#you’re a stranger. it doesn’t matter. just assume your shit and move on with your day

[jaybler]

As a non-T trans guy, when strangers do the whole “errmmm ma’am? Sir? They?? I’m sorry what are your pronouns aaaa” thing I’m just going to stare at them blankly and say “she/her.” And watch them get wildly uncomfortable.

[hqbaby]

ten — jerk

mess it up — gojo x reader & sukuna x reader

⁀➴ when i told you i’m fine, you were lied to. when the love of your life falls for someone else, you decide to move on—by pretending to date your best friend, the campus fuckboy.

previous — masterlist — next

word count. 1.8k content. profanity, mentions of reader’s not so happy life, alcohol consumption, violent confrontation, sexual content [oral m receiving]

It’s been a while since Sukuna’s been to a party. “A while,” of course means two weeks in his world, but nonetheless it seems like it’s been ages since he’s gone to one. So when Mahito tells him that there’s a party happening near his dorm tonight, he really has no choice but to go.

As soon as he gets in his car to leave, the first thing he thinks about is you. Should he text you? Ask if you want to come? But he soon remembers that you have a test the next day and he doesn’t want you to go to class hungover.

So he tells you he’s going out tonight and wishes you luck on your test, tells you that he’s just a call away if you decide you want his company. He can’t help the smile that grows on his face when you respond within seconds.

you: thanks! have fun loser <3

He tucks his phone into his pocket and drives over to Aoi’s house.

When he steps inside, the place is packed. There’s a bunch of people dancing, a few that are already slurring from all the alcohol they’ve consumed, and more than enough girls clocking him and giving him goo-goo eyes.

“Sukuna! You’re here!” Mahito comes up to him, pats his back, and hands him a beer. “Didn’t think you’d show.”

Sukuna takes a sip of his drink and frowns. “What made you think that?”

The boy just shrugs. “I heard you’re all tied down now,” he says. “I assumed your girl wouldn’t be too happy with you coming. What with your… reputation.”

There’s a strange feeling that grows in your best friend’s stomach at the thought of you being called “his girl.” Weird, he thinks, but he brushes it off. It doesn’t mean anything.

“I’m still allowed to have fun,” he says, placing a hand on Mahito’s shoulder. “I’m gonna get a stronger drink,” he lifts his beer, “this is basically juice.”

Mojito guffaws. “Alright, big guy. See you around.”

Sukuna winds his way over to the kitchen and opens the fridge to find something stronger. He isn’t necessarily proud of his alcohol tolerance—you give him shit about it all the time—but he’s never been one to enjoy a party without being at least a little tipsy.

“Looking for something?”

He closes the fridge and sees a girl watching him with a smile. She’s leaning against the counter, all dolled up in a pretty little dress with a beer in hand. He swears he’s never seen this girl before, but it doesn’t matter. If there’s one thing Sukuna does best, it’s pique the interest of strangers who just so happen to be incredibly hot.

He holds up the bottle of gin he found. “Just something to drink,” he says, cracking it open and taking a swig. He holds it out for the girl. “Want some?”

Her red lips quirk into a smile and she takes the bottle, downing quite a bit of it before she hands it back to him. They pass the bottle back and forth until Sukuna drinks the last of it, emptying the liquid into his mouth.

The girl giggles, resting her hand on Sukuna’s chest. “That’s quite the introduction.”

“What can I say?” He grins. “I make one hell of a first impression.”

Now, the alcohol does its trick. He can feel himself get a little hazy, he can feel himself loosen up. And he can feel the awfully apparent hard-on in his pants as the girl leans forward and whispers in his ear, “Wanna have some fun?”

He doesn’t even think, instinct and intoxication kicking in as he says, “Sure.”

Sukuna pulls the girl into a bathroom and she’s on him before he can even close the door. She wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him. It’s sloppy and messy, probably driven by booze, but he kisses her back.

He doesn’t know why. It’s almost second-nature to him, this whole song and dance. But as he kisses her, a part of him screams that what he’s doing is wrong. Why?

He pulls back from her and trails his lips down her neck, searching for the spot that has her moaning at his touch. It’s so predictable, so normal, the way she pants against him as his hands slide from her waist up to cup her breasts. Women are so easy, he thinks.

The girl’s hands move down his chest, past his abdomen, and land on his belt. She unbuckles it and pushes it aside, tugging his zipper down.

With a smile, she sinks to her knees and pulls his pants and underwear down. His cock springs out, already painfully hard. She bats her eyelashes at him and in a sickly sweet voice asks, “Can I suck you off?”

And Sukuna says the only thing he knows to say.

“Sure.”

The girl places her dainty fingers around his cock and pumps it a few times before she wraps her mouth around it. Sukuna groans and reaches for her head, guiding her to take his length all the way in. When she chokes a little at the sheer size of it, he closes his eyes in ecstasy.

As the girl bobs her head up and down his shaft, the warmth of her mouth pushing grunt after grunt from his lips, Sukuna’s mind starts to wander as it is wont to do at times like these. His pleasure builds with every flick of her tongue, with every touch of her hand. It’s been a while since he’s felt this good, he thinks—and then he remembers.

You.

He thinks of you padding around your apartment in that one worn-out shirt you’ve been wearing since high school. He thinks of you getting into his car after a day of class, immediately launching into a rant about your professor and your useless groupmates. He thinks of you lying in your bed beside him, that one night after you’d confided in him about your nightmares. And he thinks about how he’d looked at you then, when you were fast asleep, and he thought that you’d never looked so beautiful.

“I made a promise,” he’d said. “Let me keep it.”

His eyes fly open and he looks down at the girl with her face pressed against his groin. All at once, the pleasure fades, and all he’s left with is disgust. And guilt.

He moves the girl off of him and quickly tucks himself back into his pants.

“What’s going on?” she asks, getting up with a bewildered expression. She tries to grab him as he zips himself up and starts heading for the door. “Hey!”

He dodges her grip and shakes his head, grabbing the doorknob. “Sorry,” he says before he goes outside.

As he moves to close the door behind him, he stills.

Satoru stands in front of him, an arm wrapped around who Sukuna can only assume is his new girlfriend. He looks startled, confused. Sukuna feels his blood run cold.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” the girl demands as she comes out of the bathroom behind him.

Satoru’s eyes narrow. Realization. Anger.

Sukuna tries to get away before the situation escalates any further, but a hand grabs at the collar of his shirt before he can leave.

Your ex presses him against the wall. His eyes are dark and his other hand is balled into a fist at his side.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Satoru growls.

Sukuna pushes him off roughly and glares. “None of your fucking business.”

Satoru grabs Sukuna again and raises his fist, ready to land it on your best friend’s nose, and for a split second Sukuna has one thought on his mind: I deserve it.

“Satoru.”

Kimi’s voice is even as she calls out her boyfriend’s name from behind him. Satoru’s hand stops in the air for a moment before he lowers it and pushes Sukuna away. He backs up, but his eyes remain cold and hard as they shoot daggers at the man in front of him.

“Whatever,” he says, placing a hand on Kimi’s waist before he leads her away.

Just when he thinks it’s over, Sukuna feels a sharp sting on his cheek. A slap.

The girl whose name he doesn’t even know snarls at him. “Jerk,” she says as she gives him the finger and backs away into the crowd. “Asshole!”

Sukuna raises a hand to his cheek. He lets out a bitter chuckle. He deserves it.

You blink as Sukuna’s messages come into your phone in quick succession.

booger: going to a party

Then—

booger: gl with studying

Then—

booger: and gl with ur test

Then—

booger: just call me if u want company

You snort. Most people don’t know this, but as his best friend, you know just how soft Sukuna can be. You call him out on it most of the time, make fun of him when he’s being excessively clingy or sweet, but you have to admit that you actually like seeing this side of him.

And the fact that this side of him only seemingly comes out for you?

Yeah, you can’t deny that you like it a lot.

You reply to his message and put your phone away to confront the pages of notes on the table in front of you. With a sigh, you grab a highlighter and decide to start studying.

No one knows this, but in your senior year of high school, you’d actually considered not going to college. You were definitely expected to, what with the path you’d paved for yourself, but after years of toiling away at your academics, you considered letting yourself take a break. And what with your family fracturing in the last few months of high school… It was safe to say that ditching college wouldn’t have been what was expected, but it might have been what you needed.

Then the offer came in. A scholarship for a school far away from home, one that would handle everything from your tuition to the better-than-most apartment you now lived in. It was the best-case scenario, only made better when Sukuna rushed over the morning your results came out to say that he had gotten in too.

You have no idea what kind of luck had suddenly been granted to you, but you never questioned it. You took what you could and ran.

Maybe you never stopped running.

You lean back in your seat and stretch your back, yawning as you look down at your notes. You’re nearly done, just have to memorize a few terms before you can turn in for the night.

You glance at your phone. It’s been surprisingly quiet tonight, void of anyone asking for help with classes, projects, or life in general. You check the time. 10:27 PM—still pretty early.

You open your contacts and press on Sukuna’s to call him.

It rings.

And rings.

And rings.

And, “Leave a message or whatever.” Then, in the background, you hear your own laugh and your own voice teasing, “Are you trying to make your voicemail sound cool?”

You drop the call and frown at your phone.

Weird, you think. He’s never ignored your calls before.

notes. uh-oh 🫣

[acupofinkedblood]

Rocket x reader

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

• You are definitely in for a ride while dating Rocket. Out of everyone you have on hand, you just have to throw yourself into a guy who enjoys blowing things up with his launcher like an adrenaline junkie. But then again, there’s something about him that you can’t seem to get your eyes off. He’s cute, and that makes up for his chaotic tendencies

• To be together with Rocket is quite impressive. Why, you might ask? Rocket doesn’t just trust anyone immediately

• Sword had to stay around long enough before actually becoming his friend, even Zuka had a hard time getting Rocket to open up after adopting him. Playground had traumatized him for good, he couldn’t even sleep in peace without keeping his guard up back there. Thankfully things have gotten so much better now, enough for him to consider loving someone

• He might come off as pretty stiff if he doesn’t know you well. Be patient with him, think of him as a rescued cat. He needs his time to make sure that he can trust you. Your relationship slowly yet steadily move from stranger to friends, then finally lovers

• Then when the two of you have officially become a thing, oh boy, now this is where things get interesting

• Remember how closed off he was before? When you two got together he literally switches side almost immediately. He is technically glued to your hip and there’s no way you can get rid of him. If he has been keeping a certain distance with you before, then honey let me hold your hand when saying this: You have become his very favorite person now, he will blow up a building for you if you allow him

• He is pretty comfortable with showing his affection with you, especially with physical touch. Sometimes he just do it subconsciously: Resting his chin on your head or shoulder from behind, holding your hand by his biological hand, etc…If you call him out for being clingy, he will just roll his eyes and say he is not. But we all know that it’s bullshit

• This bastard is a literal shark. One of his love languages around you is literally just biting you out of nowhere. Although his teeth are looking intimidatingly sharp, his bites aren’t vicious so don’t worry, he knows his strength. Though he will make it obvious that he is biting you, just not enough to leave a mark

• Speaking of strength, you are an idiot if you assume this guy is weak or anything. This guy is fucking armed, can carry that whole ass rocket launcher and bounce around with ease — just so you know that shit is purely mechanical — it’s heavy as hell. One time you scared him out of nowhere, he freaked out and broke the TV remote with his biological hand

• If he wants to carry you up, he will. Doesn’t matter if you are stronger than him or anything, he will try and pick you up then laugh like a mad man. He can lift that goddamn metallic launcher that is pretty equal to a literal huge ass bar of iron, he is more than positive that he can lift you up

• Rocket has this faint smell of gunpowder and mechanical oil on him almost all of the time, so by that logic, that scent makes it way to your body. He doesn’t really comment on that aloud, but he feels like it’s a sign for people to know that you’re taken by him, so it makes him smile

• This guy is a literal ball of energy. If you can amplify that hyperactivity of his, then he will be able to lazy around enthusiastically. But if you match his energy, then on the behalf of you two, I apologize to the entire Crossroads because the two of you are unstoppable. You guys are dead ass Jessie and James straight out from Pokemon, now you just need a Meowth to complete the ultimate team

• For that, you two seem to lose brain cells when staying around each other. It’s either you or him being responsible individually, but together while your energies are at the top? The two of you are the embodiment of chaos, playfully of course

• Despite being clumsy, is actually a pretty skilled in what he devoted himself to. And in this case, it’s machinery. Although he doesn’t really make anything out of that hobby much, it’s still something that keeps him focus. He draws the blueprints himself, saves his bux to buy certain equipment and even tries to modify his launcher as well

• Aside from that, he’s into astrology. Unexpected right? Deep inside he is still a dork, affectionately of course. If you want to, he can take you out to a few certain spots of his for stargazing. You will be surprised to hear him point out to the stars and tell you about it

• He asks you to carve his horns when it grows after telling you all the basic. He has this certain spot on his horn that if you rub it slightly, he will melt in your hands with this dumb grin of satisfaction

• When the two of you are going to bed, he needs your help to take his prosthetics off so that he can sleep more comfortably. Be careful with that though, since the prosthetic is pretty much stuck to him at some point, so you can’t really rush the process

• There is this one time he just forgets where did he put his mechanical limb and has to use the old wooden one he keeps just in case to search with. But if that is no where on sight, he will become a dramatic frustrated maiden in the medieval time while you dead ass have to look around for his leg and arm

• Occasionally he still gets phantom pain on his limbs because of the incident, literally groans in the middle of the night because hell knows that it’s insufferable. Massage his pained limb, maybe put heat pack on it too, he appreciates it a lots. Maybe more than you imagine

• One thing about Rocket when he is sleeping with you is that he just goes ahead and lies on top of you. He doesn’t understand it either, when he’s asleep he just subconsciously shift his sleeping position to be on top of you. His leg and hand with tangle with with yours as well, so you are basically stuck

• But hey, it’s actually not that bad. On the other hand, it feels pretty comforting when he does that. He doesn’t suffocate you, so don’t worry. Other time around you can be on top of him. His body is pretty comfortable — firm yet soft enough — for you to just put your weight onto him, and he just needs to be close with you. That’s a win-win situation

• On that note, he has various of scars on his body. Most of them are old burn scars from being reckless while blowing stuff up, maybe some small wounds and bruises because of other non-serious scenarios. Yet there are certain ones that dated from when he was still staying at Playground. He doesn’t want to talk about those shameful day of violence and blood, when he didn’t know any better than the world that used to be too cruel for his own good

• You know about his past one time while he was drunk. He had become a vulnerable mess while told you about his past, who could expect what happened after one was getting sentimental after drinking? Words just made it out of his mouth without his knowing. Of course, he was afraid that it would make you see him differently. He has tried to hide it from you after all

• And yet, you still comfort him despite knowing everything. Don’t be surprised when he cried his heart out when you did that. You mean so much to him, and at that moment when he was the most vulnerable, he just couldn’t help it but sobbed in your embrace

• Even when he woke up, he still remembered that very moment. That just makes him value you even more

• Let’s just say that whenever the two of you have to go through an alleyway or anything, you will notice that Rocket will become pretty standoffish, even tensed up as well. That’s just his instinct working at the highest. He has been through enough to know how to keep his head on his neck, picking up certain signs of danger to be alerted with. Especially now he has you, he would never let anything happen to you in these places or in anywhere in general

• With all due respect, please keep him out of the kitchen. The only thing you can expect this guy to make is something that doesn’t require using any kitchen equipment at all. Last time he tried to cook something, you have to grab the nearest fire extinguisher because for some reason this prick managed to burn the oven with ice. I’m not even joking. For your safety, his safety and everyone else’s safety - Do not let him cook. He can cook somewhere else, but please not inside the kitchen

• One note, his clothes are pretty comfortable for some reason. Mostly because of his size, but still, it always seems warm for no reason at all. He doesn’t mind you stealing his clothes, but that doesn’t mean he won’t get back at you

• He keeps everything that you give him, whether it’s just something small that you do it yourself. He loves them all. You think he will only receive your gift? You are so wrong

• There is a time when you and him got into a tensed fight which he has to admit that shit was bad. And do you know what did he do? He spent time glued to his desk, designed and discarded over countless blueprints while trying to make something without telling anyone

• And guess what? He has made you a necklace’s charm. Something that was created for you, with certain traits only for you. The gift was made from metal scraps, carefully being carved and forged with the ultimate care. Although it isn’t perfect — he knows, he can’t help his clumsiness after all — but it means a lots for you

• When he came back to you and showed you the necklace while saying sorry, you could obviously see the bandaged finger — the obvious evidence of how much he dedicated himself to this — as he gave you the gift. You can’t even be mad at him, gosh

• Don’t you worry about Zuka, as long as you make his son happy, he’s fine with it. First time meeting him, you were intimidated by the old man. Even when Rocket had reassured you that Zuka is pretty chill, you just couldn’t help yourself. It takes you a few meetings to figure that, hey, your boyfriend was right. His dad is pretty chill, unlike his appearance. So rest your worries, you boyfriend’s dad has already approved you being with his son after seeing how happy Rocket has been

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

Note: I just want to say I love Rocket very much and I think he needs more appreciation ! !

[spookymoonz]

questions 55 and 56 for your los maybe??

I was only planning on doing this for just my ocs but I’ll make an exception cuz you’re my bestie (I’m gonna do my ocs too if that’s alright)

55: What’s something they’re expected to enjoy based off their hobbies/profession that they actually dislike/hate?

Copen: I think a lot of people would expect him to enjoy other art mediums like painting, but I feel like he wouldn’t enjoy painting all that much because he’s more used to using more dry materials like colored pencils and chalk. Rubber band: Rehearsals. I feel like he’s extremely impatient when it comes to putting on a show, and if he’s not the center of attention during said rehearsals, then he’s probably just extremely bored the entire time.

Hole Punch: I feel like people would expect him to plan out his own choreography for his dances, but he’s actually a pretty huge “go with the flow” kinda guy and doesn’t really like planning things out too much.

Tape: Guns and more long range weapons. He prefers to get up close when attacking someone, and probably has terrible aim with those things. He might use a gun if the situation calls for it, but he’s not gonna be happy about it.

Scissors: Training. It’s kind of a combination of Hole Punch and Rubber bands, as they’re very impatient and just wants to fight people, and they’re also extremely over confident in their abilities. They also have the urge to do other things other than training all day. (They do take time to train though, what kind of worthy swordsman doesn’t?)

Luna: When she talks about her ability to see ghosts, people expect her to be some kind of ghost hunter or someone who’s always trying to seek out and capture ghosts. While she loves ghosts a lot, she thinks it’s best to let them enjoy their afterlives and give them their privacy. She even got worried when she found out there were ghosts living in her family’s new home because she felt bad about moving into a place where someone else was already living. She still loves ghosts a lot and will be very interested in ghosts talking to her. She even has a book of pictures all the ghosts she’s met! (She asks for permission to take their pictures of course!)

Teddie: Since his current job is being a scary ghost scaring the absolute shit out of anyone who trespasses in his home, most people would probably assume that he likes a lot of things that terrify or disgust him. Such as bugs or blood or storms. He has his standards.

Mary: I feel like a lot of ghosts would assume that she’d be fine with seeing blood, as she died from Teberculosis. She is, but only in small amounts. She hates seeing high levels of gore. A lot of people would also assume she loves sweets because of her love of baking. She does, but they’re not her favorite thing in the world. Save those for her husband.

Xavier: Most people would probably assume that he’d easily adapt to the modern world with how smart he is. He hasn’t, and he finds a lot of modern day stuff confusing, revolting, or just not worth his time getting to know.

56: If they’re scared, who do they want comfort from? Does this change depending on the type of fear?

Copen: He’ll most likely turn to one of the other members of the legion. He doesn’t really like talking about his feelings to strangers.

Rubber band: She’ll literally take comfort from anyone. As long as she has someone to share his feelings with, that’s all that really matters to her. In extreme circumstances, they’ll turn to Scissors.

Hole Punch: He’ll most like take comfort from anyone who’s willing. In extreme cases, he’ll most likely turn to Tape.

Tape: Same thing as Hole Punch. If someone gets stuck in a scary situation, he’ll basically beg for comfort. In extreme cases, he definitely wants Hole Punch there.

Scissors: They rarely seek comfort out from anyone, as they don’t want to seem weak, though they trust Rubber Band the most to talk about their fears with in extreme cases.

Luna: If anyone’s willing to give her comfort and reassurance, she’ll take it. Though, the closer you are to her, the more likely she’ll be able to fully take your words to heart.

Teddie: He’s always gonna want his wife by his side when he’s afraid. If she’s not there, you’re not gonna get through to him unless you really get him to trust you.

Mary: Her husband. However, she’ll take comfort from anyone who’s offering. However, in extreme circumstances, she’s unconsolable with her husband.

Xavier: He has difficulty sharing his fears with anyone. If he’s willing to open up, he will. There is an old friend of his who he goes to in extreme circumstances though…

[jcbbby]

the only thing I will say regarding That Video is that when she asked for a refund, it was cash only at the table, which you handed to the staff next to Jamie along with whatever you wanted signed for them to pass it down to him. so her asking for a refund wasn’t like, as rude as it may seem because she had literally just handed the money to the staff right there and was asking them for it back. (but also like girl if you already have 15 or so autographs on photos, what’s one more I mean jfc…)

HOWEVER

still absolutely insane and incredibly delulu to bring a real marriage certificate to have him sign and trying so hard to convince him when he politely says no thank you. it doesn’t matter if he signed one before (which holy shit just be satisfied with that one even if it’s signed in the wrong place like what???) he is declining to now. recognize boundaries for these actual human beings. I don’t care how much you love them, or how many times you’ve met them. these cons are a job to them, they are working. don’t assume you’re special because they recognize you from a previous meeting. you’re still a stranger, you’re not their friend. you don’t have “your own thing going on” with them. and for the love of GOD don’t trauma dump on your faves even if they have helped you through something tough!! they don’t need the details!!! just say they’ve helped you through tough times and thank you and then move on!!

I also can’t believe the staff let that get in front of him both in NZ and Montreal. they were leaving things up to the discretion of the talent to sign in Montreal, but still… that sort of thing shouldn’t be allowed out of security reasons. except maybe unless it looks like a fucking build-a-bear birth certificate type document….

anyway. Jamie is too nice sometimes and we don’t deserve him. don’t take advantage of his politeness. just be normal please.

[kedreeva]

Hello, this is bullshit. 100 absolute horse shit. It's an extremely entitled opinion to have.

Unsolicited crit and unsolicited critique are both not acceptable to give to fanfiction writers. Full stop. If you want critique, then leave a note saying it's welcome. But if someone hasn't asked for it? Don't fucking give it.

If it's unclear to you why, try pretending this is some other hobby someone is doing for leisure, something they just do because they are enjoying it. Like, for instance, taking a walk.

Let’s say I go on a walk for fun, and I invite some friends that like walking. While I’m on the walk, enjoying myself with my friends, a stranger comes up to me, unsolicited, and starts giving me advice on how I can walk in order to prepare to run a marathon. In this situation, that person is an asshole, or at least has WILDLY misunderstood their relationship to me. It doesn’t matter if it’s the best advice in the entire world or if they’re 100% correct, I have no need of it, I didn’t ask for advice, I’m not looking to improve what I’m doing, and therefore this is not the time or place to give critique.

It is not different for leisure writing for fun, which is largely what fanfiction is. It cannot be done for profit and in many cases is not being done for improvement, it’s being done for fun, out of a love for source media, and shared as an act of community.

This isn’t a writing class, and you’re not my teacher. You are not a gift to writers, floating through their stories blessing them with your opinions on how they can improve. You haven’t even granted the writer the barest minimum of courtesy by asking if they want critique, first, you just assumed you knew what they wanted better than they did.

It’s rude, it’s entitled, and OP is right: if you don’t like something about the story, no one’s forcing you to read it. Just move on.

As for the whole "tell them what's good and what's bad," I can assure you that the taste of shit in the middle of the sandwich ruins the whole sandwich if someone doesn't like and didn't order a shit sandwich. If it's unsolicited, criticism and critique amount to the same.

I hate the whole discourse of: "fanfic writers need to accept criticism so they can improve". Look, I did not post 5k of men blowing their loads so that I can become Hemingway or something, just don't read it if you don't want to, or do read it and drop your damn thanks in the tin.

[theburninghill]

billy lenz & m! reader NSFW

scenario: you're invited to the sorority house for a big party! just as you're starting to calm down a new face riles you back up again. differently this time.

a/n: I love this man so much but for the life of me can NOT come up with anything original. please please send reqs for this gremlin I'm begging

this gets pretty spicy! though, it doesn't escalate past grinding. it's just mentions of more. SHORT. I am so disappointed with the length of this

this might be dubcon? I'm not entirely sure though. consent is given by you, though you're drunk so...

—

currently, you were at another one of barb's parties. you had grown close to her because of a mutual friend, so naturally you attended any of her parties. any of her excuses to get stupid drunk and not pay for anything.

you took another sip of whatever the hell you'd been given, a groan escaping your lips at the heavy feeling it had on your chest. it tasted like shit. but did it really matter? of course not. you glanced around the room. seeing the girls and their boyfriends, as well as other friends. some were making their way out, wishing everyone else a happy holiday. everyone else was scattered around the lower floor. everyone was there except-

"so whaddya think? of that drink. it was mine, I handed it to you so I could use the bathroom." barb! you let out a sheepish chuckle, glancing down at her your drink.

"tastes like shit, can't believe ya force yerself to drink this, barb." she rolled her eyes playfully. "whatever jackass. you gonna head to bed now? you're staying the night right?" you shrugged, slowly swirling your drink as you thought.

"I guess, I'm hurt you wanna get rid of me like this." barb laughed. she took the drink from your hands and said good night. you made your way to the guest room, giggling along the way at nothing in particular.

you let out a long sigh as you stretched. you had stripped down to just your boxers and shirt. the rest of your clothes in a messy pile somewhere in the room for you to find in the morning.

lazily, you fell back onto the bed, your legs dangling off the side. you shut your eyes. you didn't know when, but you began feeling someone's hands on you, paired with hushed nonsense.

"jeez... do I attract that much attention~?" you giggled, tossing your head to the side. you cracked an eye open to look at whoever was with you.

it was a man, shockingly enough. though you weren't exactly complaining. he was kneeling on the floor, his hands still resting on your stomach and thigh. it was hard to make out much of his features in the darkness, though you could make out the shape of his face and fluffy hair. "hh... pretty pretty pig boy..." finally, you could make out some of his words. though they still didn't mean much to you. you simply assumed he was just as drunk as you were.

"y’know... I don't remember seeing you out there- at the party." he began giggling, rocking slightly. "billy saw you though... billy saw his faaavorite pig...!"

slurred words only fed your theory this man was just another drunk. with how he was touching you, you could care less about who he was.

"well, billy... no clue what kinda shit you're into, but tonight I'm into the same thing. get off the floor, baby." you purred, moving further onto the bed to make room for billy. he eagerly jumped onto you. he was already panting and sporting a hard on from his own thoughts. you giggled at the situation.

one spidery hand of his was tangled in his brown locks, while the other covered his mouth. though, you could still hear his moans and giggles just as loud as before. billy was desperately grinding his hips against yours.

"pretty boyuhhh- hhehe! billy wants- N-NEEDS your fat... JUICY pig cock in him- hnn filthy billy...!" he giggled out, occasionally snorting between words.

you smirked. this should be interesting. another hookup with a stranger at a party? nothing new. but if you recognized this stranger's voice? knew who this man actually was? boy, that would sober you up real quick.

[scarlettriot]

Stood Up

You (Y/N) get stood up from a date and Kaminari decides to do something about it.

Pairing: Kaminari/F!Reader

Contains: Fluff, Flirty Denki, Established BakuSquad Friendship

Warnings: 18+ Below the cut, Minors DNI! Swearing, Electro-Stim, Overstimulation, use of pet names (cuddle bug & cutie), oral (F receiving), consensual recording

A/N: Well, here we are with the third in my Stood Up series. There is also Bakugo & Kirishima if you're interested. This one took me way too long and it's also my first time writing Kaminari at length. I hope you all like it :)

Word Count Starting Below: 2,461

You slipped your foot into the silver heels you had picked out. Something a little fancier since this was a first date after all and you wanted to make a lasting impression. Not only that but this was your first first date in a while. Being a Pro Hero made life busy and dating difficult.

Practically the entire day leading up to this very moment revolved around you either getting ready or babbling with excitement to your closest friends.

An alert chimed on your phone with a text from your date, a smile sliding onto your face expecting to read some message about how they were on their way and that they'd see you soon, but that wasn't what you were met with.

Instead, it was a screenshot of your Instagram page, multiple of them actually, all of you and the ridiculous photos you took with your friends but mostly with one Denki Kaminari. The most recent of which was from a tea shop he met you at just earlier that day so you could show him the shoes for your date.

The message below was simple and more than enough to leave a sour taste in your mouth, this isn't what I want to see when I'm supposed to be taking you out tonight. What, one date a day isn't enough? Why are you even dating? Does your blonde boyfriend know?

You giggled at what they were implying, quick to explain how these were all your friends, they had been since high school! They are people you spent what little free time you had with. Especially Denki, your best friend since you were 15!

That joy you felt started dissipating within the next few messages. You hadn't even had a first date and they were already jealous, and that was something you didn't have room for in your life. So, you slipped the heels off your feet and put them directly back in the box to return when you had the time. Tight black jeans and fitted top were exchanged with a hoodie and sweats although your makeup and hair stayed done, you didn't have the energy to undo your hard work.

Instead, you slid back into your computer chair, your headset snuggly back on your ears and before you notified everyone you were back online, you took a moment listening to the chatter of your friends.

"Shitty Hair! Fuckin' pay attention!"

"Yeah, man! We're getting slaughtered over here!"

"Less yelling at Kiri! More shooty shooty!"

"All of you are hopeless..."

Eijiro chuckled out an apology that was accompanied by a lighter giggle also coming from his mic. "Think this is gonna be my last round for a bit, guys."

"You're so fuckin' whipped." Bakugo scoffed, before screaming profanities.

"Is it whipped if I'm the one who's wanting to get her into bed though?"

You clicked your mic back on then. "Hey, remember last week when Kats forgot his push to talk so we all heard him getting head and we party whipped because someone couldn't focus?"

"You better shut the hell up right fucking now!"

Everyone else roared with laughter. "Yeah! At least I have the decency to mute myself!"

"Hey, wait a sec, why are you online, Y/N!" Denki noted, "You should have already left!"

You screenshot your messages to the group chat because it was far easier than just explaining the ordeal.

"Cute shoes." Eijiro and Kyoka commented at the same time.

There was a lull as their game ended and the messages were read.

"Ya don't need 'em if they're gonna have their head so far up their ass like this."

"I agree." Hanta chimed in. "They're not worth your time."

"Still, sorry they turned out to be a shit." You could hear the frown on Kyoka's face, "I know how excited you were."

"Right, you doin' okay, Y/N? I can stick around and we can all shoot some things!"

"Thanks, Kiri but I'll be just fine! Go spend time with your girl!"

One by one, everyone signed off. You pulled up Spotify and Stardew Valley, something of a comfort for you to get lost in for the rest of the night.

Less than an hour later, you noticed your phone lighting up with your best friend's familiar smiling face. "What's up, Denki?"

"Open your door! I have my hands full and don't wanna put everything down to get my key!"

You sprang from your desk and rushed to your door. Sure enough, on the other side was Denki with bags in both hands and his phone tucked between his ear and shoulder. You grabbed it and a bag before he had a chance to drop anything like the klutz he was. "What's with all this?"

"I feel bad."

"Why? You didn't stand me up?"

He fiddled with the edge of a paper bag. "Yeah, but, we both read those messages and no one said anything but they didn't just call our group out, they called us out.

"Denks, it doesn't matter to me-"

"But, it does to me! You were so excited about this and I got in the way, unknowingly but, still! So, I gotta make it up to you now!"

He pulled out take-out boxes from your favorite restaurant. Two bottles of your favorite wine. Your top three favorite movies and video games, and a board game you both had been meaning to try. "I mean, if they think I'm your boyfriend I kinda gotta live up to the hype, right?"

You really wanted to insist that none of this was necessary. That just because some person that neither of you really knew that well, assumed something about your relationship that didn't mean he had to blame himself for it.

But, you had to admit, this was really sweet. It shouldn't have come as a surprise to you that he knew everything you liked but it was nice. Instead of sitting across from a stranger, making awkward small talk, and trying to learn about one another, you were barefoot in your kitchen, laughing with your best friend while he plated dinner and you poured the wine.

Formalities were out the window. Both you and Denki were eating dinner in your living room, laughing and drinking just as you'd done a million times before. You snapped a photo of the delicious food on paper plates, toasting good times with your cheap wine, ready to post them to your Instagram.

"Gonna make them more jealous..."

"I think they made it pretty clear they don't want to see me so why should I care?"

He shrugged. "I just thought they might, you know, come to their senses that they obviously lost."

"I don't really care either way." You wandered back into your kitchen, putting away the leftovers, "They can forget I exist or they can stalk my page like a creep. If someones' gonna try and tell me I can't be friends with my friends or just not listen to me, then I don't want them in my life. No matter how good-looking they are."

Denki watched you from the sofa, a bit of a lopsided grin on his face that had butterflies taking flight in your stomach. "What?" Laughing to hide the bit of a crush you always had on the man. It was unavoidable you told yourself. His personality was infectious and had 15 year old you head over heels.

He pushed back bright blonde hair back off his forehead and just shook his head. "Nothin'. Uh, what's next? Video game, board game, or movie?"

You peaked on the counter at the options. "Well, we probably should have checked this but the board game needs at least four people to play... guess we'll have to save that for our next game night. Is a movie okay?"

Of course, it was.

You brought over the DVD with a refill of wine and he pulled a blanket down off the back of your sofa.

It really didn't take long, just fifteen minutes or so, and you were curled up into Denki's side. You'd make grabby hands for your wine glass and he'd pass it over with that damn grin again.

And not long after that, he'd pulled out his phone, angling it to take a picture of the two of you. "What are you doing?" You could see him on his own Instagram, tagging you, with the caption, Check out my cute cuddle bug.

"I thought you didn't want to make them more jealous."

"I decided I don't care either. You're mine tonight, their loss. And since you're mine tonight, I get bragging rights." He snapped another quick picture of you rolling your eyes at him, and then he kept snapping them.

"Denki! Why!"

"Because you're cute, cuddle bug! I like having all the pictures of you that I can!"

Even as you tackled him back down on the sofa, pinning him below you, he still managed a photo. "Bet if I post this one, they'll really get the wrong idea."

You could have moved. You were the one on top of him and you had his arms above his head. You had the power here and yet you just lingered above him.

"Y/N? Not that I'm one to complain about having a beautiful person such as yourself pinning me down, like, it's kinda hot, but..." Looking down into half-lidded golden eyes, you wondered why you had to become best friends with such a damn flirt! "Are you gonna take advantage of this situation we're in or are we just gonna keep dancing around this for another decade or so?"

You couldn't have heard him right? No... no this was your brain playing tricks on you because he certainly hadn't had that much wine tonight. You sat upright on his lap. "Another decade then, Y/N?"

"You- ha- you should stop that, Denki."

He leaned up, moving his arms around you, "Gimme a good reason to and I will."

You didn't have one. And not just because you've been in love with him for ten years but also because he was your best friend. The only reason to not go through with it was the possibility of losing your friendship if something bad were to happen but, you really didn't think anything would.

Denki might have been a serial flirt but he was surprisingly loyal in all the relationships he'd been in, not that there had been all that many serious ones.

"I'm not hearing anything." He teased, his face getting closer to yours. You could count each and every one of the faint freckles that littered the balls of his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. "But, I promise, if you tell me no, I'll stop, won't push this any further."

This whole thing seemed like a frickin' whirlwind, happening faster than your brain could really process the situation but you didn't want it to stop either. You wanted to take it further, didn't want to say no.

Which was why you coiled your arms around his neck and kissed him deeply. There was that small little buzz of electricity that tickled your lips when he'd kiss your nose or cheeks that was now playing on his lips, on his tongue when you welcomed him in.

He leaned back again, pulling you with him until you were both a pile of needy hands and breathy pleas. Everywhere his hands roamed you felt that faint trail of shock against your skin, making the little hairs on your body stand on end.

Clothes were shed, tossed haphazardly around your living room, both of you pausing to laugh when Denki managed to land your hoodie over a lamp. His attention was drawn back to you quickly though, still perched on top of him but now he had your chest on full display since you'd forgone a bra when your date canceled.

Electrifying tongue twirled around your nipples, sensitive normally, now it felt like you knew what it was like when he fried his damn brain. He was eager, relentless even, pulling and sucking, another hand giving your other breast a similar treatment. He had you so focused that you let out a broken moan when slender fingers found their way into your panties.

"Fuckin' hell, Denki."

The bastard winked up at you, nipple still between his lips and before you could retort, he sent another small jolt through you.

You were blatantly grinding down on his hand, reaching behind you, you found him completely solid, barely being contained in the tight black boxers he wore. You had enough sense to tug them down and wrap your hand around him making his teeth sink into your soft flesh, whining when you stroked him.

"Y/N..." He whimpered, his hand momentarily distracted from his ministrations gave you enough time to shift in his lap to scoot forward putting his cock in front of you. In one swift motion, you had his length between your slick. "Oh fuck, cutie!" Golden eyes were squeezed shut while you moved along him, feeling that pleasant curve he had, you could only imagine what it was gonna be like to have him inside you.

"You're being a little tease, ma-makes me wanna do all sorts of things to y-you."

He was kissing your neck, your chest, shoulders, and arms, anywhere on you that he could reach. His hips bucking up into you, just trying to hit that perfect angle.

Strength and agility were something most overlooked when it came to Denki Kaminari but when the man wanted something bad enough, he found a way to get it.

He had your ass rising up in the air with a harsh thrust of his hips and a small squeak from you, giving him exactly enough time to scoot down on the sofa so you were sat atop his face. If you complained, he didn't hear you. Denki already had your thighs around his head and his tongue devouring you completely.

Little shockwaves rocked you while you cried out his name, hands fisting blonde locks just trying to stay upright.

One orgasm from you apparently wasn't enough, neither was two but on the third, Denki finally relented, allowing your heartrate to come back down and your gasping breaths to come in more steadily.

You slid back down his body, his erection now smack against your ass. His hair was recked, face completely flush but he had the biggest grin on his face that you'd ever seen.

Denki kissed both your cheeks, "You are so amazing, cutie!" Kissed your lips, "You taste better than anything I've ever had!" And one more on the tip of your nose. "Doin' okay?"

You nodded, starting to really gather yourself again, and by this point, you really just wanted one thing.

"I wanna... Denks... can I take care of you now?"

"Sure, cutie! How do you want me?" The wiggling eyebrows had you rolling your eyes and pushing him on his back again.

It took little effort for you to position yourself above his cock, and with how slick you were, his bright pink head slipped right inside. He held your hands while you scrunched up your face, sliding all the way down him until he was completely sheathed within.

The curve was immaculate. Hitting in just the right way that had you moaning with just a couple thrusts from him. Before long, you were eagerly bouncing on his cock. Riding him hard so he filled you up each and every time.

You barely registered him reaching for the coffee table, his phone now in his hands. "What're you doin'?" You practically slurred, slowing only slightly. He tapped the camera lens with a wicked grin. "Seriously?"

"We could make 'em really jealous now..."

Somewhere in your brain, you knew your date wouldn't give two shits, in fact, this probably would have only validated their thoughts about your's and Denki's relationship but with his cock stuffed so deeply into you, kissing your cervix in the most beautiful way, you really didn't give a damn.

You and Denki put on the best possible show you could think of. You were overstimulated, sore, and completely elated! He balanced the phone against the wine bottle so neither of you had to try to hold it.

This way he could play with your breasts or squeeze your thighs while you dug half-moons into his chest. Shocked with the playful zaps he sent right to your core.

Your makeup you'd didn't feel like taking off now ran down your cheeks with tears. Your hair was a mess thanks to him pulling at it.

Denki had you howling through another two orgasms, telling you how perfect you were, how nice you felt squeezing him so tightly, your nails felt so good against his skin.

It was only when you collapsed against his chest did he hoist your hips up so he could ram into you, pulling out just at the last second with a strangled cry of your name.

He wiggled himself free, grabbing a towel from your bathroom and cleaning you both up before stopping the recording.

"You're, hey you're gonna send that to me right?" You asked when he handed back your hoodie off the lamp.

He dropped a kiss on your lips, plopping down beside you on the sofa again and you noticed your email already up and the video uploading. "Obviously, we share all our videos and photos. Why would this be different?"

[emwritesstuff]

housesitting | bucky barnes x reader

summary: Housesitting for Steve Rogers has many perks. The man has the comfiest bed you’ve ever slept in; his coffee machine is top tier; and he also pays for every single streaming service you could think of, because he doesn’t wanna miss anything.

You can hardly see how Bucky Barnes stumbling into his apartment at 3 am with multiple wounds is one of them. But I guess it might be?

notes: this is my attempt at a more ~comedy centered one-shot, with some making out in the middle because uh, who doesn’t like that? In other news, reader is Chaotic. Canon mcu (Infinity War/Endgame) is non-existent in this.  (word count: 3K)

warnings: language, mentions of blood, gunshot wounds, general patching up shenanigans, some making out/grinding but not quite third base

[PART 2: breaking and entering]

Housesitting for Steve Rogers has many perks. The man has the comfiest bed you’ve ever slept in; his coffee machine is top tier; and he also pays for every single streaming service you could think of, because he doesn’t wanna miss anything. An old popsicle thing, you assume.

It’s peaceful, too. The neighborhood is nice and quiet, the other tenants are either extremely polite or too scared of Captain America to make much noise. You’ve had very nice stay-cations at his place, where you were free to choose to binge The Office while eating an entire pizza in the spam of 2 episodes or taking advantage of the quiet to write your grad-school thesis.

So when a loud BANG almost makes you drop your coffee mug on the floor, your spidey senses are immediately on alert. You don’t care how many times Peter insisted that it wasn’t a thing, your arm hairs stood up and your heart started hammering on your chest all the same.

You contemplate squeezing under the bed, turning off the show that was long abandoned and hiding until whatever it is goes away, but before you can do any of that, a string of sharp cursing and soft thumps and thuds snaps you out of your fear.

Maybe it’s a burglar. You could take a clumsy burglar, easy.

Now feeling like Tony had just welcomed you into the Avengers, you hop off Steve’s bed and let your baby Yoda socked feet carry you stealthily into the living room, holding a table lamp as if it was a baseball bat.

Everything is quiet, with no signs of forced entry at the door (you remember someone on Law and Order using those words), and in the dark you don’t notice the bloody trail coming from the kitchen.

You’re imagining things, then. When was the last time you slept? You don’t even feel tired, but you know sleep deprivation always gets you all kinds of crazy.

It happens the second your arm falls to your side and your posture shows the slight of relaxation. A strong arm around your neck and a hand against your mouth to muffle the screaming.

In the quiet of Steve’s apartment building, there is only you shrieking and howling and thrashing against the hold of a stranger.

“Don’t fuckin’ move.” You still.

And then you bite into the hand that is muting you, immediately regretting it when your teeth sink into something hard. Metal? Concrete? Ouch. You resume your resistance, determined, and is shoved away.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Who the fuck are you.” His voice is gruff and dulled over the mask he is wearing, and as you’re taking this giant of a man in, you notice it.

The metal arm. The strapped leather jacket. The tortured blue eyes.

Winter Soldier.

The intruder is James “Bucky” Barnes, Steve’s best friend. That’s who the fuck it is.

“I’m Steve’s house sitter! I even have a key.” You say, with arms in front of you to signal no harm but inching closer to the table lamp with every step.

“House…sitter? Where’s Steve?”

“Who knows. Maybe a mission. He texts me, I come over.” You shrug, and put a chair back to where it was before it got knocked over.

“I don’t believe you. Where is Steve?”

“Listen, I don’t know, okay? I guess he’s just out for a few days. I don’t ask. He just lets me stay in here so I can water the plants and feed the Avengers.”

“The– the what?”

“The Avengers! The fish, see.” You point to the aquarium, where a handful of colorful fish swam peacefully in.

Peace. So much for your peace, because now what you have is a surly super soldier eyeing the fish tank like it was the most loathsome thing in the entire universe, except maybe for you.

“I hate this thing. Naming them makes it even worse.” He trudges back to the kitchen, stomping on the floor like he was on a parade.

So much for the other people’s peace, too.

“Hey! Sir. In case you haven’t noticed, it’s 3 in the fucking morning?” You sass, putting your hands on your hips when he retorts that yeah, he does know. “What are you even doing here?”

“Back from a mission.” He grumbles without looking at you, as if you’re the one who stumbled into his place in the middle of the night.

It wasn’t your place, but still.

“Don’t you have a house?” There’s a part of you that knows pushing the Winter Soldier’s buttons is asking for trouble, but your tired and confused brain decides to ignore it.

“You interrogating me? I need a motherfucking– ” He wheezes and nearly doubles over, holding on the door frame between the living room and the kitchen. You finally spot the blood, both on the tiles and seeping out of the Soldier’s jacket and pants.

He’s hurt. Shit.

“– first aid kit.”

“You need a motherfucking hospital!” You shrill, panic chilling your bones. You don’t do blood. Or any kind of wound, for that matter.

The man ignores you, opening up cabinets hastily. You huff, and walk past him to get to the actual home of the first aid kit. Steve’s oldest, closest friend and can’t even find a box with pharmaceutical supplies in his kitchen. You slam it on the counter next to him.

“You’re welcome.”

“Zip it.”

Just a look from him is enough to render you speechless, and not in the good, butterflies-in-your-stomach kind of way. You’re positive that one swat of that metal arm and you’ll be flying out of the window.

He begins by removing his mask, revealing a handsome face underneath, and you try your best to focus on how dark and menacing it looked while locked in that scowl of his. Then, he unbuckles his jacket and discards it on the floor, it coming to a stop next to your feet.

Oh man, he’s naked. Well, not really, just the incredibly toned, strong and muscular top half of him, but you stare wide-eyed as if he was.

“See somethin’ you like, doll?” He quips, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, and you turn your back to him, mostly to hide your own embarrassment.

“No.” You cross your arms resolutely, because you definitely don’t think he’s attractive. He is a rude, grumpy, private-property-invader-bastard. Doll. Yuck.

You hear a rumble come out of his chest. Is he laughing? Shithead. Other noises follow, wheezes, small grunts and the tinkle of metal on the marble counter.

A particular pained grunt makes you turn, and you see Barnes with his body twisted, trying to reach a bloody hole on his back. It would be funny if he wasn’t trying to poke a gunshot.

“Do you need… help?” You ask, against your own will, only to be met with his icy gaze.

“No.”

“Come on, you can’t even reach that.”

Another glare is shot your way, and you quirk your brow up. He did need the help, you think, because aside from the muscles and the sweat making him glisten like a delicious – wait what – glazed donut, the man looked like hell.

“…fine.” He slides a pair of surgical prongs, something you identify in your head as oversized tweezers, and you instantly regret your offer. Pressing an iodine-soaked cotton ball to a wound, sure. But not this.

He turns his back to you without a word, supporting himself on the marble. You think that he’s about to make a dent on the goddamn stone if he keeps holding onto it that hard.

“Ah, fuck. Shit. Fuck. Ugh, it’s so gross. Fuck.”

It’s the most horrifying thing you’ve ever done, but you try your best to get to the bullet quickly, so very thankful that Barnes holds himself perfectly still for you. “Got it!”

He lets out a long breath when you toss the prongs and the bullet on the counter with the rest and resumes his cleanup. So, he’s not even going to say thanks. Great.

You try not to think about how you still want to make conversation while you hurriedly scrub the blood from your hands, because aside from the hostility and him jumping on you as a meet-cute, the guy peeks your interest.

Steve has said Barnes is nice, too, and you believed Steve, because he’s basically incapable of lying. Or maybe because he’s pretty. Both, for sure.

With your hands now clean, you turn to him, mouth open with some kind of conversation starter that is immediately forgotten.

Oh man, he’s naked. For real this time.

Bucky Barnes has stepped out of his pants while you were overthinking by the sink, now standing in only a pair of black boxers. It’s like he feels you staring at his butt, because he turns to you with raised eyebrows.

“Last one’s on my thigh. I got it.” He’s holding the prongs this time, and you’re glad you don’t have to do anything, because your face next to that groin might make you go into spontaneous combustion.

“Yeah.”

He hums. You hope all of this is a fever dream.

“Isn’t there a med bay at–”

“Don’t like people prodding and pokin’ at me.” His comment makes you grimace. He’s the Winter Soldier, damn it. You know the stories, everyone does. Of course he doesn’t like being prodded.

He looks at you funny, probably because you went dead quiet. You don’t want him to think you feel pity, because you don’t, but god don’t you feel bad for poking him now, even if verbally.

“I’m gonna – grab one of Steve’s – uh. Dude you need to put some clothes on. Jesus.”

He laughs at you again, which you’re thankful for because anything is better than the awkwardness of the other subject. You pick up a black pair of sweatpants that was so deep in one of Steve’s drawers that you know he’d have to have bought it and never had the guts to put it on. This one would do just fine.

If there is one thing Steve Rogers isn’t, is a black sweats guy.

“Here.” You deposit the sweats and a white tee on the counter, one of the millions that you found inside the closet. Barnes was patching himself up now, bandages wrapped everywhere on his body.

Got his ass kicked good. You shudder when you imagine the state of the other guy.

He eyes the clothes, and saying nothing, returns to his task. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“I didn’t ask you to help me.”

“Yeah, but I did anyways! ‘Cause I’m stupid, I guess.” You almost hurl a dirty plate at him when he scoffs, muttering a yeah, guess you are. “God, why are you so grumpy?”

“Well you try being shot 5 times and see how cheerful you are after.”

“You got shot 5 times?!”

Looking at you from between his brows, the Soldier nods to the five mangled bullets sitting on the counter. You think about how you’ve made yourself a sandwich just hours earlier on the exact same spot. You want to puke.

Taking time to look around yourself, you can finally grasp the state of Steve’s ever-so-pristine kitchen, now a mess of dirty clothes, blood and your own few dishes from the night before. You don’t even think about what you’re doing as you move, gathering every single cleaning supply you can find, and start working on the cleanup.

You’re struggling, because obviously you’ve never done this before. Anyone can tell, from your soft abdomen and your severe lack of muscle, that you’re not an Avenger. Sure, you work with them, but you’re usually neck deep into advanced tech, not in the gym by any means. Also, you don’t do blood.

That means you have to think about something else, anything else, while you’re manically cleaning the floor. One sheep, two sheep, three sheep, the Winter Soldier’s tight ass, four sheep, get it together goddamnit –

“Leave it. I’ll clean.”

You huff, he huffs back, and you look up at him.

“You got shot five times. Go sit down or something before you blow your back too, grandpa.” You call him that to assure yourself that he is old, like actually super old, and thirsting over him is weird. Even weirder when he’s all bandaged and bleeding. And still shirtless. Shit.

He mumbles something that you ignore, and stomps off. You think you actually did a pretty decent job with the cleaning, considering.

You need coffee. Definitely an entire bottle of vodka too, but there was no alcohol in this god’s good home, so you settle for the brew that you made earlier. You pour a mug for Barnes too, because you’re nice like that, and amble into the living room to find him slumped on a chair.

“Coffee?” You start, settling his mug on the table next to him.

“It’s almost 5 a.m.”

“Guess I’m up early for once. Maybe I should go for a run.”

He snorts, and opens one eye to inspect you from where he is. He reaches out for the coffee, using his metal hand, and you consider the two ways this could go.

He’d shatter the mug right then and there. Or, he’d throw it at you. Your jaw goes slack at what he actually does, sirens blaring loudly in your head. Truly astonishing, the most bewildering turn of events.

He drinks from it.

“Thanks. Quit staring at me.”

“Wow, Mr. Winter knows the magic words. Mr. Barnes. Sergeant?” You’re thinking aloud, abandoning any trace of sanity you’ve been holding. You even sit on the couch next to his armchair.

“It’s Bucky,”

Again, absolutely bewildering. You must be going insane.

“– and you talk too much.” He finishes, with an end-of-story tone, and returns to his rest. At least that felt like normality.

“Bucky. Bucky.” You roll the name on your tongue, feeling a weird buzz start to take over you. It grows stronger when you notice he’s looking at you, one brow quirked as if you lost your marbles. “You know, Bucky, this is definitely not how I saw my night going. Home invasion, playing surgeon – not my usual kind of fun.”

You get up, maybe because you decide that you – and Bucky – need a blanket, or maybe because you need a distraction from his chest going up and down like it’s got a business with making you want to touch it.

You’re not a slut, but who knows? Jim Halper would get it.

“You’re that kid, aren’t you? Stark’s assistant.” Bucky’s voice, low and husky, makes you jump. You look at him, your eyebrows furrowed slightly.

It’s surprising that he knows you, considering. He’s – well, he’s basically a celebrity, if ex-assassins could be considered that. You’re only Tony’s techie, and you and Bucky have never actually met, not even in the few parties you had attended to stop your boss from nagging you that you had to actually go out and have some fun sometimes, because you’re still young and cute and you need to enjoy yourself before you get saggy and bitter.

Jokes on him, you were born bitter.

“I’m no kid.”

“Nice socks.”

You wiggle your toes and it makes the ears of one of the baby Yodas move.

“Still not a kid! If you wanna be sad and wear your sad, plain socks, Bucky, that’s entirely your choice.” You said, pointing your index at him, making circles in the air with it to really get your point across.

Bucky smirks, and you go up to him with the two blankets on your arms. He’s blocking the door with that bulky body of his, and you raise your eyebrows quizzically.

“I’ll have you know – meeting Steve’s annoying, mouthy, pretty house sitter is not how I saw my night going either.” Bucky puts a doubtful tone on house sitter, as if he still doesn’t get exactly what it means.

You blink. You’re positive you heard it wrong. Is he… is this flirting?

“You think I’m pretty?”

“I called you annoying and mouthy too.”

“Yeah, I mean I know that much about me.” You chuckle, rolling your eyes. “The pretty part is new though.”

Bucky still hasn’t moved from the doorframe, and you find yourself staring up at him. He is inches away now, pupils blown wide in the darkness, and you can see a ring of steely blue around them. He licks his lips, and you’re drawn in.

The maelstrom in his eyes sends you spinning.

“I think someone should say you’re not see through, much less–”

Bucky shuts you up by pressing his lips onto yours, a slow, exploratory kiss, the tenderest he’s been all night. His metal hand rests on your lower back, making you shiver at the cool touch.

You’re all panting and eagerness when you cup his face with both hands and press your body against his. You need to deepen this kiss. You haven’t drooled over Bucky Barnes all night to keep things lovey-dovey.

He responds in earnest, pulling you closer. The flesh hand on the back of your neck is a stark contrast against the chill of the other. You and Bucky stumble from the corridor and back to the living room, knocking over a few of Steve’s decorations in the process.

“I don’t feel as bad for this one.” You mumble against his lips, stopping to look at a particular framed picture of Captain America in uniform, surrounded by every single counterfeit Cap in Times Square.

“S’ one of his favorites.”

You nod, you’re aware. Steve thinks it’s the most hilarious thing ever.

Bucky’s breath tickles the hairs on your neck when he continues.

“I hate it.”

“Yeah.”

You capture his lips again, and you two resume your chaotic redecorating. You’re thankful for Bucky’s strong arms keeping you from falling over, because at this point you’re not sure if your legs work anymore.

He takes you with him when he drops down on the same armchair from earlier, and the dizzy spell you find yourself in is broken when you hear him groan.

Right. He’s battered up and stuff.

“Shit, Bucky, I’m sorry–”

“No.” He pulls you close again, and guides your body to straddle one of his thighs. “Stay right here, doll.”

Doll. God-fucking-damnit.

His hand moves under the elastic band of your pants, oh my god you’re making out with Bucky-Hot-Piece-Of-Ass-Barnes in your wiener dog pajama bottoms, and finds the hem of your underwear. He pulls on it, and you yelp when he lets it snap against your side.

He laughs, and you vibrate along with his chest.

You find yourself grinding on his leg, sucking on his bottom lip, raking your nails along his shoulders, doing anything, everything for more, trying to burn the taste and the feel of him on your memory. He moves on to kiss your neck and you sigh, tugging on his hair and making sure you’re holding on for dear life.

Your eyes flutter open, enough to see the fish Avengers in their tank.

The Avengers.

Steve Rogers is an Avenger. So is Bucky, technically.

You’re making out with Bucky. One of his hands is on your boob.

This is Steve’s apartment.

You manage to sober you up enough, despite Bucky’s constant attacks of open mouth kisses and bites on your neck.

“I don’t think Steve would – if we–” You lift your head begrudgingly to look at him. “You know, on his armchair.”

“Right.” He didn’t seem convinced, but his hand moved up from your butt to your waist again.

Steve Rogers was probably miles away right now and still cockblocking you.

Even worse, his furniture was cockblocking you.

Stupid star-spangled IKEA shopper.

And his hot best friend. Who’s currently smiling at you in a such a way that makes you almost abandon all comradery towards Rogers and the sanctity of his place.

You debate getting up, but resign yourself to burying your nose in the crook of Bucky’s neck and just staying there, because honestly, when are you going to have the chance to do this again. Never, that’s when.

Also, he’s surprisingly comfortable for someone with a metal arm and such a jacked-up body.

“You’re sleepy.”

“No, I’m like, super awake.”

It’s a lie, because now that the sparks have flown and the rush of blood in your ears gave way to the quietness of the early morning, you feel yourself drifting, on and off, surprising yourself when you come to once and find that Bucky is still there, warm under you.

“Sleep, doll. I need it too.”

You shift, ready to let his rhythmic breathing lull you to sleep. The last 75 sleepless hours catch up with you.

“Bucky? If you want to break into someone’s house again sometime – I have a first aid kit too. Just sayin’.”

[rayofsunas]

pretending you’re not his s/o. [1]

A/n: happy Thursday!! whew, the week is almost over thank goodness. I hope you’re all doing well and thank you for being patient while I knock out these requests <333 Scaramouche’s is long for obvious reasons (I simp) ALSO thank you for 800 followers, I hit that milestone yesterday ahagdwcsh omg I’m growing so much wtf. thank you all :) <33 

Summary: the boys having to pretend their s/o is their secretary, maid, friend, etc. (someone other than their s/o)

Parings: Childe/Reader, Venti/Reader, Kaeya/Reader, Diluc/Reader, Albedo/Reader, Aether/Reader, Xiao/Reader, Chongyun/Reader, Xingqiu/Reader, Scaramouche/Reader, Razor/Reader, Bennett/Reader, Zhongli (fem and gn mixed)

Warnings: violence tbh (in Scara’s especially chile), swearing, crack, angst?, fluff

Word count: 1.7k

Requested by bestie @mintydump​ 

Refuses (tells people you’re his s/o and compromises the mission)

Childe: for some odd reason, he was sent out by the Tsaritsa to retrieve a man who was impersonating one of the eleven harbingers and you were to go along. she said men were much more willing to follow along, if there was a beautiful woman promising affection, etc. the only problem was, to win over the impersonator, you had to pretend to be Childe’s co-worker. he hated this idea, and the minute he left, he reassured you he would not call you his partner unless it was romantically. so hell yeah, he’ll compromise the mission and will return without the impersonator. he does not care, you’re not his co-worker. he’ll just be like, “sorry, next time send me alone.”

Venti: jean why... ofc you'd be great company duh, but why did you need to be his babysitter on this expedition?!? sure, Venti may look like a child, but this was stupid! he’s loose-lipped anyways, so he’ll accidentally let it slip to whoever that you’re not his babysitter and that you’re his s/o. he’ll be like, “oops.” with the biggest shit-eating grin. he doesn’t care though, you’re not his babysitter grrr. 

Razor: he also accidentally lets it slip you’re his s/o. hunters were after him and his friends, you included (you’re human, he considers you family though, therefore wolf) and he just yells, “don’t touch my mate, GRRR” before ya know, ending them lmao. it never crossed his mind that maybe it wasn’t in his/your best interest to say what you were to him. other hunters could be nearby listening and then target you at a later date. but, tbh he will worry about that another day. as long as you’re safe now, he’ll always be there to protect you. 

Refuses (he doesn’t refuse the mission, but he refuses calling you someone other than his s/o/he won’t say if you’re his s/o or not.) 

Kaeya: he definitely won’t be calling you anything other than his s/o but he also won’t offer this mission to anyone else. he’s more than capable and he can do this without you having to be in danger too. if someone asks who you are, he’ll just cooly respond with, “none of your business.” and move on. he’ll use that whenever someone asks who you are. even if someone gets a little pushy, he won’t use anything to clue them of your relationship.

Xingqiu: he was supposed to borrow steal a book from someone. he needed it for personal purposes lol; it would be great for his collection. and from his understanding, the person who has it wasn’t using it. though you were confused on why he needed to break into somewhere to retrieve it. you just happened to be with him when he broke in, he says it was an accident that you were there, but tbh it’s all part of the thrill and his mischievousness. despite Chongyun warning him that he shouldn’t have brought you, he still did. and when the person who owns the book whips out a sword and then asks why you were brought along if you seemed timid and unreluctant to steal, Xingqiu’s response is, “well she’s my girlfriend! duh.” cue deadpan. legit no hesitation.

Scaramouche: this mission is happening no matter what. the Tsaritsa’s life is on the line; highly trained assassins from all over Teyvat were sent into Snezhnayan territory to kill her. she could protect herself, but Scaramouche was feeling feverish for battle; he was one of the more unhinged and dangerous harbingers, she entrusted this task upon him. he never turned down a mission. plus, it’s your fault you’re even here. why are you here again!? he left you home in Inazuma days ago. also... who the hell was looking after your daughter if not you...?? when you caught up with him once he was well away from Liyue Harbor’s docks (so he couldn’t force you to get back onto the ship, smart) you told him you weren’t some housewife and you missed the thrill of adventure, so you snuck on the ship too. he wasn’t sure how you got on in the first place without alerting The Kanjobugyo (you’ve snuck out before, so he’s told them not to let you leave, though he assumed you used your former title of a Fatui to gain clearance) let’s just say he’s not happy you’re here, but he’s not turning back now, he’s determined to end this. in the end, he kills all the assassins (ofc). on your way back to Liyue Harbor, arguing about why you’re here (you’re losing), another assassin comes out of the shadows; intent on killing the both of you. he’d managed to grab the end of your hair in his fist and was going to slit your throat. Scaramouche will say, “don’t touch my wife, you insolent scum.” he doesn’t have a problem telling those who have a death wish of your intimate relationship, because they’ll die in the end anyway; therefore to him, it’d be like they never knew. 

Zhongli: not many people know you’re his s/o anyways, so if he has something to do, especially dangerous you’re not coming along. he’ll make sure of that. on missions or something, he refuses to call you anything other than his s/o, but if he can’t/wants to keep it private he’ll call you by your name. if you’re facing off against someone, he’ll be like, “y/n, please watch out, I’ll handle this.” he never wants to put you in danger, and tbh even someone threatening who knows your name is a risk, but if they ever found out that you were not only his s/o but the s/o of an Archon? yeah, you’d be on a hit list just like him. 

Accepts (he will do this and won’t ask any questions)

Diluc: sorry y’all, but once this is discussed in full and you agree, he’s going to accept it. this mission is important. it’s not often people travel into Inazuma, so he was very lucky his wine is sold there and that he has a popular, well-known name. shipments of his wine weren’t making it into the borders and he was to find the culprit behind it; someone was stealing obviously. you were to go along with a few other soldiers and when jean told him it would be safer to call you his maid and not his fiancé, he agreed. you wouldn’t be a target that way. if anyone wonders why he took his maid, he’ll just say, “she’s to travel everywhere with me.” don’t worry, after the missions over he’ll reassure you he doesn’t think of you as his maid, definitely not. he’ll apologize profusely. “please don’t think of yourself that way, you’re not my maid, I adore you very much, sweetheart.”

Xiao: he already doesn’t go around calling you his wife or telling just anyone, only the Archons know and the fallen Yaksha once knew (you’re one of the female Yaksha) so being talked into this wasn’t a big deal at all. before, he didn’t run around Liyue telling people about your relationship because you both enjoyed the privacy. but now, having to call you his fellow Yaksha who’s been working alongside him for centuries, kinda feels like he’s ignoring or not acknowledging you. sure, you do hold the same titles (Yaksha) and yes you’ve known eachother for centuries, but really, you’ve been together for centuries. if you’re not bothered, then he doesn’t mind. but if you are? he’s very apologetic and will repay you in some way. “you’re not a weakling, you have no reason to worry.” he needs to do this task, he’ll never turn away from the people and if you have to be known as your Yaksha title to him and others, so be it. 

Chongyun: it’s not that he doesn’t want to call you his s/o. it’s just he’s a quiet guy and never has told anyone about your relationship; only Xingqiu knows. so he has no problem introducing you as his friend to absolute strangers, especially if you’re okay with it. if you’re not and tell him, he’ll be sure to never call you a friend again. he’s really looking out for your safety, people can be two-faced as he’s learned from Xingqiu’s fantasy books. he wants to protect and keep you safe, and if you need to be addressed as his friends a few times then that’s how it’s going to go. 

Accepts (he’ll accept but he has so many questions on why and hates it)

Albedo: he will accept if there’s a logical reason. for example, if you absolutely need to come because you’re his assistant or something and can offer your expertise, he will accept. but if you have no need? you’re not coming, please stay home. the whole time, he hates this. yes, you’re his assistant irl, but you’re his s/o, not just an assistant. it makes him sick that he has to call you that tbh, even if it’s your occupation. but it’s necessary for a lot of reasons you two have already discussed. after the mission is complete, he’s never going to stop apologizing. “love, please do not take what I said to heart, you’re not just an assistant.”

Aether: he has to be talked into this a lot. once kaeya and jean tell him the seriousness and importance of seeing his sister again, especially after all they’ve discovered about her, he’ll agree. no matter how much he hates calling you his travel partner, he has to. his sister has turned to the dark side for whatever reason and this meeting already is risky enough. if she finds out you’re his girlfriend, who knows how she’ll react; she’s very unpredictable now, a little unhinged even. but it does hurt to have to call you that, let’s be real. he never wants to say or hear that ever again.

Bennett: he knows he’s quite unfortunate, so you going with him on expeditions is just stupid and you could face something awful due to his bad luck. you go either way though, what a good s/o :) he almost slips a few times, especially facing off against a few lowlife Fatui. but then you remind him of the dangers of doing that and you’re immediately just a friend/member of Benny's Adventure Team. pls, he hates this so much, like why can’t he call you what you are?!? he’s constantly like, “well why can’t I just say you’re my s/o already? they won’t harm you as long as I’m here!” ?!?!?!? HE JUST DID?!?!?!?!

2.25.21, rayofsunas 

[cannibalistic-parasite]

A touch of Cheirophilia

Fandom: Stranger things Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader Pronouns used: Use the world girl once-, AFAB body Content Tags/Warning: NSFW CONTENT, drug usage/mentions of drug usage, cursing, vaginal penetration, fingering, consent is not asked simply assumed (Still consenting though) Word count: 1.2 K Authors note: Yeah yeah, in my Eddie Munson era or whatever- Listen it’s 4AM I dunno how to tag this please just take it as it is. You know the drill people, adult content under the cut. If I catch any minors interacting with my shit you’re getting the boot-

  Stretched out in the back of a warm van, while the rain came down on the foggy windshield was not how you thought you'd spent your thursday evening. Getting high with Munson in his dingy van? Sure, after all Reefer was still in the clinker and a fix is a fix, doesn't matter who's rolling the spliff. Making out with the brunette in the back of his band van? Definitely not a part of the plan- but after inquiring further on his "pretty girl discount" one thing led to another.   And maybe it was green in your system, coaxing you into a little fun with a guy with semi decent hygiene and acceptable taste in music. Or maybe it was his tummy twisting smile and oh so contagious laugh. You didn't really take the time to think it over, instead busying yourself with the taste of his tongue as he shotgunned the final drag to you. Between his intoxicating kisses, and tightly rolled blunt your head was spinning.

  And maybe that's how you got yourself here, eagerly raising your hips so Eddie "The Freak" Munson, and your occasional dealer, could tug your jeans down your legs. Soft lips met your own once more, his tongue dragging across your teeth in a rather needy kiss. Pushing your discarded jeans aside, Eddie moved to settle between your legs on his knees. One hand braced on the metal siding of the van to steady himself, rings creating a small eco as they connected with the metal, and the other moved to cup your clothed cunt. Pressing the heel of his palm firmly against your surprisingly excited sex, he broke away from the kiss. His eyes were wide and glossy as they met yours, his fingers probing the slightly darker patch of blue cotton.

  "Fuuuck-" He drug the word out, almost like a groan. "And just from a couple kisses? Oh, you are even fucking better than I'd imagined." His words were low as he hooked two thick fingers under the crotch of your modest underwear, pulling it to the side eagerly. And just as fast as his gaze was on yours it was gone. Instead two wondrous, slightly pinked, eyes were trained on the sight of your exposed sex. If you were any less high you might have been embarrassed with how intensely he was staring, but there was something so flattering about watching a man almost drool at the sight of your cunt.

  His hand moved up slightly, fingers dragging through your folds upwards till they found your puffy clit. Listening to your breath hitch Eddie found himself torn between watching his hand and watching your expression as he used his thumb to coax the hood of your clit back so he could directly stimulate the overly sensitive bundle of nerves. Eventually it was your fluttering lashes, and parted lips that captured his interest. Watching closely as he traced slow, almost maddening circles against the nub, listening to your soft breathes catch in your throat when his cold rings brushed against your skin occasionally. Eddie was certain he could spend forever like this, just exploring you with his hands, watching your chest flutter and your eyes glaze with pleasure, feeling your slick coat his fingers-. Though he has said the same thing when he was simply talking with you, and then the same thing again when he finally worked up the nerve to kiss you.

  A soft whine of frustration left you, catching his attention quickly. Your brows were furrowed slightly, and the hand that had tangled in his curls gave a small tug. You had no issues making it very clear you wanted more. With a soft, almost breathless, laugh he obliged. Making sure his fingers were thoroughly coated in your excessive arousal Eddie eased a thick digit in to the second knuckle, stopping just before his thick skull ring. He watched with such and eager fascination as he slowly worked you open on the single finger, before adding a second. Curling his palm slightly he pressed his thumb to your clit once more as he curled his fingers up against that spongy spot that made your stomach twist and your skin tingle. Listening to the soft curses that left you Eddie drank in the sight of your tight, pink sleeve clinging to his thick fingers every time he pulled his palm back.

 "That’s it- ya feel good, sweetheart?" He crooned, dark chocolatey eyes gazing up at you through thick lashes. Fuck since when was he so pretty-. With an eager nod you watched a shudder wrack him when you moaned his name. Not Munson, not dweeb, not freak, but a long drawn out Eddie. Gaze flicking between your eager cunny and flushed face Eddie eagerly worked you over. His thumb applied a constant pressure to your clit that had your legs trembling and calloused fingers that bullied your g-spot with each curl against your gummy insides. Worst of all he talked you through it-

  Low praise, encouragement, filthy words of occasional degradation, but mostly just eager coaxing for your orgasm.

  "C'mon baby, won't you give it to me? Wanna make you feel good- I wanna see your face when you clamp down around my fingers. Doesn't it feel nice? Don't you think I deserve a little taste?" And gods you wanted it, you were buzzing from the inside out, and he just kept going. No pausing to readjust, no complaining of hand cramps- fuck when you asked him to go harder he understood the difference between harder and faster.     And so his pleading encouragement was met with eager nods and breathless assurances of just how close to a finish you were. The ever tightening coil in your gut was white hot, and when it finally snapped Eddie could do nothing but try and curl those firmly stuck fingers of his as your cunt clamped down around him. And you yourself were no better, practically clinging to him as he kept you from slamming your thighs shut around his wrist. Your curses pitched and broken as you arched into his touch, eyes squeezing shut as you could do nothing but let him work your through it.

  "Holy shit Eddie-" You murmured, slumping against the cool siding of the van once more. With a soft 'holy shit indeed' Munson slowly removed his fingers, delivering a light slap to your slick, fluttering cunt.

  Your breath caught in your throat as you looked up at him, about to make some protest about you being too sensitive for something like that you stopped. Eddies eyes were locked on yours, a mischievous little crinkle to the outer corners. looking you dead in your fucked out eyes he brought his slick coated fingers to his mouth. You watched as his plush lips parted, those thick fingers of his resting on his tongue before they wrapped around the digits- just to the second knuckle just before his thick rings. And hollowing his cheeks ever so slightly he sucked. Eddie's dark, glossy eyes stayed locked on yours as he cleaned you from his fingers, and if you were any less high you'd swear he fucking moaned while he did it. Seems he really wasn't lying when he said he wanted a taste.

  Maybe you'd let him have a proper one next time, if there was a next time. But judging by the look in his eyes and the almost affectionate kiss he placed to your forehead as he grabbed his water bottle from the front for you to drink- you were beyond certain there'd be more than just one next time.

[haadeswrites]

Squid Game has so much potential. We could have yandere teammates, yandere guards, yandere VIP's and OF COURSE yandere brothers. There is just something so delicious about the thought of Y/N desperately searching for her long lost brother only to find out he's the mastermind of the death game they are trapped in.

Honestly the only way I’d be happy with this playing out is if the game’s rigged so:

Imagine this with the twins.

The reader’s a girl they loved growing up, the one who ‘got away’ – mostly because they were rich, stuck up assholes who bullied the hell out of you, driving any would be friends away until you and your family finally left.

Ten years later and everything’s gone to shit; you owe hundreds of thousands and you’re desperate enough to call the number on the card.

You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into, with no idea where you are or why you’re wearing a green tracksuit with the number 127 on your chest, why there’s hundreds of people just as confused as you standing in the room–

Someone’s calling your name.

Despite the pit in your stomach, the uneasiness gnawing at your nerves, you can’t help but scowl at the all too familiar blonde who swaggers on over with a grin.

And it’s mortifying, you think, as your debt flashes up on the screen in front of all of these strangers, in front of him – but he’s here too, and there’s some satisfaction in that. That the untouchable Miya Atsumu wasn’t so perfect either. There’s a spiteful part of you that wants to ask how it feels to finally lose out to his brother, because there’s no sign of Osamu here (thank fuck – dealing with one of them’s bad enough) but that would mean engaging with him, and whatever the hell this is, you’re gonna get through it just like you did in school; by pretending the Miya’s simply don’t exist.

If only it were as easy as that.

It’s terror, more than anything else, that keeps you rooted in place when the bullets start firing and bodies drop all around you. Dead.

You might’ve stayed there, petrified and frozen, if not for the hand gripping your arm, the lips at your ear, “Move.”

He doesn’t relent, not for a second, yanking you forward with him the moment that thing turns back around. With Atsumu’s help, you both make it across the finish line; splattered in blood, on the verge of hyperventilating, but alive.

And Atsumu still has the nerve to smirk, gently taking your face in his hands and wiping away the blood as you choke back a sob, “Guess you’re gonna have to stick with me if ya want that money.”

There’s not much of a choice in the matter. You’re not strong like some of the others, too small, too weak to stand on your own. Already people are teaming up, forming teams for god knows what purpose and you’re terrified.

“I’ll take care of ya.”

Atsumu might be an asshole, an unpleasant remnant from your past that you’d like to forget about entirely, but he’s not wrong. You won’t stand a chance on your own, you need him to survive this.

Of course, you have no way of knowing he’s not really like the other players, like you. That where one twin goes the other inevitably follows. You assume that it’s luck and talent that sees him through each harrowing game – and why would you think any differently?

You have no idea about the cameras that follow you both, the live feed broadcasting 24/7 into the private suite on the other side of the island. The grey eyes that watch over a glass of whiskey, biding their time.

Atsumu will get you through this, Osamu’s making sure of it.

[cinnamonest]

//some horrendous gaslighting

I love my stranger-to-noncon very much but I don't give enough attention to consensual relationships taking a turn for the worse, or utterly toxic and abusive boyfriends and Kaeya is the perfect candidate for that so here we go.

-----

I've mentioned before the Kaeya would be exceptionally violent in comparison to other yanderes, but it's important to note that he's also among the most emotionally sensitive, and those two things do not go together well.

Not sensitive outwardly, of course, he's spent years developing that personality of his as a defense mechanism, can easily pretend he doesn't care about anything, but deep down that abandonment complex and those insecurities are strong and easily triggered. Some of the ways it manifests are mild, like how he gets overly attached to you within a week of knowing you, commits and tries to move way too fast even in completely mutual and consensual relationships. The kind of guy that suggests moving in together a week into the relationship, and dropping I love you so early on that you're left to merely blink in surprise because you barely know each other, but under the pressure and awkwardness you find yourself stuttering out a reciprocation, even though it's quite untrue. Guilt-trips and pressures his way into fucking you within a couple of days.

He's a very different person behind closed doors, it comes out maybe a month in when he lets the walls drop and lets himself trust you. He's more vulnerable, sweeter. Oddly... Eager to trust. It's like he desperately wants someone he can latch onto and show some vulnerability around and chose you to be that someone.

But also different in other ways. More... Bitter. More grumpy. More immature.

He's not sensitive in general, he doesn't really care about what most people say or do, but that sensitivity comes out once he's attached to a person, which happens rather quickly. You start noticing it rather quickly in a mutual relationship, and it likely shocks you honestly that he's so... immature. You spend the day with one of your friends -- just one, catch up with them, haven't seen them in a while... and when you get home things are rather quiet. He's usually a very talkative person, so you can't figure out what's wrong. Maybe something bad happened, but he insists no, it's fine. There's nothing wrong. And then you catch the last part, much quieter, spoken under his breath in that lighthearted tone he speaks in, yet with a bitterness to it.

You wouldn't care anyway, you're too busy with your friends.

It takes you by surprise at first because holy shit, really? It seems so petulant that it can't possibly be real, but... Maybe he really did have a bad day and is just getting his anger out by directing it at the first thing he can. That's not right, but hey, everyone has weak moments where they do some bad things. Besides, you weren't there for him, so he feels worse right? Still, you spent every day the past month except this one day with him... No, it's just poor timing, that's all.

Until it happens again. And again. And he swears he likes your friends, smiles at them, but it... Looks forced. Always complaining that you spend so much time with them and completely ignore him. Do you even care? Do you value the relationship at all? You try to not get angry and be rational, but still defend yourself because you spend almost all of your time with him don't you? You can't get much out before he just huffs and stomps away, rolls his eyes (well, you assume he rolls both of them, you can't tell but-- nevermind, not the point) and gives you a cold shoulder. Until you apologize, then it's like the switch has flipped back on, there's love and smiles and warmth and hugs again.

It starts to get on your nerves. You start to wonder if maybe this isn't healthy for you, if maybe you should end things, but you decide to give him another chance, right? We all make mistakes. He's under a lot of stress. Just... It'll be fine.

And the first time it gets physical he swears it's an accident. It leaves an ugly scar. You're going out because come on, it's my family, I haven't seen them in forever.

It just happens, he explains, it's unintentional, emotions get channeled through the vision like that. Comforts you as you sit on the ground crying and clutching your arm that he grabbed as you walked out the door, skin darkened and purplish from the freeze that's seared through a layer of your skin. He sighs and says he's sorry, really, he feels horrible already, so don't get mad, ok? He already feels terrible enough... Don't be mean. He didn't mean it. Don't be mean. Don't be fucking mean about it, stop fucking crying. You're making him feel worse.

He seems genuinely sorry, you tell yourself. It's not his fault. You can't blame him. It's ok.

It's harder to excuse the next time it gets physical. Maybe freezing last time was unintentional, and maybe it hurt, but you weren't terrified like this. A hand around your throat is different.

But can you blame him? You were threatening to leave. Honestly, you weren't approaching it healthily, you weren't trying to actually have a serious talk, you were trying to guilt him and gaslight him and it's honestly emotionally abusive, you know? You're the one in the wrong here. How selfish and cruel. How can you do that and not even feel guilty?

It makes you rethink. It makes you question your own sanity. And it makes you apologize. Makes you say you didn't mean it. You find yourself feeling dizzy, disoriented, like everything isn't real and everything is too much. You try to sleep it off.

And he doesn't like delving into the past. He tries to avoid it. Tries to not think about it. Doesn't even really tell you anything until nearly a year in, a drunken confession of sadness and misery. It makes you feel guilty somehow. Poor thing. He's been through a lot, you tell yourself. Maybe you should be more patient and understanding, help him work through it. You can fix him, per se, can't you? Sure, people say that never works, but... He just needs love, really, it's not like he's that bad.

He hates bringing it up like this even more. It just feels weak and vulnerable but it comes out anyway. You're threatening him again, and honestly, that's a sickening thing to do considering what you know, how can you be so vicious?

You're just like everyone else, aren't you?

You're just going to abandon him like this was nothing. You don't care at all. You're heartless. Ungrateful. He's done so much for you. And this is how you repay him, huh? Disappointing, honestly. He thought you were special. Kind. Understanding. Didn't realize you were just as cruel as everyone else in his life, aren't you?

He just has this way of making you doubt yourself. You pull at your hair and cry. I'm going insane. You keep the thought to yourself, but you fall to your knees and promise you're really sorry this time. He sighs. Fine, he'll give you another chance. He's a patient man. You just need to work on yourself, become a less toxic person.

But apparently that's not enough, and eventually you get dumped.

It comes as a surprise. But he says he's had enough of you being so emotionally manipulative and neglectful. You hardly ever spend time with him (like, only 29 days a month? Unbelievable!). You cry and try to make him feel bad, when the things he does aren't that bad. You always claim to be too tired to fuck. You try to gaslight him into thinking all that's acceptable. It's toxic and abusive, so, he's done.

You find yourself in shock. Confusion. It feels unreal. The first thing you worry about is if you can even find a new boyfriend... Your body is completely littered in freeze-burn scars by now, after all.

Were you really in the wrong? You're not too experienced in relationships, maybe he's right about everything he said... Maybe you really did him wrong...

Which is why you come crawling back. Crying. Apologizing.

Exactly as planned.

So he sighs and agrees. Fine. You can have another chance.

The second time, the third time, he always forgives you and takes you back. Even though you don't deserve it. He just loves you so much, you know? He keeps forgiving you.

Until one day you don't show up.

When you leave that time, you seem almost angry. You don't cry this time. Your hands ball into fists and for once, for the first time, as you storm out, you say--

Fine.

Unusual, but you were always moody like that. Odd choice of words. No matter, it's not like you're actually fine with it, you'll come crawling back any minute now.

It's already been several hours. Why aren't you at his doorstep already? Did he make you feel that bad? Maybe he went too far... You're probably just at home crying or something. You'll come back by tomorrow morning.

You don't.

Ok. Maybe you feel too guilty. Maybe you're reflecting on how awful you've been. That would take some time to get over, since you've done so many bad things. It won't be long before you come back.

A day passes. Two days pass.

What's taking you so long?

He finally swallows his pride. Maybe you're being stubborn. Trying to make him feel bad. Yeah, that's something you'd do. Or maybe you're trying to make him feel all alone, take advantage of the one thing you know bothers him. How mean. But he loves you. You know that. So you'll appreciate it when he checks on you, apologizes for maybe going too far, and he really loves you, he loves you so much, so how about you two just go home and forget this ever happened and have lots and lots of makeup sex and cuddle? And then you can tell him you're sorry and love him too and promise to stay forever? He's already got the speech practiced a few times in his head walking over to your place, the one you haven't really lived in for a while now since he demanded you basically move in with him. All your clothes and stuff are at his place now. You would have taken that with you if you ever actually intended to leave, so clearly this is a ploy to get him to come to you, as if that wasn't already obvious.

Your eyes narrow when you open the door and your face contorts with anger. And you snarl that you've had enough. He wants you gone so much, fine, you're more than happy to oblige, you say. You're done. You don't even need your shit, keep it, you'd rather lose your stuff than set foot in that place again. You finally came to your senses and you're fucking done.

You say nasty things. You say he made your life a living hell and you're happy to be rid of him.

And then you say something worse. Something that sets something deep inside off. Something that feels like a stab to the gut.

You say if you'd known the truth about him you would have kicked him out a long time ago.

Maybe it's not about the same thing. Not meant the same way. But it feels too familiar nonetheless.

You see him freeze up. He just stands still for a moment. Not saying anything. Face blank and empty. His eye twitches.

You couldn't care less. Besides, you already have a new boyfriend, one that's nice to you, you tell him with a prideful spite in your voice. One that doesn't have fucking issues. You're not a therapist, you say, and you tell him to figure out his problems on his own, and you slam the door in his face.

Or, you try to. He catches the door before it can close with one hand. Grabs your arm with the other.

For once he doesn't say anything, not until you make him. Just grabs you, drags you down the street by your shirt. It nearly chokes you, but you manage to start to scream. He slams your back into the nearest building, grabs your shoulders and says to shut the fuck up or I'll break your fucking arms. You go wide eyed and scared tears run down you're face. You're scaring me, you plead. Let me go.

But he doesn't. You figure maybe you can talk sense into him when you get there. You don't realize how far gone he is, you don't think that this might be the last time you set foot outside, the last time you see the sun not through a window. You don't think any of the things you'll wish you had down the road.

You've had rough sex before. Not quite like this, though. You can't breathe. You kick and wheeze and cry and claw at the hand around your throat and desperately gasp for what little air you can get in. He only lets go when you black out, lets you take a few breaths, then does it again. You're still so tight. New boyfriend must not have measured up, huh. It's raw and dry and it hurts. You whimper and you cry and you finally apologize like you should have days ago.

And yet, most importantly, you cum. See? You love him. So say it. Say it already. Come on. You do, you stutter, it's quiet and scared, but he smiles nonetheless.

It's ok. He knows you're sorry. He knows you didn't mean those awful things you said. You would never actually abandon him. You're different. Different. Special. Not like everyone else. You won't leave. You won't just leave him somewhere and disappear, you won't die out of nowhere, you won't kick him aside and leave him alone, you're the only person who won't. Different. That's why he loves you so much. You would never do any of that.

You just need help. You're so emotional, you're really not emotionally stable. Controlled by your wildly changing emotions. They make you say things you don't mean. Do things you don't really intend to do. Things you'll just regret if he didn't intervene and help you.

They make you vulnerable to other people. You're so easily controlled. You believe what they want you to believe. And that's dangerous. That could lead you to try to leave again. That's why you have to be helped. Kept away from becoming victim to your own impulses. The only way to do that is keeping you locked away. You'll come to understand with time. Appreciate it. Thank him.

You'll appreciate it because you're different. You'll never leave. You would never leave him even if you had the opportunity.

But maybe it's for the best that you don't have that opportunity to begin with.

[the7thcrow]

600 degrees

~

pairing: bang chan x (fem) reader

summary: you can’t cook. like, really can’t cook. good thing your cute neighbour is here to help clean up the mess.

word count: 5.1k

genre: neighbours au. strangers to lovers. the fluffiest of fluff, slightly suggestive.

warnings: a make-out session, bad humour, minho being a twat of a roommate, and tooth-rotting fluff.

rating: 14+

a/n: hi guys! hope you enjoy this one, it’s so much more wholesome and fluffy than what i usually write, but I'm pretty happy about it. don’t by shy to send me an ask or leave a comment. anything you have to say, I would love to hear. :)

...

..

.

“Fine. Since you won’t come, at least enlighten me on how you plan to keep yourself busy?” Minho asks, casually leaning against your kitchen island. He stares at you, with that familiar condescending smirk you’ve seen far too many times.

“I don’t know,” you state, rolling your eyes. Rising to your feet, you head over to your shared refrigerator, pulling a bottle of Sangria out of the fridge. “But I’m sure I’ll find something.”

“You know, if you want to drink, you could at least do it at the party.” Minho approaches you from behind, placing both his hands on your shoulders. “It’s a lot less sad that way.”

You slap his hand away, letting out a frustrated groan at the laughter he lets out from his own joke. “I get out plenty, quit acting like I’m some lonely cat lady,” you say, grabbing your favourite wine glass from the cupboard. “I like parties, I just don’t like Jisung’s parties. They always get way out of hand.”

“But Y/N,” Minho wines, picking up your freshly poured glass and taking a sip, earning himself a glare. “I never said you were a cat lady, just the lonely part.”

At that you snatch the glass away from his hands. Not wanting to deal with this torment any longer, you walk back to your comfortable, worn-in spot on the couch.

“You know I’m right,” he says, continuing despite the fact you begin to turn up the volume of the television. “And the only way you’re going to change that is by accompanying me to Jisung’s loud, out of hand parties.”

You turn to face him, raising your eyebrows. “Somehow, I doubt my soulmate associates himself with Han Jisung.”

“Well that can’t be right, because I associate myself with Han Jisung?”

“Shut up, Minho.”

Your roommate snickers to himself as he opens the fridge, taking a quick glance at everything - or for a better term, lack of anything - inside. “What are you even going to eat? There’s nothing leftover from last night.”

“I’ll make something,” you say. Frankly, you had expected the outburst of laughter, but that didn’t do anything to simmer down your growing annoyance.

“Make something?” Minho laughs, giving you an incredulous stare. “Y/N, I’ve lived with you for two years and I don’t think I’ve seen you cook anything once.”

“Hey, I can cook,” you return, wrinkling your nose. “But why would I, when I have you to do it for me?”

At this, it’s Minho’s turn to roll his eyes. “Yeah, okay, I take that back. I don’t want you to come, have fun curling up on the couch alone with your three cats.”

“They’re literally yours.”

“Whatever,” he says, opening your front door. “Just don’t burn the apartment down, alright?”

As he closes the door, you flip him off. At first, you aren’t sure if he saw, but you’re given your answer as his laughter echoes down the hallway, fading as he walks further away.

You scowl. Of course you can cook. Well, at the very least, well enough to make a meal for one on a saturday night. Minho didn’t know what he was talking about.

Minho. Your best friend and roommate for the last two years. Man, does the guy have a way of pushing your buttons. You love him, of course. In the weird, bickering, just short of volatile friendship sort of way the two of you had developed.

Still, you can’t deny that even with his painfully irritable nature, he is still a good friend. No matter how many times you say no, he always offers to take you anywhere he goes. He pushes you out of your comfort zone. He’s there to console you when a date goes bad, or you failed a test you studied hard for. He makes all his meals for two, just because he doesn’t want you to live solely off shitty take-out.

He’s your rock. Your platonic other half. Your closest companion.

Which means you are going to prove him wrong, and then rub it in his face as much as you possibly can. Of course, because that’s what friends are for.

~~~~

Then again, maybe you wouldn’t. Or, at the very least, it was going to be exceedingly more difficult now that your apartment was full of smoke.

Covering your nose with one hand, you take the tray of chocolate chip cookies out of the oven. If you can even call them that, as they now held a far closer resemblance to that of hockey pucks. Both in looks, and what you could assume in taste, as well.

Okay, you know chocolate chip cookies don’t really count as a decent meal, but they are the only thing you remember how to cook from when you lived at home. Or maybe you didn’t remember, based on the tray of failure sitting in front of you.

Then, to make matters even worse, your fire alarm starts going off.

“Shit,” you mutter under your breath. Now you are going to have to go to the front desk, let them know everything is okay.

Maybe Minho was right, you should’ve just went to Jisung’s stupid party and eaten something there. Putting all the other painful aspects of Han’s parties aside, Felix was his roommate, so the horderves were always excellent.

They were better than your hockey puck cookies, anyway.

Letting out a disappointed sigh, you open your apartment door, prepared to get a rough scolding from the lady working the front desk. However, you are surprised to find a man standing in front of you, his hand in the air, as if he were about to knock.

“Hi,” he says, awkwardly putting his hand back down at his side. He has messy platinum blonde hair, and soft eyes. He’s cute, and the realization quickly makes you recognize him.

“You’re my neighbor,” you say, pointing a finger at him. It’s not until he doesn’t respond immediately that you realize it was a strange thing to say. Obviously, he knows he’s your neighbor, and he might be a little offended you didn’t recognize him immediately.

Then again, the two of you had never really talked before. Everytime you would pass each other in the hall, he’d always give a polite nod and continue walking. Sometimes you’d try to say hello, or start a small conversation, but he always disappeared quickly. It had gotten to the point where you assumed he had some strange, unwarranted grudge against you.

So, it was safe to say that you were more than just a little surprised to find him at your door.

“Uh, yeah, I am. Are you okay? I thought I smelt something burning, and then I heard the fire alarm go off.” He asks, peeking behind you into your apartment, seeing if he can catch sight of any flames.

Instead, his eyes land on your tray of butchered cookies, and he… smirks?

“Oh,” he says, attempting to hide the smile growing on his face. “Having some cooking trouble?”

You stare at him for a moment, watching as his lips pursed together, stifling a chuckle. “Are you...” you begin, your jaw dropping slightly. “Are you laughing at me?”

“No,” he looks down at you, finally letting his grin free. “I would never.”

“Yeah, okay,” you frown, already not enjoying that sarcastic look on his face. You thought you’d be able to avoid that humiliating look considering Minho wasn’t here, but apparently not.

 “As you can see, it’s nothing. So if you’ll excuse me,” you continue, attempting to move past him. “I need to go get my neck rung by the lady at the front desk,” However, he doesn’t budge from his place in your door frame. You cast him a glare, which only makes his smile grow wider.

“Nah, don’t worry, I’ll go let her know,” he says, already turning to walk down the hall. You open your mouth to object, but he casts a glance over his shoulder, snickering. “You focus on cleaning up whatever those black lumps were supposed to be.”

You stand in your doorway, dumbfounded as your neighbor disappears down the complex staircase. Who did this guy think he was, openly laughing at your current predicament? Sure, if the roles were reversed, there’s no doubt that you would do the same. But that isn’t the point.

No. The point is that you are not impressed by the audacity of this stranger, and you are going to make sure that this distaste is known.

Grumbling to yourself, you dump the still smoking cookies in the trash can. It’s a shame, really. You’d thought you were doing so well, too. You thought this would be your chance to prove Minho wrong. Minho. Oh, he would be having an absolute hay day if he were here right now, and the thought only makes your scowl deepen.

“Well,” your neighbor calls from behind you, causing you to jump slightly. He reappears in the open door frame, sticking his neck inside, but not fully crossing the threshold into your apartment. “She’s not thrilled, but the alarm didn’t trigger the main system’s sprinklers, so you’re good.”

You let out a sigh of relief. “Thank God.”

The man smiles. “If you don’t mind me asking, what exactly were you trying to make anyway?”

An embarrassed blush casts itself over your cheeks. “Chocolate chip cookies,” you mumble, not meeting his eyes.

He lets out a burst of laughter, smiling widely. You can’t help but notice that he had a cute smile, dimples on both of his cheeks, eyes crinkled. Not that you were looking. Not that you cared, obviously.

“How’d you manage to mess up chocolate chip cookies that badly?”

“I don’t know,” you say, shrugging your shoulders helplessly. “You tell me.” You gesture towards the oven. Your neighbor smirks, walking inside your apartment. He bends down in front of your oven, before taking a look inside.

“Well, nothing seems to be wrong in there…” he starts, before glancing up at the set temperature. “Oh,” he states, before looking back at you, his eyes full of pity. “Oh boy.”

“What?” You ask defensively.

“The temperature. You forgot to convert it from celsius to fahrenheit. See?” He says, leaning away from the oven to give you a closer look. “So you thought you were cooking them at 350 degrees fahrenheit, when in reality they were at over 600 degrees.”

“Oh my god,” you say, smacking your palm against your forehead. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I don’t know,” the guy shrugs. “You could have burnt your apartment down, so I’d consider it a win. You’re lucky I got here on time.”

You cast him a scowl, although you can’t seem to relinquish the faintest hint of a smile creeping onto your lips. You know damn well you wouldn’t have started a fire, and that the man showing up really didn’t stop anything but an uncomfortable conversation with the front lady. You are also sure that he is fully aware of this too, which makes your smirk grow wider. Alright, you’ll play along.

“Right, what ever would I do without you?” you say sarcastically, causing your neighbor to playfully roll his eyes. He leans against your kitchen counter, relaxing slightly.

“Does my saviour have a name?” You ask, opening the fridge to take a look at what’s inside. You feel your stomach rumble, taking a glance at the clock to see that it was already past 9:00.

“It’s Chris,” he smiles, leaning over your shoulder. “So what are you going to eat, now that you’ve successfully butchered the easiest recipe known to man?”

“Hey!” You snipe. “That is certainly not the easiest recipe known to man.”

“Fine, fine,” Chris says, putting his hands up in defense. “Maybe not the easiest, but it’s definitely up there. But putting that aside, what are you going to eat? Because I genuinely don’t think I’ve ever seen a fridge so empty.”

You want to quip back at him, but he’s right. Minho usually does the grocery shopping, but because of Jisung’s party tonight he wasn’t planning on cooking anything.

“Good question,” you sigh, closing the refrigerator door before leaning your back against it. “Maybe I’ll just order some take out. I don’t think my pride can handle another failure.”

Chris smiles. “Or, I have an idea,” he says, his eyes glinting. He heads over to your apartment door, and for a moment you worry that he’s leaving.

No, you’re not worried. You’re curious. That’s all. You were curious whether or not he was leaving, nothing more.

When Chris returns, he has his arms full of ingredients. Spinach, penne, tomato sauce, cream, a variety of spices. The list goes on, and he stumbles slightly, almost dropping the surplus of food onto your kitchen floor. Imagining the mess, you rush over to help him, placing the load of groceries onto the counter.

“I don’t know if you couldn’t tell before,” you say, motioning to your overflowing counter. “But I really can’t cook. I have no clue what to do with any of this.”

“That’s no problem,” Chris smiles, already separating the food into different groups. “I’ll help you.”

“No, no, no. I can’t ask you to do that,” you say, waving your hands in protest. You step in front of him, squeezing yourself between his chest and the kitchen counter, preventing him from reaching any of the ingredients. “You’ve already dealt with the desk lady for me, and brought over all these groceries. You’ve done more than enough.”

He smiles, gently placing his hands on your shoulders and effortlessly moving you to the side. “Why would I bring you these groceries if I knew you couldn’t do anything with them?” When you don’t respond, he continues. “Seriously, it’s no big deal. Don’t worry about it. Just let me help you.”

You sigh in defeat, ignoring the way your heart begins to beat faster in your chest. “Alright,” you say, grabbing Minho’s cutting board from the cupboard. “Let’s do this, then.”

~~~~

An hour later, you find yourself sitting on top of your kitchen counter, Chris stationed by the stove working on the pasta sauce. You had genuinely tried to help in the beginning, you really did. But after Chris criticized your (awful) cutting technique, and said he didn’t exactly trust you to do anything else, you gave up.

Besides, you don’t have a problem watching him work. Over the last hour, you’ve come to learn that Chris is an absolute whiz in the kitchen. Moving from place to place, adding spices by intuition and nothing more. This wasn’t something you could have managed to make yourself in a million years, and it’s obvious that if you tried to assist him right now, you’d only get in the way.

Of course, you’ve learned a lot more about Chris in the last hour than just that. Where he grew up, his hobbies, what he was currently studying at the university. Music theory, as you’d learned. As cool as it sounded, Han had managed to tarnish your image of music majors, but you suppose you could give Chris a chance.

“It’s almost done,” Chris says, glancing over his shoulder to look at you.

“Thank God, I’m starving,” you reply, leaping off the counter to stand beside him.

“What, no ‘thank you, Chris?’ No, ‘what ever would I have done without you, Chris?’” He mocks offence, placing a hand on his heart.

“It’s not even done yet. I’ll thank you after I try it, I promise.” You laugh, rolling your eyes.

“Ah, so you’re only thankful if you like it. I see how it is,” Chris says, crossing his arms in front of himself, pouting his lower lip slightly.

“Guess so,” you say, crossing your own arms mockingly. Chris smiles, those cute little dimples of his dancing across his cheeks.

Then you feel it, that little jump of your heart. The faintest skip of a beat that you’d familiarized yourself with over the last hour. That little hint of anticipation that makes you decide that you are, even if only slightly, a bit interested in Chris.

After all, he’s funny and sweet. Can carry a conversation well, and to understate it, undeniably easy on the eyes. That’s more than enough to give him a chance.

Most of all, however, you like that little flare between the two of you. The sarcasm, the banter. It doesn’t feel the same as when Minho does it, slightly condescending and done purely to harbour your annoyance. No, this is different. It is a challenge. He wants you to quip back, to push further. To make him smirk, or laugh, or roll his eyes.

“Alright, fine then,” he says, taking the large wooden spoon and scooping up some of the pasta sauce. “Tell me if this is up to par, your majesty.”

You aren’t sure if he wants you to take the spoon, or let him hold it for you as you take a bite. You decide to take the gamble, gently moving your lips around the spoon, tasting the sauce. You glance up at Chris, a small look of surprise on his face. However, you don’t miss the flash of something behind his eyes. The faintest hint of affection, interest.

The sauce itself is delicious. A perfect blend of tomato, basil and cream. You hum contently, giving him a thumbs up.

“Chris, this is amazing,” you praise, admiring the small blush that sprinkles his cheeks.

“It’s really nothing,” he says, diverting his gaze and rubbing the back of his neck, shyly.

“No, seriously,” you say, taking the spoon from his hand and scooping some of the sauce up yourself. “Try it.” You hold the spoon out in front of him, and he raises his eyebrows slightly. Your gaze remains firm. A challenge.

Hesitantly, he takes the bite, not breaking eye contact as he does so. You stare at him, watching the way his lips move around the spoon, the intensity of his gaze. The action itself should be innocent, yet you feel a warmth rise to your cheeks.

Chris swallows, taking his lips off the spoon. For a moment, neither of you say anything. You can feel the change in the atmosphere of the room. The spark between you two being brought alight.

You swallow hard. “So?” You ask quietly.

“Yeah, it’s good. Very good,” he says back, his voice low and raspy. He goes to take the spoon from you, and his hand lingers a moment, his thumb trailing the skin of your knuckles.

You feel yourself lean in slightly, fully prepared to take the leap, when suddenly he breaks away from you, eagerly taking a few steps back. He looks away, placing a hand on his face, as if he were ashamed.

“Shit. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I know you’re seeing someone, we shouldn’t be doing this. I’m sorry,” he babbles, completely turning away from you.

You open your mouth to say something, but no words come out. Seeing someone? Where the hell could he have possibly gotten that idea?

“Seeing someone?” You ask, incredulously voicing your thoughts. You grab him by the shoulder, turning him around. “Why do you think I’m seeing someone?”

Chris still refuses to meet your eyes, instead focusing intently on the wall behind you. “The guy that lives here- Minho - aren’t you two?”

“Minho?” You gape, contorting your face in a look of pure disgust. “Ew, gross! No! Believe me, I am not dating Minho, I’d genuinely rather stick this spoon in my eye,” you exclaim, lifting up the utensil.

At that Chris finally looks at you, wearing his own look of pure confusion. “Wait, really? But whenever I hear you guys out in the hall, the two of you are always so… flirty.”

“Flirty?” You laugh at the ridiculousness of the statement. “If by flirty you mean he teases me literally every god damn second of every day, then yeah sure, I guess. But believe me, there is absolutely nothing romantic about that. Not in the least.”

Chris shakes his head, a smile forming at the corners of his lips. “Wow. I am such an idiot,” he sighs, a rediscovered lightness to his tone.

“No, no. Don’t worry about it,” you reassure him. “Anyone could make that mistake, I guess. It’s really no big-”

“No, it’s not just that,” he cuts you off. “That’s why I’ve never talked to you before now.”

“You never talked to me because you thought that me and Minho were dating?” You ask, slightly confused. Even if you were dating, you didn’t see why that would stop him from starting a conversation with you. “Why?”

“Well,” he sighs, his cheeks reddening further. “I thought you were pretty, and based on the way you always quipped back at him, clever and funny as well. I don’t know, it just felt wrong to try and build a friendship with you, knowing how I already felt a little....”  

You smirk, drawing yourself slightly closer to him. “A little what?”

His smile transforms itself from embarrassed to a sly grin of his own. “A little into you, I guess.”

“It really is a shame,” you shrug, trying to hide the excitement building in your chest. “Because here I was, thinking my cute neighbor had some irrational grudge against me.”

Chris leans in, so the two of you are only inches apart. You can feel the heat radiating from his skin, smell the strong fragrance of his cologne. Sharp with lemon zest and mint.

“We could always make up for lost time, you know,” he says, his eyes flashing with mischief.

That is all the invitation you need to break the space between the two of you. You press Chris’ lips against your own, placing one hand on his shoulder and the other along the line of his jaw. His lips are soft, you notice. Tender in the slow rhythm the two of you develop.

He runs his hands up along your figure. One of them finding itself locked in your hair, the other placed firmly on the curve of your lower back. Gently, he leads the two of you away from the stove, placing you so that your back is pressed up against the kitchen counter.

You run your hand down along his chest, reveling in the groan he let’s out as your fingers trail down his lower abdomen. The sound is electricity pulsing through you, charging the room and igniting the atmosphere around the two of you.

His lips leave yours, trailing your jaw before making their way down your neck. Each individual kiss is slow and sultry, sending a shiver down your spine. You take a deep breath to stable yourself, and it does not go unnoticed.

Chris smirks, shifting his gaze to meet yours. His eyes are dark, his pupils blown out with desire. “You know, if we keep this up, the pasta sauce is going to burn,” he says, letting his fingers trail along your collarbone.

“Let it,” you shrug. “I wasn’t hungry anyways.”

Chris laughs at this, leaning forward so his face brushes the crook of your neck. “Yeah, right,” he says, allowing his lips to dust your skin. Suddenly, he bites down, not enough to break through the skin, but certainly enough to leave a small mark.  

You laugh, running your hands in his hair, half-heartedly pulling him off of your neck. “Hey! That hurt,” you exclaim, only half serious.

“Sorry,” he grins, before crashing his lips into yours once again. The pace between the two of you is much faster now, each kiss more passionate. More promising. Your desire rings through you, clouding your mind in a hazy fog of lust. It is dizzying, just how much you want him at this moment.

You're certain he feels the same way, given in how tightly he grips your thigh, his breath ragged every time you break apart. It is messy. Greedy. The two of you so deeply wanting more. More of each other.

You’re about to ask if he wants to move this to the bedroom, when suddenly the apartment door swings open. It’s almost comical, how quickly you and Chris break apart, springing to opposite ends of the kitchen.

“I hate to say it, but you were right,” Minho calls as he walks inside, not yet glancing up from his phone screen. “Shit got out of hand. Someone managed to break the pool table, don’t even ask how, I don’t know either. Almost gave Felix an aneurysm. I swear the kid was about to cry, poor guy. Han had to shut everything down. So you really didn’t miss out on-” Minho stops as he sees Chris, a confused yet bemused expression crossing his face.

“Oh, hey Chan,” he says, causing you to give Chris a look.

“A nickname,” Chris mouths to you, as discreetly as he possibly can.

“What are you doing over here?” Minho asks him, crossing his arms and leaning against the door. He has that smug smirk on his face that makes you want to punch him.

“Oh, well…” Chris starts, casting you a glance. “Y/N made some food, and there was too much of it, so she invited me over.”

“Really?” Minho asks, caught off guard. He walks past you and Chris, staring at the pasta and sauce currently sitting on the oven burners. “You’re saying Y/N made this?”

“Well, yeah?” Chris says, feigning confusion. “Of course, I wouldn’t lie about something like that. Why?”

You have to stop yourself from laughing, looking at the expression of utter bewilderment on Minho’s face. Minho glances at you, narrowing his eyes, before sighing.

“Well then, I guess you proved me wrong on two things tonight, Y/N,” he says, grabbing a bowl from the cupboard.

“What are you doing?” You ask as he begins to scoop some of the penne into his dish.

“Oh, you said there was a lot,” Minho responds, raising one eyebrow. “Can I not have some?”

“Sorry, go ahead,” you say, still slightly flustered by the abruptness of his entrance. Minho finishes filling his bowl and takes a seat at the kitchen island. As he begins to eat, the room is filled with a rather tense silence. You and Chris share an awkward look, unsure of what to do next.

Minho looks up from his dish, glancing between the two of you.

“Yeah, okay,” he says, grabbing his bowl and standing up from his chair. “I’m going to go eat this in my room. Have fun you two.”

Before you can say anything, Minho disappears around the corner, down the hallway leading to his room. You turn back towards Chris. The two of you stare at each other for a moment, before bursting out into a fit of laughter.

“He’s a bit of a mood-killer, huh?” You say, grabbing two bowls from the cupboard, offering him one.

Chris nods in thanks as he takes the bowl from your hands. “Just a little bit,” he laughs, beginning to scoop some of the pasta into both of your dishes.

The two of you take a seat at your counter, spending the meal talking and laughing. Nothing else, the moment has passed, but that doesn’t bother you. You enjoy Chris’ presence. His quick humour and thoughtful conversation.

It really is something that you could get used to, you decide.

After you’re done eating, you walk Chris over to the door, handing him his surplus of spice bottles and leftover spinach.

“Thank you for doing all this, seriously. The food was delicious, you’re seriously gifted. And also, thank you for covering for me, I really didn’t feel like listening to Minho die laughing over the burnt cookies,” you admit.

“It’s no problem, really,” Chris smiles. He shifts all the spices over to his right arm, letting his free hand fall down to his side. Softly, he takes your hand in his, letting your fingers intertwine.

“Listen,” he continues, shyly looking up from your hands to meet your eyes. “If you’re not doing anything tomorrow, you’re welcome to come over for a proper dinner. You know, so I can show you what I can actually make when it’s not a last minute attempt at salvaging a meal.”

You smile a goofy, genuine grin. “That sounds good to me,” you say. Hesitantly, you lean forwards, planting a soft, innocent kiss on his lips.

As you break apart, he hums contently. “I’ll see you tomorrow then, thanks for today. You made my night, Y/N.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Chris.” You watch as he walks over to his apartment door, which is of course, only a few meters away from your own. When he disappears into his own apartment, you sigh, closing your own door behind you. You lean against the frame, letting out a shaky breath, your heart beating rapidly in your chest. It’s been so long since you’ve held any genuine interest in someone, you feel almost giddy.

That is until you see Minho, leaning against the corner of the kitchen wall, watching you with his cheshire smirk.

“Dinner tomorrow, huh?” He asks, walking into the kitchen and scooping himself the last of the pasta.

“What about it?” You retort, not giving in to that pestering look in his eyes.

“Oh, nothing. I’m sure it’ll be good, considering Chan clearly made this,” Minho says, shoveling some of the pasta into his mouth.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you say, grabbing two wine glasses from the cupboard.

“Save it, the lady at the front desk told me you almost set the apartment on fire,” Minho laughs as you pour the wine.

You let out a groan, handing him his glass. “God dammit.”

“Don’t blame her though,” he smiles, leaning back and taking a sip. “I wouldn’t have believed you could have cooked that anyway.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, maybe you’re right.”

“Had me fooled for a second there though,” he says, patting you on the head. “But more importantly, you like Chan huh?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Right. Nice hickey, by the way,” he smirks, raising his eyebrows.

You pull up the collar of your shirt, casting him a glare. “Okay, maybe I do,” you shrug. “What’s it to you?”

“Nothing,” he replies, before taking a second to think. “Just please don’t fuck him or anything tomorrow. Walls are thin.”

You laugh, taking your glass of wine and flopping yourself back down on the living room couch.

“Shut up, Minho.”

~

thanks for reading loves <3

[yoonjinkooked]

Our Story | Act I - The Falling (knj)

Act I - The Falling (Part 2)

Pairing: Namjoon x (f) reader

Genre: Fluff, smut, angst

AU: strangers to friends to lovers and much more than that which I cannot spoil just yet.

Synopsis: The story of you and Kim Namjoon, and the change he brought into your life. It’s fun, it’s exciting, it’s hopeful, and it’s also exactly the opposite.

Warnings for this chapter: Namjoon is cooking, Namjoon is adorable, reader is smitten as AF (i think that’s it so far)

WC: 5.1k

Series Masterlist Act I Playlist Special thanks to: @joyfulhopelox​​ for this beautiful banner and holding my hand every step of the way, the two writing groups I am a part of that are always full of support and honestly, f-ing Taylor Swift, for an abundance of inspiration.

Day 9

 “No, no, no, Namjoon!” you try to warn him the very second you realize what he’s about to do. He laughs, cackles almost, as he ignores your warnings and feels around his pockets, looking for a quarter to use. “Namjoon, please don’t,” you laugh at his antics, despite trying to stop him. “That shit is rigged to make you lose, everyone knows that!” 

 “Don’t be so pessimistic Y/N,” he chastises you in a teasing way, to which you scoff as you observe the shining machine before you. It’s one of those carnival claw things, where you are supposed to be able to catch a stuffed toy. A complete waste of money, in your opinion, but since it's only a matter of quarters, Namjoon’s quarters nonetheless, you’ll give it a pass. 

 “Your optimism is both amusing and frightening,” you comment as you watch him bending his fingers in preparation for what’s to come. 

 “I think charming is the word you're looking for,” he laughs, giving you a quick wink over his shoulder. “And once this works, impressive will be the appropriate adjective.” 

 “Alright, Mr. Perfect, give it your best,” you laugh, watching as he finally starts his chase. You stay silent, not wanting him to lose focus (as if this is something of actual importance) and observe as he navigates the mechanical claw towards the corner, slowly moving it down towards the pile of toys. He doesn’t seem to be aiming at a particular one, which may come in handy, as he can simply go for something close and easy. 

 Against your better judgment, you hold your breath as the claw closes in on a small Minion plushy - the silence between you and Namjoon’s laser focus makes this seem as if it’s life or death and not an attempt to get a one dollar plushie. Slowly but surely, he moves the joystick and you bite your lip when the claw swings left to right, making it seem as if the minion is about to fall out of its grip at any second. 

 But it doesn’t. Little by little, carefully and with what you’d describe as surgical precision, Namjoon navigates the claw towards the opening, lowers it and in what seems like the plot twist of a century, drops the Minion right into the correct opening. 

 Next thing you know, the both of you are shouting in triumph and when he pulls you into a bear hug, you return it gladly, laughing at the absurdity of the entire situation and his utter joy on something so little, so irrelevant, but somehow still so special. 

 He holds you for a moment too long, but you don’t mind it one bit. It may very well be too long on paper, but at this point, you would have let him hold you for hours. His embrace is strong and warm, the scent of his cologne being as comforting as your favorite candle. If it were up to you, you would have stayed in that hug for hours. 

 You can see it on his face too, how behind that beaming, dimpled smile lies reluctance to step away from you. He does so regardless, reaching for his prize. Saying nothing, he simply extends the hand to you, offering you the plushy. “For me?” you ask through laughter - why you are surprised, you don’t know. It was so easy to assume that he would try to win something for you. As much as this isn’t officially called a date, it is a date, and dating normal, kind men obviously brings surprises in the form of plushies. You won’t be surprised one bit if he brings you flowers for the first official date. 

 “Of course it’s for you,” he laughs as you take the toy from him. The thing had seen better days, that much is sure. As expected for these games, it’s a knockoff, but it’s cute regardless and even more than that, it holds much more meaning than one plushy probably should. “Why else do you think I’d do that?” 

 “Because you are unable to back away from a challenge?” you suggest. 

 “Okay, yes,” he admits through laughter. “But most of it is for you to see me as charming and impressive.” 

 “You do realize I would have seen you like that even without a stuffed toy, right?” you ask, perhaps putting one too many cards on the table. With anyone else, literally anyone else, you would hesitate more, wait longer, but there is something about Namjoon that encompases you in a warm feeling of being unable to make a wrong decision. 

 “That’s nice to hear,” he mumbles, looking down at his feet, turning all shy on you again. It’s borderline adorable, if you’re being honest. And refreshing, as it’s a true change to be around someone who isn’t cocky. Oh, Namjoon can be confident alright, he proved that much the first night when he had approached you. But he’s not cocky, nor does he treat you as anything less than equal. You are whipped and nothing has even officially started. “I do hope you like the plushy though, I didn’t exactly have the luxury of picking a different one.”

 “Oh, it’s perfect,” you immediately reassure him, despite not seeing a single one of the Minion movies or knowing anything else about them other than their looks and limited speaking abilities. “Coffee on me? As a way to say thank you?” you suggest, as the last thing you wanted to do right now is to part ways with him. 

 You’ve agreed on a nice afternoon walk, the first time the two of you meet without any alcohol in the mix - the first time you meet as just Namjoon and Y/N, not drinking buddies who had met in the randomest way possible. You don’t want today to end with just the walk - you have planless hours ahead of you and you’d want nothing more than to spend them with him. A coffee is the perfect excuse - it’ll give you more time but won’t be overbearing or clingy, which is definitely not an impression that you want to give. 

 “Coffee sounds perfect,” he agrees, dimple smile and all. 

Day 13

“I’m confused as to why you insisted on cooking,” you admit through laughter as you watch him scramble around his kitchen. Seated at the bar that separates the kitchen from the living room, you have a front row seat to the disaster that is Namjoon attempting to cook a full course meal. When he had invited you for dinner at his place, you somehow didn’t imagine that you would watch a cooking show as it goes - not that you’re complaining. It’s cute, if you’re being honest, but seeing his skills with a knife, it’s also a little worrisome. “If you need me to help you out, just let me know,” you suggest for what feels like the tenth time. 

 “No, no, no,” he insists, frantic and breathless. It’s clear that he doesn’t want to give in even though it’s painfully obvious that he indeed does need help. Again, it’s equal parts adorable and worrisome. You admire his determination but are genuinely worried for his safety. “I can do this. It’s a simple recipe, I have instructions, all is under control.”

 You smile at his excuses, smile at him, as you lean on the bar and continue watching him. You have a feeling that you could stick around like this forever. It’s like watching an elephant in a ceramics shop - he is way in above his head but he is still trying to make it work. He’s going above and beyond, just for you, all while you would have been perfectly happy with a simple takeout or even frozen pizza, maybe some random snacks. Actually, you would have been happy without anything as long as you are in his company. But it’s so endearing to see him making an actual effort - it brings a smile to your face, a smile that feels like it hasn’t left your face whenever you’re in his company. 

 “If you change your mind, I’m right here,” you remind him. As much as you are content with just sitting here with your glass of wine, you don’t want a simple recipe to drive him to the brink of insanity while he juggles between the pans and multiple ingredients. You’re here because of him, not for food. 

 “Trust me, if I feel a fire is approaching, you’ll be the first to know,” he laughs nervously, and you purse your lips in an effort not to laugh. 

 You leave him be, thinking that maybe silence is what he needs - even though every now and then, he’d be the one to break it with a question that isn’t cooking related, just to make sure that he is keeping the conversation going. The cooking itself lasted entirely way too long but the food was done, no fires had started, with no injuries, neither severe nor minor. It ended with a smiling and proud Namjoon sitting next to you. 

“So?” he asks, on the edge of his seat as he watches you take the first bite. “Is it any good?”

 He had made pasta carbonara and a simple salad - something that is fairly easy to make, even for a rookie. And while you are incredibly proud of his effort, you are a little bit apprehensive as you chew on the pasta. The dish is entirely way too salty, the pasta is not cooked thoroughly and you literally can’t taste anything other than parmesan and… salt. 

 “It’s…” you start, trying to find the right words, to walk the line between insulting him and before complimenting him too much to make him realize that you’re lying. “It’s pretty good, I think. I’m hardly a food critic, but it’s pretty good, especially for a first attempt,” you explain. That’s okay, isn’t it? You’re not praising it too much, but you’re also not criticizing his effort - it’s the perfect middle ground that you are looking for. However, Namjoon’s eyes narrow at you in suspicion and as quickly as humanly possible, he takes a bite out of his own plate. 

 “Oh my god!” he half-yells, half-mumbles, eyes widening at the taste. “It’s disgusting!” 

 “No, it’s not that bad!” you try to reassure him, and you actually mean it. It’s not good, no, but it’s also not even close to the worst dish you’ve ever eaten. “I’ve had worse, plenty of times. You should see the way my sister cooks - this is nothing, it’s perfectly fine Namjoon.”

 “It tastes like the sea,” he says, grimacing as he swallows it. “I’m a failure.”

 “No, you’re not,” you chuckle, reaching out to rub his back in comfort. He looks dejected and properly sad, and it doesn’t feel right to you seeing him this way, even if he is being a little over dramatic. “You made a huge effort. Joon, you’re not a chef, you own a bookstore. You can’t do it all. And you made a decent meal with the very little knowledge you had. Is it the tastiest thing I ever had? I wish I could say it is, but it’s not. But I am very much happy to finish it. The effort is all that really matters.”

 “I just wanted to make a nice dinner to celebrate your new job,” he sighs, frowning down at the plate in front of him. “I should have just taken you out to a nice restaurant or something.”

 “Oh hush,” you chuckle, smiling when he looks at you in confusion. “It’s perfectly fine and I’m very thankful. It’s the company I’m here for, not food. And if you wanna throw this away and just order a pizza, it works for me. I’ll gladly finish it, though.”

 Two bites later, he decides that the time has come for the change of plans and the evening heads in a completely different direction. 

 “You need to come down to the bookstore sometime,” he tells you in a conspiratorial voice, as if the bookstore is a secret that only the two of you know about. You laugh, both as his expression and at his push to keep meeting you - not to mention, you’ve had quite a bit of wine at this point. Sitting on the floor of his living room, on your second bottle, with an empty pizza box between you, you are smack in the middle of the best date of your life. Even if you’re not sure if you can call it a date, at all, not yet at least. “I think you’ll like it there.” “I’m sure I will,” you easily admit. “Although, I will be sure not to share my literature opinions with you any more because I am still slowly recovering from the argument we had last weekend,” you give him a pointed look, reminding him of it. 

 “How can you not like Mr. Darcy?” he wonders for the nth time, still in complete disbelief. You laugh, realizing that not even days were enough to make him realize that something like this is completely irrelevant. Like pretty much everything about him, you find it incredibly charming - how he has such strong opinions on certain books and characters and while he respects yours, he is still pushing his opinions, albeit gently. Not in a “mansplaining” type of way, but more in an ‘I can’t believe you think that’ kind of way. When it comes from someone else, you’ll admit it, you do find it annoying. From him, however… Nothing really seems too bad. Everything that he said, everything about him, the man that you are slowly getting to know - all of it seems like it’s telling you that the decision you’ve made that night when he asked you to drink with him was the best possible one you’ve ever made. 

 “Don’t you ever ask me about Gatsby,” you warn him in a whisper, laughing loudly as you see his expression turn to one of even bigger disbelief. “Look, I love bad characters. I love reading about them, I love watching them in the movies. Having bad characters is good. My… dislike of them doesn’t affect whether I enjoyed the book or not. Daisy’s an ass, and so is Darcy. And I enjoyed both books. End of.”

 “No wonder you’re a furniture designer and not a bookstore owner,” he teases you, to which you just roll your eyes. “I’m so happy you could find a stable job this quickly,” he changes the subject, and you can feel the honesty oozing out of his every word. He really is that kind of man - the type to be genuinely happy when something good happens to someone they care for. Those are few and far in-between. “I hope it’ll all go as well as you deserve it to.”

 “There are ups, there are downs,” you shrug, finally embracing the roller coaster that is life, now that your trajectory is up. “If I didn’t find something by the end of the month, I likely would have looked into starting something on my own. Technically, I already do that, only I refer to it as freelancing,” you chuckle, remembering how just last month you were busy carving a wooden table for your friend’s wedding. You don’t always do the actual making part yourself, as you’re the one who imagines, draws, organizes, but when it’s for someone special, you put in the effort.

 “I’d love to have an Y/N original in my bookstore, if I’m being honest,” he admits. 

 “Oh, you will,” you promise him without hesitation. Whether it’s for the bookstore or for his place, you truly do want to make something for him. And you will likely make it yourself, too. 

 “Now, how about you come around to the bookstore this week?” he asks, giving you the look - sideways smile and a lifted brow. “If for nothing else, than to see the vibes, so that the Y/N original fits in well.”

 “Namjoon, are you asking me on a date without asking me on a date?” you ask, pursing your lips to stop yourself from smiling when he laughs at your question. “Again?” you point out, because you both know that tonight wasn’t just a casual meet up. Neither one of you are acting as if this is going to be just friendship and nothing more. Yes, you’re still at the very start of it all, but you’ve seen one another enough times to be able to call it what it is. 

 Dating. Not a relationship, not love, not the happy ever after. Just… dating. Starting fresh, with someone new. The feeling of elation, of hope, engulfing you completely. 

 “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m doing.”

 He doesn’t beat around the bush, not anymore. With the way you’re seated on the floor, your backs leaned against the sofa, he turns to you and for a moment, he says nothing. He stays silent, just looking at you with his signature dimpled smile. And after a second or two, you find yourself smiling back. A proper, big smile, the one that makes your face hurt but it feels so overwhelming, you need to show it. He makes you feel good, and the experiences behind you have taught you that when you run into people like that, you need to keep them around. 

 “So, this was supposed to be a date, too?” you ask, despite already knowing the answer. 

 “Yes and I am so sorry it failed,” he apologizes, closing his eyes and shaking his head. “I’m not sure how it went to shit, I followed the recipe to a T.”

 “It didn’t fail,” you laugh, making the next step in the form of reaching for his hand. He doesn’t flinch, nor react in any way - except his hand. He turns it around palm up and your fingers intersect. And it feels right. Warm. “I had the best time tonight. And I’ll gladly go on a date with you. Multiple dates. Even if we don’t call them that.”

 “Isn’t that what we’ve been doing already?” he asks, teasing. 

 “The fact that I am keeping that damn minion pushy on my sofa is proof enough, I think,” you admit, joining in on his laugh. You truly did keep it there, finding it as a cute reminder of that day. It’s easy to keep it there, even if it doesn’t fit the decor, when it makes you smile. 

 You like Namjoon. You really do, to the point of thinking that maybe, just maybe, you could end up falling for him. He makes it easy - good nature, sense of humor, smarts and looks to match. You were pretty dang lucky when he played his chances and approached you that night. And you’re pretty dang lucky you took your chance, too. Saw him for what he was and not a sleazeball that was trying to take advantage of a semi-drunk woman. That night, for whatever reason, the stars worked in your favor, and they have ever since. 

 “Let’s see where this takes us, then?” he asks and you’re immediately nodding your head. 

 “Let’s.”

Day 20

“Do you need any help?” he smugly asks, peeking from the end of a bookshelf. You smile at his suggestion, knowing that you’d rather do anything else than get into another book debate with him. He is a perfect man but good lord, his opinions about novels will always be firm and unchangeable, no matter what you say or do. And honestly, you like that about him. 

 “Just looking around,” you tease him, smirking. “I’m actually looking to see if I can find something for my sister, her birthday is just around the corner. She’s never been much of a reader but it’s never too late to change that, right?” you wonder. 

 “Absolutely not, but if she’s not much of a reader, I’d advise against you browsing the Russian classics,” he points out. Grimacing, you nod, realizing that Dostoyevsky might be too big of a bite for her. “No self-help, no cheesy romances?” 

 “Are you judging her tastes based on mine?” you laugh, impressed by how accurate his reading of you is, given how you’ve largely avoided talks about literature, due to incredibly differing opinions. He’s right - never, ever, no self-help, or cheesy romances. 

 “Guilty as charged,” he confesses. “Is she more into the Nicholas Sparks shit?” 

 “Oh, 100%,” you answer. “Like, she really is. I think she forced me to watch The Notebook too many times, it has to be double digits by now.” 

 “Yikes. My condolences,” he responds, smiling when you start laughing. “It does make it easier for us, though. I”ll find something for you, just give me a moment.” 

 Before you can stop him, he’s running off, aiming for whatever direction the çheesy romance novels dwell in. You can’t help but smile, seeing him acting like he’s on a top secret mission. And in a way, he is. Books are his thing, this bookstore is his life. You’re honored and happy that you get to see this side of him, too. You can imagine spending more lunch breaks here with him from now on. It was his idea, one that you had gladly agreed to. 

 Neither one of you is making an actual effort to hide their interest. Ever since the dinner at his place, you have found an excuse to meet almost every single day - whether it’s a classic, oh I’m in your neighborhood, or a proper date, you saw him all the time. And by some miracle, you still have topics to discuss. Not a single part of him, of this, is dull in any way - everything is an overwhelming amount of exciting, new and just… right. 

 As he jogs around in search of the perfect book, you walk around some more, running your hand against the spines of the books he had carefully laid out. You like this place, the entire design and organization of it. He did a good job and every piece of furniture, every shelf is in what you would describe as its proper place. It’s as carefully organized as his apartment, and if it weren’t for the distraction in the form of him, you could see yourself spending some time in the reading corner, either working or reading one of the classics he’d recommend. 

 But you know that your eyes would stray from whatever is in front of you and search for him, just like they are now. God, how could it happen this fast? It’s been… What, not even three weeks? And you are riding on the waves of happiness, embracing the butterflies and just feeling giddy, 24/7. Focusing on the possible negatives, even if they are as simple as how fast this has happened, would be doing both of you a major disservice. 

 “I found something good!” he yells from whatever corner he was hidden in and in a matter of seconds, you can hear the patter of his feet as he jogs to where you are, three books in hand and a spark in his eyes. “Any one of these will be a proper home run. I’m sure your sister will like them and two out of three are now on a discount, and since you know a guy who knows a guy, and I am the guy, you can actually walk out with a 100% discount,” he talks super fast, almost too fast for you to catch every word he utters, but you don’t mind it. You can just grin up at him, wanting to close the distance between you and be the reason behind his smile. “And I don’t want to hear anything about how-”

 He is taller than you are, so it takes a bit of effort from your side - on the tips of your toes and keeping a hold of the collar of his navy blue button up, you close the distance between the two of you and shut him up with a kiss. 

 Never in your life did you think you’d ever do that to someone. It was always something so fake and fictional, a thing that doesn’t happen in real life, a rom-com move that would be so idiotic in real life - or in the types of romance novels your sister loves and you hate. And it’s not. With Namjoon, it’s not. Shutting him up with a kiss is something he embraces wholeheartedly, dropping his precious books as if they are nothing. The sound of them hitting the ground makes you flinch, alarmed, but before you can pull away from him, you can feel his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him. Chest to chest, the two of you stand there in an empty bookstore, with Namjoon shamelessly deepening the kiss. He tastes like bitter coffee and mint - so classic, so bookish, so Namjoon. 

 The feel of his lips against yours, his arms around your waist as he presses you closer, his distinct taste and the smell of the books around you paired with a few unlit scented candles - it’s what the definition of perfection is. If you were to hand pick and create this moment with complete free reign, it couldn’t possibly be more perfect than it is now. 

 The tell-tale sound of a bell chiming above the opening door is as loud as a bomb; the two of you detatch immediately, with you going as far as walking a few steps back, putting on a safe distance between you, trying to act as casual as possible in front of the customer. 

 It’s a young man in his 20s, who gives the two of you a knowing look. You have a perfect excuse of looking away - the books Namjoon had dropped earlier were just waiting to be picked up and taken care of properly. Namjoon on the other hand, had to face the dude and offer him help, no matter how red in the face he is - and he is. Is it the kiss or being caught in the middle of it, you don’t know. You’re just thanking your lucky stars that you have an excuse to turn your back to them, lips pursed to stop yourself from laughing. 

 It was so perfect - movie worthy perfect. Right up until that dude walked in. But somehow, that was very you. From the unconventional meeting, ridiculous gifts, not calling dating what it was and failed cooking attempts, having your first kiss interrupted sounds very on point. 

 You are still pretending to be looking around the store by the time the cash register rings and you don’t move from where you stand in front of an English Classic’s shelf, not even when you hear that damn doorbell ringing again. You say nothing, and neither does Namjoon. But the feel of his chest pressed against your back startles you in the best of ways. As he puts his arms around yours, you put your hand over his, the one that isn’t holding the throwaway books meant to be for your sister. Leaning back into him, you feel him nuzzle his face against your hair and every single part of you feels like it’s about to turn liquid. 

 “That dude has the worst timing,” he whispers into your ear, the action making you shiver - in a way that he must notice too, as he holds you just a little bit tighter. 

 “Considering our track record, I’d say his timing was perfect,” you joke, feeling his chest shake with laughter against you. “I mean, when it comes to us, something is bound to go to shit. At least it wasn’t someone we know, considering how happily unlucky we are.”

 “Happily unlucky,” he repeats, his voice full of softness, comfort. “I like that phrase. It makes me think that no matter how bad our luck gets, we always end up in a good place.”

 “I like it too,” you admit. “Me and you are a series of happily unlucky moments.”

 “I really like you, Y/N,” he tells you, suddenly turning your somewhat joking conversation into a more serious direction. But you, you who would usually feel a simmer of panic burning up in you at hearing those words, you don’t feel it at all. The you who is the one who tends to run away is now letting him embrace you, both with his arms and his words. “I may not have been looking for you, not with a purpose at least, but I’m so glad I found you.”

 “I like you, too,” you admit without an ounce of hesitation, knowing that you’re in somewhat safe hands - very literally. “I’m glad I didn’t chase you away that night.”

 “And I’m glad I had the balls to approach to begin with,” he laughs, once again shaking your body along with his at the action. “Have coffee with me tomorrow, hm?” 

 “Of course,” you answer. It’s a given at this point, no matter what he offers, no matter how crazy hectic your day gets, you will make some space for him there. Even if it’s just to run downtown and visit him here, you’ll do it. Especially now, when your new office space is barely a few minutes walk away from his bookstore. 

 He kisses you on the cheek, a quick and sweet kiss, but one that makes your insides turn over again - they never stop with the rhythmic gymnastics when he’s around, apparently. He lets you go, to go to his place, behind the counter and you follow, the three books in hand. 

“You know, despite the 100% discount, I think I need to sleep on this,” you say, pointing at the books in your hand before placing them gently on the counter before you. Namjoon is grinning, realizing where you’re going with this. “I guess I’ll just have to stop by again.”

“Ugh, what a shame,” he plays along, pretending to feel bad for you. “If you wish, I can keep them for you until you make a decision. You know, in case they sell out.”

 “Definitely,” you answer, grinning like a fool. “I guess I’ll stop by this week again to see what I will decide on.”

 “It’ll be my pleasure to help you again, Miss.”

 “Goodbye, kind sir,” you laugh as you walk towards the store door, feeling his eyes burning your back. Your face positively hurts, but you don’t care. Pain from smiling too hard is the best, most enjoyable pain that you have ever felt. 

 Outside, you notice him still looking at you through the glass window, dimpled smile and all. Unable to stop yourself, you wave at him, before all but running away, giggling like a schoolgirl in love. Which is pretty much exactly what you are at this point. 

[thedamageofherdays]

This week's (16-08-2021 - 22-08-2021) reading log is here. This week's reading log is super duper long and filled with lots of good things (my apologies for the long post, I really could not find a good spot to do a read more). I discovered some new favourites and re-read some old favourites and while I had an intense week personally at least the fics I read were absolutely phenomenal. I do recommend checking out the warnings as some fics are a bit heavier/angstier and you might wanna be prepared. Most of these fics are Stucky but there are a couple of other ships in between.

If you are looking for more fun and/or good things make sure to check out the @marveldisabilitycelebration as well to see all the awesome art, fics, meta, etcetera people created! And while I am mentioning events I am a mod for let me also just quickly mention that sign-ups for the @stuckygiftexchange are still open until the end of the month <3

Favourites are marked with a 🌻 Fics that are only available to AO3 users are marked with a 🔒 and Tumblr fics are marked with a 🍀

🌻 The Bends by dreamsinthewitchouse @dreamsinthewitchouse [Danbeau, side Stucky, 2k words, Teen]

Memory is not a house you can just walk back into after finding the key you thought you’d lost. It’s a thing you wade into and out of, rewriting it as it rewrites you.

It’s not without its rewards, either - recovering a memory about Maria and Monica, about her life, feels better than socking a thousand bad guys in the face, better than all the photon blasts in the world.

Then again, realising there’s still memories she can’t access, even after all this time, feels like drowning in space.

Not the one out there - the one inside her.

🌻 Sweet & Salty by musette22 @musette22 [Stucky, 3k words, Teen]

Idiots in love. That's it. That's the fic.

When life gives you lemons by moonythejedi394 @moonythejedi394 [Stucky, 34k words, Explicit] (11/15 chapters)

Or 13 Terrible Things to Do With Lemons Other Than Making Lemonade

Steve Rogers is a home health nurse. He works for an agency, which assigned him to the aging Winifred Barnes, the one and only Silent Era Hollywood darling. As her needs increased, she requested the agency assign Steve to her full-time. She could pay for it, so she got it. Steve then moved in with her, becoming her caregiver; he cooked, he cleaned, he managed her medications, he made sure she was comfortable.

Winifred's children treated him less than ideally. He was the help, after all. And then Steve had the audacity to go and turn out to be eldest son James Barnes's soulmate. No one saw that coming.

🍀 SamRhodey Tumblr Fic by ipoiledi [SamRhodey, ? words, Teen?]

“Wilson, this is Rhodey; Rhodey, Wilson,” Tony Stark says, and suddenly some six foot tall sexy guy is shoved right in front of Sam, and they both stumble a little, bumping into each other. This is a crowded party. “You guys have things in common, right?” Stark asks. “Uh, Army stuff. Talk about that. I hate wallflowers; stop wallflowering and talk to each other.”

Shorteralls by moonythejedi394 [Stucky, 6k words, Explicit]

The first time Bucky ever saw Steve Rogers, he was struck by how Neanderthal-like his response was. It was immediately followed by a bout of mental scolding. The second time was just about the same. The third time, it was actually appropriate for Bucky to start a conversation with him, at which point he was determined to be the gentleman.

No such luck. Steve Rogers is, always has been and always will be, a relentless flirt. These days, Bucky's Neanderthal-ist feelings about Steve are consensual and highly appreciated. More so now that they're having a baby.

what the fuck are perfect places anyway by tigerlilycorinne [Stucky, 6k words, Teen]

Steve clears his throat and stands. “Well, I should head in. I might want to begin packing.”

Bucky stills. “You won’t,” he says, trying to sound commanding. It only comes out uncertain. “Don’t.”

Steve shakes his head. “Maybe not tonight,” he says, and Bucky knows they’ll be discussing this again soon.

“Then stay. Play… play cards with me or something.”

Steve’s eyebrows jump up, his mouth tugging up in another of his bemused smiles that do things to Bucky’s insides, but he drops his hand from the doorway and steps back into Bucky’s room. Somehow, Bucky feels as if he’s won—not the war, just the battle.

Steve won’t stay forever. But he’ll stay for cards.

Steve and Bucky, on the run after Civil War (with a few alterations to canon), are laying low in Wakanda. But they can’t stay there forever.

🌻 honestly thought i’d be dead by now, but what you can trust is that i need your touch by moonythejedi394 [Stucky, 105k words, Explicit]

Bucky is 37 years old; he’s unmarried, hasn’t had a Sub of his own, is definitely not ripped, comfortable at his job as an Advanced Practice RN at Brooklyn General ER, and just got his Five Years coin from AA.

Steve is 26 years old; he’s unmarried, his last and only Dom has Alzheimer's, he's worryingly muscular, uncomfortable in his job as the government’s poster Alpha for masculinity and strength, and worries more than he should about his BMI.

Unfortunately, Steve and Bucky meet initially in a not-cute moment. Bucky’s tired as shit thanks to the sudden alien invasion that shook New York and Steve is tired as shit because he hasn’t slept more than 20 minutes at a time in – well, since 1936, probably. Bucky’s Alpha instincts get irritated at the sudden presence of another "Alpha" into his territory and Steve’s suppressed submissive tendencies latch onto this grumpy bachelor Alpha and he only suppresses it further.

Bucky’s grumpiness and Steve’s duckling impressionism aside, both of them are a mess. But since both of them are a mess? Their messes seem to fit pretty well together.

Deep Sea Diving by Aida Ronan [Stucky, 5k words, Explicit]

Steve's wallowing in heat-related misery under a shade tree in Central Park when a man walks by in bright red booty shorts and a crop top. RIP Steve Rogers. It was nice knowing you.

honey, make this easy by steebadore [Stucky, 8k words, Explicit]

Bucky likes the way he looks. His silk button up with the tiny gold polka dots feels soft on his skin and is tailored perfectly; no pulling at his chest or belly. His hair falls in shiny dark waves and his skin is smooth and dewy. He looks expensive. He looks taken care of. He looks like Steve’s.

🌻 let's take it back to the start by howdoyousleep @howdoyousleep3 [Stucky, 6k words, Teen]

How it all began.

This sleepwalking through my life. by barthelme [Stucky, 1k words, Explicit]

The internet is an interesting place and when Bucky came home (or, when he came to live with Steve), Steve did a lot of research. Apparently, it’s not safe to wake a sleepwalker. He assumes that waking a sleepwalker with traumatic dreams and PTSD is beyond just being frowned upon.

And he tells himself--has told himself--that this is safer for Bucky. That if he were to stop him and wake him up, that Bucky would be mortified to be slurping on his best friend’s cock. That all of the improvements he’s made would be lost, would be repressed, would be just--

They’d be back at square one.

So he lets Bucky do it.

🌻 the way i've been craving by howdoyousleep [Stucky, 3k words, Explicit]

"Lunch break at 12:30. My office. Hope you’re hungry…"

It’s the ellipsis that sends Bucky’s insides swimming warmly, his heart beating twice as fast against his ribs where he sits in class. Senator Rogers is concise, direct, to the point. Without an ellipsis this is lunch, this is a meeting. With it though?

This is a booty call.

nasty but classy by howdoyousleep [Stucky, 4k words, Explicit]

“No, you don’t have to know the purpose, that doesn’t matter. Nat showed me this challenge where couples drink a lot of wine and get drunk together but they can’t touch each other. And whoever touches the other first has to...has to give the other head.”

🌻 Put It on Repeat, It Stays the Same by giselleslash [Stucky, 20k words, Explicit]

Steve and Bucky have a one night stand that turns into a friends with benefits situation. A weekend snowed in at Bucky’s apartment brings to light how much that really doesn’t suit either one of them.

Greetings to the New Brunette by victoria_p (musesfool) [Stucky, 10k words, General]

"You said he should have a hobby. That it would help."

"I meant, like, knitting or coin collecting. Motocross, if he was feeling antsy. A baby's not a hobby. It's lifetime commitment."

🌻 Rogers & Barnes: Partners by triedunture [Stucky, 10k words, Teen]

Steve and Bucky have to pose as a couple for a mission. Nat insists it really is the only option. She's checked.

The complication: unbeknownst to even Natasha, Steve and Bucky's friendship has been rocky ever since Bucky confessed his tender feelings and Steve left him out in the cold. Can asexual, completely-in-love-with-his-angry-best-friend Steve complete the mission and win Bucky's heart?

(The answer is yes. Yay!)

this will be our year (took a long time to come) by biblionerd07 [Stucky, 4k words, General]

Bucky's therapist is worried he's using Steve as a crutch and wants him to try going on outings without Steve. It wouldn't be terrible, honestly, if Bucky could just manage to open his mouth and say something to Steve.

I'll hold my breath by Little_Lottie (tfwatson) [Stucky, 8k words, Mature]

Sometimes Bucky’s hands flex in Steve's direction. Neither of them knows exactly why, but at least one of them has a hunch.

Bucky touches everything but Steve, even though Steve is all he really wants to touch.

Start from the Beginning by Mumble_Bee [Stucky, 13k words, Explicit]

What about a sex pollen fic where the pollen-ed one doesn’t remember getting hit in the face with a sex flower, and wakes up midway through the depollenating?

Or: the one where Steve wakes up on his back with a stranger buried balls-deep in his ass.

Match by emphasisonem [Stucky, 4k words, Mature]

The situation’s actually kind of funny from the right perspective, Bucky thinks as he reads the message for what feels like the hundredth time. He’s finally matched with a hot, funny guy. Tall and broad and clean cut. An absolutely breathtaking smile. Bucky’s walking wet dream. And he’s good. They haven’t messaged on the app, but Bucky already knows him.

He knows him because Steve Rogers is an art history professor at his university. His art history professor.

Best friends and married since childhood by StuckySituation [Stucky, 1k words, General]

Inspired by @/peterssquill's post in tumblr: "bucky and steve got married on the playground when they were like eight and though neither of them would ever admit it to anyone, even each other, they still consider it official"

~♥~ ♥~ ♥~

“Natasha, stop trying to set me up with every woman you meet, I’m-”

“Too shy? Too scared?”

“No, I’m-”

“Too busy? You’re mostly retired these days, not a good excuse anymore.” Natasha smirks and then drawls: “Or just too gay?”

Steve flushes at that, even if isn’t true -- he’s bisexual, not gay. “Let it go, Nat, I’m not looking for anything. I’m already married, for fuck’s sake.”

Clearly not what she expected. “What.”

Steve grimaces. He didn’t mean to tell anyone that, ever.

“Sorry, can’t talk about it right now!” he says and jumps out of the plane.

Nobody Should Be Alone on a Holiday by emphasisonem [Stucky, 2k words, Teen]

“So, um-” Bucky begins speaking again, pulling Steve from his less-than-work-appropriate thoughts. The brunet has shoved his hands into the pockets of his dark slacks, and he’s shifting from one foot to the other as he smiles shyly. “I have a question for you.”

“Shoot,” Steve grins, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his broad chest. Bucky swallows deeply as one of his hands comes up to pull at the collar of his button-up, and Steve can’t help following the motion of his Adam’s apple.

“I was, uh-” Bucky continues- “That is, I heard you don’t have Thanksgiving plans?”

In which Bucky finds out that Steve's going to be alone on Thanksgiving and invites his coworker to spend the holiday with him.

🌻 It's Been A Long Season Through by thiccbuckybarnes @thiccbuckybarnesfic [Stucky, 49k words, Explicit]

Bucky Barnes is in desperate need of a change in scenery, which is why he makes the foolhardy decision to quit his job, leave his asshole of a fiance, pack up his life, and move to his grandfather’s old farm all within a single day.

He expects confusion, hardship, and maybe even failure. But love? He wasn’t expecting that.

--

Or, a Stucky Stardew Valley AU that nobody but me wanted and that’s ok.

oh, peach pit, where'd the hours go? by thiccbuckybarnes [Stucky, 10k words, Explicit]

Can't see the forest for the trees.

--

Or, Steve learns that just because he and Bucky got their happily ever after, it doesn’t mean the past won’t come back to bite them.

I'll find my way by rainbow_nerds [Stucky, 725 words, Teen]

Steve had watched Bucky fall, and nothing had been the same since.

AU-gust day 19: Daemons

special delivery by glim @glim [Stucky, 6k words, Teen]

It's not that Steve's bad at taking care of himself when he gets sick; he just wishes he didn't have to all the time.

At least he can order most of what he needs online. That's some small comfort, that he can have soup and ice cream and everything else brought to his door.

at first chance i'd take the bed warmed by the body by spacebuck @spacebuck [Stucky, 8k words, Explicit]

This close, Steve can see exactly how beautiful his hands are. He’s never really noticed before, or at least he’s never really had a reason to notice, but the man’s hands are large, tanned like he works outside all day. There’s an endearing callus on the heel of one of his palms, and Steve can’t quite work out when calluses became endearing.

Steve pauses the video. Swallows hard. Casts his eyes around for anything that’ll keep his mind off the hands on his screen, off the words inked into those hands, the delicate shape of a bird’s wing, the curling edge of a vine.

He looks down. The name of the channel is right there, blaring the man’s name right into Steve’s brain until it feels like he’s known it all along.

Bucky Barnes.

OR: the one where Bucky's a youtuber who solves puzzles on camera, and steve's smitten and horny

🌻 Rock On! by millesable @marvelousescapism [Clintasha, 700 words, General]

“Hey, Romanoff!”

He lifted his hand, index finger and pinky finger raised, thumb out, all other fingers tucked. Their secret sign; their confession for the world to see, safe in the knowledge that the world wasn’t listening.

“Rock on!”

🌻 You Like the Way I Look by dontcallmebree @iamthe-wo-manwhocan [Stucky, 2k words, Explicit]

Bucky sidles up to him, hand boldly coming to rest on his chest. “What about you, big guy? Care for a dance?” Steve watches Bucky’s eyes twinkle with satisfaction, somehow already knowing he’s got Steve on the hook.

A decade out of the ice, Steve Rogers returns to New York. Reeling from a battle against the Chitauri, a night with the troublesome Bucky Barnes might be just what he needs.

Join the Rebellion by rainbow_nerds [Stucky, 765 words, Teen]

Bucky knew he shouldn't be out after curfew, but he couldn't resist the urge. He didn’t know where he was going, but he knew it was where he wanted to be.

AU-gust day 20: Dystopia

🔒 Five Days in December by mywingsareonwheels @mywingsareonwheels [Evanstan, 4k words, Teen]

“Shit shit shit shit...” muttered Chris to himself, glad that the sound of piped Christmas carols was drowning out his swearing amid the picture books. Most of the store was heaving even though it was Sunday, he’d been recognised at least three times, finding presents for all of his nieces and nephews was proving far more of a headache than expected, and he’d just sent a pile of copies of "Strictly No Elephants" tumbling off the bookshelf.

He scrambled about trying to pick them all up, and then dropped them again as someone bumped right into his backside. He lost his balance, caught himself against a bookcase, and a landslide of "Carter Is a Painter’s Cat" joined "Strictly No Elephants" on the floor. He yelped.

“Ah fuck, I’m so sorry… Chris!”

* * * * * * * * * *

London, December 2021. Amid cats, books, and the cold English drizzle, Chris finds everything he was hoping for and thought he would never have.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Reaching for Fire by dixons_mama @dixons-mama [Stucky, 7k words, Explicit]

Bucky has always felt a fire in his heart (and other body parts) when it came to his boss, Steve Rogers, but he's made sure to never feed those flames. When he finds out about Steve's second job, though, he's tempted to let that fire out.

i've been dreaming of a face like yours by thiccbuckybarnes [Stucky, 3k words, Explicit]

Bucky is about to busy himself with making a small dinner for himself when he stops in his tracks at the figure drinking a cup of coffee in the kitchen, leaning against the counter and smirking at him.

It’s Steve.

“Surprise, sweet boy,” he says before setting his cup down.

--

Or, PWP reunion sex

🌻 Somewhere, Under Your Skin by thiccbuckybarnes [Stucky, 16k words, Explicit]

Bucky Barnes treats himself to a one-night stand after having a very bad no good day.

The sex is good--great, even. Might be the best sex of his life.

But Bucky wouldn’t have slept with the guy if he had known that he was going to continuously run into him every day for the next fucking month.

--

Or, a Big Grump Bucky has a hot one night stand with a college kid who is popping up everywhere in his everyday life and he doesn’t know how to deal with it.

(Written for HYBB Bingo Square: Grumpy Bucky)

i've played heartstrings before but not in your key by thiccbuckybarnes [Stucky, 11k words, Explicit]

He glances down, seeing a folded couple of papers, before peering up at Bucky. The older man is biting his bottom lip, making it pretty and red. Steve wants to run his tongue across where his teeth are digging into his flesh.

"What's this?" Steve asks, setting his phone down, emails forgotten. Bucky shrugs and looks away.

"I dunno. You tell me, genius," he says, sounding bratty enough that it makes Steve's dick twitch in his pants. Jesus, there has to be something wrong with him.

Steve glances once more at Bucky, who now has his arms crossed against his chest and is pointedly not looking at Steve, before picking up the stack of folded papers. He opens them, seeing a collection of maybe five or six sheets of paper. His eyes immediately land on the list of familiar words with negative next to each one. -- Or, Steve Rogers is a jealous, possessive little shit that wants nothing more than to mark up his boyfriend and stake his claim. And Bucky knows it. (And he likes it.)

🌻 I'm Home (With You) by BonkyBornes @padfoot-and-the-marauders [Stucky, 2k words, General]

In any other circumstance, the apartment would've been perfect. But it was today, and the fact that he was here meant he wasn’t out searching. He knew they hadn’t had any leads for weeks and he knew Natasha was right; all three of them were exhausted and a break would do them good. It just felt wrong to Steve that he was comfortable while Bucky was still out there—somewhere. Probably cold. Probably hungry.

The knock came again. Sighing, Steve unwrapped his hand from the dog tags and remembered how to move. Cold wind and snow greeted him when he opened the door. The solitary figure was walking down the steps, collar popped against the chill.

“Did you need something?” he called.

The person stopped. They were still. And then they turned. *

Or, the Christmas Steve deserved after Winter Soldier.

The portrait by rainbow_nerds [Stucky, 915 words, General]

Steve Rogers has a Gift. He can help people find their soulmates, all he needs is some art supplies, a quiet place, and eye contact.

AU-gust day 21: soulmates

Maybe A Muse by buckybarnesdeservestobehappy [Stucky, 2k words, Mature]

When Bucky Barnes needs extra money, he’s appalled that his best friends think he should become a model for the art department on campus. Shy, nerdy, and socially awkward, he’s not sure that’s something he feels comfortable doing. Still, he needs money, and he likes the idea of becoming someone’s muse. The problem is he had no idea two things would happen. First, one of the students in the class is exactly his type; second, he has to model nude.