed as Steve-

The feeling of wrongness only makes him more excited.

God, that’s sick, he thinks, hand on the door;

“About time, Sarge” 

Her voice makes any shame melt away from his core. 

and then he’s walking towards her. He’s pacing towards the bed, where she’s leaning against one of the mahogany four-poster posts, with the shield propped up against her bed frame.

When he realises that he’s looking at that, it doesn’t take long at all for his gaze to jump to her boots. 

They’re red and knee-high, and then he’s starring at her ass in the suit again-

“Shall I keep the wig on?” 

He’s caught, again. 

His mouth opens to…Well, he’s not exactly sure of what he intends to do, but, nothing wasn’t the plan;

“Or is the blonde too weird?”

This whole thing is weird, but he likes it.

He’s still just gawking, so she beams at him before kicking a leg up onto the bed, to better display the boots. 

“I think we should make Steve wear these,” she says, “I think they’d really set-”

“Can we not talk about Steve right now?-” he asks, chuckling, “Please?”

“Yes, sir” she replies, straightening back out and offering him a salute, “the bedroom is a Steve free zone.”

and then, he’s kissing her.

He’s kissing her, and she tastes like cocktails and his hands are on her waist, and god, she’s perfect-

“Y’know, I-” he pants, lips barely leaving hers, “-I always liked the outfit.”

“Wanna know a secret?” she whispers, hands moving up to cup his jaw, “So have I”

Oh, god- he’s laughing. 

They’re both laughing, and kissing, and then they’re on the bed. 

And they’re still kissing—

She loses the wig quite quickly. 

Bucky tugs it free and launches it across the room where it knocks over an empty vase with a dull clatter. 

The boots, however, stay on. 

Even when the suit eventually comes off, the shiny red boots remain. 

and the next morning, when she wakes up, she kicks them off, letting them fall to the side of the bed. And then, as she turns to fully admire him, she finds herself laughing quietly at the stains of red that smeared across his cheeks, and his neck, and his mouth. 

“I made a mess of you, sugar” she murmurs, thumb brushing over the curve of his jaw, “I’ll help you clean up later— I promise.”

“I’ll hold ya’ to that, doll” 

Masterlist

[burningexeter]

[THIRD HEADCANON/FAN THEORY]

In my own insane (but somehow way less insane) take on the infamous (is it infamous, I just want to know that) Tommy Westphall Universe fan theory which claims not only are 500+ shows are in the same universe but they all take place in the mind of a twelve year old autistic boy with a snowglobe (yes, this is a real thing, blame St. Elsewhere), I propose that in this case for me not only are a decent handful of media are set within the same universe as each other but they all take place within the mind of the deadly, morally grey, femme fatale and early 20s sorceress Charmcaster — the Alien Force and Ultimate Alien Charmcaster to be specific.

How I see it is this is the Where The Magic Happens Trilogy Charmcaster (the pitch I did) specifically the second and third series Charmcaster where she's not only way more mature but a lot more darker, sinister, calculated and ruthless where she took all the lessons she's learned and built upon them and grew from them but not in the good way you think of at first. Obviously, as the second and third series go on, she redeems herself and this is teased throughout because in all three shows Charmcaster has a code, refusing to hurt people that she doesn't have to, expressing regret and disgust at herself for [SPOILER ALERT] decapitating Gwen when they first met, going back to when she doesn't need to to save Gwen and her friends when left behind etc.

She's torn between being a hero and a villain.

But here's where her secret universe within her mind comes directly into play, at the end of the first series, a now changed completely Gwen - no longer the spoiled, know-it-all, mean brat she was at the beginning of the series - gives Charmcaster a special snowglobe that originally meant a lot to Gwen when she was only little and in the words of her Aunt Sandra "finally being able to walk".

It turns out in the second and third series, it's a prized possession of Charmcaster that she won't let anyone else get near or even touch even Gwen who gave it to her in the first place.

How I see it is this is where Charmcaster's universe begins, all of the following are figments on her "imagination". Stories in her mind that only she knows of, it's her own personal secret that's all her fun and her fun only. One day when they're married, she'll tell her wife Gwen but for now, this is hers and hers only. That way, it makes her finally telling Gwen more special.

CHARMCASTER'S UNIVERSE

The connecting theme here are a total of three things which fits them despite being tonially and stylistically different from each other:

1). They focus on distinct but very unconventional types of protagonists and even ensembles having to not only fight the odds but face the highest stakes and the highest threats there is. At the same time, the protagonists aren't generic action heroes or the type who'd be the heroes of these scenarios but they have moral codes or just codes in general even if they're not always "good people" and always end up doing "the right thing". Way less of Tony Stark from the Marvel Cinematic Universe, Frank Dux from Bloodsport and Steven Hiller from Independence Day and WAAAAY more of The Stranger from High Plains Drifter, The Driver from Drive and Michael "De Santa" Townley from Grand Theft Auto V.

2). The villains or main antagonists are always never one-dimensional or generic stereotypical bad guys. They're all fully-fleshed out or just fleshed out in general villains with their own personalities, histories and motivations. Some of them are genuinely tragic villains out of Shakespeare and some who are full-on villainous are dangerous and intimidating. Hell, some have codes too. They fall straight into the morally grey area with that if they have that. Way less Tonraq from The Legend Of Korra (ugh, that whole show sucks), Fire Lord Ozai from Avatar: The Last Airbender and Senator John McLaughlin from Machete and WAAAAY more of J. Nomak from Blade II, Davy Jones from Pirates Of The Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest/At World's End and Thaddeus Sivina from Shazam!.

3). All of the events in them are either caused by, advanced and forwarded by or sometimes both by the protagonists. They make life-altering decisions that whether good or bad, whether they did or didn't do the right thing, will have massive repercussions. It's never something random as all hell happening to a certain individual, it's the opposite where they did something that caused or triggered this event to happen to them so they really have no one else to blame but themselves.

IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER:

• The Mummy (1999)

• Saving Private Ryan

• Overlord (2018)

• Inglourious Basterds

• Thief (1981)

• Heat (1995)

• The Long Kiss Goodnight

• The Invisible Man (2020)

• Upgrade (2018)

and that's just too name a few, there's much more to it than that but this gives you a great idea on what's going on in the mind of everyone's favorite teenage sorceress Charmcaster.

[stevetonyweekly]

SteveTony Weekly - June 18th

I read so much this week!!! And so much was delightful I’m super excited about this list! I did re-read Bulletpoints this week which is 100% reflected in my fic reading as well. Enjoy that.  

Check out this week’s reads and be sure to leave your author a comment/kudos! 

~*~ 

Time, Space, Flesh by veryvincible 

“I’ve got a hotel room,” Tony said.

“And if we’re seen?”

Tony’s response came quick, too confident. He’d given the same spiel many times before. “Oh, you know. Good friends. Had a bit to drink. Maybe we’re French— you know how it is. Besides, we’ve been here for how long, now? If anyone was going to notice you, you’d think they’d have done it by now.”

The Day Before Tomorrow by lastdream

Less than twenty-four hours before the Iron Man's last fight, Steve Rogers gets an evening to himself.

Icebreaker by Sineala

Months after Tony is murdered on a strange, starless world, a world almost no one remembers, Steve plummets from a drone plane into the cold waters of the North Atlantic. He's fully expecting not to survive -- but instead he wakes up on another new world, where he meets a very familiar stranger. And it turns out the two of them have a lot in common.

Not Your Reality (The Time-Out Remix) by Veldeia

An unlikely visitor crash-lands at Natasha Stark and Steve Rogers' doorstep on the eve of their wedding. Just who is this alternate universe Iron Man?

Marriage and Mate Chases by NotEvenCloseToStraight

A Regency-ish AU:

Strict, stern Alpha Captain Steve Rogers is firmly in control of himself, his army, and his life and intends to marry an Omega who shares the same ideals while wild, flighty Omega!Tony loves to flaunt Howard's rules, society's expectations and has no intention of settling down.

An arranged marriage forces Alpha and Omega together, but Steve's constant disapproval and Tony's refusal to compromise leads to anger and arguments, missed heats, harsh ruts and a lack of bonding bites. Vicious rumours fly about the Omega's fidelity and the Alpha's ability to control his mate and when Steve runs away to war to distance himself from his unpredictable husband, Tony turns to new friends and illicit activities to hide his hurting heart.

Steve returns from war a changed man ready to be a good husband, dedicating every minute of every day to winning Tony's heart back, but Tony is tired of being ignored, busy with his own projects and unwilling to give the Alpha another chance.

With outside forces plotting to ruin what little happiness they have, are Steve and Tony doomed to be unbonded husbands, married but never truly mates?

Some Dragons Are Famous Dragons by Eudoxia 

Bucky's not surprised when Steve beings home stray cats, dogs, and even a raccoon once, but a dragon?

Really, Steve? A dragon?

A dragon that likes to steal tools and watch the news about missing persons, too.

Anthony and Natasha by TheCityLightShow

On Steve's sixteenth birthday, as was the norm, he woke up with a name on his wrist, etched beautifully into his skin. In blocky, scruffy handwriting now sat “Natasha Stark” on his left wrist.

It was elegant handwriting, but not in a way that anyone other than Steve would share the notion.

Now, he's out of the ice, and he lifts his wrist to his face as his vision swims for a second. Oh thank god, he thinks at the sight of the black blur that mars his wrist, and then his thought processes stutter and screech to halt because it's changed.

The handwriting is still the blocky scruffy script that he loves, that holds comfort for him in the cross of the t and the arc of the r, but it's not Natasha. It doesn't say Natasha Stark any more.

No, the name on his wrist is Anthony Stark.

This time – this new time, Director Fury explains to him, this time sixty seven years in the future – this time he will find him. Whether they're ninety like he should be, or closer to his actual age, Steve won't make the same mistake twice.

 He doesn't tell SHIELD that the name in their file is now wrong.

Emergency Protocol by navaan 

In New Avengers V1 era, Tony and Steve discuss the Avengers Protocol for Bang or Die situations. It's awkward. It gets hot - and then it gets out of hand but maybe they're getting to the heart of something that they should have discussed a long time ago.

You could have my heart, and I would break it for you by Missy_dee811

The mission they’d been on had been an abject failure. Even if the rest of the Avengers had been able to stay on task, it wouldn’t matter. Two of their own were missing: Iron Man and Captain America.

Sacrifice the Gift by hollyandvice (hiasobi_writes) 

When a biological agent nearly takes the life of Captain America, Iron Man risks everything to keep his friend alive. Now Tony Stark needs to deal with the fallout.

Sleepwalking by NotEvenCloseToStraight

Every year on Tony Stark's birthday, his soulmate Steven Grant Rogers crosses time and distance to spend the day with him...until the day the Valkyrie goes into the water in 1943.

Fifty years in the future, Tony starts a desperate search to find Steve beneath the ice, racing against time and fate to bring his soulmate into the newest century so they can finally be together.

like daylight by ohjustpeachy

Because through all of it, the slammed fists and the miscommunications, the people he invited into his bed and kicked out in the morning, he never thought that it would be Steve Rogers in the end.

Or, Tony thinks back on past relationships and why they never worked out.

Nothing Else but Miracles (An Ancient Secrets and New-born Dreams Remix) by Muccamukk

In the rough and tumble of the Lower East Side, the only constants in Steve's life are the solid black letters of the name on his wrist. Because even with the law and society against them, his world falling apart piece by piece, and his search for his soulmate taking him to stranger and wilder places, Steve has faith that finding Tony Stark is only a matter of time.

my one and only by meidui (orphan_account)

Tony has been self-conscious about his laugh lines lately, but Steve always takes his hands and kisses his face, telling him he loves them. It’s the truth. Tony looks so beautiful with them, and they remind Steve of what a privilege it is to grow old with him.

A bullet to mend our hearts by tonymystark

Tony is stuck in a time loop; he keeps getting thrown back to their fight in the quinjet before the whole invasion. He finally figures out how to end the loop.

Safe Haven by gottalovev, zappedbysnow

It's been three months since the Battle of New York. Four since Steve woke up in the future. Everything is still too fast, too bright, too glib. And then, as if it wasn't enough, Steve is dragged through a portal into an alternate universe. Other Him is happy, though, and that feels like hope.

No Good Deed by raeldaza for merelydovely 

Steve’s not happy in the future. Tony gets it in his head that he’ll be a good friend and create a time machine to send Steve back to the 40s.

But as time ticks on, and Steve and Tony grow closer, do either of them actually want Steve to use it?

I (created from fantasies) exist solely for you by Mizzy

Six years ago, without the Avengers Initiative there to save the day, scientist Dr. Eric Selvig sacrificed himself to save the world, the almighty demi-god Thor was lost to a terrible storm, and vigilante Iron Man – spotted with a nuclear weapon trying to take advantage of the situation – was forever labelled an enemy of SHIELD.

This is a comic book office AU, where Steve is defrosted a year too late, Thor has forgotten who he is, and no one knows Tony is Iron Man.

Also includes: office pranks, inappropriate post-it notes, and superheroes who like pina coladas and getting caught in the rain.

Bright Things and Fair by sheron 

The course of true love never did run smooth — and neither did time-travel to retrieve the Tesseract. When circumstances outside their control force Steve and Tony to spend more time together in the 1970, they do what two people with their history do under the circumstances: work together and try to get through it without unnecessary feelings getting in the way. Falling for each other is definitely a bad idea, isn't it?

[paarthurnax59]

"Soul Of Liberty"

Chapter 1

Warnings: Jealous Ex, Dean going crazy, swearing, slut shaming,

Two years later….

  Time had passed sense Dean had seen or heard from his ex-wife, (Y/N) at that restaurant, begging him to forgive her for cheating on him with his brother when he was soulless. “As if!”  He thought to himself as he saw her teary eyes and then proceed to brag about his beautiful new girlfriend, Maria, sitting next to his brother and Castiel and having found some stability when they found the Bunker. He made sure to dig the knife into her chest as much as humanly possible, not caring if she cried her eyes out in front of a bunch of strangers. Why would he ever want to have that cheating whore back into his life when he had a beautiful, loyal woman by his side that would never break his heart. He told her before that if she and Sam went behind his back and slept together, he would never forgive her. EVER. 

     She didn’t even give him a good reason as to why she cheated on him with Sam, which made it even worse. Now, Sam was soulless and didn’t even release what he did was wrong. He even told him that (Y/N) tried to blame him for her cheating on him. “Heartless bitch.”  he called her under his breath when they all got home that day.  Trying to blame Sam for betraying her own spouse, when clearly, didn’t have a moral compass to know right from wrong. But her… that was all her. Soul and all.

  When Dean split up from his ex-wife, he went through hell. For months he drank and killed as many monsters as humanly possible. Not caring for his well-being and safety, thinking the world had come to an end. Two people that he loved the most, betrayed him. Of course, she and Sam, well mostly her, had tried to contact him, begging him to hear her out. Sam was still soulless and didn’t care. She acted like she cared, but really, she just wanted to make herself feel better. He felt as if he didn’t even know her anymore. She was selfish, horrible and could care less for other people’s feelings. (Y/N) was the worst person he had ever met and nothing in this world was going to make him change his view of her. Who knew how long she had a stupid crush on his younger brother? How long had then been going behind his back? Didn’t care at all about how it broke him and their marriage? Did she ever really love him? 

    Not that it really matters anymore. Dean had a new girl in his life , home to call his own and couldn’t be happier. Maria was loyal, beautiful, strong, caring and most importantly, she never did anything that caused him to distrust her. She was safe. Yeah, safe. That is what Dean really needed after all what (Y/n) had put him through. He was never going to make that mistake again. She was nothing to him now.

 But, apparently that was easier said than done. 

   In 2015, it had been two years since he had seen (Y/N). When Maria put on the news one day making his morning coffee, he saw the last face he wanted to see on that screen.

“In recent development, The Avengers have enlisted a new recruit to their team. (Name) (Last Name), otherwise known as “Liberty’’ has now become an honorary member of the Avengers initiative after helping Captain America dissolved S.H.E.I.L.D. which has been discovered to have been infiltrated by HYDRA. an Extended branch of the Nazi organization-“ The male news anchor narrated and a picture of Dean’s former love comes onto the screen, making his blood run cold. As he dropped his mug on the floor, He watched a video of her standing next to Captain America as Tony Stark shook her hand and hugged her during the press conference. 

“HER?! ARE THEY FUCKING KIDDING?! IS TONY STARK OUT OF HIS DAMN MIND?! ARE THEY TRYING TO GET MORE PEOPLE KILLED” He shouted looking at the face of his Ex-wife, about to become one of earth’s mightiest heroes. 

“Dean, mi Corazon. Keep it down. Your brother and friends are still asleep!” His brunette girlfriend chastised him as she handed him his coffee. 

“Sorry, baby.” He said trying to calm down his own blood pressure as the news hit him like a tidal wave, now threating him to send him on an emotional roller-coaster. Are the Avengers really that stupid? Out of the eight billion people in the world, they pick the worst possible human being to help fight for the world. 

Dean knew (Y/n) and she was no way a good fighter or had any special powers.  She couldn’t even shoot a gun properly. She wasn’t raised in the life like he was. She always needed him to save her when they went on a hunt, and it didn’t really bother him that much because he loved her. Now, he was glad she wasn’t a burden to him anymore. Not to mention that she was a self-serving bitch. ‘That didn’t care about any other person than her own self-gain. She wouldn’t put her life on the life for anyone unless she knew for sure she would come out alive.  She was a coward and putting her on the Avengers would the biggest mistake in history. 

 ‘She must have fucked Tony Stark into that position. What a whore.’  He thought.

How wrong he was.

    Dean sees more news about how (Name) was a true asset to the Avengers was had been wherever they went. He has seen her in action on the news time and time again. Shooting at aliens, taking out Hydra agents, and gunning down flying robots. She handled that gun of hers like it was second nature.  She even had a beautiful sword with eagle wings on the guard of the hilt. The woman was slicing and dicing her way in one battle after another. She was even seen being able to tear an entire robot with her own hands. ‘How did she get that strong? She was never that fast before either. Where did she get that sword?’  It was almost nonstop for him to hear about the woman that was once the love of his life that betrayed him. Seeing her becoming more relevant, seeing her on occasional TV interviews, on Magazine covers. Even so far as having hunters that knew they were married say to him “Man, you let a good one go.”  Or “Your ex-wife is a badass hottie.”  Even while he was with Maria, is current girlfriend. 

  He couldn’t escape it and it made his blood boil.

   The very same people that took his side and sympathize with him after (Name) cheated on him. Calling her a “bitch” and a “Whore”, now are admiring her for the work her and the Avengers have done. She was like an idol to many of them now, a goddess and a hero.

    Not to mention, she was spending an awful lot of time with America’s golden boy, Steve Rogers. They were inspirable in the eyes of the world, connected at the hip. Hanging out together, doing interviews, fighting, going on missions, and always seen traveling the world with one another. It was almost like they were conjoined. 

      He remembered in high school and how many girls had such huge crush on him during history class. Ogling at his pictures and daydreaming about being his “Mrs. America” and Dean just scoffing at the idea. None of those girls even stood a chance of getting someone like him. Never in a million years had he thought his ex-wife would be the one to date him. Are they dating? Are they in love? How long have they been together? Doesn’t he know how much of a snake she was?

  It didn’t make any sense to him, but then again nothing in his life ever did.

  The next year, Him, Sam, Maria and Castiel were at a diner when the owner put on the news, saying something was going on with the Avengers in eastern Europe. 

   Dean saw her evacuating people from the city of Sokovia and placed herself in the thick of danger, to save the entire world from extinction from a mad A.I. gone rouge. even nearly had entire building collapsing on her trying to save a crippled boy and his mother while robots were shooting at them.

“God, is that really (Y/N)?”  Sam said as he watched his former sister-in-law hit and bash flying robots left and right. “The (Y/N) we know wasn’t this good at combat, nor was she this brave and selfless.”

“It’s clearly her, Sam. But I am still having trouble believing it is her as well.” Castiel said as the angel’s eyes fixated on his ex-friend fighting for people’s lives. 

   Dean was speechless, stunned by his ex’s actions and how fast, strong, and agile she was. Even after all the news clips of her doing these things, he still could believe that was the same woman he fell in love with. ‘How was she able to train to use a gun? Did the Avengers train her?’ All that while wearing a skin-tight, white and dark blue catsuit that resembled Black Widow’s with a golden eagle across her collar. Once more, he saw that look in her eyes. It was a look he had never seen before. It was a look of fire, the fire of fortitude. Of purpose.

“Dude, that Liberty woman is not kidding around. It’s like watching an action movie star. She’s freaking unreal!!” One young guy behind Dean said as their eyes glued to the Television by the counter, along with the whole diner watching with fear as the possibility of global annihilation. 

“She looks like a movie star, too. She’s hot as hell!” Said the other guy next to the first man said, ogling at his ex-wife while she is jumping around, with every single one of her curves showing as she fought Ultron’s robot army. That was one detail that Dean could not possibly ignore. He remembered on how he used to place his head on her chest on calm nights, sitting on Bobby’s patio looking up at the stars as she run her hand through his hair-

‘Stop it, you idiot! She’s your ex-wife for a good reason! you shouldn’t even be thinking about her while you are with-‘

“Mi Corazon?”  Said his beautiful Latin girlfriend said as she looked at her boyfriend that seemed to be in distress as they news continued to showcase the intense battle in Sokovia.

“I’m alright, baby.” He responded with a sweet smile to her and she returned the smile. All patrons at the diner waited with bated breath, worrying that it may be their last if the Earth’s mightiest heroes fail. As the Avengers took out not only all the robots, but the asteroid as well. Everyone in the diner cheered as the Avengers defeated Ultron, relieved and happy that they will live to see the sun rise tomorrow. 

“Cheers for The Avengers and for Liberty!” exclaimed the owner of the diner as the patrons join in the celebrations.

    Dean on the other hand, had his mouth dropped as he sees the crowd of people applauded (Y/N).  (Y/N). The last person that anyone should be cheering for. The ex-wife that broke his heart in two and shattered his trust forever. The woman that had never fought her own battles and had others do it for her. The Harlot that was too cowardly to even tell him straight to his face that she was cheating on him with his brother. 

    Dean’s blood boiled so badly, he excused himself from his seat and left out of the crowd away from the cheering that angered him so much. Sam, Maria and Castiel left their table to go check on Dean, who seemed to be fuming.

“Dean, what has gotten into you?” Sam asked walking to his brother to pat him on the shoulder, but Dean shook it off as soon as he tried to touch him.

“They are cheering for her.” He gritted his teeth while taking deep breaths to calm down. 

“Who? (Y/N)?” Sam inquired as he looked at his older brother.

“Yes! (Y/N)! They are cheering for her just saving the world one time! How many times did we save the world, Sam?! How many times?!” Dean yelled so angerly that one would be able to see a blood vessel pooping from the sides of his forehead.  

“I know Dean, maybe like five times? Maybe more?” Sam answered sheepishly trying not to let his brother’s temper get the best of him. He was always terrible at handling his anger when something trigged him.

“Exactly!!! We saved the world countless times!! And where are our cheers! Where are our congratulations!? Huh?! None! We get nothing! Nothing but becoming FBI most wanted, having fellow hunters chase us down, being thrown in prison and end up getting killed and brought back over and over again! Our lives our miserable compared that!” He shouted pointing at the loud crowd in the diner, which by now was causing a scene and drawing some attention by the people outside. It was even beginning to scare Sam, Maria and even Castiel. 

“Dean, you never cared about getting that kind of attention when you save people?  Why now?” Sam was right. Dean, despite his flaws, was always humble about saving people. Something has changed and he thinks he knows why. “It’s because of (Y/N) right? Your angry they are cheering for her, right?”

    Dean didn’t say anything, which only confirms what Sam said was true. Sam sighed running his hand through his head. He could not believe that Dean was letting you get to him like this. Yes, he understood that she hurt him immensely and that he would never forgive her, but the fact that this was getting to Dean like shows that he really has not moved on. Castiel, to try and calm his friend down, chimes in his two cents. 

“Dean, I can understand seeing your unfaithful ex-wife thrive like this must hurt, but I don’t believe that this is healthy that every time we see (Y/n) on the news, you get flustered, and it makes you look crazy. Don’t think we don’t see your mood change.” Said the angel as he stepped closer to Dean. “But whether you like it or not, she is an Avenger now and people all over the world rely on her as well as the rest her team. Would you rather see her fail and let the world be destroyed?”  He asked the green-eyed hunter as Dean hangs his head low. Would he want the world to be destroyed because he wanted to see his ex-wife fail? Had he become this petty over the years?

  Dean decided to give up for the time being and get back to the Bunker for a beer and spend some time in bed with his girlfriend. Maybe having sex will get (Y/N) and the Avengers out of his head.

“Yeah, let’s go. We can eat at home.”  The three entered the Chevy Impala and drove off to the Bunker and away from the large crowd of people.

[uboat53]

All right, time to talk about the trans panic on the right. It's part of a deeper and more disturbing pattern on their part and I think it's time we laid it out in the open. Time for a LONG RANT (TM).

INTRODUCTION

All right, who's old enough to remember the crime panic of the 90s? You know, the nameless, faceless crime that was going to get you? How about the gay panic of the 00s? Who's old enough to remember the miscegenation panics of the civil-rights and pre-civil-rights eras? I'm not, but they happened.

All of these had one thing in common and they share that thing in common with the trans panic of today; all of them are designed to make people afraid that a group of strangers, generally one they have little direct contact with, will commit crimes against them. This despite the fact that pretty much all data we have on crimes shows that you are much, much more likely to be assaulted, raped, or murdered by someone you know.

CRIME STATISTICS

The FBI crime statistics state that:

"In 2011, in incidents of murder for which the relationships of murder victims and offenders were known, 54.3 percent were killed by someone they knew (acquaintance, neighbor, friend, boyfriend, etc.); 24.8 percent of victims were slain by family members." [1]

Now, you might see that and think "okay, that's pretty bad, but it's only about half, that means that about half of all murders are committed by strangers, right?" But let's continue the quote:

"The relationship of murder victims and offenders was unknown in 44.1 percent of murder and nonnegligent manslaughter incidents in 2011." [1]

In other words, it's not that 54.3% of murder victims were killed by people they knew and 45.7% were killed by people they didn't, it's that 54.3% of murder victims were killed by people they knew, 1.6% were definitely killed by people they didn't know, and 44.1% were killed by people we're not sure if they knew or not. In other words, you are way, way, way, way more likely to be killed by someone you definitely know than by someone you definitely do not.

The statistics are even more stark for rape and sexual assault where less than 20% of sexual violence is committed by strangers [2]. Of children who are sexually abused, 93% knew their abuser [2].

In other words, you are far, far more likely to be the target of a violent crime from a person you know than a stranger. Don't get me wrong, I'm not advocating for people to take no precautions out in public, I'm pointing out that doing so while ignoring that a person is much more likely to be victimized by someone they know is setting them up to fail. So why would someone do that?

CONSERVATIVE WORLDVIEW

One thing that's become clear to me in recent years is that there's a huge difference in the way that liberals and conservatives view the world. Liberals generally view all people as being about the same and see safety in the form of institutions and oversight. Conservatives, on the other hand, do not see all people as being the same, and they separate the world into "us" and "them" based on various criteria, with "us" representing safety and "them" representing danger.

Over the course of history and even within different contexts at the same time and even in the same person, this can and has taken different meanings. We can think, of course, of the race-based "us and them" that dominated the South (among other parts of America) for centuries and whose traces still remain. The same person, for example, may see women as part of their family, "us", but also as a nameless, faceless group seeking to make unwanted changes to society, "them".

This one particular issue could be fodder for multiple graduate level courses of study, but I hope you can see the general outline of how this works. I also hope that, given the previous section, you can see how many conservatives would be particularly unwilling to accept the conclusion that most danger comes from those they know.

To this worldview, "us" represents safety. The only way to engage with the facts presented above are to abandon this particular worldview, introduce significant nuance that will change it substantially, or to deny the facts themselves.

I should point out that not all conservatives, those that remain conservative in this regard and don't take the first option, are on board with the last option. Many conservatives do engage with the reality of crime statistics and genuinely incorporate them into their worldview, though that does tend to significantly alter that worldview. More conservatives than not, particularly those involved in political activism, however, do take that latter path. Even worse, the polarization of information sources in this country means that they are able to prevent an even larger amount of conservatives from even hearing those facts that might contradict their worldview at all.

THE PROBLEMS

As you might imagine, rejecting observable reality leads to quite a few negative consequences. I'm going to go through a few examples where adherence to an "us vs. them" worldview and the rejection of factual information about crime cause pain and hardship for people and communities, but this is by no means a definitive list of every harm caused by this issue.

Child Abuse

For the last few years we've been treated to conservatives making their case that LGBTQ information being taught to children is "grooming" or akin to child abuse. They argue that this information makes children susceptible to being abused by LGBTQ people. Of course, if you've read the above, you know that children are not randomly being abused by some shady cabal of LGBTQ strangers, most children who are abused are overwhelmingly abused by people they know.

This causes harm in two ways. First of all, it makes an association between being LGBTQ and being a child abuser that isn't remotely accurate. People acting on that association can and do cause harm to lots of innocent people.

Secondly, however, it confuses people as to what grooming and child abuse really are and how they actually happen. Children aren't groomed or abused by being taught about different ways of life in a classroom setting, children are groomed by individuals in their life who seek to put themselves into positions of trust where they can be alone with a child over whom they have some authority. In other words, your child is far (far, far) more likely to be abused by their babysitter or their pastor than by some gay or trans stranger.

Parents who have absorbed the message that grooming and child abuse looks like education about LGBTQ issues are particularly poorly equipped to recognize actual grooming and abuse when it actually happens. Child abuse statistics are notoriously hard to come by, but this may explain why a disproportionate amount of Evangelical pastors have been found to have abused children over the last few decades [3] [4].

Parental Custody

This one is tangentially related to child abuse, but in the last few decades, child custody courts have seen a rise in so-called cases of "parental alienation". If you're not familiar with this idea, it's the idea that one parent in a custody battle has manipulated their children to take their side against the other parent.

Now, this idea in itself isn't necessarily (emphasis on "necessarily") problematic. Given the stakes, I think it's likely that this does happen from time to time, though it's hard to say exactly how often. What is problematic is when this accusation is raised as a counter to multiple corroborated accusations of abuse, sexual and otherwise. Parental Alienation Syndrome, as its advocates call it, is not based on any research and largely seems to stem from a rejection of the belief that parents can be abusers; a rejection of the facts listed above.

It's hard to say how often this particular accusation is brought up in court in an attempt to counter credible allegations of abuse, but there is certainly a small nation-wide industry that has sprung up claiming to be able to testify to it in court and provide remedies, for significant cost [5].

As to the harms that this particular belief or movement can cause, ProPublica has been on the front lines of covering this particular issue and has noted a case in Colorado where a man was given custody of his young son even after multiple mandatory reporters over several years had reported physical and sexual abuse incidents to the state [6] and another in Utah where children barricaded themselves in their room to avoid being sent to their father even after child welfare investigators found that their accusations of sexual abuse were supported [7].

This causes harm not only to the children who are forcibly returned to a parent who is credibly known to have abused them, but also causes immense harm to the other parent and relatives of the children who, presumably, care about those children and are prevented from protecting them as well as to the entire system of child welfare which is prevented from doing the one thing it is supposed to be doing.

CONCLUSION

I think I've successfully shown that most crime is not perpetrated by strangers, that this conflicts with the general conservative view of the world, and provided some examples of real-world harm that occurs when conservatives attempt to implement that worldview in contradiction of the facts. The above is, of course, far from a comprehensive list of any of those three things but, I think, it's a representative sample.

At the very least, I hope I've placed the recent trans panic in context. It's not an isolated incident, but part of a long and concerted effort to deny the fact that most violent crimes are committed by people who know the victim. By denying that fact, which is clear from even a cursory examination of the data as I have presented here, they cause immense damage to many people in the real world and allow genuine criminals to ply their craft far more effectively.

I hope you found this interesting and I'd be very interested to hear if you think I missed anything.

SOURCES

[1], [2], [3], [4], [5], [6], [7]

[s0leander]

Boyfriend Material - Alexis Hall (2020)

This book has been compared to Red, White and Royal Blue on a few occasions in book circles, and frankly I do not understand how anyone would come to that conclusion. Everything about this book reads like a bad fanfiction or roleplay session someone wrote when they were twelve. From the one dimensional stereotypical characters, to the confusing prose (if you can even call it that at this point) the tired tropes and idea soup, it is more similar to an old "crack fic" you'd find on fanfiction.net.

The writing itself is bland and often confusing when it isn't downright boring. Thoughts that aren't spoken aloud are written in quotations right next to things that are said out loud. Two characters share a name (James Royce-Royce) with no distinction between the two in scenes where they both have dialogue. It's atrocious and- while I don't wish to rain on anyone's parade -I cannot fathom how this book has so much praise. Did all our brain cells collectively die out before we could review it or did people simply put the book down and walk away, trying to will it from our minds? There seems to be more focus on the comedic aspect of the book that I almost want to think that Alexis Hall wrote this in order to troll us all.

Let's start with Luc O'Donnell, our all-too-angsty protagonist who is reminiscent of a teenager with severe self worth and mental health issues. If an asshole is aware that they are an asshole does that make them any less of one or more of an asshole? If I had to answer in the case of Luc I'd easily choose the latter. He spends most of the book hating himself, making crude jokes, being an all around nightmare to be around, and talking to the reader as opposed to interacting with the man he apparently falls in love with. Luc's also the son of two 80's rockstars, I guess? His father walked out on them as a child which is most of what he bases his dreadful personality on. It's also a major plot point at one time in the book all the way up until it isn't anymore with no real climax or denouement, which is quite unfortunate because if this book had any depth at all it would have been interesting but that is sort of the theme with Boyfriend Material.

Oliver Blackwood is the only saving grace of this book (for the most part). He's a lot like if a singular normal person with far too much patience was put on a reality TV show with the most ridiculous people you've ever met. The stark contrast between him and all the other characters gives me whiplash at the very best of times. His vast vocabulary proves that Hall can write somewhat interesting sentiments without using yassified dated internet terminology and simply chooses not to.

All of the characters, specifically Luc's friends, some form of stereotype and have no real value in the story aside from taking up space and doing whatever Luc needs them to do for him at any given time. All of his friends have somewhat elaborate backstories that are never really expanded upon beyond getting mentioned every now and again in passing. He often ignores other characters unless he can get something out of it or needs something from them (this briefly changes and then continues on subtly) and only hyper fixates on Oliver because he can instead base his worth on a man which is inherently toxic. Luc's boss is every stereotype of a person on the autism spectrum thrown into one. The list goes on.

The vast majority of this book consists of one character being awful to everyone around him, especially the man he supposedly fancies while the latter just allows it to go on. There's no real pining, no significant conflict, no relationship building or anything to denote a true enemies to lovers arc or even a strangers to lovers arc. There is no build up to their relationship, it simply spawns up out of seemingly nowhere after Luc spends a good chunk of the book being in half assed denial about his feelings and Oliver just continues to be a semi-regular guy who's just sort of along for the ride. Why in the world is this book 400+ pages aside from the fact that the author clearly picked several ideas out of a hat and just ran with it, stringing it along together as they went?

I'm not even going to get started on how and why this book is problematic because the one star reviews before mine have done a fantastic job of illustrating that point. The concept is intriguing but the overall story felt like one long slow walk towards nothing and I am genuinely glad that it's over.

[mishafletcher]

Are you a Gold Star lesbian? (Just in case you don't know what it means, a Gold Star lesbian is a lesbian that has never had the sex with a guy and would never have any intentions of ever doing so)

So I got this ask a while ago, and I've been lowkey thinking about it ever since.

First: No. I am a queer, cranky dyke who is too old for this sort of bullshit gatekeeping. 

Second: What an unbelievable question to ask someone you don't even know! What an incomprehensibly rude thing to ask, as if you're somehow owed information about my sexual history. You're not! No one—and I can't reiterate this enough, but no one—owes you the details of their sex lives, of their trauma, or of anything about themselves that they don't feel like sharing with you.

The clickbait mills of the internet and the purity police of social media would like nothing more than to convince everyone that you owe these things to everyone. They would like you to believe that you have to prove that you're traumatized enough to identify with this character, that you can't sell this article about campus rape without relating it to your own sexual assault, that you can't talk about queer issues without offering up a comprehensive history of your own experiences, and none of those things are true. You owe people, and especially random strangers on the internet, nothing, least of all citations to somehow prove to them that you have the right to talk about your own life.

This makes some people uncomfortable, and to be clear, I think that that's good: people who feel entitled to demand this information should be uncomfortable. Refusing to justify yourself takes power away from people who would very much like to have it, people who would like to gatekeep and dictate who is permitted to speak about what topics or like what things. You don't have to justify yourself. You don't have to explain that you like this ship because this one character reminds you a bit of yourself because you were traumatized in a vaguely similar way and now— You don't have to justify your queerness by telling people about the best friend you had when you were twelve, and how you kissed, and she laughed and said it was good practice for when she would kiss boys and your stomach twisted and your mouth tasted like bile and she was the first and last girl you kissed, but— 

You don't owe anyone these pieces of yourself. They're yours, and you can share them or not, but if someone demands that you share, they're probably not someone you should trust.

Third: The idea of gold star lesbians is a profoundly bi- and trans- phobic idea, often reducing gender to genitals and the long, shared history of queer women of all identities to a stark, artificial divide where some identities are seen as purer or more valuable than others. This is bullshit on all counts.

There's a weird and largely artificial division between bisexuals and lesbians that seems to be intensifying on tumblr, and I have to say: I hate it. Bisexual women aren't failed lesbians. They're not somehow less good or less valid because they're attracted to [checks notes] people. Do you think that having sex with a man somehow changes them? What are you so worried about it for? I've checked, and having sex with a man does not, in fact, make your vagina grow teeth or tentacles. Does that make you feel better? Why is what other people are doing so threatening to you?

Discussions of gold star lesbians are often filled with tittering about hehe penises, which is unfortunate, since I know a fair few lesbians who have penises, and even more lesbians who've had sex with people, men and women alike, who have penises. I'm sorry to report that "I'm disgusted by a standard-issue human body part" is neither a personality nor anything to be proud of. I'm a dyke and I don't especially like men, but dicks are just dicks. You don't have to be interested in them, but a lot of people have them, and it doesn't make you less of a lesbian to have sex with someone who has a dick.

There's so much garbage happening in the world—maybe you haven't noticed, but things are kind of Not Great in a lot of places, and there's a whole pandemic thing that's been sort of a major buzzkill? How is this something that you're worried about? Make a tea, remind yourself that other people's genitalia and sexual history are none of your business, maybe go watch a video about a cute animal or something. 

Fourth: The idea of gold star lesbians is a shitty premise that argues that sexuality is better if it's always been clear-cut and straightforward—but it rarely is. We live in a very, very heterosexist culture. I didn’t have a word for lesbian until many years after I knew that I was one. How can you say that you are something when your mouth can’t even make the shape of it? The person you are at 24 is different to the person you are at 14, and 34, and 74. You change. You get braver. The world gets wider. You learn to see possibilities in the shadows you used to overlook. Of course people learn more about themselves as they age.

Also, many of us, especially those of us who grew up in smaller towns, or who are over the age of, say, 25, grew up in times and places where our sexuality was literally criminal.

Shortly after I graduated high school, a gay man in my state was sentenced to six months in jail. Why? Well, he’d hit on someone, and it was a misdemeanor to "solicit homosexual or lesbian activity", which included expressing romantic or sexual interest in someone who didn’t reciprocate. You might think, then, that I am in fact quite old, but you would be mistaken. The conviction was in 1999; it was overturned in 2002.

I grew up knowing this: the wrong thing said to the wrong person would be sufficient reason to charge me with a crime.

In the United States, the Defense of Marriage Act was passed in 1996, clarifying that according to the federal government, marriage could only ever be between one man and one woman. It also promised that even if a state were to legalize same-sex unions, other states wouldn't have to recognize them if they didn't want to. And wow, they super did not want to, because between 1998 and 2012, a whopping thirty states had approved some sort of amendment banning same-sex marriage.

Every queer person who's older than about 25 watched this, knowing that this was aimed at people like them. Knowing that these votes were cast by their friends and their families and their teachers and their employers. 

Some states were worse than others. Ohio passed their bill in 2004 with 62% approval. Mississippi passed theirs the same year with 86% approval. Imagine sitting in a classroom, or at work, or in a church, or at a family dinner, and knowing that statistically, at least two out of every three people in that room felt you shouldn't be allowed to marry someone you loved.

Matthew Shepard was tortured to death in October of 1998. For being gay, for (maybe) hitting on one of the men who had planned to merely rob him. Instead, he was tortured and left to die, tied to a barbed wire fence. His murderers were both sentenced to two consecutive life terms in prison. This was controversial, because a nonzero number of people felt that Shepard had brought it upon himself.

Many of us sat at dinner tables and listened to this discussion, one that told us, over and over, that we were fundamentally wrong, fundamentally undeserving of love or sympathy or of life itself.

This is a tiny, tiny sliver of history—a staggeringly incomplete overview of what happened in the US over about ten years. Even if this tiny sliver is all that there were, looking at this, how could you blame someone for wanting to try being not Like This? How can you fault someone who had sex, maybe even had a bunch of sex, hoping desperately that maybe they could be normal enough to be loved if they just tried harder? How can you say that someone who found themself an uninteresting but inoffensive boyfriend and went on dates and had sex and said that it was fine is somehow less valuable or less queer or less of a lesbian for doing so? For many people, even now, passing as straight, as problematic as that term is, is a survival skill. How dare you imply that the things that someone did to protect themself make them worth less? They survived, and that's worth literally everything.

Fifth, finally: What is a gold star, anyhow? You've capitalized it, like it's Weighty and Important, but it's not. Gold stars were what your most generous grade school teacher put on spelling tests that you did really well on. But ultimately, gold stars are just shiny scraps of paper. They don't have any inherent value: I can buy a thousand of them for five bucks and have them at my door tomorrow. They have only the meaning that we give them, only the importance that we give them. We’re not children desperately scrabbling for a teacher’s approval anymore, though. We understand that good and bad are more of a spectrum than a binary, and that a gold star is a simplification. We understand that no number of gold stars will make us feel like we’re special enough or good enough or important enough, or fix the broken places we can still feel inside ourselves. Only we can do that.

The stars are only shiny scraps of paper. They offer us nothing; we don’t need them. I hope that someday, you see that, too. 

[mrwinterr]

Over & Over

Pairing: Pornstar!Bucky Barnes AU x Pornstar!Female Reader

Summary: You’re an up-and-coming adult film star secretly eager to work with the popular Bucky Barnes, and with just the right connections, your paths cross much sooner than later.

Warnings: Adult themes. Smut 18+ (unprotected sex, vaginal penetration and instructional fingering, oral [male & female receiving], size kink, spit & cum play, a smudge of male dominance), dirty talk and language.

Disclaimer: I don’t know how the porn industry works; this was just written for fun.

Title Inspiration: “Over & Over” by Smallpools

A/N: After doping up on strong painkillers wasn’t enough, I thought releasing endorphins would help ease my headache, so once again watching porn inspired another fic. Idk. I’m a mess. Enjoy!

Slipping on your oversized sunglasses, you walk along the rectangular outline of the hotel’s lavish pool, to one of the vacant lounge chairs next to the redheaded goddess, whose wings you were taken under and could gratefully call a close friend. You hadn’t known a single soul when you packed up and moved west to Los Angeles at 18, but you knew you were destined for more than what your humdrum life back at home could offer.

The porn industry wasn’t your first choice at a career in entertainment, but the starving profession wasn’t paying the bills fast enough. You weren’t going to survive in L.A. another year juggling to pay for tuition and stay enrolled in acting school from the income of working menial jobs and booking small gigs. However, one minor role as an extra in a one-night stand sex scene of a TV show, you catch the eye of the multitalented adult film actress Natasha Romanoff.

It was pure coincidence she was also casted, playing a bigger role, of the same episode, but she saw more in you in your less than 15 seconds of fame than most casting agents did before offering you a chance to shadow her. You knew she looked familiar and you were no stranger to watching porn, but when you’re as down on your luck as you were, you went all in and soon enough countless scenes now under your belt within a year, you’re porn’s best female newcomer.

“There’s this year’s Best New Starlet!” Natasha proclaims loudly for almost everyone around to hear.

Lucky for you, the shades conceal the roll of your eyes at her comment as you kick off your flip-flops and remove the thin cover up to reveal your skimpy bikini. You dare look over at her in time to catch her mocking reaction, jaw dropped from your attitude.

“After all I’ve done for you,” she says, placing a hand to her heart, feigning hurt.

The pair of you laugh at your nonsense and after she helps you with applying the appropriate amount of sun care protection, you recline in your seats and attempt to soak up some sun. It was a much-needed break with the long stressful week of the award show now behind everyone. Your hard work had paid off and after all you did learn from the best.

Your predecessor before you, Natasha was also a former Best New Starlet, and now is a household name in pornography. She didn’t welcome a lot of people into her inner circle, but she had plans to one day direct and knew she had to find the next big thing before anyone else to take her place.

“Hello, ladies,” comes from the voice of this year’s Director of the Year and other close friend Wanda Maximoff.

“Hey Wanda,” you greet her by sitting up to give her a proper hug.

You met her through her twin brother, Pietro, who happened to be your first co-star and was very welcoming and caring to you. The twins took care of you during your first few months starting out. Much like Natasha did for you, you help her administer the same amount of sunscreen on her body.

“Congrats on your achievement,” she says wholeheartedly, looking over her shoulder at you as you finish up on her back, and even under the heat of the sun, she could still see the blush creep up on your face.

“She’s a natural, isn’t she?” Natasha comments casually, to which Wanda nods enthusiastically, only speeding up the process of the rose tints on your cheeks to spread all over your face. They were your biggest fans and supporters; you were so happy you could make them proud.

“I owe it all to the queen herself,” you say, downplaying your achievement and turning the attention to your mentor in Natasha. She scoffs at that and teases you about just taking the damn compliment. You put in the work; it was all you.

“Seriously, you deserved it,” Wanda says honestly, and you finally accept the praise.

“So, what’s next for miss Director of the Year?” Natasha asks leaning on a propped elbow, body facing towards you and Wanda.

“Well, I managed to finally book Bucky Barnes in an upcoming project…” she starts out, but the moment you heard his name slip from her lips, the rest almost didn’t matter.

Bucky Barnes was somewhat of a legend. There wasn’t a model or director that didn’t want to work with him. The man was downright gifted in every aspect and his work speaks for itself. Before you broke onto the scene, you’d gotten off to his videos, and only dreamed of one day starring in a scene with him, but you were still new to this world.

As a promising star, you had a long way to go and tons of plots, positions and people to still experience, so landing a role with someone like Bucky Barnes wasn’t entirely written in your plans any time soon. Then again, your first girl-on-girl scene was with your mentor herself, so anything could happen, right?

“I just haven’t found my girl yet,” was the next thing you pick up Wanda say the moment your head comes back from the clouds, “...I have all this momentum now that I want this to blow everyone away, especially Stark.”

Tony Stark was her rival. It was a friendly competition amongst friends. You hadn’t gotten the chance to work for him yet. He was a playful character and had directed some of the best adult films out there, Wanda just happened to be the better of the two this year…

“Sorry, I’m retired,” Natasha reminds her and repositions herself on her back.

“Fuck you,” Wanda says playfully to which Natasha responds with a finger in the air before she clarifies, “I was hinting at this year’s Best New Starlet…” and slyly looking in your directly.

“Me?” You ask incredulously. Your head can’t even start processing that you’re finally getting the opportunity to work with Bucky.

Wanda rolls her eyes at your obliviousness, “no, last year’s Best New Starlet. Hell no! Of course, you!” You respond in the same manner as your mentor, who is more than amused at you also following her lead, and flip Wanda off. Wanda snatches your hand to bring it away from her face, “I’m serious!”

“I-I don’t know, Wan,” a part of you is a little scared that you’re not going to be able to keep up with someone as established and with the star power as Bucky, “...like you said, you have all this momentum behind you. I don’t want to fuck this scene up because I don’t have a lot of experience.”

“Are you fucking kidding?” Natasha pipes up on the other side of you. “This is the perfect role for you!” She sees the questionable look on your face and sighs before explaining. “You’re a fresh face and rising star! People are lining up to book you, Stark included.”

“Nat is right. You’re a hot commodity now! I need someone who is a little inexperienced to mix with someone that is,” Wanda further explains her premise, “let him take the lead, but at your pace. I need it to be raw and passionate. People love that shit!” They were right, he had all the experience, and you were a fresh loveable face. It was the perfect combination.

You remain quiet for several seconds before Natasha rats you out, “and don’t even try to act like you don’t want to work with Barnes. This is your fantasy come to life.” Way to throw you under the bus like that…

There’s no denying your goal to work with him. He’d been in this business much longer than you had, you didn’t think your paths would ever cross on a set, but the opportunity couldn’t have presented itself in a more perfect point in your career.

The room is very pristine. White walls with a king size bed, also adorned in white sheets, fluffy pillows scattered at the top, minimal furniture around to make it look realistic, and the lighting was just right. Wanda had received a hefty budget after her recognition that’s for sure.

“Alright, girly, let’s get you on the bed!” Wanda happily directs.

You nod silently, remove your footwear and plop down on the center of the large mattress. You decide to leave your legs sprawled on one side of your body, settling on a bashful position. It’s not hard for you because although you agreed to do this and have done several scenes, internally, you’re freaking the fuck out. Unbeknownst to you, it’s all part of your charm; the innocence you somehow still radiated was an all too endearing quality and actually sexy.

Even your attire was pretty modest, opting for a more casual look with black leggings and a tight long sleeve that accentuates your figure and shows off the right amount of cleavage. It was something that you could easily wear out in public, which again was a part of your brand in being as natural as possible, but come the right circumstances, when it was time to roll you could turn on the right switch.

“We’ll start off like a typical casting interview before we bring Bucky in and then we’ll go from there. Sounds good?” She runs down the plan with you, fixing a few strands of flyaway hairs on your head before back away from the bed. With a thumbs up and a smile from you, she starts recording.

“Welcome, Best New Starlet of the Year!” Wanda greets from behind the camera.

“Hi,” you politely reply with your signature sweet smile and a wave to the screen.

These scenes start off with a small interview recounting your tale into the porn industry leading up to your recent achievement and even delving a bit into your personal life before the topic changes to your co-star.

“So, how excited are you to work with Bucky today?”

No matter how hard you practiced at keeping a straight poker face, that was something you were unable to master from Natasha, and the blush couldn’t be contained.

Fidgeting at the hem of your top, you open and close your mouth, trying to find the right words. You’re overly flustered at the thought of Bucky and he wasn’t even in front of you yet. You don’t want to sound like a fool and ruin the atmosphere. Wanda mouths words of advice from where she sat in the director’s chair, “be honest.”

“Um, I’m...nervous,” you say truthfully.

“Nervous?” She questions, urging you to elaborate.

“Yeah, he’s Bucky Barnes! He’s hot and he’s got so much experience. I’m kind of scared I’ll be boring,” you finish explaining and hope to God that Natasha doesn’t kill you afterwards, or with that answer let Wanda down, but the smile on her face sends you a wave of assurance.

Maybe you could do this...

Earlier that day, Bucky had already recorded his little opening scene. Wanda had called him to report on set before you were scheduled to arrive.

On the contrary, Bucky was also a tab bit anxious to work with you. He’d seen some of your work and more so heard about your talent from his own best friend, Steve Rogers.

He didn’t deny it, he was very much attracted to you and he wanted a chance to work with you too. Bucky wasn’t a jealous person, which made working in the porn industry easy for him, but when he had to hear Steve recount his scenes with you, he couldn’t help but want to sock his own childhood friend. He didn’t of course, but the rage was evident and his other friend, Sam Wilson, took some sick pleasure in teasing him over it. In fact, the eccentric personality of the trio of friends, decided to tag along with Bucky to introduce himself to you and get under his skin a little more.

“What’s going on in that nasty head of yours?” Sam poked at Bucky as they made their way over to Wanda, who was by the camera setup going over a script with another stagehand. When Bucky doesn’t respond, it provokes Sam even more, “no way, you’re nervous!”

Bucky sighs fed up with dealing with the anxiety brewing ever since he found out he was going to star in this film with you. “Shut the fuck up, will you? Of course, I’m nervous,” he says, trying to remain calm.

“Dude, you’ve slept with some of the hottest people in the world and millions of people have seen you naked. Why is one girl any different?” Sam wonders.

“I don’t know, ok. She just seems so down-to-earth and normal?” Bucky attempts to explain. You were real. His work was just that, it was a work, and he was afraid that it would be different with you. He could say he was almost intimidated by you.

“Yeah, as if I don’t have to hear that enough from Rogers…” Sam chimed in. Steve had nothing but high praise for your performance. In fact, his testimony helped expose you a little further. He was an honorable performer and a respected one, so they took his word on you. “Maybe, I’ll be her next co-star,” and just like that Sam ruined a moment.

“God, I hate you,” was the last thing exchanged between the two friends as they finally reached Wanda. She warned Sam to behave and gave Bucky a quick rundown before instructing him to hop on the bed.

Bucky’s interview starts a little differently than yours. Having already been a more established performer than yourself, no one needed his background story. The only thing Wanda wanted out of him was his plans and opinion on you.

“Well, I don’t know too much about her, personally speaking...but everyone seems to love her,” Bucky’s answer was a bit bland for Wanda.

“She’s a great person to work with,” she comments and that’s a tactic most directors used to get talent to keep talking.

“That’s what Steve keeps saying,” he says with somewhat of an awkward light laugh. He could see Sam facepalming next to Wanda at that lame answer.

“Yeah, you don’t win best female newcomer for nothing,” Wanda points out. If anyone was the lucky one here, it was Bucky. He was climbing up in age and you were the next big thing. You were the real star of this film not Bucky. She was counting more on you to deliver than him.

“That’s right. She’s a very talented performer,” Bucky says, and this small comment opens up a can of worms for Wanda to build up on.

“Oh, so you’ve seen some of her work?” Bam! He was caught.

Bucky’s mouth starts twitching slightly and Wanda and Sam are smirking from their spots as they watch the gears in Bucky’s mind start turning faster trying to think of something. The only piece of advice Wanda gives is “be honest.”

He sighs, the jig was up. Smooth Bucky Barnes was caught red-handed, “yeah, I’ve watched some scenes. I’ve seen her in person a few times too…”

“Wait,” Wanda interrupts him abruptly. She knew you were attracted to Bucky, but never knew of any encounters between you two, “when did you meet her?”

“I haven’t,” Bucky starts, which causes a look of mass confusion on Wanda’s face before he follows up, “formally. I haven’t met her formally, but I’ve seen her at a few parties and at the award show...I was just nervous to walk up to her,” the words just kept flowing out of his mouth and he inwardly cringed at how awkward he might’ve sounded.

Sam was amused by his embarrassment, but Wanda was pleased with this result. Bucky was good at what he did and that included him trying to play it cool, which he did well on screen, sometimes.

“You know she was actually thrilled to find out she would be working with you,” Wanda said, stretching the truth. The truth was, you hadn’t verbally confessed that, at least not yet.

“Really?” Bucky asks all too hopeful, his mood noticeably perking up.

“Yup! Ever since she won Best New Starlet of the Year, people have been lining up to book her, but she chose this project. You were the deal breaker, Barnes,” she fabricated and hoped this all worked out for you two in the end.

“Wow, who would’ve thought this has-been still had it in him?” He jokes at himself. His humility would get the best of him in every situation.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself! You didn’t win Best Male Performer of the Year again for nothing!” Wanda says and then steers the interview to a close.

After wrapping up Bucky’s scene, he’s allowed to stay in another room with a monitor. At first, he thinks it’s to help him prep for the scene, but to his surprise it’s a live feed of your interview and he starts clinging onto your every word. Enthralled by your journey, work ethic and he gets flustered all over again hearing you talk about your equal eagerness to work with him.

“You know, if anyone is the lucky one in this situation, it’s Barnes,” Wanda reminds as your interview comes to an end.

“Right,” you sarcastically remark.

“Are you ready for us to bring Bucky in?” She asks.

“It’s now or never,” you reply. 

You watch the doorknob twist and the door open to slowly reveal Bucky. Where do you even start with him? He just looked like the total package. His gaze immediately on yours. As he makes his way towards the bed you’re still sitting on, when his knee comes in contact to the edge, you maneuver your body in his direction, sit up on your knees to meet him halfway and welcome him in a hug.

“Hi, it’s nice to finally meet you,” he says when you pull apart. The both of you don’t break away completely. Your arms are still wrapped around his neck, his hands placed just above your waist, you can feel his fingers that slipped under the fabric rub your skin.

“It’s nice to meet you,” you respond, giving him a genuine smile and can’t help but stare at his pretty face. You had to remind yourself he’s just another guy, except he wasn’t. You didn’t know how he felt, but you wanted this, wanted him. You also don’t know if you’ll ever work him again after today, so he was going to get the real you.

A small, subtle clearing of someone’s throat shatters the staring contest between you and Bucky causing you both to sheepishly break away from the other, not realizing you’d both allowed dreaded dead airtime to pass by. You scoot over to make room for him next to you on the bed. After he pulls his footwear off, he sits cross legged in front of you, you have one leg tucked in and the other extended in front.

Bucky’s not entirely oblivious. He not only witnessed you backstage reveal you were actually nervous to work with him, he could feel it, so at an attempt to help ease both your nerves, he places a hand on your shin and absentmindedly run his hand up and down the fabric, fingers sometimes stopping to mess with the cuff of your leggings and at the skin of your ankle, while he listened to you speak.

He congratulated you on your achievement as you did with him, both a blushing mess before diving into different topics like traveling and other interests.

Wanda stood proudly behind the camera watching the scene unfold. Everything was so candid and real between you and Bucky, the chemistry was clearly evident, she didn’t foresee there would be much directing on her part today, which was going to make her job easy.

“Wanda said you were excited to work with me,” Bucky teases, wanting to see if what you said was just for the cameras or if it was really true, but also, he found out he liked to see you get all hot and bothered in more than one way.

Your jaw drops and you look directly into the camera, breaking the fourth wall, calling out to Wanda. You playfully chastise and curse at her for revealing your secret. She tells you it was going to come out anyways, and while that was true, you’d hoped it was later and much after you’ve slept with him, hoping it doesn’t ruin the shoot, but Bucky assures you that it’s actually a flattering to hear or in his words, “assuring” for someone like him.

“Are you kidding?” You say, lightly shoving him back, “you’re like a legend! Of course, I was excited! I’m surprised you agreed to work with a rookie like me!” Now that the cat was out of the bag, you might as well own up to your secret.

“Everyone wants to work with you,” he makes clear, leaning in closer. Fuck, he didn’t even need to initiate foreplay because with the way he was looking at you right now, you could come swear you’d come undone for him in an instant.

“Oh really?” You challenge, your body gravitating like a magnet towards his.

“Yup, Steve wouldn’t shut up about you and even Sam said he can’t wait to someday work with you,” he said, voice slowly dropping in decibels and his hands sliding up your thighs.

“Did he?” You ask, but you don’t really care about Sam as your eyes look dead into Bucky’s blue ones, swirling into a darker shade full of deep want and desire.

“Yeah, but let’s see if he still wants to try to outdo me after I’m done with you,” he whispers, finally closing the gap between your lips in a sweet kiss. It was about as sweet as it could last because after just one taste of your lips, he was a starved man, hungry for more. You tried your best to match his pace and the kiss turned sloppy very quick.

You moaned at the pressure of his lips pressed roughly against yours, and you do your best to keep up, but you’re already finding yourself short of breath. However, the more you try to pull back to regain some oxygen, the more he’s unwilling to part as he grasps your face in both hands to keep you still, so you lightly squeeze at his biceps as a warning in hope he gets the message.

Lucky for you, he does and lets up. He’s also noticeably breathless, his warm breath fanning against your kiss-swollen lips, his forehead resting against yours. Bucky’s hands are still on your face.

“Sorry,” he apologizes, and you let out a small chuckle at the sincerity. He was cute.

You take his hands in yours and bring them back down to begin undressing him starting by helping him slip his shirt over his head, the fashionable dog tags around his neck clank as it slaps against his toned chest, you let him keep them on though.

Bucky sits up on his knees as he watches you settle on your stomach, propped up by your elbows, hands getting ready to work on his lower half. He patiently watches as you unbuckle his belt, pop the button of his jeans off, and drag the zipper down.

With his pants hanging loose off his hips, you begin to plant soft kisses along his navel down the defined lines that lead to his cock. Each contact of your lips sends a ghostly tingle and the blood to rush even quicker down his lower region. The imprint of his endowed member doesn’t leave much to your imagination, you can already see the stain where the tip is through his tight boxer briefs. It gives you a little boost of confidence knowing you’d caused this and would get to take care of it.

You hook your fingers into the undergarment and tug them down his muscular thighs. His cock springs out, almost hitting you in the face causing you to jolt back a little and a smile to spread across Bucky’s.

Your clumsiness was also a part of your charm. It wasn’t on purpose, you were still learning after all, and that’s what made it so unique and fun to work with you. Your partners just felt a real, genuine connection, citing it felt less choreographed and of a porno with you.

A little embarrassed about that move, you’d watched what he can do with that cock, but nothing could’ve prepared you for it face-to-face. You don’t waste any time on getting your hands on him and wrap your fingers around his half-hard cock and start pumping him sensually.

He’s hot and soft in your hands before getting gradually heavy. The look in your eyes grows more predatory as you watch him grow and feel him getting harder with each pump causing more and more pre-cum to ooze out. You spread it all over the head of his cock with your thumb then daring to look up at him, hoping he was indeed enjoying your work, before you pucker your lips and kiss at the crown. Bucky curses when he sees your lips shining, coated in his pre-cum, with a string connecting you to his cock.

You gather the fluid up in your hand before spreading it all over his length, when it’s not enough you start not only pumping him faster, but also licking up and down, from the base to the tip, hoping to effectively slick him up. The way your tongue scrapes along over Bucky’s sensitive flesh stirs him up. Your other hand joins in to fondle with his neglected balls, massaging and pulling at them in the right moments, sometimes you travel a little south and take them in your mouth. It all but drives Bucky wild and it’s confirmed with each swear that leaves his mouth.

Bucky wants nothing more than to lodge himself deep in your throat, but he remembers he needs to go at your pace, and once you’re broken in a little more, you could follow his, so he’ll bide his time for now and watch you work.

When you’re ready to take him in, you regain his attention and he watches you slowly take in his inches down your mouth, stopping halfway before your wide-open mouth hollows out. Your full mouth immediately waters around him and it doesn’t take long before you’re a drooling mess all over his cock. You pull back torturously slow, looking back down watching his cock reappear and loving the way it disappears back in, and especially how it feels when it drags through your mouth, taking note of the veins and unique ridges.

“Don’t be like that, doll,” he says, wiping some of the hair away from your face, “come on and show me why they don’t stop talking about you,” he coaxes, now gathering some of your locks in his hand to completely give you both a clear view. He tries his best to not take the lead, but you don’t disappoint as your mouth works faster on him. The gagging and sucking, mixed with Bucky’s moans of pleasure soon become the soundtrack.

You’d gradually take him more and more in, close to deep throating him, and you’re just ready to let up, but he can’t help it and before your last round, he holds your head in place.

“Don’t quit now, baby,” he encourages you, placing his other hand on the back of your head, keeping you still and carefully starts to thrust his hips, urging you to take him all the way, “...that’s it, you can do it, you can take it,” he releases a big sigh feeling the tip of your nose bump his lower abdomen. The moisture builds up in the inner corner of your eyes and you do your best to mind your breathing and not choke.

“Fuck!” He can’t help but shout when he feels your throat contract around him. You just looked so divine, mouth full of his cock. He keeps you there for a few seconds, before releasing his hold, and you immediately pull back, drool dribbles down your chin, and you’re desperate for oxygen to return back into your system. He grabs your face by your chin forcing you to look up at him.

He uses his fingers to scoop up some of the mixed fluids of his arousal and your saliva at your chin before presenting it in front of you. You easily read his mind, look up at him with big, watery eyes, and take his coated digits in your abused mouth sucking the juices clean off him. 

He growls and commends you, “...such a good girl.” When he slips his fingers out of your mouth, a small pop could faintly be heard, he gently yanks at your hair, craning your head back further, it’s almost painful but you don’t care, “do it again,” he demands.

You bite your lip and reposition yourself. Bucky settles in a more comfortable position on his back, completely rid of his pants and underwear, his legs spread open for you to lie between them. Before you get back to the job, you slip your tight top off, all-natural breasts spilling out and on display for him. His cock twitches at the sight and he lets his head fall back when he’s once more fully encased in the warm, wet cavern of your mouth.

When he finally starts begging you to let up, you pull back slowly pumping him and watch his every move, the rise of his chest as it heaves from the activity, the way he runs his hands over his face. He’s absolutely stunned by your performance so far.

“On your back,” he says, and you do as he commands, and forget who is supposed to really be in charge. He yanks your leggings and panties all the way down, chucking them behind him somewhere in the corner of the room.

“You’re so sexy,” he compliments, eyes taking in every inch of your naked body, hands getting their fill. His body dips, lips latching onto your breasts, kissing at the skin and sucking on each nipple before they make their way up the juncture of your neck and claim your lips again.

You feel his tongue run along your bottom lip, and they part to grant him full access. You barely notice how he takes a hold of one of your hands, he pulls his face away to bring the hand in his grasp up to your face, using your fingers to trace the outline of your lips. You see him inaudibly instruct you to open your mouth, you do as you’re told.

“That’s right get those fingers nice and wet,” he coaxes you to suck on your own digits until he deems you ready for the next move. When he finally does pull your fingers out from your mouth, he extends your arm, ghosting them just over your pussy.

“Play with that clit,” he tells you and you don’t need to be told twice. Your pussy was begging for any kind of attention. You let your wet fingers roll over the bundle of nerves, puffs of breath escape your body as you’re finally attending to your own needs.

Bucky sits back and watches you intently, fascinated by your every move. He instructs you to close your eyes and listen to his voice, instructing you to go slow at first, “does that feel good?” the only reply he gets is a fast nod, “yeah? Make yourself feel good...that’s it,” his words only encourage your fingers to soon work faster, “let me hear how good it feels,” he demands, and you moan and whine like the true pornstar you are, your circular motions speed up, the lewd noises egg him on and soon enough he wants a taste.

“Let me help you out,” and you feel the bed shift a bit, “spread those wet lips for me,” he requests. You use both hands to invite him into your wet, glistening hole. You pick your head up to see his face buried between your thighs, you watch just long enough until each broad lick up and down your pussy sends you close to the edge.

He no longer needs the support of your hands, and they find purchase in his dark, fluffy hair as he starts sucking on your clit and tonguing your folds. At first, you’re doing a good job keeping your legs apart to accommodate him, but it gets harder and harder for them to not clamp around his head, with every nudge the tip of his nose makes at your clit and it doesn’t help your case when he inserts a finger inside you. With a good curl, his finger scratches dangerously close to your sweet spot, causing your legs to start quivering.

The sudden hitch in your breathing catches his attention, and Bucky tests the waters more by digging in deeper and curling in further. He notices the increasing agitation and knows he’s found the trigger.

“Bucky,” you whine, hoping he doesn’t push you over just yet. You want to last longer, and so you reluctantly attempt to scoot back further away, but the sudden strong grip  he has around your leg locks you in place. You pick your head back up and find Bucky’s eyes trained on you. You see the stoic look in his eyes laced with determination. Oh no, he wanted you to come now. You feel a hum from his full mouth, only pushing you further.  

“Don’t hold back,” he says against your pussy, “let go,” and the gruff in his voice, vibrating against you, his thick digits still curled deep inside you, you can’t hold back the floodgates from bursting any longer.

He laps up your arousal as you desperately try to regain composure. He really pulled one out of you, proving he was as every bit good as he put out and you’re not even close to the end of this scene.  

“Come here,” he says, getting back on his knees and pulling you up by your arms so you’re in an up-right sitting position once again, but with Bucky still towering over you, “open up.”

You comply and open your mouth wide, tongue out, not understanding his motive, and you’re met with full surprise when he spits in your mouth, a firm grip on your face, he holds you still.

“Don’t swallow,” he gravely warns. You feel and probably look stupid not knowing what he wants you to do with your mouth open wide and full of his spit mingling with your arousal, just trying to keep it all contained. Bucky was testing your patience and obedience and you passed every test so far. You were just the right amount of submissive, absolutely perfect.

You can feel his hard cock pressing up against your sensitive pussy, it slides up between your folds and the base rests on top of your mound. “Drool it out...on my cock,” he instructs. Oh. He guides your gaze down between your bodies, you purse your lips, and both watch as the liquid cascades down onto his erect member. He uses it to lube himself up before he pushes you down to lie flat on your back.

Bucky slowly but easily slips inside your wet channel but notices your slight struggle. He was big, and he gets it. The way your eyes are tightly shut, hands pulling at the sheets, you struggle to breath and your walls cruelly grip him tight. Normally, he’d just pound away until his partner got used to him, but he didn’t want to do that with you. He wanted you to enjoy feeling him.

He tries to help you relax by rubbing your thighs a little with soothing motions, when they fall limp on either side, he leans down, you feel the cool metal of his dog tags against your heated skin, his weight sort of comforting on yours, and arms entrapping your head. He lovingly calls out your name, and your eyes flutter open, your attention refocusing on him.

“We’ll go at your pace, alright?” he assures you. You curse yourself for allowing your heart to swell at his concern, but you nod giving him permission to move slowly. Your whimpers soon transition into pleasurable moans, the more your body begins to adjust to his.

“Damn, you’re so tight. You’ve never been stretched out like this by anyone before have you?” he dares ask, once he sees it’s a safe playing field once more, his hips moving slow, his cock sliding in and out of you. You attempt at a laugh between your ragged breathing and the intense sensation coursing through you.

“No,” you respond and kiss at his chin, the light stubble pricking your soft lips, “you’re so big.” You feel his cock twitch inside and you want to curse yourself again at the comment that unintentionally riles him up because he was nestled close to your spot again. Fuck, he could reach just the right depth in you.

“Fuck, Bucky,” you don’t want to go slow anymore. Fuck Wanda and this movie, you wanted all of Bucky now, “please fuck me,” you resort to begging. He inwardly growls and his hips start snapping forward, thrusts growing hard and uncalculated. You just lie there and allow him to use your pussy for his pleasure.

Bucky’s movements falter a bit in this position, so he steers both your bodies on their sides, still facing each other, he slings your leg high up over his hips, and resumes his task. His cock glides right back in your pussy and the new angle causes you to yelp and walls to clench around him.

“You feel so good,” his voice riddled with so much lust as he brings your body closer to his with a hand behind, full of your plushest asset. Your head rests on the bicep of his other arm that was underneath it.

Bucky’s expressive eyes ask you if you're close, and the more your walls continue to grip him, he starts begging for you to come with him. “I’m gonna cum,” he warns, giving up and letting you take the rest of the lead.

“Yeah?” you huff out, your fingers digging into the side of his hips, “you want to cum inside me?” You know he does; you can feel and see it written all over him, but you want to just poke at him like he had with you, “I want you to...I want all your cum inside me, Bucky,” and you wanted him to cum hard, deep inside, “fill my tight pussy up, please,” you plead.

With one more jab of his hips, your back arches and head is thrown back, you can’t help but let out a scream as your orgasm rips right through you like it’s never before. Bucky’s body on the other hand caves into yours, feeling almost paralyzed as your tight walls hold him in place and all he can do is bury his face into the sweaty skin of your neck.

His mouth hangs open, a plethora of profanities coming out of him, and he waits for his cock to finish spewing ropes of his hot, thick cum into you. Your walls can’t help but to involuntarily contract in small aftershocks, especially when he’s still coming.

Bucky continues to moan as he does as you hoped, he came hard and deep inside you. When you’ve both finally come down from the high, it’s silent, and even though you’d both long forgotten you were on a set with multiple people watching you two, they were also quiet, completely taken back by the performance.

Incoherent cries come out of each of you, when Bucky agonizingly pulls his cock out. For the most part you’re able to keep him inside, but he’d proven to come so much some of it seeps out and runs down in streak fashion along your thigh, staining the bed sheets.

In your last act, as your gazes meet each other again, your fingers dip inside your soaked cunt and coat them. Hypnotized by you, Bucky watches as you greedily suck off his essence from your digits, and you evoke a small hum in his favor at the taste bursting in your mouth.  

Bucky bites at his bottom lip, trying to not lose it again. When your hand disappears, he tenderly wipes the matted hair away from your face, smoothing your hair back before pulling your body close again, swooping your lips for a deep kiss.

“Shit, you’re good,” he admits, when he pulls away, effectively breaking the blissful silence. You bust out in a fit of giggles beside him and it’s the cutest thing he’s ever seen. He’s not sure what he’s feeling, but it’s not something you’re supposed to feel towards your co-star, especially in the porn industry.    

He smiles at you, basking in your afterglow and all he knows is that he wants to feel this high with you over and over, so he decides to risk it all, “I hope this doesn’t ruin the moment, but can I take you out some time?”

You try your best to read him, wondering if he was just still in the heat of the moment. Either he’s really good or he’s being sincere, you can’t tell and you’re hoping you’re not overthinking it, but his eyes, this whole time, were what gave him away. He performed with them and he definitely spoke through them.

Before you could accept and give him a definite answer, you’re both brought back to reality, “we’re still rolling here!” Wanda reminds.

A/N: Thank the pain meds for this. I think I effectively used up my vacation days the right way, won’t you agree? Likes, reblogs and comments/emojis are appreciated! 

[poptod]

Cyber Security (Elliot Alderson)

Description: An online ad leads him to you, though in reality he has little interest in your ad. What interests him is how you accidentally doxxed yourself and how oblivious you are to that fact.

Notes: idrk what to say about this one its one of those things that i wrote at midnight after almost falling asleep to a fantasy and then realizing it could work as a fic. like i did this same thing with ‘close your eyes’ that one was also a before-bed-to-get-to-sleep fantasy. this is also not a particularly romantic interaction, though it can be read as such WC: 2.2k

+

Sweat drenched his sheets, bathing him in the cold wind that breezed past his only air conditioner lodged in a nearby window. He stared blankly upwards, half shivering and half overheated, as he once again found himself in a familiar predicament—the practice of sleep.

It was no secret he had trouble calming himself down, and that aspect of himself reached into the evening, as well. He already downed three melatonin pills hours earlier, along with smoking a joint that should’ve put him to bed. Unsurprisingly, that did not work.

“Xanax,” he mumbled to himself, hearing it bounce back from empty walls. “Need to get xanax.”

In the meantime he raised himself to his feet, padding across freezing floors to his computer. With a click of a button the white screen buzzed to life, shining bright onto his sleep-heavy eyes, that did their best to acclimatize to the sudden change.

Hypnotization—strange as it might’ve been—had worked a couple times before. Not all the time, but decently enough to give it a try. He had work in the morning and he didn’t need to be more miserable than usual, especially since he hadn’t slept almost the entire weekend.

sleep hypnosis

The blinker flickered for a moment before his fourth finger slammed down on enter, the last step in calculated movements. What popped up first was a video titled [ SLEEP HYPNOSIS ] 8 Hour Loop with a screencap of a spinning black and white screen. Below that, however, was something he hadn’t seen before—a YouTube video titled exactly what he’d typed, lacking the caps just as he had. The title screen appeared to be some sort of poorly-drawn painting.

Curiosity overcame his hazy, aching head, and he clicked, finding a playlist of videos containing what could be the titles of songs, along with several different poorly-drawn title screens.

The first video began to play before he could realize it. What he first noticed was it was bereft of ads—that meant the publisher made no money off the album.

Sat in the presence of God

whose name means filthy old fraud

Captions had been manually added by, he assumed, you. The author. There were three views on the video, no comments, and no likes, leaving few other options.

Maybe it was the melody—maybe the lyrics, who talked of a world plagued by aristocrats. But he found his eyelids heavy, dropping dark eyelashes in his vision that blurred the screen. By the third song, reciting verses of an Islamic poem, he was slouched in his seat.

He slid down to the floor, crawling his way back to flop onto his bed. The music continued to play till the first ad popped up, at which time he opened his eyes, seeing a music video from Katy Perry, at which time he promptly reached over and unplugged his computer. He wasn’t sure which cord he pulled out, but the screen still went black. With that, he just barely sneaked into his covers, dozing until the morning.

It was far too easy to get information on you. Your full name was stated clearly in your youtube bio, alongside several different social media tags leading to instagram, tumblr, and facebook.

Facebook alone provided him the means to your address, and he didn’t even have to go looking for it. Your most recent post was an ad, searching for someone good with computers to aid you in your recording process, which you noted as ‘dismal’.

Are you fucking kidding me? He thought to himself, reading the ad once more.

Your address, your real, physical address was stated as the place you wanted to meet those interested in helping you. On the internet. You had doxxed yourself after less than a year of being online.

Okay, he thought, clicking on your listed email. Someone needs to be taught a lesson.

Three days later—after about two weeks of listening to your echoing voice every night—you replied, sending a cheerful email detailing when you would be available to meet him. After shooting a short message back, the date was organized.

Two more days and he was standing at your doorstep, his neck craned upwards as he scanned your tall, narrow home squished between two other apartments. He just barely knocked before the black door swung open, revealing a familiar face belonging to a stranger. Elliot was dressed in his black hoodie and jeans, a stark difference to your long, colorful robes, coming out of a sort of fantasy world.

“Hi,” he said, his voice grating with how low and quiet he kept it.

“Hello,” you said with a smile that did not match his hunched posture. “Are you Mr. Alderson?”

“Elliot,” he corrected, his chin just barely raising to meet you. “Elliot Alderson. Elliot works.”

“Alright,” you said, nodding. “Come inside? I was just making tea. Do you like tea? Or do you prefer coffee?”

“I... I’m fine, thanks,” he said softly, scooting past you when you opened the door wide enough for him to enter. He sucked in a breath as his chest brushed yours.

Your home was modern—far fancier than Elliot’s own apartment, with large windows flanked by soft grey curtains. A small, upright piano was in the corner of the living room, set upon a reed mat lined with Korean symbols. The couch was clinical, made of a sort of black plastic leather that matched the grey skies beyond the window panes.

He sat down, shifting his feet closer together as his fingers dug into his palms, continuing to scan the room in its’ entirety until you returned with your own tea.

“What kind of experience do you have? School counts,” you said, setting your cup down on a tiny plate whose decorations matched your teacup.

“I’ve been... experimenting, with computers, since I was around 9,” he said, mumbling the words out as his shoulders hunched awkwardly down. “Have a job at a cyber security firm. Started a while back.”

“You still have that job?”

“Yeah,” he said with a small nod. “Jus’ thought this would be... fun.”

The dead look on his face indicated no humor whatsoever, but you took his word as it was.

“How’d you find the ad I put out?”

“I... I listened to your music,” he answered honestly for once. “Helps me fall asleep.”

“Oh,” you said, clearly taken aback. Your face grew warm as you glanced away with wide eyes. “I’m glad I could help.”

“You’re not very good with technology, though,” he said in his usual low, grating voice.

“Not really,” you chuckled sheepishly. “That’s why I put out the ad -“

“No, not that,” he interrupted you. “You put your physical address on the internet. You doxxed yourself. Do you even know how dangerous that is?”

The lyrics of your songs pointed towards a kind of brilliance, balanced against emotions felt thoroughly on pages and screens. It didn’t match your actions at all.

“What’s doxxing?” You asked.

Elliot had to physically stop himself from sighing and leaving.

“You want everyone to know where you, a minor celebrity, live?”

“I’d hardly call myself a -“

“I could’ve been a murderer,” he said, reaching into his bag.

He looked you in the eye as he pulled out a gun, clicking on the safety before he pointed it at you.

“This is how easy it would be to kill you.”

As expected, you stiffened at the sight of the iron barrel, your fingers withdrawing to your chest. Your lips pursed as you met his gaze once more.

“Please put the gun down,” you whispered, your voice cracking.

He did as you said, resting the gun on the table.

“That’s a hell of a way to start an interview, Mr. Alderson,” you said quietly. “Please get out of my house.”

His heart sank. What had he expected? For you to fall to your knees and sing to him as he desired you to do? He threatened you with a gun to teach you a lesson, and you reacted accordingly. Calmer than others would.

Elliot stood on shaky legs, sliding the pistol into his backpack before he zipped it up. Throwing the pack over his shoulder, he swallowed through a tight throat, shuffling as he delayed his departure.

“Keep safe from people like me,” he said in a strained mumble. “Take that ad down. Meet people from the internet only in inhabited, public areas.”

You tapped your fingernails on the table for a moment, chewing on your bottom lip. Suddenly you stood, tugging on his sweatshirt sleeve to get him to face you, instead of staring at his feet.

“Alright. If you’re really so good at the internet -“

He ignored your incorrect grammar.

“- and... if you actually do want to help me with my songs,” your tone softened, “then you’ll be able to find my real name, not my stage name. If you do.. I’ll hire you.”

“Alright,” he said monotone, knowing the battle was already won.

Even though he knew your name already, he turned away and left to his apartment, immediately going to work on figuring out everything he could about you. If you willingly still offered him the job after that, he knew it would take a lot to scare you off. He could impress you.

It was, after all, the only thing he was good at.

Two days later he showed up at your apartment again, quietly thanking you when you let him in. The clean floors and walls remained unchanged since his last visit, and you led him to the same table, sitting him down on the same seat.

“Your name is (Y/N) (L/N),” he started with. You already appeared to be surprise. “You grew up near LA and you’ve had a chronic illness all your life. At eleven you saw your first therapist.. that must’ve been when you first got diagnosed with depression... and anxiety.”

“Killer duo,” you muttered.

“Your parents split when you were thirteen, which came at the same time as your dog, Penelope, died. Or... sometime that year. When was that... 1997?”

“1999,” you said quietly.

“Your mom homeschooled you,” he continued. “That’s probably why you don’t know how computers work. Rather eclectic, in a.. boring way... an ex-Amish, right?”

You nodded and his heartbeat tripled. Everything was right thus far despite a two year difference in his guesstimate of your life’s timeline.

“Then there was your dad... logger in the Redwood forests. Burly guy. Not a great man, from what I saw,” he said.

“He was fine,” you said with a small shrug as you looked away. “Didn’t ever hurt me, or anything.”

“Abuse isn’t always physical,” he said faster than he could think, dizzied by his own memories playing behind his eyes.

“I know,” you murmured.

You went silent, so he continued, hoping to pry more precious words from you.

“Your favorite color is yellow,” he said, leaning closer to you. “On Valentine’s you get chocolate strawberries, and on easter you get kinder eggs.”

Nothing.

“You studied mythology as a kid, and you made paintings of the forest you lived in with your mom. Santa Cruz mountains, I think.”

“Yeah,” you said. “I miss the forests.”

“I know. You want to visit Ireland again because it’s a land of faeries and moss, it’s a breeding ground for your song lyrics.”

“How did you find all this out?” You finally asked.

“You use the same password on everything,” he said, though that was far from the actual answer. “Your web browser tracks all your movements and you don’t try to stop it, or hide ads, or stay away from sketchy websites. Your parents aren’t much better, either.”

You chuckled, shaking your head as you brought your hand to massage your brow.

“You’re way too smart to be helping me,” you said with soft laughter, blushing with your smile.

“It’s better than working for E Corp,” he said, huffing out a laugh that was hardly humored.

“E corp?”

“My.. uh, place of work,” he brushed off his slip. “My point is... I’d rather work with you and do easy work than work with my current fucking coworkers.”

You laughed, truly and fully this time, curling into a little ball that shook with the force of it. Your feet tucked into your tiny chair, making you even smaller.

“Bad people or just annoying?”

“Stupid,” he chuckled. “Don’t let me wear my sweatshirt.”

“Ooh, now it’s my turn,” you suddenly interrupted him, earning a strange look. “I’ve noticed things about you, too. I couldn’t learn anything off the computer, but you, you have anxiety too. Probably some childhood trauma.. maybe a dissociative disorder of sorts or a form of PTSD. Your jacket is like your home, and... you have sensory issues. Few types of fabric, don’t like to be touched, if I had to guess I’d say you might be autistic.”

“Blunt,” he said after a full minute’s silence.

“Do you mind?” You asked.

“No, not really.”

“Good. Then you’re hired,” you said with a smile, extending your hand for him to shake. “If you still want the job, of course.”

He watched you with evident apprehension, but took your hand after much thought, shaking with a firm grip.

“When do I start?”

[wheelsup]

the taming of the shrew | two

if i be waspish, best beware my sting

after some setbacks, penelope is willing to do anything to get you back on board. but has spencer already ruined things?

A/N: hello! im so sorry that this posting schedule is super inconsistent. the more i thought about this chapter, the less i liked the more technical aspects of it. but! i hope you enjoy to plot aspect of it nonetheless <3 thanks for reading!

category: fluff, slow burn series, spencer reid x fem!reader

wc: 4.4k

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Since that phone call with Penelope, she’d been over nearly every night for a week with plates of treats and onslaughts of apologies. Each time she came knocking, you told her there was no amount of persuasion that could change your mind. And yet the following night, she’d be there, a new type of pastry in hand and a new set of reasons why Spencer was worth the trouble.

First, she brought blueberry muffins and reasoned that deep below that prickly exterior, he really was everything she promised –– sweet and caring. But that must be deep, deep down. Like, The Lost City of Atlantis, deep down, because you didn’t expect it to surface any time soon. 

Then, she brought fudge brownies and explained that his behavior wasn’t personal –– he was getting snippy with everyone lately. And while you maintained that anybody would have a hard time getting along with Spencer, you were absolutely positive that it was now impossible for you. 

Quite frankly, it wasn’t just Spencer who was unwilling to play nice. You hated him. More than you’ve ever hated a stranger. 

You wished him a lifetime riddled with minor inconveniences that would drive him to the edge of insanity. You wanted him to miss all his trains by just a quarter of a minute; close enough so that he could see it leave the platform, knowing he almost made it on. You wanted him to constantly feel like he was about to sneeze. You wanted his socks to be perpetually wet, and if he should happen to put on a dry pair? You hoped he stepped in a puddle.

That was all you could think about as you laid out on your couch, munching on one of Penelope’s lemon bars while she paced around your apartment. She kept going on and on advertising Spencer to you. As annoying as it was, she was also saving you a ton on groceries that week. 

For the most part, you filtered her out. Not a single word that came out of her mouth was believable anymore, especially not when she was talking about Spencer. Despite what Penelope thought of him, you saw in him what she refused to accept. 

As her speech came to a close, she looked at you like she expected a response to dignify her prattling. 

“Give it a rest, Penelope. He’s a lost cause,” you laughed dryly. “He doesn’t need –– nor does he want –– anyone in his life.” At the very least, he definitely didn’t want you. 

“Yes, that’s the problem!” If you’d been listening to her, you would’ve heard her saying the same thing. “He doesn’t want to date!” 

Your head just about exploded when she said that. 

There had been countless, fruitless conversations about this, and all along she saw the gaping hole in her supposedly airtight plan?

“If he doesn’t want to DATE, then WHAT was the point of this?!” Your fingers pressed the bridge of your nose; you suddenly felt a headache coming on. Funny how it always happened around the time of day that Penelope came to visit.

Penelope stopped pacing. She stalked over to your couch, picked your legs up by your ankle, and moved them to make space for herself. You begrudgingly sat upright as she took her place beside you. 

“Because he’s not himself anymore. He’s not open like he used to be. Not to the people who care about him the most, and certainly not to the world.”  

Penelope toyed with the hem of her dress, distracting herself from her quivering lip before pressing on, “Spencer Reid has always wanted love. And it’s not right that he no longer believes he can have it.” 

You hadn’t seen Penelope look so desperate until now. It was concerning. Because what could make her look so hopeless? What could make Spencer so hopeless? 

“Penelope, I don’t know what’s wrong with your little friend, but… there’s a lot more bubbling inside him than you’re letting on.” 

She chewed up the insides of her cheeks, wincing to herself at your incredibly accurate claim. 

“You are hiding something, aren’t you?” You narrowed your eyes on her. You were no detective, or whatever exactly her team did, but she was just awful at concealing her thoughts.

“It’s not my story to tell,” she murmured. 

She could already feel herself about to give it away and doubled down her mental defenses against it. Focusing extra hard on keeping Spencer’s privacy intact. If only you knew her track record with secrets, you’d be proud of her for staying quiet this long.

“What isn’t your story?” 

“That his girlfriend died last year.” 

She spilled it before she even realized what she was saying. You’d just asked so nonchalantly that she forgot she was talking aloud. Penelope turned purple, terrified now that the whole truth was out there. 

You couldn’t even take satisfaction in the fact that your trick worked. You were just as mortified as Penelope, and if you weren’t already sitting down, you knew you’d need to. You assumed there was something deeper going on with him, you didn’t think it was a dead girlfriend. That was some Nicholas Sparks shit. 

“He pretends like he’s fine but I know he’s not. And if he found a way to move on, maybe he’d start feeling as okay as he claims to be,” she sniffled before snot could run from her nose, tears lining the rims of her eyes. “I know I should’ve given you the full picture, but I didn’t think you’d go for it if you knew…” 

You were too floored to process it all right away. This added a whole new layer of complicated to an already uneasy arrangement.

“Well, I know you’re right about one thing. I would’ve said no.” 

She gave you a set of pleading eyes, praying you’d see where she was coming from. 

“I know,” she whispered defeatedly. “But maybe... now that you know, you can understand why he acts out the way he does.”

“Penelope, I can’t just… make someone move on, or –– or get them to believe in love! Especially when it’s fake.”

How on Earth did she expect you to pull that off? Did that guy from A Walk to Remember move on when Mandy Moore died? You hadn’t seen the ending of the movie, but you assumed not. 

“I’m sorry, this is just… a lot bigger than the favor I thought it was ––”

“What if I could return it?” she cut in. The gears in her head started to turn, figuring ways to patch up the holes she made. 

“There’s nothing I need from you.” 

That couldn’t be true. Penelope looked around the room and it didn’t take her long to think of it.

“I can help you sell your art,” she tempted, gesturing to the scattered canvases. “You make all your income from this, right?” 

You didn’t want to give any fuel to her fire, but you nodded. “What if… what if you didn’t have to settle for local buyers? What if I told you that you could make way more money selling them to the whole world?”

You chortled at her idea. 

You were a local artist, through and through. Your art got put in local galleries and sold to local buyers. Nothing more, and that was fine with you. You realized it a long time ago that it was just a pipe dream to think you’d be more. 

“I’m serious! You could get a separate painting studio, and stop living in one? Huh?” She wrapped her hand around your shoulder, waving the other in the air, urging you to picture it with her. “Imagine this: a kitchen that’s separate from your living room. A bed, inside it’s own four walls, and more than twelve feet from where you cook your meals.”

Pushing aside her so blatantly insulting your apartment, if that were a possibility, you’d want nothing more. But it already sounded foolish and you hadn’t even heard how she planned to pull it off. 

“Penelope, I’m fine where I am. I make the money I need, and that’s... it’s fine.”

She gave you a pointed look. “You know, I can hack all search engine results to make sure you are what comes up first anytime someone enters the word ‘painting’, right?

An airy chuckle left your lips. Of course she could. You patted her thigh twice and stood up, prompting her to follow you to your door –– hopefully, so she can show herself to the other side of it. “Still no, Pen.” 

“Just take some time to think about it!” Her voice carried through the wood as you shut it on her.

*

There was this one bench in Kenilworth Park – the one that overlooks the crystal clear pond – that you’d always been able to rely on to fix any problem.

There was hidden magic in the bushes that sprawled out from the edges of the water, surrounded by spiky green blades of overgrown grass. A simplicity you loved in baby ducklings paddling into the tiny body of water, swimming close together so they don’t get lost in, what seems to them, a whole ocean. And clarity provided by the freshest air in the world, under the shade of the big oak trees on a late summer afternoon.

But at the present, none of that came close to being enough.

The artist’s block started off as a minor inconvenience, but without your permission, had stretched into weeks of steadily declining motivation. Each new idea felt even worse than the last, and you were acutely aware that there would come a point where you’d officially hit maximum capacity for how awful they could get.

Still, that didn’t seem to light a fire under you. You happily coexisted with the blank pages of your sketchbook. Staring down at them, laying open on your lap in their stark-white glory, you felt like you were playing a waiting game. If you stared long and hard enough, maybe they’d flinch. 

Unfortunately, you never got to find out who won, because your phone rang inside your pocket. As if the caller had interrupted an incredible genius at work (which couldn’t be farther from the truth), you hastily raised the phone to your ear, slamming your sketchbook shut.

“Hello?” Your voice wasn’t as kind as it could be for someone with nothing better to be doing. Two seconds later, you learned who was calling and came to regret it.

“Hi, This is Rebecca from District Arts, calling with a message from Andre ––”

“Oh, hi!” you tried to walk back your previous tone, straightening up in your seat and pitching your voice higher, “Yeah, I’ve been waiting to hear from him!” 

While Rebecca intimidated you, Andre happened to be your closest friend at the gallery. He worked closely with the artists to curate their collection and help them make sales. 

“Does he want to sort out what to set the opening bid prices at for my new pieces?” A handful of days ago, you sent him pictures of your new work and were waiting to hear his thoughts. You’d always been able to trust his opinion, and a vote of confidence from him might be just the thing to inspire you.

“Uhm…” There was a criminally long pause on the other side of the line, ended by Rebecca’s weary inhale. “Unfortunately, we’re calling to inform you that your pieces will not be included in the next rotation.”

For a minute, you weren’t sure what to make of what she said. You’d never heard those words before.

“What – what do you mean?” you laughed nervously. She probably misspoke. Perks of friendship aside, Andre always included you in sets. 

“Ugh, let me just get him…” her voice faded away as she put the phone down. 

That wasn’t exactly the reassuring statement you were looking for. In the time it took for the call to switch hands, your confusion finally melted in. And then quickly boiled into anger.

The District Arts gallery changed their entire collection every two months. The pieces shown accepted rolling bids throughout the full eight weeks, finally selling at the end of term to their highest offer. After that, the pieces got taken down, sent to happy new owners, and the entire gallery reset with entirely new works. 

So if you missed one rotation, that meant waiting two months to get back in.

“Andre, how am I just cut from the gallery!” you barked before he could get a word in. If he didn’t like your work, he could’ve just said so. 

“No one said that ––”

“Okay, let me rephrase.” You pinched the bridge of your nose, something you found yourself doing quite frequently lately, and took a deep breath in and out. It was seemingly just for show because it did absolutely nothing to calm you down. “Why wouldn’t you put me in the next set? I’m in all of them!”

“I know you are!” He sounded just as upset. “It’s just that… we give you the biggest space we have, because you always manage to fill it up. But this time… I’m not so sure you can.”

“That’s ridiculous,” you scoffed. “What makes you say that?” You asked that, but you knew.

“You’ve only finished three pieces… I’m worried how you’ll deliver seven more before we set up.”

“But… it’s four weeks away, I could do ––”

“And it took you four weeks to make what you have... I’m sorry. We couldn’t take that gamble.” 

He took your silence as an opportunity to turn off the work talk and speak, just friend to friend. 

“You know that I trust you and I’d hold that spot if I could. But, I also know what you’re going through right now, and… I don’t know, maybe letting yourself rest would be a good thing?” 

Your heart paused. By, “knowing what you’re going through”, you assumed he didn’t mean the little artist’s block.

“If you’re implying that I can’t do my job because of what happened with Cyrus –”

“I’m not, I’m not....” he backtracked as quickly as he could. “But take another look at the paintings you showed me and tell me if they feel like you.”

Even if he was right, you wanted to fight him. You wanted to cry. You wanted to beg that you didn’t need that big space; you were willing to downsize and just turn in the three that you had. Even if they got shoved into the corner where hardly anybody bothered to look. You just couldn’t afford to go two months without the income. 

But even with tears beading up, you realized that the gallery couldn’t afford it either. They needed to bring in money and you couldn’t do that for them this time. So they were right to go to someone who can.

“Right,” you sniffled, recollecting yourself so he can’t hear the shakiness in your voice. “I understand. It’s a big risk, like you said… It’s for the better.”

Andre tried to thank you for being understanding and spewed some sort of encouragement. The words flew over your head. You managed to toss in a few ‘mhmm’s and ‘sure’s at the right places to coast you along until the call finally ended. 

As soon as it went dead, you dropped your phone to the side and brought your hands to your face, rubbing them furiously over your cheeks. Your fingertips pressed hard into your eyelids, trying to forcibly reabsorb the tears threatening to spill. 

It almost worked, until you tried to breathe. 

A full sob escaped in that one gulp of air and you succumbed to it. But the loud crunching noise of some pedestrian walking over the falling leaves destroyed your sense of privacy, and you quickly wiped away all signs of your breakdown. The crunching stopped just short of your bench and on instinct you flicked your eyes up to see who the intruder was.

You did a double take. It was him. That fucking asshole.

He was standing there, looking dumber than you could even remember, with his hands in his coat pockets and a curious look on his face as he watched you cry. Tucking your sketchbook under your arm in haste, you made it a point to stand up with as much aggression as possible, rolling your eyes at him.

“Don’t worry, I’m leaving,” you barked. “No need to yell at me this time.”

You bristled past him, barely refraining yourself from checking his shoulder as payback. You wanted to believe you were better than him, but it did sound incredibly tempting. He stood there for a moment before turning on his heel and following you.

“Wait,” he groaned.

You didn’t listen, neither stopping nor slowing down.

“I said wait,” he huffed as he caught up to you, popping up at your side and jogging along as you kept going.

“Yeah, because I need to listen to a guy who yells at strangers in bookstores.” 

Now that you’d brought up the elephant in the room, your feet started moving even faster, working double time to get you away from him.

Damn the fact that he had those long legs. He didn’t even break a sweat trying to keep up. He was inescapable.

“Well, if you waited like I asked, you would’ve gotten an apology for the ––”

“Gee, thanks!” you yelled, stopping for only a second to turn to him and give him a mocking bow of your head, hands clasped together like you were praising at his altar. “I was waiting with bated breath for that! Thank you, kind sir, for now my life can go on.”

“Look, I’m actually sorry,” he snapped. Then in realizing the irony, softened his voice, “I’m sorry for being rude. I was having a bad day… not that that’s an excuse.”

You stared at him blankly, just watching his mouth moving quickly and waiting until it finally stopped. 

“Did you need something?” 

“Did you… did you not hear what I just said?!” 

“No, sorry,” you smiled, voice sweet like sugar. “My ears filter bullshit. Wanna try again?”

He scoffed, looking away like he couldn’t believe you before stepping even closer. “What’s your problem?”

“Me!? The fuck –– what the fuck is your problem?” You turned and stormed off again, seething at his audacity. Spencer just couldn’t relent his annoying tendencies and followed yet again.

“My problem is that I’m trying to be nice, and you’re not letting me!”

You got a good, hard laugh out of that. “Okay, first of all, having to apologize for yelling at me and pushing me isn’t exactly the best starting point for the journey of becoming a nice person.”

“Like I said, I was having a bad day.” 

Under your breath, you muttered, “Well, I hope this one’s even worse.”

“Why are you such a ––” He stopped himself from finishing that thought. Even in his worst mood, he wouldn’t cross that line. 

But he didn’t need to finish it, you knew exactly where he wanted to take it. The soles of your shoes scraped against the loose gravel as you came to a grinding halt, ears ringing.

“A what?” You turned to face him, a sarcastic smile on your face growing wider as he started to shrink more and more. You got up close in his face, daring him to say what he really wanted to. So he could reinforce your belief in exactly the type of person he was. “A what?” 

Spencer pursed his lips and shook his head, refusing to say it no matter how much you challenged him. If he wasn’t going to have the balls to say it, you decided to take it upon yourself.

“Tell you what, you keep thinking about it and get back to me the next time you’re in a cunty mood.” 

The word he was thinking of was probably not as bad, but you had a habit of escalating things. Even if you took this one too far, you didn’t care. 

Before you tried to take off again, Spencer’s hand flew to your elbow. He tugged you back, forcing you to turn around and face him. He didn’t know his own strength; without any resistance, you came stumbling into his chest, at risk of falling over if it weren’t for his tight grip on your arm.

It took you a beat to push him away with both your hands on his chest, vocalizing your disgust for being so close to him. 

“Can you stop trying to disagree with me for a second? I’m trying to tell you that you’re right, I was being a… well, you know…” He avoided the word. Apparently ‘cunt’ was where he drew the line. “I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve it.” 

Your nostrils were still flared and blood hot as ever, but he made you pause. He looked sincere, if not a little tinged with guilt as well. You were suspicious of it.

“You saw me crying and felt bad, didn’t you?”

He laughed darkly. “Well, I saw you, yes. Did I feel bad? No.” 

“Oh, my God,” you growled, berating yourself for getting close to believing he might be capable of decency. 

“I’m joking! I’m joking.” He squeezed your elbow twice in earnest. “I did feel bad, but that’s not why I wanted to say it.”

“Okay.” You weren’t ready to give him a real smile, so you flattened your lips into a thin line and nodded once slowly, and left it at that. 

You still weren’t a fan, but the apology did dampen some of the resentment. Maybe he wasn’t the worst person alive. You’d settle for saying top ten most annoying, instead.

Minutes later, you came to the startling realization that he was still on the path, just two paces behind you. You flinched when you saw him out of the corner of your eye, not expecting him to still be here. 

“Uhm. Where are you… why are you still following me?” 

“I’m not. My car’s that way,” he gestured to the parking lot at the end of the long walkway. “I forgot my loaf for the ducks.” He didn’t mean to offer that information up, it just slipped out. He could practically see your smug expression coming before it even got there.

“You’re not supposed to feed bread to the ducks. It’s bad for them.”

“I don’t.” He didn’t care to explain this to you, but he couldn’t have you thinking he was any less competent than he really was. “It’s a special bread made from water and seeds that were ground into flour. It’s duck-safe.” 

“They make duck-safe bread?” Now that was something you’d never heard before. 

“No… I make duck-safe bread,” he said softly under his breath. 

You didn’t know how else you were supposed to react to that besides laughing wildly. 

“You make it?” He nodded like you were the crazy one here. As if he wasn’t the one spending his spare time grinding up seeds and baking loaves of bread for ducks, donning a frilly pink apron and oven mitts as he did so. At least that’s how you imagined it. “Why not just feed them the seeds?”

“Because, loose seeds will sink in the water and can potentially clog waterbeds and cause foreign bacteria growth in the pond.” 

“So you… hand-make the seeds into a little loaf of bread so it doesn't do that?”

He confirmed. You pondered silently for a moment, then absolutely had to ask, “You ever eaten the duck bread before?”

Spencer was caught off guard by that question. His cheeks deepened to a rosy color.

“Yeah, well, it was the house so…” he laughed nervously and stared at his sneakers. “It’s actually not too bad.”

You weren’t entirely surprised by that. You remembered what his grocery basket looked like, and given those same options, you probably would’ve tried the duck bread too. Still, you cracked the smallest of grins at knowing he makes bread for ducks. The one, sole redeeming fact you’ve learned about Spencer. 

You reached your car first, and Spencer stopped in front of it with you. 

“I’m actually sorry, you know,” he whispered once more, hand resting at the top of your car door as you opened it. He wasn’t talking about the incident at the bookstore.

“Yeah…” For a while you were so busy being angry at Spencer that you forgot about your own problems. 

He noticed your nose was still red around the edges, eyes still a little bleary. “Are you okay, by the way?” His voice was too soft, too genuine.

You shook your head no.

“Is there anything I can do?” You shook your head again. And then you had an awful thought.

You knew he was just offering to help just to say it, because that’s how people react when you say you’re not okay even if they don’t care. But there actually was something he could do for you… Something that Penelope could do.

“Uh, no but…” you fixed your hair and tucked it behind your ear, seamlessly switching to a flirtier voice. “If you still feel bad about the other day, you’re welcome to make it up to me.”

Spencer cocked his head to the side, unsure of how he could do that. 

“Hang out with me sometime.”

“H-hang out?” You could tell that it flustered him, even if he tried to play it off. He swallowed thickly, nose twitching and brows scrunched together.

“Relax, I really do just mean hang out.” You were lying through your teeth. He didn’t need to know that. 

As if he didn’t want to think about it for a second longer and just get out of this conversation as quickly as possible, he agreed without thinking it through. He didn’t even ask why an almost complete stranger would want to hang out with him. 

You stuck your hand out, expecting him to hand over his cell so you could put your contact into it. He rocked on the balls of his feet, watching as you input your contact and sent yourself a text on his phone.

“Hi, this is…” you read out your message as you typed, pausing at just the right place. “What’s your name by the way?”

“Oh-uh, I’m Spencer.” 

A devilish grin took over your face, hidden from his view while you were looking down at the screen. He was going to be easy to fool.

-

-

agh! im still not in love with how this chapter is turning out, but it came to a point where i just had to stop fiddling with it and just post it. any feedback or comments about this story is very much appreciated 💕

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[multi-fandom-imagines-stuff]

Smaller Than This

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff/daughter!reader, Peter Parker/platonic!reader, Wanda Maximoff/reader

Description: The reader is Natasha Romanoff’s daughter, best friend of Peter Parker, and girlfriend of Wanda Maximoff. Growing up in the spotlight is hard enough, but things cross a line when people start commenting on the reader’s weight.

Warnings: eating disorder, swearing, threats of violence

Word count: 3,282

A/N: I know it’s not easy to deal with eating disorders, but please know that you are beautiful and amazing and you don’t deserve to have to suffer through that. Please, if you are struggling with this, reach out for help. <3

✩❀✩❀✩

Black Widow’s daughter spotted in Central Park with new best friend Scarlet Witch and Stark Industry intern Peter Parker! Could Parker be y/n’s new boyfriend?

You laughed and rolled your eyes as you clicked on the tweet. Stalking paparazzi twitter accounts had to be one of your favorite pastimes, simply because the so-called facts they were giving out were false 99% of the time. For instance, this situation? You had gone out for a picnic with Peter and Wanda when those photos were taken, and the paparazzi completely twisted things. Peter wasn’t your boyfriend, he was just your best friend. And Wanda wasn’t your best friend, she was your girlfriend. You chose to ignore the false headline as you went immediately for the replies.

‘Do you see the way y/n’s looking at Wanda? It seems more like there’s something going on between them than there is between y/n and Peter’

You smiled and liked that tweet. You liked messing with people just a bit. Whenever someone would tweet about there possibly being a relationship between you and Wanda, you liked the tweet. It wasn’t enough information to actually confirm the relationship as true, but it was enough to keep people speculating.

You scrolled through several more replies. Most of them were people using the heart eyes emoji or saying how much they loved your mom, but there were a few in there that stuck out more than the rest. That was because they were harsh and hurtful.

‘I don’t understand how someone can live with the Avengers and still look like that. Does she ever even exercise?’

‘She could stand to lose some weight. Instead of going out for a picnic, she should try to skip a few meals’

You read through replies for a few more minutes. Similar comments would pop up now and then, and while there wasn’t an overwhelming amount, there was still enough to make you close down the app and shut off your phone, averting all your attention toward not crying. 

“Miss y/n, dinner has been called,” F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s voice rang through your room.

Pushing the thoughts to the back of your mind, you got off your bed and made your way to the dining room. There, Peter and Wanda were setting the table while Steve and Bucky carried out the food.

You walked up behind your girlfriend and wrapped your arms around her waist, resting your chin on her shoulder. You felt her jump slightly before she realized it was you and relaxed into your touch. You placed a kiss on her cheek.

“I love you,” You whispered in her ear.

“Hey! What did we talk about?” Tony directed at you, raising an eyebrow at you and causing you to roll your eyes.

“No lovey-dovey shit at the dinner table,” You mumbled.

“Language!” Steve scolded you as Clint joined the conversation.

“Oh, come on, Tony,” He said. “It’s young love. It’s harmless and adorable.”

“It makes me want to hurl,” Tony retorted.

To onlookers, it may have sounded like Tony was being a real dick, but you knew he was just teasing you. He’d never admit it, but secretly he loved how happy you and Wanda made each other.

“Watch it, Stark,” Your mom shot him a glare. “That’s my kid you’re talking about.”

Your head whipped up at your mom’s voice. She had been on a mission for the past week and wasn’t supposed to get home for another three days.

“Mom!” You yelled as you ran toward her, wrapping your arms around her as you squeezed her tight.

“Hey, kiddo! I’ve missed you!” She said, hugging you back and kissing you lightly on the forehead.

“I’ve missed you, too!”

“As much as I hate to break up this reunion,” Bucky said, causing you to pull away from your mom. “Steve and I slaved over dinner and it’s getting cold, so let’s eat.”

You took your seat at the table—in between Peter and Wanda—and filled your plate with the spaghetti and garlic bread Steve and Bucky made. Everyone was silent as you all dug into your food and, you had to admit, it tasted amazing. 

When Steve and Bucky first moved in, neither of them were allowed near a stove without supervision. They had started too many accidental fires. But after lots and lots of practice, the two of them easily became the best cooks in the tower.

After dinner, you excused yourself to your room. Your phone was still lying face down on the bed, so you grabbed it and opened it up. Right away, you noticed several notifications from twitter. Upon further investigation, you found that the rude comments people were saying about you had extended to your messages. Now, you had complete strangers messaging you about how you needed to ‘lose weight’, or ‘eat less’, or ‘exercise more’. A few of the messages even called you a ‘disappointment to the Avengers’.

You deactivated your account and deleted the app from your phone, but the damage was already done and you knew it. So you came up with a plan and decided to set it into motion the next morning.

✩❀✩❀✩

You woke up in the morning to your alarm blaring. Checking the time, you saw it was 4:30, and you wondered why your alarm was going off so early before you remembered the plan you had made the night before.

You got out of bed and quickly dressed in athletic attire before running out of your room. You knew Steve liked to run in the mornings, so you sat in the kitchen waiting for him.

When he finally sauntered in at 5:00, he was more than surprised to see you sitting there.

“Y/n?” He asked. “What’re you doing up so early?”

“Can I run with you today, Uncle Steve?” You asked him, a pleading look on your face that you knew he couldn’t say no to.

“Yeah, sure,” He said. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather be sleeping?”

You nodded. 

“I want to start running. My mile time in P.E. class has been slacking lately and I don’t want to fail the class.”

You were surprised yet proud of how quickly you were able to come up with that lie, and you were happy to see that Steve believed every word of it.

So that’s how you spent your morning: running laps with Steve.

The two of you finally called it quits around 6:15 and parted ways. Steve went off to do whatever he did during the days, and you went off to squeeze in a quick shower before school.

By the time you were done with your shower, it was nearly 7:00, which meant you had to rush to get dressed. You finally made it to the kitchen, where Wanda was already waiting for you. The two of you yelled a quick ‘bye’ to whoever was listening before you started the quick walk to the bus stop.

You felt Wanda’s hand interlock with yours and a smile arose on your face as you squeezed her hand. You two didn’t want to publicly disclose your relationship yet, so you knew the minute you reached the bus stop you’d have to let go.

✩❀✩❀✩

At lunch, you sat at a table with Wanda, Peter, MJ, and Ned. You skipped the food line and instead opted to sip at a bottle of water.

“What’s wrong, y/n?” Peter asked you.

“What do you mean?” You shot back, not quite sure what he was getting at.

“You’re not eating.”

Shit. You had to think of a lie, and you had to be extra careful since your girlfriend could read minds. She promised you she’d never read your mind without your consent, but you were still wary.

“Uh...I’m just not feeling well,” You said. “My stomach is feeling a little flip-floppy and I don’t want to push it.”

To your luck, they nodded it off and changed the topic, not questioning you again for the rest of the day.

That night at dinner, you pushed the food around on your plate, eating a few bites here and there. It wasn’t hard to pretend you had eaten, especially since your family was so big. Everyone seemed to be so caught up in conversations with other people that they didn’t notice when you got up and scraped your food into the trash.

✩❀✩❀✩

These habits carried on for a few more weeks. You’d wake up every morning to run with Steve, make up some excuse for why you didn’t eat lunch, and you’d have a few bites of dinner before sneakily trashing it. On most weekends, you chose to spend your time training with your mom. You claimed it was so that you could stay sharp with your self-defense skills, and while that wasn’t necessarily a lie, it wasn’t the full truth, either. But your mom never questioned it, and you were glad.

You seemed to fly under the radar, until one Sunday afternoon.

You walked into your room after training with your mom to find Peter and Wanda waiting for you.

“Hey, guys,” You greeted, throwing yourself into a chair and downing half a bottle of water. “What’s up?” 

“We know,” Wanda said, a stern yet concerned look on her face.

“Know what?” You asked her, although you could feel your heart rate rising. You knew what she was talking about.

“That you haven’t been eating,” Peter joined in.

“What’re you talking about? Of course I’ve been eating.”

That was a lie. Your stomach hadn’t been properly filled in weeks and you couldn’t remember the last time it wasn’t rumbling. But that wasn’t important. What was important was the fact that you were finally losing weight. There’s no way you could stop now.

“Cut the crap, y/n,” Peter said, catching you by surprise. “We’ve been watching you. I can’t even remember the last time you bought a school lunch.”

“And you pick at your food at dinner every night,” Wanda added. “I haven’t seen you eat more than three bites. You think no one notices, but you’re wrong. And I can feel you, love. You feel...empty.”

Wanda rested her hand on your knee as you tried to process what was happening. You had been so good at hiding this, how had they found out?

“You guys, I’m—” You started before Peter cut you off.

“Don’t say you’re fine, because you’re not. We know it, and you know it, so please stop lying to us, y/n. We just want to help.”

“I have it under control, I don’t need help,” You protested. “Just...please don’t tell my mom.”

“Y/n—”

“Wanda, please,” You begged. “My mom has enough to worry about as it is. I don’t need to add this to her stress as well. I promise, I have it under control. I’m alright.”

Wanda and Peter shared a look before turning back to you. 

“We’ll keep this between us for now,” Peter said, and you felt like a weight was lifted off your shoulders.

“But, if things get any worse, we won’t hesitate to bring your mom into this,” Wanda warned.

You nodded and the two of them left, Wanda kissing you quickly before walking out of the room. 

‘I just need to hide it better’ you thought to yourself. ‘This is all my fault for being too obvious about things. I need to do better.’

Wanda and Peter had dropped the topic for the time being, until a week later, things took a turn for the worse when your P.E. teacher announced that your class was running the mile that day.

Thanks to training with Steve, your mile time had improved and you were one of the fastest in the class. However, due to malnutrition, any sort of exercise made you extremely lightheaded. 

You ignored the part of your brain that was telling you to make up some excuse to sit out. You convinced yourself you just weren’t drinking enough water so you drank an entire water bottle and went to class.

You were about halfway done with your mile when the corners of your vision turned black. You blinked a few times, trying to edge it away, but it was no use. By now, you heard a loud ringing in your ears and the world started spinning around you. You slowed down a bit, trying to regain your composure when you felt your knees buckle underneath you, and you were plunged into a world of darkness, not feeling it when you hit the ground.

✩❀✩❀✩

When you awoke, you were still laying on the field, your entire class swarming around you. You were trying to sit up when you felt something attached to your hand. 

You looked to the right and saw Wanda sitting there, looking scared as hell.

“Miss Maximoff, Mr. Parker, please escort Miss Romanoff to the nurse’s office,” Your teacher ordered.

You felt Wanda help lift you to a standing position and once you were up, you felt the world start spinning again. You shut your eyes tight as two arms, you assumed they belonged to Wanda and Peter, wrapped around either side of your waist. Soon enough, the dizziness ceased and you opened your eyes, signaling for Peter and Wanda to start walking with you.

You made it to the nurse’s station where you saw your mom already waiting.

“Mom?” You asked, wondering how she had gotten to your school so quickly.

“Peter called me the second he saw you fall,” She explained.

You, Wanda, and Peter were dismissed from school early, and your mom led you all back to her car. You sat in the passenger seat while Peter and Wanda sat in the back.

“What happened?” Your mom demanded.

The tone of her voice scared you a little bit, but you knew it was filled more with concern than it was with anger.

“I must’ve just gotten overheated or something,” You lied, knowing exactly why you passed out. “I was doing fine one second, and then the next I was on the ground.”

“That’s not true, Ms. Romanoff,” Peter interjected.

You whipped your head around to him and shook your head, silently pleading him to not tell her.

“What do you mean?” She asked. “Do you know something I don’t?”

“Peter, stop,” You said, panicking at what was about to be said.

“Y/n hasn’t eaten a proper meal in a month,” Wanda admitted.

You shot your girlfriend a look of betrayal before turning back around to face forward.

“You, what?!” Your mom blared. “Y/n, is this true?”

Your silence was enough of an answer for her to understand that yes, it was true.

“Y/n, baby, why?” Your mom said.

You could tell she was trying to be strong, but her voice was cracking.

“Because I’m not like you guys, okay?!” You finally snapped, letting loose all of your pent-up emotions. “I don’t have a super-human metabolism like Peter, and I don’t have a perfectly in-shape body. I’m not an avenger and it sure as hell shows. Even people I don’t even know were making comments about it on twitter.”

“Is that why you disabled your account?” Peter asked, realization hitting him.

You nodded and looked down at your fingers, not wanting to make eye contact with any of them.

By now, you had reached the tower and your mom put the car into park, turning to face you.

“Y/n, I know it’s been hard for you to grow up in the spotlight, constantly being compared to us but this isn’t healthy,” She said, cupping your chin and lightly pulling your head up to meet her gaze. “If I had known all of this, I never would have let you do all those extra training sessions with me. It’s not safe for you to keep exercising like this when you’re not giving your body proper nourishment.”

“I can’t—” You sniffed. “I can’t stop. I need help.”

You felt a tear roll down your cheek as your mom brushed it away, pulling you in for a hug before the four of you got out of the car.

Once inside, your mom told you to sit down in the living room while she left for a few minutes. When she returned, she had the rest of the team with her and you could only assume she had given them the run-down on your situation. 

You were slightly hurt that she had shared your personal life like that, but you knew it was for the best.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Your mom said once everyone was settled. “Y/n, you’re going to help with dinner every night. I know it can be hard once you’ve developed a food phobia, but when you’re in control of what we eat every night it makes things a little easier. No more throwing your food in the trash, okay? As for school, I’ll be making you a homemade lunch each day, and Peter and Wanda will be keeping an eye on you and will be reporting back to me. First thing tomorrow, I’ll call and set you up an appointment with a therapist. Bottling up your emotions will only make things worse, trust me. You need to talk to someone, and a therapist will help to give you healthier coping mechanisms.”

You listened as your mom laid out these new rules before telling you to go lie down. As you got up to leave, you were bombarded with your family hugging you and telling you they were there for you. You honestly had never felt more loved and supported in your life.

You finally made your way to your room, lying down in bed. A few minutes later, you heard a knock at your door.

“Come in,” You said weakly.

The handle turned and Wanda walked in, using her powers to levitate a tray behind her. You sat up and she put the tray down in your lap. On the tray, you saw there was a plate of cheese and crackers.

You looked down at the tray before looking up at your girlfriend. You forced yourself to pick up one of the crackers and take a bite, your mind screaming at you the entire time. But you were sick. You knew this. You wanted to get better.

“I’m sorry for telling your mother,” Wanda spoke. “You were slowly killing yourself and I couldn’t stand by and watch it happen. I’m so sorry, y/n. Can you forgive me?”

“I don’t blame you, Wan,” You told her. “I’m the one who should be sorry. I never should have forced you and Peter to keep this a secret.”

Wanda wrapped you into her arms, squeezing tightly. The two of you stayed like that for a long time before you pulled away and, bite by bite, finished the snack she had brought you.

✩❀✩❀✩

You had been in recovery for about a month now, and while things were far from easy, you knew you could do it. Your family was your support system and they were right there by your side every step of the way.

You were sitting on the couch with Peter and Wanda, you and your girlfriend tangled in each other’s arms as you watched your mom on tv. She was finishing up a press conference.

“Oh, and one last thing before I go,” She spoke toward the camera and the audience. “Whoever decided to make awful comments about my daughter online, I am a trained assassin and I will find you.”

[starshipsofstarlord]

A Stark Contrast | Bucky Barnes

Summary; living in the shadow of Tony, your brother, always was the way, and you accepted it. That was until he expected you to sign the accords, that was one thing that you couldn’t do.

Warnings; Angst, mentions of death, mentions of being controlled, funeral, mourning, anger

The form, bound in a weighty book laid on the table, making the room fill with utmost tension. Tony was hellbent on signing the thing, and handing away any freedom that all of you had.

No matter how long you had supported him, this was not one subject that you could agree with him on. Whilst you understood his perspective, it would only end up with you in a hamster wheel, running around and following the orders of executives.

They wanted less destruction. To put boundaries around their country’s heroes, and limit them to the lengths they could go to in order to save lives.

That was also wrong, the entire ordeal had you bent backwards with a conflict of interests. On one hand, it would be ordinary to sign for such a cause, whether you trusted their backgrounds or not, simply because your elder sibling had.

There was nobody that you trusted more than Tony, he had half raised you after your parents were killed, you felt indebted to him. But being an avenger, on a team where your personal opinion had been valued, it opened your eyes to a whole range of possibilities.

Whilst you were loyal to Tony, you had also became in tune with your own gut. It grumbled at the prospect of giving in to a contract, which decided what you were permitted to do. It was like a child’s parent permission slip, but on a much grander scale.

“People died!” He reminded the lot of you again, which inclined you to look down. There was blood on all of your hands, and he was making it as red as it could possibly be seen. “At least y/n agrees with me.” He reprimanded Steve, whom was still far on the fence regarding the entire ordeal.

Once he said that, all eyes had shifted towards you. Nat had already basically given in to your brother’s convictions, and Steve suspected that you would do the same. You were always one step behind Tony, you were far too loyal to your sibling for your own good.

“I have yet to make up my mind.” You spoke, standing, no longer wishing to be in the room where there was far too much tension. How you wished Banner and Thor were here, they would make an equal divide. The God of Thunder would not scribble his signature upon the paper, you thought to yourself, if he knew their reasons and affects.

However, your words were taken as an assumption that you would join your sibling in providing a peaceful surrender. It is what he and the public would assume of you, and to be truthful, you were tired of sticking to the stereotypes that were made of you.

“I’m surprised that you came.” Steve spoke, as you opened the boot of your car, and revealed the shield that he was so often adorned with, as well as Sam’s wings. He, like most others, had suspected that you would join your brother in his guilt ridden cause, however, thinking for yourself gave you a sense of freedom.

“Don’t be so quick to prevail into what everyone else thinks of me.” You smirked at the captain, your eyes drifting over to the other super soldier, whom had temporarily been imprisoned by the government.

But he had escaped, and if luck was not often a Stark trait, Tony would have died. You had watched from the cameras, but you could boil no bad blood in between the pair of you, Barnes was not in his right mind. He was controlled, and put into a incomprehensible mode of himself. That was, unless, he had managed to kill Tony.

Then you would have changed your own deciding mind, and stuck to what the eldest Stark believed in. “I won’t, ever again.” Sam smiled, picking up redwing from the composed pile, and kissing the machine.

“Bucky.” You reiterated his name, the one that he had chosen to correct the unknown and deceiving man on. The nod you earnt was brief, but it gave you a sense of hope that whirled in your middle. 

It was clear that he was an attractive man, and alike his righteous friend, he was frozen through time to be in this current moment. As Sam and Steve began to get their things together, you walked over to the historical stranger, a smile upon your face. “I’m y/n Stark, I don’t believe we have had the fortune of meeting before.”

“You sure do speak like a Stark.” He softly spoke, a matching smile on his brawn face. “And you seem to have other things in common, like that necklace.” At his words, you looked down at it, a hint of anguish within your gaze.

“It belonged to my mother.” It was nice to reminisce about her for a moment, you knew that she would have made her own decisions too. In some retrospect, you were following in her footsteps.

A feeling grew in the back of Bucky’s throat, but he said nothing. If he were to spill, or reveal his dark secret, it would mean nothing more than the loss of a powerful asset, they could not afford that right now.

“Do you ever think about what would have happened if you got to return home?” It had been a stressful day, fighting your friends, and your last living family member. Bucky turned at your words, you had saved him from being killed, he felt indebted.

“Probably do what every other soldier did; find a woman to marry and have kids. But that’s far out of the picture in this modern age.” Steve was flying the aircraft as you and Bucky spoke in the back. It gave the two of you a moment alone, and you were truly knowing as though you knew the soldier.

He was a good man, misinterpreted by the deeds that he was controlled to do. No one chose to have pity on Barnes, they instead viewed him as a country danger, and wanted to lock him up in a cage, which was how he had come so far in the first place.

“I wouldn’t say that.” For a moment, you looked into his deep blue eyes, feeling as though he were freezing you with them. He didn’t want to look away, but you were inclined to, for you could feel the contrasts of hot and cold heat working its way up your neck, and onto your face. “There’s definitely a woman that would want all that and more with you.”

If things were simpler, you would be convinced that you could share such an intimate bond with him, but alas, everything had to be complicated. And if things could work out, they surely couldn’t last.

“We’re here.” Steve informed the both of you, as he slid out of his front seat, and you prepared to finish this for once and for all.

“How could you?!” You couldn’t defend him as Tony blasted him away, Bucky had played you, and done so well. He and Steve knew of the blood on his hands, and yet they hadn’t thought once to inform you of the one true treachery regrading you.

Bucky had killed your mother, from the intake of information alone, you felt sick. Physically sick. But you choked it down, and as Steve unsurely came towards you, you ran at him, angered by his lies.

From the start, the patriot of America, someone you had considered a friend had deceived you. You had helped him, stood with him, fought your friends for him, and not to mention Tony, and he had known all along.

“Y/n-”

“Save your apologies Rogers.” You stared him down, as he had Bucky held up by one arm, seeing as Barnes had lost one of his own again. “And you, you’re right, there’s no perfect picture, you’re nothing but a monster.”

“Listen.” Steve commanded, but you couldn’t. He was no longer considered your captain, he was a sick liar who had helped to break you. This was the last time that you made your own decisions. Tony was always right.

“You don’t deserve that shield, my father made that. It’s government property-” swiftly he dropped said item, an exhausted and tiresome expression upon Steve’s helmet wearing face.

As soon as they trudged by, you instantly went to Tony, checking his wounds. “You were right brother, I should have listened to you.”

“Your dad loved cheeseburgers too.” You laughed lightly to Morgan, blinking back the tears. It was Tony’s funeral, there were so many people here, even Fury, but there was someone else, who was walking towards you. “Why don’t you go and ask Happy, I have some business that I have to tend to quickly.”

“Okay auntie y/n.” She ran off. She was so innocent, she didn’t deserve to be going to her father’s funeral at five years old, it was truly cruel. But that was just the way the world worked, and Tony was a hero.

“Hi.” Bucky spoke, adorned in all black, same as you. It had been a long time since you had seen him, not since he was being carried away by Steve. You hadn’t fought in Wakanda, instead you had ended up on Titan with your brother, and you would have surely died without him.

“Hey Barnes.” You greeted him with a forced smile, but nevertheless allowed him to step closer.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” He said, the guilt still burning behind his eyes. It seemed that his time in Wakanda had changed him, for the better.

“Which one?” You quipped back, instantaneously. 

“All of them.” He gulped, he was going to give you one truth before you found out after. It was his attempt at redemption, and a sorrowful one at that. “Steve’s returning the stones later.”

“I know.” You responded, the captain had already informed you about that part of his plan.

“And he’s not coming back.”

“Anthony Howard and Steven Nathan Barnes, the two of you better get back here this instant!” Your voice hollered through the house, as well as the duo’s endless giggles.

The front door opened, no other than Bucky walking through. He was quick to recognise the flash of motherly anger upon your face, and quickly dropped his serene smile.

“What have they done?” Bucky asked, watching as you crossed your arms in an unimpressed manner.

“Why don’t you ask your sons?” Your husband sighed, but despite that, he was a happy man. He had returned from a war, and found a lovely wife, of which he had two troublesome boys with. For the first time in a long time, y/n Stark and Bucky Barnes were happy.

[julemmaes]

Payback

Rowaelin Month, Day Five

A/N: Yall I'm dying. I didn't even wanna write today and I kinda forced myself to and I'm not proud of myself for this but I just wanted you to have something so yep. Tomorrow's will be a lot angstier and sadder than this one, so soak up the very light fluff I'm giving you till you can

Signing off, goodnight yall

Word count: 3,614

Aelin hated the underground car park reserved for the residents of her building. It was dark, so narrow that you had to do at least a hundred swerves to avoid taking any corner and scratching off half your car, and it was impossible to find a spot when everyone came home in the evening after hours and hours in the office and parked as they saw fit while still thinking about the thousands of pieces of paperwork that would be waiting for them at their desks only nine hours later, sometimes taking up more than two spots at once.

The only reason she still tried to park down there was that there was a flock of pigeons in the trees just outside their block of flats, on the main road, which had made a nasty habit of shitting on anything - or anyone, on some unpleasant occasion - that stopped for more than five minutes under the thick branches. A perfect hiding place for birds, that no one had thought to warn her about when she had moved in only a few months earlier.

She had deemed herself lucky the night before, when she had returned before anyone else and found the lot completely empty. She'd been so happy that she'd driven around a bit down there just for the hell of it. She'd pulled up next to the exit, thinking it would be easier to get out the next morning.

She hadn't anticipated the three assholes who had parked so as to block her path in every conceivable way.

She grunted, banging her fist against the steering wheel when she realised she still wasn't clear, and put the car into reverse for the twelfth time, before changing gear and driving three inches forward. And so on, and on, and on, until she managed to steer the face of the car towards the exit and let out a satisfied howl.

She started up the slope towards the road, taking her eyes off the driveway and distracting herself for a moment to choose which radio to listen to, when the car hit something and the dull sound of the bang echoed throughout her body, propelling her forward.

Aelin squealed, hitting the brakes hard enough to cause a high-pitched squeal, and soon the smell of burnt plastic filled her nostrils.

The car shut off and she pulled the handbrake vehemently, getting out of the car and trying to figure out which wall she had hit, already cursing every deity that had ever existed. She didn't have enough money to afford a repair, and she knew perfectly well that the dent would be there for months before she let any of her friends help her.

She wrinkled her brow, noticing how no side of the car was touching walls or columns.

"What the..."

And then she heard it, a grunt of pain.

She opened her eyes wide, running around the car and finding a man on the ground.

To the view of a head full of stark white hair, the fear she’d just ran over one of the oldies that lived on her floor stuck her. But then the person got up on their elbows and she let go of a sigh of relief.

But still, she had just runapartment someone over. She hurried his way.

"Oh, fuck." said Aelin, approaching the stranger. The man pulled himself up to sit, bringing a hand to his face, on his cheek, where a cut was bleeding profusely on his shirt.

"Holy shit." muttered the guy, looking up at her, "That hurt."

Aelin was frozen in time, her hands to her gaping mouth, looking for the right words.

When he tried to stand, swaying a little, she pushed through the fog in her mind and truly looked at him, searching other injuries, but not failing to notice his sheer handsomeness.

The man looked like he’d been made in heaven.

She shook her head, mentally reprimanding herself – now was not the time – and started talking.

“I’m so so so sorry. I didn’t see you there and- oh god, you’re bleeding. You need me to rush you to the hospital? Fuck, you think you broke something?” the words just kept flowing and flowing. “Where were you even going? Why didn’t you just got out of the main entrance? This fucking parking lot. I swear we have to call the landlord and have him put some lights down here. Your shirt,” she grimaced, eyeing the blood standing out on the white fabric. Aelin looked him in the eye, “I have a very similar one upstairs? You want me to go fetch it for you, I could-”

“Jesus Christ!” he yelled, putting his hands in between them, forcing her to step back, “Shut the fuck up!”

Aelin’s mouth closed shut and her eyebrows raised so high she felt her skin pull on her temples. She crossed her arms over her chest. Her eyes popping out.

This man. Sure, she’d just ran him over, but no one had ever talked to her like that.

“I’m fine.” he grumbled, “And I live in this building, I’ll go take my own shirt, thank you.” He took a deep breath, brushing off his trousers and bending to gather his stuff that had scattered around during his fall. When he lifted his head again, he gave her a tight smile and his piercing green eyes stared at her with an intensity that had Aelin’s toes curling in her shoes.

“Have a nice day.”

He then proceeded to walk away, leaving Aelin alone in the darkish driveway.

She looked around, hoping to see someone who could confirm that it had just been a figment of her imagination, but there was no one.

Getting back in her car, Aelin started the engine and drove up to the street, chewing on her lips, “What the fuck just happened?”

***

Aelin had thought all day about the mysterious man. She hadn’t been able to focus during her meetings and hadn’t even finished one of her projects. Something that she sure as fuck knew her boss would make her notice and work her ass off to make up for once word got to him.

Her day had started off so bad she knew it couldn’t get any worse, but she’d been wrong.

Her assistant had spilled coffee over her only finished drawing and herself. One of her coworkers had decided today was the perfect day to quit her job and pile her projects on Aelin’s desk. Then she’d gone out for lunch with some of her friends and it had started raining so heavily she’d been forced to stay in the office, only eye-eating the mouth-watering dishes her friends had posted on their instagram stories. They’d made it to the diner just before the sky cracked open.

And, the cherry on top, someone had keyed her car.

She’d been on the verge of tears when she’d spotted the red stains of her neighbor’s blood on the parking lot floor when she got back home, but she didn’t let any fall.

She had a date.

And she wouldn’t let all these little things get to her and ruin what could possibly be the best night of her life.

One of her life-long best friends had set her up on a blind date with one of her boyfriend’s best friends. She’d promised the man was the perfect match, someone Elide thought would keep her on her toes and match her overflowing personality.

Aelin had been hesitant at first when Elide hadn’t wanted to give her a name, or show her a picture, claiming she’d go all FBI style on him and ruin their first meeting, but she’d also promised Aelin she’d met the guy a few times and he’d been nothing but a gentleman.

And she had heard so much of him she felt like she’d known him her whole life.

Some of the things Elide had told her, she’d liked better if she’d found directly from him, but Aelin was a picky woman and she wasn’t risking another date with a creeper.

She pulled up in the restaurant’s parking lot where Elide had reserved the four of them a table and turned off her car, clutching the wheel. She took a deep breath. And another.

She was still a little worked up and all the pent-up emotions of the day were threatening to spill over the surface any minute, but she could make it past dinner and then have her little monthly breakdown in the peace and quiet of her apartment.

She fixed her lipstick, tightened up her ponytail and let two strands of hair cascade on the side of her face. She blew herself a kiss in the mirror, “You can do it.” she whispered as a short pet talk.

She got off the car, pulled out her phone to check if Elide was already inside and she was so focused on the screen she failed to notice someone backing up right in front of her until it was too late.

The car only bumped into her hip, but it was enough to make her lose her balance.

Aelin merely had time to register what was happening that she found herself lying in a puddle of rain and mud. She closed her eyes at the dull pain on the back of her head, but she knew for a fact the hit hadn’t been that bad.

She lifted her arms up, looking down at the wet spots on her dress, darkening by the second. Her seventy euros purse soaking up the water all around her.

The tension behind her eyes just increased when she heard the driver’s door open and someone step out of the car. She couldn’t have stopped the sobs even if she wanted to.

“Miss? Oh god, I’m so sorry. Are you alright?”

Strong arms circled her waist and pulled her up in a standing position. She brought her hands to her face, her body now racked by her crying as she tried to get a handle of herself.

“Miss?” the voice called again, now nearer. “Are you hurt? I didn’t-” the man talking stopped suddenly and Aelin looked up, not seeing anything through the tears. “You.”

And then it hit her.

That voice.

She knew that voice.

She ran her hand over her face, rubbing her eyes and staring right back at the man she had ran over that same morning.

Her mouth fell open.

He was looking at her with an amused expression and Aelin couldn’t find the words once again.

What was it with this man and his ability to take her ability to talk by just showing up?

He had a transparent band-aid on his cheek, his cut far less severe than she had thought, and his eyes were glistening with mirth. He was wearing a simple black pair of jeans and a dark green t-shirt, but he was even more handsome than in his work clothes.

Aelin was taking rushed, trembling breaths, and she was about to kill this man with her bare hands. Shred his skin off his bones and have him beg-

“I guess we’re even now, uh?”

His attempt of a joke flew over her head and she charged at him, a scream lodged in her throat.

His eyes widened and he took a step back when she flung her arm at him, trying to hit him. His hands closed around her wrists, blocking her from causing him more harm that she’d already done.

“You asshole!” she was screaming at the top of her lungs. “You ruined my dress!”

Aelin lifted a leg, more than convinced to kneel his balls, but he managed to block her blow again, infuriating her even more.

“I was about to meet the love of my life and ruined my fucking dress!”

He tried to push her away from him, still squeezing her wrists, and his brow furrowed.

“He’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of. He’s a pediatrician! He loves children! And he has a cute fucking dog my friend said I would love and cuddle the shit out of! Her name is Fleetfoot and she’s a golden retriever and Elide knows I fucking love goldens. And he’s from Orynth, just. Like. Me!” she got louder and louder with every word she spit out. “And he’s tall, and handsome and he’s the perfect match! And I deserved this one night!”

The man was now looking at her with a dumbfounded expression, his hold slightly loosening.

“I’m so done with this dating thing and I’d finally found him and you!” she shoved a finger in his chest, making him retreat a few steps. “You wanted your payback so bad you ran me over with your car!

“And now he’s gonna take one look at me and think I’m a fucking psycho! I bet my hair are the most disgusting thing he’s ever seen and my make up. Oh fuck, I must look like a panda.” Aelin started crying harder, laying her hands flat on the man’s torso, pushing her head to his chest. “I look like a fucking panda.”

She tried to speak again but her mind just couldn’t form any coherent thought, until she felt the man’s arms closing around her shoulders. He stepped closer, running his hand up and down her back, whispering something she couldn’t really hear over her crying.

Aelin didn’t know how much time she spent in the stranger’s embrace, but when the gravity of the scene she’d just made in front of him downed on her, she felt her body flare up in embarrassment.

That was her life now?

Having mental breakdowns in a dark parking lot after someone she’d ran over with her car had returned the gesture and then making them console her?

She detached herself from the man and for a second she thought she’d felt him hesitate before he took a step back. And another, leaving her standing her in her soaking wet dress and her puffy, surely-red eyes. He bent down, picking up her purse and handing it to her.

She lowered her gaze, not even daring looking at his shoes and closed her eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

The man made a sound of surprise, “Why would you be sorry?”

Aelin wished she could die on the spot. Evaporate out of existence.

“For hitting you. Or at least trying. And crying all over you.” she said and then grimaced. She ran a hand over her face. “I just had a very hard day and I wasn’t even sure I wanted to come, but this guy seriously seems like he could be the missing piece to whatever the fuck my puzzle-life is. I didn’t want to take a raincheck and have him thinking I’m not serious about this.”

A beat of silence, “I’m sure he would have understood.”

She shook her head, keeping on talking as if he hadn’t even been there, “And now I can’t go in like this.” she passed her hands on her dress, the tears building up again in her eyes. “Plus, Elide didn’t tell me what he looks like, cause she thinks he’s a real snack and wanted to see my face when I saw him for the first time.” she was bordering on pouting, “That means he’s gotta be smoking hot or I’ll be so pissed at her.”

The man snorted loudly, “A snack.” he hummed, “Maybe I should meet your friend and thank her.”

Aelin’s head snapped up, “Oh no, she’s taken.” she shook her head vehemently, “Like so freaking taken. I swear she and her boyfriend have been together for a whole of three months and they already act like a married couple.”

He nodded, a lopsided smile on his face, “I know the kind.”

She’d been so absorbed by her talking that she hadn’t noticed she’d stopped crying.

She breathed through her nose and clasped her hands together, before reaching one out towards him, “I think introductions are needed. I’m Aelin.” she offered a tentative smile.

His hand engulfed hers, shaking it with impressive gentleness. His smile grew even larger if possible and Aelin was starting to think she was about to het murdered.

But then he said his name and the world ceased existing around them.

Their hands still moving up and down between them.

She tilted her head forward, “I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”

He licked his lower lip, “I’m Rowan.”

Aelin closed her eyes, holding her breath.

She squeezed his hand before releasing it. She took a step back, wishing for the ground beneath her feet to crack open and just eat her whole.

“I’m gonna go kill myself now, if you’ll excuse me.”

His laugh reached her ears with painful speed.

Rowan.

She couldn’t believe it.

Well, she could. The man laughing his heart out at her expense was probably the most handsome person she’d ever seen in her entire life.

At least Elide hadn’t lied about that.

“A tad dramatic, if you ask me,” he said as his laugh died down. He pointed at the restaurant behind him, “You want me to go fetch the married couple so we can go back at the appartment and you can change? I’m not against you walking in there with this outfit at all,” he gave a pointed look, matched by a shit-eating grin that seemed to be etched in his lips, “I’m not gonna think you’re a psycho, not for this at least, and I’m ready to fight everyone who looks at you the wrong way. But you look like you could use the comfort of a warm house.”

Aelin looked up at him with a questioning look, trying to understand if this man she’d just tried to maul was seriously offering her options, letting her choose after everything that had gone down so far between the two of them. As if still giving her a chance.

Rowan arched a brow, looking around and glancing back at her, “Aelin?”

Oh, fuck.

She had been oh so not ready o hear her name from his lips.

She nodded and he smiled, leaning down a bit.

She could smell his cologne from here.

“Yes to what? Me calling Lorcan and Elide or getting inside even if you dripping wet?”

Holy fucking shit, this man shouldn’t have been allowed to say the words dripping wet.

She stilled herself.

What the hell was she thinking? She brought her hands to her face, “Please call them and let’s head home. I’m so fucking tired.” a yawn broke her sentence, as to prove her words, “And I’m freezing in this skimpy dress.”

Rowan rushed to her side, “Oh, god, sorry for not offering sooner, here,” he opened the trunk of his car and pulled out a huge blue sweater. Without even waiting for an answer he snatched her purse from her hands and shoved her head in his sweater.

Aelin felt better right away and gave him a big smile.

Rowan answered with one of his own and of course he had to be this perfect and more.

“I’m sorry for ruining your dress, I’ll make sure they wash it carefully when I take it to the laundry. If you’d let me.”

She nodded faintly, exhaling the panty-dropping smell of his sweater.

“And I’m hoping to see you wear it again once we finally get to go on a proper date.” he smirked, “I bet you looked amazing before I went and ran you over.”

Aelin chuckled, shaking her head, “You truly are a gentleman. Elide wasn’t exaggerating.”

Rowan’s demeanor changed completely and Aelin feared she’d said something wrong, but he averted his gaze as if he was embarassed.

“I’m sorry for this morning,” he said. Aelin almost tripped on her feet. He was sorry? “I shouldn’t have talked to you like that but I was just coming back from the hospital and Elide was right saying I work with kids, but I’m not a pediatrician, I’m a pediatric surgeon.”

His gaze grew dark as he looked over her shoulder, avoiding meeting her eyes at all costs.

“Yesterday night we lost a eight years old and I wasn’t really there when you hit me with your car. I didn’t mean to yell at you like I did, it was just-”

Rowan couldn’t finish his sentence that Aelin lunged for him, hugging him as tight as he’d held her a few minutes before, hoping she could relieve some of the pain that was surely clutching his heart. She felt him sag in her arms and hold her in turn.

She was glad she could offer some kind of support.

“It must be hard.” she whispered against his chest.

Rowan nodded, hitting her head with his chin, “It is, but it’s part of the job. The only way you can live with something like that in your baggage is knowing you did everything you could to save them.”

Aelin could feel the emotion lacing his every word and tightened her arms for a moment before freeing him of her embrace. He silently thanked her and told her he’d be right back with their friends.

The second he was gone she realized she couldn’t wait for when he’d be back and they could keep talking.

She’d never felt this way before. Not this fast at least.

Sure, she had loved all her exes, but this. This was different.

There was something there, a connection.

And while he walked back to her, Lorcan and Elide in tow, a bright smile on his handsome face, she couldn’t help but think she was ready to find out all about it.

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