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ijustwannabecool · 1 month ago

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Rolling, Rolling, Red Bull

Max Verstappen x Fem!Reader

Summary… When the Drive to Survive crew shows up to film a behind-the-scenes look at Max Verstappen’s life off track, Y/N is less than thrilled to be in the spotlight. But between sarcastic interviews, soft domestic moments, and a now-viral deleted scene involving a jar of pesto, the world gets a glimpse of a Max they’ve never seen before. Boyfriend-coded. Cat-dad certified. And very, very soft for her.

A/N: I hope you guys enjoy! I’ve been kinda M.I.A. & irregular on my posting but I have been out of town for the last two week so I’ve been writing on my phone and it has been a little difficult.

I hope you guys enjoy this story and feel free to donate on my Ko-Fi, maybe that way I can buy a better computer and write more consistently for you guys.

like, comment, reblog, enjoy (:

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Y/N was halfway through brushing her teeth when Max knocked on the bathroom door.

“They’re here,” he said, muffled through the wood. “The Drive to Survive guys.”

She spat into the sink. “Tell them to come back never.”

Max laughed, leaning against the doorframe in joggers and a Red Bull hoodie, his hair still wet from the shower. “You said yes last night.”

“I was half-asleep and you bribed me with stroopwafels.”

He pushed the door open and gave her the most annoyingly charming grin. “And yet, here we are.”

⸻

The Netflix crew had set up in their living room, pretending the chaos of wires and camera angles was “low-key.” Max greeted them like old friends, casual and cool, while Y/N hovered awkwardly behind a kitchen stool, holding her coffee like a shield.

“Just pretend we’re not here,” the producer said, adjusting his headset.

“Impossible,” she muttered.

Max, ever the calm in the storm, slipped a hand around her waist. “You’ll be fine. Just be yourself.”

“That is the problem.”

⸻

They followed the couple through a normal day: breakfast on the balcony, Max fiddling with a simulator, Y/N curled up reading a book while their cats tried to chew on a mic cord.

But then they asked for a sit-down interview.

“Can you two just talk about what it’s like being in a relationship during the season?” the director asked, arranging pillows behind Y/N like this was a cozy podcast and not her personal nightmare.

Max shrugged. “It’s good. We don’t really fight.”

Y/N snorted. “You say that because you don’t consider ignoring my texts for six hours a fight.”

“I was driving,” he said, deadpan.

“You were on the simulator.”

“Same thing.”

The crew laughed. Max smiled sideways at her.

Then the director leaned in. “Y/N, how do you handle the pressure of being with someone constantly in the spotlight?”

She hesitated. Not because she didn’t know, but because she hadn’t expected the question to feel so… real.

“I don’t try to handle it,” she said slowly. “I just try to remind him that there’s a world outside of racing. That he’s more than just Max Verstappen the driver.”

Max’s expression softened—one of those rare looks he saved just for her, all warm gaze and relaxed jawline.

“And she’s the only one who gets away with calling me out when I start acting like a robot,” he added, voice lower now.

There was a pause.

“Wow,” the sound guy whispered.

“Keep rolling,” the director whispered back.

⸻

Later, when they were reviewing footage in the trailer, someone asked if they could get a shot of Max hugging Y/N.

“We have the paddock stuff, the Monaco stuff—but we need something soft to end on.”

Max found her sitting on the edge of the Red Bull hospitality couch, phone in hand.

He didn’t say anything. Just walked up, pulled her into his chest, and kissed the top of her head. Cameras or not.

“You’re doing great,” he said.

“You owe me ten stroopwafels and a massage.”

“I’ll give you twelve.”

The camera rolled as she smiled against his hoodie, arms tightening around his waist.

And later, when the season aired, fans clipped that moment. Over and over.

“Who knew Max Verstappen could be soft?”

“Protect this woman at all costs.”

“Relationship goals.”

But to Max, it was just Tuesday.

_______

Deleted Scene

Y/N stood barefoot in the kitchen, struggling with a stubborn jar of pesto. The label peeled at the edge, and the lid refused to budge despite two dish towels and her full body weight.

“Max!” she called, mildly annoyed. “Can you come here?”

Off-camera, you hear footsteps. Then Max appears in the kitchen doorway, looking suspicious. “What did I do?”

“Nothing. Just open this before I yeet it into the sea.”

He walks over, takes the jar, and opens it effortlessly with one twist.

She stares. “Are you serious?”

He grins, proud. “You loosened it.”

“Uh-huh.”

Without missing a beat, he dips a finger into the pesto and sticks it in his mouth.

“Max!” she gasps, swatting him with a tea towel. “That’s for dinner!”

He shrugs. “Taste test.”

A Netflix producer can be heard laughing behind the camera.

“Can we actually keep rolling?” another asks. “This is gold.”

Y/N turns, catching the crew still filming, and mock-glares at the camera.

“I’m going to need hazard pay.”

Max wraps an arm around her waist and plants a pesto-flavored kiss on her cheek.

“No one would believe how domestic you are,” Y/N mutters, smirking.

“Good. Let them think I’m scary.”

⸻

But don’t worry. The pesto jar ended up on eBay “signed by Max,” with a sticky note that read:

“She loosened it.” – M.V.

All proceeds went to cat shelters. Because Max demanded it.

⸻

FAN REACTIONS TO DELETED SCENE

Twitter/X:

@paddockbabie:

MAX OPENED A JAR AND A NATION FELL IN LOVE

#driveToSurvive #maxverstappen #domesticking

@softf1updates:

the way he dipped his finger into the pesto and then kissed her with zero shame?? I’m on the floor.

literally who gave him permission to be this boyfriend-coded

@f1spicypage:

“you loosened it.”

OH OKAY MAX VERSTAPPEN KING OF HUMBLE DOMESTICITY

⸻

Tumblr:

f1blurbs:

It’s not about the pesto.

It’s about her calling him like a husband.

It’s about him walking in like “what did I do?” like he knows he exists to be summoned.

It’s about the quiet love.

It’s about the damn jar.

I’m crying.

netflix-please:

Reblog if you too would risk it all to have Max Verstappen open a jar for you and call it “loosened by you.”

⸻

TikTok Comments (under the leaked scene with 4.8M views):

@formulalover44:

the way she’s like “MAX” and he just comes?? we love an obedient man

@jamgirlie:

petition to release ALL deleted scenes or i riot

@pestoprincess:

me @ my boyfriend: “why can’t you be more like max verstappen opening pesto jars and donating to cat shelters?”

⸻

Instagram Stories:

@f1gossipgrid:

MAX & Y/N: PESTO-GATE

This leaked deleted scene is the best PR Netflix never meant to drop.

Rumors say Red Bull marketing is already printing “You loosened it” merch.

We’ll take 5.

⸻

And yes—someone already made pesto-themed merch on Etsy with:

“You loosened it – M.V.” in sleek Helvetica on tote bags, mugs, and aprons.

⸻

the end.

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cinnamorollcrybaby · 2 months ago

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Can’t live without your love inside me now

Tags: sextherapist!Nanami x fem!reader, nocurse!au, taboo romance, heavy topics such as sexual assault, dead dove due to the power imbalance and heavy conversation, is this considered angst? idk

Synopsis: In which Kento Nanami is a sex therapist, and his client is a young neglected wife with an emotionally absent husband. He teaches you what love is really all about.

An: Just another warning that this fic deals with heavy themes. It’s honestly been so therapeutic for me to write due to my own history. If it’s not for you, I have plenty of other Nanami fics that are more lighthearted. For the anons in my requests asking for more Nanami, this is for you.

Part one. | Part two.

“With those things in mind, I’m interested in what has brought you into my office today.”

“I’m not sure… Sex just doesn’t appeal to me much anymore.”

Being a sex therapist, Kento Nanami has heard it all. He’s seen this same presenting problem again and again. He’s counseled young and older men with erectile dysfunction. He’s counseled persons of the LGBTQ+ community come to terms with their sexuality and how that relates to sex. He’s counseled so many people who come from purity culture and struggle with sex. He’s counseled couples who can’t seem to get it right in the bedroom. He’s counseled sexual assault survivors.

Kento Nanami prides himself on upholding the ethics of counseling. He keeps the code of ethics proudly sat upon his shelf. His goal as a therapist was to give everyone a safe space to divulge their most vulnerable inner thoughts to him.

Sex was too often treated as a taboo, offensive subject, which is why Nanami got into sex therapy in the first place. He wanted to change the stigma around it. Sex was a basic need for the majority of individuals, and many times, people have poor experiences with sex since it’s not normalized and hardly talked about.

“Okay, so is it fair to say you don’t often feel like you’re in the mood for sex?” he asked as he looked towards his client. A pretty young lady sat across from him on his couch. His “office” was in his home, finding that people often didn’t want to talk about sex in what they considered to be a “public” space like a therapist’s office.

“Yeah, I mean… I just...” your voice trailed off. You already felt like this might be a mistake. Your arms crossed over your chest as it felt like you were naked in front of your incredibly handsome counselor.

His office was nice, serene almost. He had different seating options and all kinds of fidget items around his office. He also had a plethora of books on a shelf behind his desk.

It seems he enjoys spending his time reading up about the art of sex. You can’t help but feel your face warm from thinking about him reading those sorts of things in his free time.

The walls were painted a nice soft blue grey color, and the office smelled like fresh linen from the aroma diffuser in the corner of the room. Several different houseplants were also scattered about. They all looked healthy, assuring you that Nanami paid attention to detail. He was responsible and consistent.

“Take your time,” Nanami assured you as he sat back in his chair. “The first visit is always the hardest. Don’t feel pressured to get down to the bottom of why you’re lacking a sexual drive. These things take time and trial and error.”

That was… almost reassuring. You took a deep breath as your fingers absentmindedly twirled a strand of hair behind your ear. The familiar ministration worked to calm your mind.

“I’m young, and I’m recently married. I have no kids. I feel like I should be… I don’t know— at my sexual prime or something.”

“What gave you that idea?” Nanami probed as he continued observing your small nervous habits. He found his lips trying to curl into a smile, but he kept his face meticulously trained as a look of interest.

“Well, girls talk, you know? My girlfriends talk about their lack of a sex life stemming from other obligations or from a lack of a connection…” you explained as you briefly looked up at Nanami. Each time his hazel eyes met yours, you had to look away immediately.

When you found his information online, you didn’t think he’d be this handsome. You just saw all of his credentials, and you had heard good things about him on different websites centered around “rating” therapists.

Of course, you had done some digging on him. There was no way in hell you were going to go to some strange man’s house to talk about sex. That sounded ridiculous.

“Do you compare yourself to these so called ‘girlfriends’ often?” Nanami asked calmly. His voice was even and smooth, allowing you feel even more safe to open up.

“I mean, no. They’re just all I have in terms of what’s normal for sex.”

“Okay, so let me make sure I understand this right. You lack a sexual drive. You feel guilty that you lack sexual drive because you believe you don’t have a good enough reason to not want sex on a regular basis, and you think that you’re not normal. Does that cover it?”

You winced a bit as it was all laid out on the table for you. Your eyes squeezed shut, trying to hide from how pathetic you sounded. You sheepishly nod in response.

“Y/n, open your eyes for me,” his voice spoke gently, coaxing you to slowly flutter your eyes open to look into his. Once he had your gaze, he went on, “These are all normal feelings to have. I can blab on and on to you about how our society is blatantly misogynistic when it comes to sex, but I’ll spare you the details since I’m sure you’re painfully aware. We’re going to figure this out together, alright?”

You took a deep breath, letting his words wash over you as a security blanket. It was nice to have someone to just talk about these things freely to. You felt a glimmer of hope shine through.

“Okay,” you said with a small nod, feeling more confident now.

“So, you mentioned earlier that you're recently married. Tell me a little bit about that."

You try not to have a physical reaction when Nanami brings up your husband. It was a topic that felt too raw.. too close to home. You’re supposed to be a dutiful wife, right? So, why would you feel that way when talking about your husband?

“Oh, uh… well,” you stammer, looking away from Nanami as you suddenly came up blank on your own marriage. “We got married about a year ago. Some say we’re still in the honeymoon phase, but…”

Nanami perks up a little in his chair. Some therapists take notes or record their sessions. Nanami doesn’t believe in it. He thinks it takes away from the moment. He’d much rather be present with his client rather than jotting down notes.

“But..?” he urges you to go on.

“But… I guess it just doesn’t feel that way.”

“What is your idea of the honeymoon phase? What does that look like to you?” Nanami asks, clasping his hands together in his lap as he relaxes into his chair.

You take a moment to process his question. What does the honeymoon phase look like?

“For me, it looks like the movies where couples do things for each other without being asked. They’re attuned to each other’s emotions, and they make a conscious effort to be sensitive to their partner’s feelings.” Your eyes meet Nanami’s once again, and you let out a deep breath. No one told you that counseling would be this mentally strenuous.

“Okay, what about in your current life? Do you feel like that’s how it is now?”

You nearly laugh from the question. You mentioned that sort of love being in movies because you’ve never seen it in real life. You’re nearly convinced that it doesn’t happen in real life, and anyone who claims to have that type of love must be lying.

“No, I feel like we’re both focused on our own lives… We just happen to also be in a marriage together.”

“That doesn’t seem like an active partnership,” Nanami responds as he searches your face thoughtfully. He can feel his heart ache for you. This is by far his least favorite presenting problem to work with because he can’t just tell you that you need to leave your husband. All he can do is inspire you to seek the changes you need. “What are you focused on in your own life right now, y/n?”

You feel the tension set in your shoulders and neck as soon as you hear that question. Just thinking about what all you have to do is enough to stress you out. “For starters, I work full-time. It’s a standard corporate job from eight to five, but it can be a lot.”

“That’s not easy, y/n. Just because that is what’s considered to be standard, doesn’t mean it’s easy. I’m sure that’s a lot on your plate.” His voice was low and calm. His presence felt so warm in the room; you feel like you’re finally able to open up a little.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. I also take care of the house and our pets.”

“The housework… is that all your responsibility?” Nanami asks as his eyebrows knit together slightly. He feels like he’s already scratching the surface of why you don’t have any sex drive.

“Yeah. If I want him to do anything, I have to delegate the work to him. My husband always says to just tell him whenever I want something done, and I should be grateful that he’s willing to help—“

Nanami couldn’t help himself. He doesn’t like to interrupt clients often, but the more you talk about tour husband, the more he’s having to hold himself back. “That’s the bare minimum.”

You’re slightly taken aback, and you look away from Nanami. A part of you knows that he’s right, but… you didn’t want to bad mouth your husband. A large boulder of guilt settled into your stomach.

“Tell me what you’re feeling right now,” Nanami’s voice returns to that gentle tone. “That probably wasn’t appropriate for me to say. I apologize.” He knows he shouldn’t have said that, and he knows he has to appropriately handle this if he wants you to feel comfortable enough to open up again.

“I guess I just… It feels wrong talking negative about my husband to another man. It just feels different when I’m ranting with my girl friends.” You straighten your posture and take a deep breath. It feels good getting that out in the open.

Nanami slowly nods his head. He can see why you view that act as troublesome. “So, you’re feeling tense because of our opposing sexes? Tell me. Does your husband know where you are right now?”

“Well, yeah… He was honestly the one who told me I needed help since I don’t feel any sort of sex drive.”

Nanami’s teeth subtly clench together, but he keeps a stoic expression as best as he can. The thought of your husband claiming that there’s something wrong with you absolutely repulses Nanami.

“How does that make you feel?”

Your fingers twitch a bit as you look down to the ground. You should be honest with Nanami if you really want the help that you came here for.

“I guess it makes me feel like I’m not good enough for him. Every time we have sex I try to cater to him, but it just feels like it’s never enough. If he had it his way, we’d probably have sex everyday, but I just don’t have that kind of time, energy, or desire.”

Nanami feels his chest tighten while he listens to you. This is why he hated working with this presenting problem. This man is ruining your confidence and self-esteem, and your low sex drive is either completely natural or it’s because of him.

If Nanami could show you what it was like to be truly loved, he would. Then, you’d probably open your eyes and see that your husband is the one who isn’t good enough for you.

He shakes those thoughts out of his head. He knows he’s bound to a code of ethics. He can’t pursue you romantically or sexually. It’d be morally wrong.

“That’s heavy.” He nods, allowing silence for reflection. He then speaks up again after a pregnant pause, “Let’s break down what you said sentence by sentence, okay? First, you have said that you feel guilty and not good enough in terms of sex.”

You slowly nod, still avoiding eye contact with Nanami. Why didn’t anyone tell you that this would be so emotionally exhausting.

“Do you put a lot of pressure on yourself to perform?”

That question alone opened up the floodgates. Tears bit into your eyes, and you covered your face with your hands. “All the time,” your voice cracked, betraying how deep this affected you.

“Oh dear,” Nanami says softly. He grabs a box of tissues, and he hands them to you. “Sex is meant to feel natural and progressive. It’s understandable that you don’t feel any drive if you’re constantly pressuring yourself.”

You nod as you take the tissues, dabbing your eyes gently.

“I just,” you let out a deep shaky breath, trying to calm your nervous system. “It’s easier to just do it and get it over with rather than to hear him ask multiple times.”

Nanami clenches his jaw. His hand gently finds your shoulder, and he makes you look up at him. “Listen to me. If you take nothing else away from this entire session, take this. Asking multiple times even though the answer was clearly a no is coercion. Whenever he asks multiple times, he’s hoping that you get tired of telling him no and just give in.”

Your eyes meet Nanami’s, and your eyebrows furrow a little. Coercion? No.. no, that can’t be right. He’s your husband. He’s just asking to make sure you hadn’t changed your mind. He wouldn’t coerce you into anything you didn’t want to do…

You slightly pull away from Nanami. “I don’t think that’s right… He wouldn’t do something like that. He’s not abusive.”

Nanami leans back. He chides himself internally for going in too deep too quickly. He’s grateful that you’re giving him grace right now. You definitely could’ve just left the session after he blatantly told you that your husband was a conniving piece of shit.

He takes a deep breath. “I apologize. I must have it wrong,” he says as he regains his posture. He knows he needs to make you understand. “Would you like a cup of tea?”

“Oh—? Uh, no.. no I’m okay, thanks.”

“Are you sure? It’s good tea.” Nanami leans in slightly, not breaking eye contact with you.

“Yeah, I’m sure… I don’t really think I can stomach it..” you respond, confused as to why he was suddenly wanting to make you tea.

“Tea is good for digestion. It might help your stomach. You really don’t want any? I can make it quickly with an electric kettle I bought the other day.”

You slouch back a little, a frown covering your lips. “I mean.. I guess tea would be okay.”

Nanami then gives you a knowing look, and the realization hits you. “Did you actually want the tea, or were you just going to accept the tea because I kept pestering you?”

Goddammit. This therapist is good.

Taglist: @theuniversesnepobaby @airandyeah

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fanfic #fanfic #jjk suggestive #jjk fic #jjk au #jjk nanami #nanami fic #nanami x y/n #nanami x you #nanami x reader #jujutsu nanami #nanami kento #kento nanami #kento x y/n #kento x you #kento x reader #jjk angst

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daxisyzz · 3 months ago

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Lost for words

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader (established relationship)

Summary: Bucky can't keep his hands to himself while your on a call with Yelena, wanting all your attention, making you lose your focus.

Based off this prompt from Pinterest

Word count: 3.1k+ (I kinda got too into it lol)

Warnings and tags: Clingy Bucky, he's a menace, Yelena mentioned (bestfriend), neck kisses, more kisses, Bucky is basically touch starved, cute relationship dynamics, Bucky can't keep his hands off of you.

A/n: this is my little treat for my 100 followers milestone. Thank you guys!! Enjoy the fic!!

Love you guys <3

Ps. Go read chapter 1 of my new series Business Proposal ♡

Also requests are open.. feel free to send 'em.!!

You liked to think of your apartment as a sanctuary. Sure, the walls were a little thin, and the paint on the windowsill was starting to peel, but it was yours. A cozy home that smelled of vanilla-scented candles, fresh laundry, and the faint aroma of Bucky’s cologne that seemed to linger everywhere these days.

Most days, Bucky Barnes, your sometimes frustrating, always handsome boyfriend—respected that sense of peace. After all, you’d established a routine of sorts: quiet mornings sipping coffee together, mid-day breaks where he’d slip away for a run or to tinker with something mechanical in the spare room, and lazy evenings spent on the couch binge-watching the latest Netflix series.

But today, it seemed, he had other ideas. You were leaning against the kitchen counter, your phone pressed to your ear, talking to Yelena Belova—your best friend, occasional partner-in-crime, and the only person who could drag you into the most unexpected of situations. Today’s phone call was nothing dramatic, though. She was simply updating you on her day, complaining about a near-disastrous grocery trip, while you nodded and made little sounds of sympathy at all the right times.

It started out innocently enough: Bucky roaming into the kitchen, glancing your way, flashing you a quick grin. You raised your eyebrows in greeting, mouthing I’m on the phone, which typically was code for don’t do anything weird. He gave a small salute, as if to say Understood, ma’am, and disappeared around the corner.

But then, just as Yelena began launching into a story about the horrors of supermarket lines and fighting an old lady for pickles, you felt the faintest brush of warmth at your back. At first, you thought you were imagining it. You continued listening, your phone tucked snugly against your ear. But then a hand—large, warm, and far too confident, settled on your hip. You startled, nearly dropping the phone in surprise.

“Bucky,” you whispered, craning your neck to look at him. He was standing behind you, a lazy smile playing at his lips. “I’m on the phone,” you mouthed.

He only grinned in response, blue eyes sparkling with mischief. His voice, when he leaned in, was barely above a murmur. “I know.”

You shot him a pointed glare, one that said Behave yourself. But Bucky, of course, had never been particularly good at following that order.

Yelena’s voice in your ear continued, completely unaware. “So anyway, the cashier looked at me like I was some kind of weirdo for buying that much hot sauce. But it’s not my fault the best brand was on sale—are you even listening?”

“Yes,” you managed, voice slightly strained, “I’m listening. Sorry, I just—”

Bucky took that moment to press closer, his chest aligning perfectly with your back. The warmth of him was impossible to ignore. His lips brushed the shell of your ear, a barely-there touch that sent a chill of awareness down your spine. The phone nearly slipped from your fingers.

“Everything okay?” Yelena asked, clearly catching the odd shift in your tone.

“Fine,” you said too quickly. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to force yourself to focus. “Just, uh… I spilled something. Go on.”

You felt, rather heard Bucky’s chuckle against you. His arms slid around your waist, locking you in place. Slowly, he lowered his head to the crook of your neck, pressing a gentle kiss there. It was so light you might have imagined it—if not for the way your entire body tingled in response.

You could practically hear Yelena’s eyebrow arching on the other end of the line. “You sure you’re not busy? I can let you go if you’re… preoccupied.”

“No, no,” you insisted, ignoring Bucky’s soft hum of amusement. “I’m not preoccupied. Really, I’m—” You sucked in a sharp breath as Bucky’s lips dragged across your skin, teasingly slow. “I’m good,” you finished, sounding decidedly not good.

Bucky was a menace. You realized that with startling clarity. He was enjoying every second of this, too—the way your breath hitched, the way your shoulders stiffened when he kissed just behind your ear. If he’d come in loud and obvious, you could have pushed him away, shot him a glare, or at least excused yourself from the call. But this was worse. He was stealthy, methodical, lulling you into a trap with that soft voice, gentle kisses, and the faint scrape of his stubble against your neck.

And oh, you were definitely trapped.

“Let me guess,” Yelena said, suspicion in her tone, “Bucky’s there, isn’t he?”

Your mouth opened, but no words came out. Bucky took advantage of your silence, kissing a trail from the base of your neck up toward your jaw, each press of his lips making your heart pound harder.

"Uh,” you managed, “maybe.”

Yelena barked a laugh. “That’s a yes. Put me on speaker. I want to say hi.”

You stared at Bucky, who gave you a quizzical tilt of his head, as if to say What’s she saying? For a second, you debated whether or not to do as Yelena asked. If you put the call on speaker, she’d hear every little sound: the rustle of Bucky’s clothes against yours, the husky laughter you were certain would spill from his lips at any moment. But you couldn’t exactly refuse her, not without raising even more suspicion.

Reluctantly, you tapped the speaker icon. “Yelena, you’re on speaker,” you said, trying to sound composed. It was a losing battle.

“Barnes,” Yelena said, her tone mocking, “are you bothering my best friend again?”

Bucky cleared his throat. You felt the rumble of it against your back. “I wouldn’t call it bothering,” he said. His voice was low, smooth as silk. “I’m just showing her a little attention.”

You could practically see Yelena rolling her eyes. “She’s on the phone, you know. With me. Some people might say that’s rude.”

Bucky’s grip on your waist tightened slightly. “Rude, maybe,” he allowed, “but she’s been ignoring me all day. I had to get her attention somehow.”

You wanted to defend yourself, but the words lodged in your throat as Bucky nuzzled against the side of your neck again. Your eyes fluttered shut, and you had to bite your lip to keep from making any embarrassing sounds.

“Oh, I see how it is,” Yelena said, her amusement obvious. “You’re tormenting her.”

Bucky’s lips curved into a smirk against your skin. “Torment’s a strong word.”

“That’s because it is torment,” you finally managed, your voice shaky. “He’s being insufferable.”

Bucky hummed. “You don’t sound too unhappy about it, doll.”

You could hear Yelena snort. “I’ll let you two figure this out. Call me back when Barnes isn’t acting like a cat in heat.”

You tried not to laugh, but the giggle bubbled up anyway, half from the absurdity of the situation, half from your own flustered state. “Okay, okay. Talk to you later.”

The moment you hung up, Bucky wasted no time. He spun you around in his arms so that you were facing him, your phone clutched tightly in one hand. He wore a cocky grin that made you want to kiss him and slap that grin away, all at once.

“You have the worst timing,” you scolded, although your voice trembled with laughter.

He shrugged, not the least bit repentant. “You looked too adorable not to bother.”

You tried to arch an eyebrow in disapproval, but your heart wasn’t in it. Not when Bucky was looking at you like that, with those soft eyes and that infuriatingly handsome smirk. “I was on the phone.”

He leaned in, the tip of his nose brushing against yours. “I noticed.”

“You’re so full of yourself,” you grumbled, but you didn’t pull away when he ducked his head to press a slow, lingering kiss to your lips.

His hands settled on your hips, drawing you closer. “I learned from the best.”

Despite yourself, you melted into the kiss, letting the warmth of his body and the taste of his lips chase away your frustration. It was impossible to stay mad at him for long. Not when he kissed you like he was savoring every second.

When you finally pulled away, you were breathless. “I swear, you’re worse than Yelena sometimes.”

He laughed. “High praise.”

You tried to scowl, but the affection in his gaze made it impossible. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

He pressed a playful kiss to the tip of your nose. “I’ll take it.”

Later, you found yourself curled up on the couch, scrolling through messages on your phone. Yelena had sent a few texts, each more teasing than the last. You alive? Surviving Barnes’s torment? You typed back a quick reply: Barely. But yes. Thanks for leaving me high and dry.

Bucky appeared in the doorway, hands tucked in his pockets. “Need any help fending off Yelena’s jokes?” he asked.

You rolled your eyes. “You’re the one who gave her ammunition.”

He smirked, coming over to flop onto the couch beside you. “True. But I’m also the one who can help you forget about it.”

“Oh?” You arched a brow. “How exactly?”He reached out, plucking your phone from your hand. “By stealing your phone, for starters.” He tossed it onto the coffee table, far out of reach.

“Bucky!” You reached for it, but he caught your wrist, tugging you closer until you fell against his chest.

“You work too hard,” he said, settling you against him. “And you spend too much time on your phone. I’m just making sure you take a break.”

You snorted. “A break from Yelena’s teasing, or from your own mischief?”

He shrugged, running a hand up and down your arm. “Maybe both. Besides, I like having your full attention.”

“You had it in the kitchen,” you pointed out. “Remember? You nearly made me drop the phone.”

His smile widened, and you felt the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he laughed. “That was different. Now you can actually enjoy it.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but his fingers slid beneath your chin, guiding you into a kiss. It was slow, deep, and achingly sweet, every bit of teasing replaced by genuine warmth. Your annoyance melted away, replaced by a comfortable haze that made you forget anything beyond the two of you.

When you finally broke apart, he traced a thumb across your cheek. “I’m sorry if I bothered you,” he said softly, though there was still a playful glint in his eyes. “You know I can’t help it sometimes.”

You brushed your lips over his knuckles. “I know. And… I don’t actually mind.”

His grin turned lopsided. “You say that now, but wait until next time.”

You let out a mock groan, shoving him lightly. “Don’t push your luck.”

“Never,” he promised, though the twinkle in his gaze suggested otherwise.

A little while later, you found yourself in the kitchen again, rinsing dishes from a late lunch. Bucky hovered nearby, drying each plate you handed him. The domestic routine was soothing—until he decided to nudge you with his hip, nearly making you drop a fork.

“Seriously?” You glared at him, though you struggled to keep a straight face.

“What?” He feigned innocence. “My hand slipped.”

You snorted. “Sure it did.”

He set the plate aside, then stepped closer, the warmth of his body pressing against your back. You felt his breath on your neck again, and your heart kicked up a notch, recalling how he’d distracted you earlier. His lips grazed your ear.

“You’re adorable when you’re annoyed,” he murmured.

“Funny,” you replied, fighting a grin, “I was thinking you’re adorable when you’re not annoying me.”

He laughed quietly, nuzzling into your hair. “You still love me.”

With a soft sigh, you turned in his arms, letting the water run. “I do,” you admitted, resting your hands on his shoulders. “But you have to promise not to sabotage any more phone calls.”

His eyes sparkled with mischief. “I can promise to try.”

You knew that was the best you’d get. Rolling your eyes, you leaned in to kiss him, the warm press of his lips sending a pleasant hum through your body.

A sudden buzz echoed in the kitchen, and you both turned to see your phone vibrating on the counter. Yelena’s name flashed across the screen. Bucky grinned, lifting a brow. “Round two?”

You huffed, reaching for the phone. “Don’t you dare.”

He put his hands up in surrender, stepping aside with an exaggerated show of good behavior. You picked up the call, putting it on speaker before you could change your mind.

Yelena’s voice came through loud and clear. “Hey, troublemaker. You done making out with Barnes?”

Your cheeks flamed. “That was quick. And you’re the troublemaker.”

“Details, details,” she quipped. “Anyway, I was thinking about that recipe I mentioned earlier—”

“Oh, right. The spicy pickle challenge,” you said, glad to steer the conversation somewhere safer.

“Exactly. I need your help. I can’t figure out if I should make them into some kind of hot sauce, or if I should try a marinade. But I need to test it on someone who’s not me. You in?”

You glanced at Bucky, who mouthed, Absolutely not. Smirking, you replied, “Sure, why not?”

Yelena laughed. “Perfect. I’ll text you the details. And by the way, I’m bringing extra pickles so no old ladies can steal them from me.”

Bucky cleared his throat, stepping closer to the phone. “You’re not going to drag her into any fights, are you?”

“No promises,” Yelena shot back, then paused. “You being nice to her, Barnes? Or do I need to show up and save her?”

Bucky’s gaze flicked to you, a playful challenge in his eyes. “She doesn’t need rescuing from me.”

You decided to intervene before Yelena got any ideas. “Alright, enough bickering. I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Fine,” she replied with a dramatic sigh. “But if he bugs you again, you call me.”

“Will do,” you said, rolling your eyes affectionately.

The call ended, and you braced yourself for another round of teasing, but Bucky just slipped his arms around your waist, looking surprisingly thoughtful. You looped your arms around his neck.

“You know,” he murmured, “I like seeing you happy. Even if it means occasionally getting on your nerves.” A warm flush spread through you. There was that sincerity again, the undercurrent of genuine care that anchored all his playful chaos. “You make me happy,” you said softly.

He brushed a stray hair from your face. “Good.”

That evening, you and Bucky ventured out for a walk. The late sunlight gilded the buildings, and a gentle breeze ruffled your hair. With your hands intertwined, the two of you wandered the streets, content to let the conversation flow.

He told you about his latest hobby—fixing up an old motorcycle he’d found cheap online—and you filled him in on Yelena’s plan to experiment with spicy recipes. Every so often, he’d nudge your shoulder or lean in to press a quick kiss to your temple, as if he couldn’t go too long without touching you.

Eventually, you ducked into a small corner café that you both loved. You ordered dessert first, justifying it with a laugh: “Life’s too short not to have cake for dinner.” Bucky agreed wholeheartedly, paying for your order and guiding you to a cozy table by the window.

Once seated, he studied you from across the table, fingers drumming idly on the surface. “So,” he said, “am I forgiven for earlier?”

You tilted your head. “I don’t know. You did cause me a lot of embarrassment in front of Yelena.”

He leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “Would it help if I said I’m sorry?”

“Maybe,” you replied, smiling. “Try it and see.”

“I’m sorry,” he said in a low voice that made your heart flutter. “For distracting you while you were on the phone.”

Your smile widened. “And?"

He reached across the table to take your hand. “And for enjoying it so much.”

You squeezed his hand, unable to keep the fondness out of your eyes. “Apology accepted, menace.”

The café door chimed, and a few more customers wandered in. You sipped your drink, relaxing in the warm atmosphere. Bucky kept your hand in his, occasionally rubbing gentle circles with his thumb.

When your cake arrived, you split it, laughing as he stole the larger piece. He offered you a bite from his fork in apology, and you leaned forward, letting him feed you.

“Good?” he asked, eyes bright.

“Delicious,” you managed, savoring the sweetness.

He watched you with open admiration. “I like seeing you happy,” he repeated again, his voice softer now.

You reached for his hand, lacing your fingers together. “I’m happy because I’m with you.”

He held your gaze, and for a moment, the rest of the world fell away. You saw the man beneath the mischief—the one who cared so deeply, who’d learned to laugh again despite the shadows of his past.

“You know,” he said, clearing his throat, “I never thought I’d have this. Someone to tease, someone who gives it right back. Someone whom i could becso free with.”

Your heart clenched with affection. “And now you do.”

He nodded, a slight smile on his lips. “Now I do.”

When you finally left the café, the sun had dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in dusky blues and pinks. Bucky’s arm looped around your waist as you headed home, the city lights flickering on around you.

You strolled in comfortable silence until you reached your apartment. Once inside, you both kicked off your shoes and made a beeline for the couch. He settled in first, patting the cushion beside him in invitation.

“Come here,” he said, and you sank down, letting him pull you into his side.

He grabbed the remote, but instead of changing the broadcast, he clicked it off. The apartment went quiet, the only sound the distant hum of traffic through the window. You leaned your head on his shoulder, feeling his steady breath.

After a moment, he turned to press a soft kiss to your temple. “Thank you,” he murmured.

“For what?”

“For this. For us.”

You smiled into his shirt. “You don’t have to thank me for that.”

He tilted your chin up so you could meet his gaze. “I want to,” he said, and the quiet sincerity in his eyes made your chest tighten with emotion.

You reached up, brushing your thumb across his cheek. “Well, you’re welcome, then.”

He bent down, capturing your lips in a kiss that felt like a promise—of laughter, of mischief, of all the little moments that made up a life together. You let yourself sink into it, letting the warmth of his body and the softness of his mouth fill your senses.

Eventually, you both pulled back, breathless. He smoothed a hand over your hair, cradling you against him. “We should do something fun tomorrow,” he said. “Before you go help Yelena with her spicy pickles.”

You chuckled, snuggling closer. “Sure. But only if you behave the next time I’m on the phone.”

His laugh rumbled in his chest. “I’ll do my best, doll.” You didn’t quite believe him—but then again, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

In the end, Bucky was a whirlwind of affection and playfulness, and though you sometimes pretended to protest, you secretly relished every teasing moment. Because beneath the jokes and the stolen kisses, there was a profound sense of belonging that tied you together.

As the evening came by, you drifted off in his arms, content and warm. The memory of his soft laughter echoed in your mind, reminding you that even when he was a menace, he was yours—and you were his. And that was all that mattered.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x you #sebastian stan x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fluff #marvel fanfiction #yelena belova #love language #physical touch #avengers #established relationship #bucky barnes fanfiction

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ramonathinks · 5 months ago

Text

THE GOODBOY CODE

slyus is a good boy and wants to prove it to you.

cw: sylus and reader are both switches, (18+, MDNI), handjobs, pussyjob, cum eating, slight blowjob, making out, finger sucking, orgasm denial, use of restraints, spanking (just one moment of it) slight choking, squirting, eventual sex and creampie

ramona note: just a little drabble since it’s been forever but hope you enjoy! it’s terribleeeee ik ik tagging: @sunasbon @kissxcore @sincerelyzee

“How badly do you wanna fuck me, Sylus?” A simple question but you could already see by how flushed his ears and face were just how badly he wanted this.

A surprising sound erupts from his throat — a whine, a whimper or a combination of the two before he finally speaks, “Really bad. Don’t torture me like this kitten.” You could see he was struggling, he said he wouldn’t use his evol to escape the rope that bound his hands together but his eyes held a different story.

You sit on his lap, your core against him and he shutters. “Can I?” Your hands traveled from his shoulders to his chest, spending extra time rubbing up and down, smirking at every heavy breath. Your hand grazes the area, “You’re hard.” His body goes completely still for a second, almost like he’s embarrassed that you pointed out something so obvious. “I can make you feel good, wouldn’t you like that?”

He’s watching you with hooded eyes, swallowing hard. “Be gentle with me.” He finally huffs out.

Your face lights up and within seconds you’re on your knees his pants are completely unzipped; his tanned cock flops out and you just stare. It’s long and heavy, slightly curved and the head is decorated with pearly beads of precum. Your finger rubs at the slit, collecting the cum and popping it in your mouth.

Sylus just stares, his face twitching ever so slightly as you look at him. You moan, taking your finger out and dipping it back to gather more of him. He hisses, his silver eyebrows furrowed and eyes closed. Squeezing your fist around him, you pressed small kisses to the tip, peppering everything above your fist — his cock now covered in your red lipstick. He’s throbbing in your hands as you continue to work him, the lascivious wet sounds of his cock and his needy labored breathing mixed together in the empty room, “Just like that.” His back arches at the same time that his hips jerk up towards your fiery touch. “Ah!” He throws his head back at the sensation of you suckling a bit on the head while you stroke, both of your hands twisting and pumping him sloppily. Your tongue laps at the head more, swirling around the slit and he moans. He’s not quiet anymore, he’s being loud.

The leader of Onychinus is whimpering and moaning while his toes dig into the sheets. He’s gasping, loudly, repeatedly saying how soft your hands are or how pretty you are, anything with a whiny voice and flushed face.

“Kitten, I’m cl—” You know he’s ready to spill all over you, you can feel him throbbing everywhere and from the way the veins on his thick thighs look as if they’re going to burst… makes you stop.

It happens all within a second, you take your mouth off him and your now sticky hands you give small kitten licks to. While Sylus heaves and glares, “Are you trying to punish me?” He asks, his cock twitching in the air — harder than before.

“Say please and I’ll make it up to you.” You purr, kissing his chest with mischievous eyes.

“You’re pushing your luck…” He murmurs, annoyance heavy in his tone. He rolls his eyes and looks deep in thought before he says, “Pleasee…sweetie.” Dragging out the please to truly win you over.

“Now I have to reward you for being a good boy, huh?” A smirk permanently glued on your face. “I got something better for you.”

You sit on him, his cock flush against your lips as you rock your hips back and forth. More of his own precum leaks on to his abdomen, you don’t know when he broke free of his restraints but his fingers dig into your hips while your pussy easily glides up and down, the combined cool slick covering the both of you.

Your clit bumps his head and you both gasp before you start again— dragging your weeping pussy from the base of his cock to head, circling your hips against him. Every bump of your clit against his tip makes you that more wetter and faster to slide back up and down against him. “You’re soaking me…” His crimson eyes sparkling as he looked at where you’re both connected, his hips meeting yours with each roll. With every roll he does, the more moans comes from his lips — sometimes he says simple words of ‘fuck’ but other than that he just lets out wordless moans and shutters as you work him.

“Sylus—‘M so wet, you hear it?” You tease him, reaching down to put his fingers against your clit; the rough pads adding to your please. A strained moan spills from your lips, grateful for the feeling as you continue to hump against him.

“You’re so soft.” He groans out, your wetness drips down on his shaft and he instantly flips you over. “Making me feel good.”

Sylus uses your wetness like a lube, moving even faster to slot himself between the lips of your pretty pussy, sloshing sounds of wetness and skin slapping as he continues. “Mmf!” He leans down to kiss you, licking your lips to get inside –he swallows all your moans with a devilish smile.

Keeping your lips open to nudge at your clit with the head of his cock, your eyes wide at the slight overstimulation. He says something but you’re too immersed in the pleasure to hear him, he slaps his cock on your fluttering hole.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you, kitten.” A dopey grin on his face, he looks as if he’s captivated by you. “I let you take control, but now…” he grips the side of your neck just slightly, watching your eyes roll back and your chest heave. “I’m taking it back.”

You whine out his name and sniffle, still not looking his way. But it’s almost like he was always in charge, the atmosphere heavy.

“Don’t you want me right here? Inside?” He chastises, his lips twitching upwards, failing to hide his smirk. His calloused hands trail from your quivering belly to your mound. “I was a good boy, can’t you be a good girl for me?”

But you’re stubborn, a trait he both loves and hates in times like this. He rubs himself against your folds again, “Or should I stop?”

Your eyes glance at him briefly before looking away, “You like being a bad girl, huh?” He licks a stripe up your neck. The warmth of his body leaves in an instant and he turns you over, taking you over his knees. He slaps your backside, once. Then again, harder. You hold back a moan but your hole flutters around nothing which makes Sylus chuckle.

“You like that don’t you?” His hand comes down on your backside again and your fingers fish the sheets in front of you. “Cat got your tongue?” He teases as you wiggle yourself out of his hold.

You scoff but avoid his glances, if you admit you like it… his teasing wouldn’t stop. He watched your face before he changes the subject.

“How about this…” He offers. “I’ll do whatever you want if you tell me like a good girl.” You squeeze your thighs together and he takes notice.

“I want you inside.” You tell him, voice laced with pleasure. Teasing him was torture enough because you were teasing yourself in the process. “I’ll be a good girl.” You promise, sticking your bottom lip out in a deep pout.

He lays you back down and he opens your folds that are sticking together, rubbing himself through them again before your wet insides welcome him.

You squeal and he’s shushing you, carefully moving in deeper. Your eyes tearing up at the relief his cock is bringing you, you’re babbling nonsense words to which Sylus replies with murmurs against your lips, “I know, I know.”

There’s little to no talking after that, just the sounds of him inside of you, the bed frame and both of you whining against each other’s mouths. Sylus pushes his hips deeper inside before pulling halfway out and repeating the action, his eyes focused on your face.

Bending your legs at the knees to get even more inside — to reach that spot he knows he’s close to. He says your name, he groans it with labored breath and you watch his face as best you can. His eyebrows furrowed and eyes closed, his lips parted before he grits his teeth and bites down. “Feels too good inside of you.” His hips snapping harder when you wrap your legs around him.

“M’gonna cum!” A pressure deep in your tummy, your knees close to your earlobes as he keeps going.

“Oh? You’re gonna? Aren’t you forgetting to ask? Let me hear that pretty voice.” He nibbles at your lips, kissing them.

“Sylus, can I? Can I cum? Please…please? Sylus—!” He’s looking directly at where he’s inside of you, froth covers his base and he bounces you off of him. You groan at the deeper sensation, a feeling so unfamiliar erupting inside of you.

You move your hands to cover yourself, “Sy— don’t… don’t look.” Gushes of wetness squirt off of you and you whine, his hand covering yours as he holds them tightly.

“Don’t tell me you’re embarrassed?” He gushes, his cock twitching inside of you as he finally comes inside

“Oh.” He slips out, watching more of his cum leak out of you. “It’s pouring,” he purrs, scooping some up and gently thrusting it back inside.

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kisses4themissus · 5 days ago

Note

helloooooiooooooooo. Loveeeeeee the Robby fic so good. Your writing is amazing.

Now I have an idea (feel free to ignore) ya know Little Mix song Love Me Like You. Specifically the lyrics:

“I’m dealing with these bo-o-oys

When I really need a man”

Is soooooo Abbott or Robby Coded instantly. Though of them lol like no way anyone gonna love you better than them

Love Me Like You | M.R X Reader

a/n: tysm for requesting this!!

navigation | send me a love letter ୨ৎ

You sighed as you rested your forehead against the breakroom’s table; The cool surface cooling you off from the light sheen of sweat you earned from running around the ED.

Lifting your head up from the table, you could see from the small glass window all of the new med students running around, the older interns just snickered and attempted to guide them before giving them up to a resident.

A moment of silence was all you had asked for during your shift, not expecting to be the center of the new students attention.

As you placed your head back down you tensed up as the door opened and the sound of footsteps followed. Your eyes quickly recognized the new balances as the owner spoke up.

“Burnt out from those kids?” Robby asked, facing you as he poured himself another cup of coffee.

You just laughed flatly, lifting your head up. “Ha…very much so, javadi swears she saw two of the boys push each other to follow me into a trauma..” You sighed, rubbing your forehead.

“You’re their leader now, what did walsh say during the mass casualty?” Robby sighed, thinking, his fingers tapping on his mug as he thought.

“Heavy is the head that wears the crown?” You questioned, a tiny grin growing on your face as robby lit up and snap his fingers, a matching smile on his face.

“That’s it, nice memory..” He chuckled before taking a sip of coffee.

You silently admired him for a moment, taking in each detail, from the hair that curled around his ears to the small but bright freckles on his cheeks, you had been zoned out but was brought out of it, jumping as one of the med students popped in, his eyes lighting up brightly as he found your own.

“Um, excuse us dr. robby, but our–uh ladder injury guy’s CT came back..” The student spoke up, you just nodded and stretched your neck, trying to pop it.

“I’ll be right there...” You brushed the kid off before standing up, following the student out the breakroom and towards a free desktop to look at the results.

Robby smiled as he watched from the door as the kid hovered over your shoulder while you tiredly scrolled through the results.

- - - - - - - -

Exiting the curtained room a wave of exhaustion hit you, covering your mouth as you began to yawn. You quickly pulled out your phone to check the time, your lock screen lit up, a photo of your dog displayed on your screen.

“Is that your dog doctor?” One of the med students asked you, a smile on her face.

You smiled at her and nodded, turning the screen to her.

“You have a dog?” One of the students, mason asked.

You sighed and attempted to hide your annoyance at the former frat boy. “Yep, he’s like my child.” You gave him a tight smile.

“I have a golden lab, we should set up a possible play date for them sometime no?” He asked, a cocky grin on his face.

You couldn’t stop a scoff from coming out, your laughter quickly followed, “Cooper isn’t too social, he got surgery recently and can’t do playdates, sorry.” You sighed, the other student just grinned into her hand as you brushed pass mason, walking towards central.

“Damn, you and your dog just got rejected..” Kaitlyn, the other student laughed at mason.

“Oh be quiet, i known girls like her, dated tons of them. They act not interested then as i “supposedly” lose attraction she’ll come to me!” He scoffed, looking at kaitlyn as if she was dumb.

Santos snorted at his logic, peering over at him, making it known she had heard the whole thing.

“Or you’re maybe just a jackass who doesn’t take no?” Trinity shrugged before grabbed her stethoscope from the desk, rushing as a trauma entered.

“I’m not an jackass..” Mason muttered under his breath.

“No but you got a good ass on you, turn to the side for me handsome..” Myrna whistled at him, making mason jump and quickly excuse himself before he got left with myrna alone.

Entering a trauma room, mason noticed you off the side, watching as robby cleaned up the intubated trauma’s mouth of secretions, as robby reached over to get more wiggle room, mason caught sight of a chain, a plain metal band sat beside another, a star of david on the other.

Mason kept quiet, making note to ask whitaker about it later.

- - - - - - - -

“Tell me i’m amazing!” You told robby as you approached him, your hands in your scrub pockets.

“Now what did you do?” Robby questioned, his eyes narrowing playfully.

“Got ICU to take three patients upstairs!” You smiled, bouncing around, making robby watch with a smile.

“Alright, you’re amazing..” Robby chuckled, running his hand over your lower back. From a distance, mason made a look which earned whitaker’s attention.

“I wonder how his wife feels about that..” Mason scoffed, dennis looked to the student, moving his eyes away from the chart in front of them.

“Who’s wife?” Whitaker asked, looking around for anything unusual.

“Dr. Robby’s wife, he seems oddly close with her..” Mason nodded in your and robby’s direction. Dennis looked over to see you and robby at central, robby watching you with a smile as dana handed over your energy drink, his hand still on your back.

“I think she’s fine with it..” Whitaker shrugged, not seeing anything wrong.

“Just seems odd to me..” Mason shrugged, walking away from whitaker who now sat at a desk confused.

Thankfully for the rest of your shift you had managed to hide away from the med students, as you collected your things from your locker you let out a yawn.

You shuffled your way out of the ED with the other day shift.

Making your way to the park, you all found empty benches, you looked around and sighed, not seeing robby nearby, you assumed he must’ve gotten caught up with jack on each patient.

Perlah handed you a cool water from donnie’s bag, you smiled and thanked her as you sat down on the wooden bench, opening the water.

“I need a warm bath and a whole bottle of wine right now..” You announced, slouching into the bench, exhaustion hitting you.

“That sounds nice..” Samira hummed in agreement with you as she sipped a beer donnie had handed her. “How’s cooper doing?” She asked, making you smile.

“He’s recovering, he loves how we’ve been spoiling him..” You chuckled, mindlessly you scratched your neck and pulled out your necklace from under your scrubs, on a dainty chain sat your wedding ring.

“He deserves it, he’s just a poor baby!” Samira cooed as you showed her photos of your dog.

Mason and the other interns walked over to the group and took a seat on the benches as the others began asking about their day.

As mason tuned out everyone, he noticed as you lit up at the sight of robby.

“I hate to leave you all so soon but i need to go see my cooper!” You announced, standing up from the bench, grabbing your bag.

Robby smiled and waved to the others, before leaving robby turned to mason, an off look in his eyes as he stared the frat boy down. “Get some sleep dr. mason, something tells me tomorrow’s gonna be tough.” Robby’s words make you snort, gently elbowing his side.

Robby just smiled at you and let his hand drift down to your back as you both walked to the car.

“Is no one concerned for dr robby’s wife?” Mason asked, making the others looked at him confused.

“What do you mean?” Samira asked, looking back at where robby’s truck pulled out of the parking lot. “Dr robby seems a little too close to his fellow attending, if i was married i would not be holding my attendings back or driving her home if she gave me those love filled eyes..” Mason scoffed, his words making everyone start to laugh.

“Oh my god, you still haven’t gotten it have you!?” Santos asked, her laugher booming as whitaker just chuckled and looked around.

“Get what?”

“She’s dr. robby’s wife, they’ve been married for four years now dude..” Princess explained, laughing a bit.

Mason’s face dropped; now understanding he had spent most of his week and day flirting with his attending’s wife.

- - - - - - - -

You yawned as robby drove on the freeway.

“So that mason kid..” Robby spoke up, making you laugh.

“Jealous I got a young lover waiting at the door?” You teased, robby just shook his head, a small smile on his face. “Besides after tomorrow i’m sure he won’t even step a foot near me.” You both laughed.

You both sat in comfortable silence for the drive, growing sleep you had popped up from your seat and turned the radio on.

A laugh escaped robby’s mouth as the radio lyrics filled the tiny space.

You smiled at him and began to sing, occasionally brushing your hand over robby’s beard.

“When i really need a man, that can do it like I can!” You sang, leaning over the console to place kisses robby’s bearded cheek. “But you got that nasty, and that’s what i want!” You finished, making robby just chuckle, his cheeks turning a bright red as he shyly glanced over at you.

“You really don’t want a young guy?” Robby asked, his eyes softening at you.

You shook your head and held his unoccupied hand. “I prefer the active suicide risk type over former frat boys..”

Robby just chuckled and kissed the back of your hand as little mix played in the background.

#dr. robby x reader #dr robby x reader #dr robinavitch x reader #michael robby robinavitch x reader #michael robinavitch x reader #micheal robinavitch x you #michael robinavitch x you #dr robby x you #the pitt x reader #the pitt x you #robby ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

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itoshiierae · 1 month ago

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bonten men when they get jealous (aka feral) ࣪𖤐.ᐟ

──★ ˙🧷 ̟ !!

ᡣ𐭩 ft: manjiro sano (mikey), sanzu haruchiyo, kakucho hitto, takeomi akashi, ran haitani, rindou haitani, kokonoi hajime & kanji mochizuki (mochi)

ᡣ𐭩 notes: sooo apparently… all it takes is one harmless conversation with another guy and the bonten men will turn feral. from silent stares to casual murder threats to 10k transfers like it’s foreplay — they’re all unhinged in their own deliciously toxic ways 🥵🤭 anywayyy, this is my first tokyo rev post in this blog lmao

ᡣ𐭩 cw: jealousy, possessiveness, territorial behavior, suggestive themes, toxic love energy, subtle threats, obsession-coded, emotional tension, not always healthy but always hot

✮ MANJIRO SANO ( MIKEY ) ✮

he doesn’t react right away — at least, not visibly. but the shift is unmistakable. one glance and suddenly the air feels heavier, like the room itself is holding its breath. no words. no expression. just a silent tension that warns: something’s changed. mikey won’t speak of it until later, when it’s quiet, just the two of you. and even then, his voice is low, unreadable. “…who was he?” he asks, not out of jealousy, but with the cold precision of someone already deciding what comes next. he doesn’t act unless someone crosses the line — touches you or their gaze lingers wayyy too long for his liking. then he makes his move without any hesitation. after that, he’s different… he’s clingier, always within reach your reach, a hand resting at your lower back, his fingers brushing your wrist. the weight of his presence pressed into your skin like a warning — “stay where I can see you,” he murmurs. and it’s not a request.

✮ SANZU HARUCHIYO ✮

subtlety??? oh that’s not in his vocabulary. especially not when it comes to you. the moment someone else laughs a little too loud at something you said or worse, leans in like they’ve earned the right — sanzu’s already flipping his blade between his fingers, twirling it like a game piece he’s seconds from using. “…babe, you’re getting cozy with other men now?” he asks, grinning — almost amused. but his eyes??? they burn. he doesn’t care who hears him. in fact, he wants them to. he wants everyone to know exactly what kind of chaos he’s capable of, if anyone so much as imagines you’re free for the taking. and when you try to calm him down, he only leans in closer, his voice sharp against your skin. “you’re mine, baby… don’t make me remind them.” the wildness doesn’t leave his gaze, but when it’s over, he holds your face with a tenderness that feels almost out of place. his fingers brushing your cheek with a soft kiss to your temple.

✮ KAKUCHO HITTO ✮

he wants to be above it — the jealousy, the possessiveness, the insecurity. he tells himself he trusts you. that he doesn’t need to worry. but the second he sees someone else making you laugh, sees your shoulders relax in a way he thought only he could manage, something sharp and ugly coils in his chest. he doesn’t cause a scene. doesn’t confront you in the moment, he just watches silently as he tries to convince himself that it doesn’t matter. it’s only later when it’s just the two of you, that he lets the truth slip through the cracks. his voice is soft, almost too soft when he asks, “..do you like him?” just afraid of the thought of you not wanting him anymore. if you tease him, try to play it off like it’s nothing, he doesn’t smile. he just pulls you into his arms, breath warm against your skin, and presses his forehead to yours with a tension that betrays everything he’s holding back. “don’t make me act like them,” he whispers, and you know exactly what he means.

✮ TAKEOMI AKASHI ✮

he doesn’t raise his voice. he’s careful with his words; calm & calculated, the kind that don’t leave marks on your skin, but settle just beneath it where they sting longer. it comes as a low murmur near your ear, barely audible beneath the sound of clinking glasses and laughter: “getting generous with your attention lately, aren’t you?” the cigarette between his fingers burns slow, smoke curling from the corner of his mouth like apathy but you can see it. the twitch in his jaw. the flicker in his eyes. jealousy doesn’t unravel him, it calcifies him. takeomi doesn’t confront, he retreats, pulling away before the bitterness turns sharp enough to cut. and by the time morning comes, he won’t speak of it. instead, he drops a designer bag on the bed without explanation, with the receipt still inside. “wear this,” he says, already turning toward the door. “remind them who you belong to.” you don’t ask what he means, because he already said it. just not out loud.

✮ RAN HAITANI ✮

he plays it cool. his jealousy is laced with mockery, wrapped in sarcasm and threat. he doesn’t interrupt you when you’re mid-conversation with the other guy. no — he waits until justtt the right moment, sliding in behind you like smoke, his hand settling lazily on your waist. the smile he sends the guy is all teeth and menace, like he’s seconds from sinking his teeth in. “awww he made you laugh?? that’s cute... now should I kill him, or let him live??” and when you roll your eyes already used to his dramatics, he just whispers against your neck, “just don’t forget who makes you moan.” that night, he leaves a map of you in bruises — hickeys pressed into your collarbone like he’s writing his name in code. he doesn’t need to say anything because when you see yourself in the mirror the next morning, every mark on your skin says it for him. “you’re mine. always.” and the worst part??? you kind of like it.

✮ RINDOU HAITANI ✮

passive-aggressive king. he won’t make a scene — but you’ll feel it. “oh, he’s into crypto?? groundbreaking.” he scoffs, mutters under his breath, and side-eyes the guy until it’s painfully obvious that he’s disgusted with him. and when the guy walks away???? rindou won’t even hide his grin. later, he gets tactile. possesive in subtle ways — he’ll lean closer, let his fingers skim yours under the table, his thigh brushing against yours like it’s nothing, until it’s not... and if he’s still really bothered, he’ll kiss you right there and then in front of everyone. “…just making sure they know who has your attention,” he’ll murmur against your lips, voice smug but eyes a little too dark. rindou haitani doesn’t need to raise his voice to stake a claim, he just has to touch you like you already chose him. because you did. and he’ll never let you go that easily.

✮ KOKONOI HAJIME ✮

he prefers playing the long game — not just out of strategy, but out of precision. the moment another man lingers too long, kokonoi’s gaze sharpens. you won’t hear a word but you’ll feel it; the shift in the air, the chill crawling up your spine. he doesn’t confront or question you immediately but instead, he just transfers money. “buy something that reminds you of me,” the note reads. “not him.” later that night, you find yourself pulled into his chest, his fingers tracing lazy circles against your skin. a kiss pressed to your shoulder, voice low against your neck: “…you know I’d give you everything, right?” because he would. he’ll spoil you with all the things you’ve ever wanted — diamonds, dresses, a penthouse with your name on the lease, he’ll give it all. but only if you keep choosing him. and when his grip tightens around your waist, just a little too firm, you understand what he’s really trying to prove.

✮ KANJI MOCHIZUKI ( MOCHI ) ✮

he doesn’t speak — doesn’t need to; he just walks over, plants himself beside you, arms crossed and jaw tight, shoulders squared as he stares down the guy you’re talking to, daring him to try something, his silence louder than any threat. and when the other guy falters and immediately looks away???? good. mochi won’t make a scene, but the message is loud & clear: ‘back off’. later that night when it’s just the two of you, he helps you into the car with a hand on your back, gaze still stormy. “I don’t like people eyeing what already belongs to me,” he mutters — no teasing in his voice, no trace of a smile, not even the usual glint of humor in his eyes. just quiet possession. his hand finds yours on the drive home, and he doesn’t let go. not once. because when it comes to you, mochi doesn’t share.

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imzhouxinyu · 2 months ago

Text

BROKE GiRLS CODE ( l.hs )

──── pairing : bsf brother!lee heeseung x fem!reader

──── synopsis : Heeseung was the unapologetic rebel your sister warned you about: tattooed slacker who always hung around your house because he happened to be your best friend’s older brother. But after a tipsy truth or dare that ends with a secret the two of you had promised would never get out, the last thing you expected was for his friends to blab everything… to your sister. Now, while your family’s trust is on the line, your friendships are on the verge of collapse and Heeseung seems to be the only one remotely interested, you find yourself asking what truly happened that night: was it a mistake brought on by too much alcohol, or had both of you broken the code long before then?

──── theme : slowburn , friends to lovers , best friend’s brother trope, smut , angst, fluff.

──── warnings : nsfw mdni , unprotected sex , oral (f.rec) , dom!heeseung sub!femreader , light degration & praise , manhandling , rough sex , size kink, possessive and jealous hee !

──── taglist : @shyoko

You met Heeseung the summer before your second year of college.

You knew of him because he was Yunah’s older brother, he was attractive, nonchalant, he had the perfect body and he was cool. The type who made everyone shut up when he walked into a room.

He didn’t talk much, but when he did, it was always clever. Smooth.

He had this stare that stayed in your mind, forever.

You used to think it meant nothing.

You were wrong.

The thing was: you saw him everywhere.

He was always crashing on the couch after basketball practice, walking around shirtless in the kitchen, teasing Yunah with his other friends while she was with you.

You weren’t supposed to be watching him. But you did.

And maybe he noticed.

One night, you were curled up on the floor in your pajamas, scrolling your phone while the others argued over movie picks, and Heeseung leaned against the wall, eyes on you, and said, “You always sit like that?”

You blinked. “Like what?”

He gave a lazy half-smirk. “Like you want someone to pull you into their lap.”

Your breath caught.

You didn’t respond.

You shouldn’t have.

Because it wasn’t just teasing anymore.

It was something else.

Things were changing slowly.

He’d offer you sips of his drink when no one was looking. Sit next to you even when there was a free seat across the room. Brush your hand on the staircase, low enough no one noticed.

He called you princess once, just once, and the way your thighs clenched was embarrassing.

You told yourself he didn’t mean it.

You told yourself he did.

It got worse when your friends started teasing you.

“Why do you blush every time Heeseung breathes?” Karina said.

“He literally just exists,” Winter added, rolling her eyes.

But Ningning looked at you knowingly. “You want him, don’t you?”

You denied it.

Too fast, almost suspiciously.

Because you didn’t want to want him.

He was Yunah’s brother.

Your best friend’s brother.

That’s girl code 101.

You didn’t break rules like that.

Until the night he found you crying in the kitchen.

You’d just failed a midterm. Your group project fell apart. You fought with Minji. Everything collapsed at once.

You thought everyone had gone to bed.

But Heeseung walked in, sleepy-eyed, shirtless, holding a glass of water.

And paused.

“You good?”

You were sobbing , wiping your eyes fast. “Yeah..just, ugh..I can’t even..”

He leaned against the counter. “What happened?”

You didn’t mean to tell him.

But you did.

And he listened.

Really listened.

No teasing. No smirks. Just quiet understanding.

Then he reached forward, brushed a thumb under your eye, and whispered, “You work so hard. You don’t deserve to break over things like this.”

Your chest cracked open.

Heeseung kept his hand there. Just long enough to make you feel safe.

Wanted.

After that, it spiraled, you guys started to get closer and closer each time. Late night calling, private talks, gaming.. things he used to do with only his ex.

That moment on the balcony when he pressed you to the railing, breath warm on your neck.

The way he looked at your lips but didn’t kiss you.

“Why do you keep doing that?” you whispered once.

He smirked. “Doing what?”

“Acting like you want to kiss me, then pulling away.”

His eyes darkened.

“Because I do.”

You froze.

“But if I start,” he murmured, leaning close, “I won’t stop at just kissing you.”

Your knees went weak.

You thought about that line for weeks.

You told yourself you were over it.

That it was just lust. Just tension.

But one night, lying in bed with Giselle and Ningning gossiping beside you, you realized it wasn’t that.

You liked his voice. The way he called people out gently. How he always handed Yunah the remote even though she never asked.

You liked him.

Really liked him.

And that’s when it hit you.

You were absolutely fucked.

Because you didn’t just want him for just fucking and getting over ur shitty ex..

You wanted his heart.

And then , it came Jake’s party.

You hadn’t planned to go. But everyone was going. Yunah insisted. Ningning dressed you in a tiny black skirt and told you to “act like you own the whole house.”

Heeseung was already there when you walked in. Leaning on the kitchen island. Red solo cup in hand.

He looked up.

And froze.

You knew that look, it was hunger.

The game of truth or dare started halfway through the night. Loud music. Too many drinks. Heeseung beside you again, drunk.

“Truth,” he said.

Jake grinned. “Ever thought about fucking someone in this room?”

Everyone laughed.

But Heeseung?

He looked straight at you.

Didn’t say your name.

Didn’t have to.

The air shifted.

Your whole body flushed, your thighs clenching.

After that, it was a blur.

You went upstairs.

His hand in yours.

Heeseung didn’t wait.

The second the door clicked shut behind you, he had you pressed against it, his mouth crashing into yours like he’d been starving. The taste of alcohol lingered between you, but nothing dulled the heat. His hands gripped your hips tight—too tight—and you moaned into the kiss, letting him devour you.

“You know how long I’ve been waiting for this?” he growled, voice thick and ragged. “Watching you walk around like you don’t fucking know what you do to me?”

“Heeseung—” you gasped, dizzy.

“Wearing that tiny skirt,” he murmured, sliding a hand beneath it, his fingers dragging up your thigh. “All night. Like you wanted me to snap.”

“I did,” you whispered.

That was all it took.

He spun you, pressing your chest to the door, grinding his hard cock against your ass.

“You’ve got no fucking idea what you just gave me permission to do,” he breathed, kissing up the back of your neck.

You whimpered when his hand slid into your panties—fingers instantly finding how soaked you were.

“Fuck, baby,” he growled. “You’re dripping.”

You arched into his touch. “Please—”

“What do you want?” he asked darkly, slipping one thick finger inside you. “Tell me.”

“You. I want you.”

He turned you around so fast your back hit the wood with a thud. His mouth crashed into yours again, desperate, hungry, needy. He walked you backward toward the bed, never breaking the kiss, until your knees hit the edge.

“You’ve got no idea what you do to me,” he said, dragging your panties down. “Every time you laugh. Every time you act all innocent when you’re clearly just waiting for someone to put you in your place.”

He shoved you gently onto the mattress and dropped to his knees.

“You’ve been teasing me for months,” he muttered, spreading your thighs wide. “It’s only fair I get to make a mess of you now.”

You barely managed to gasp before his mouth was on your pussy—tongue licking a long, slow stripe up your center.

Your head fell back. “Oh my God—”

He groaned against you like he couldn’t get enough. His tongue moved with precision—circling your clit, then flicking fast, then sucking just enough to make your legs tremble.

You fisted the sheets, arching off the bed. “Fuck, I’m gonna—”

“Go ahead,” he muttered between licks. “Cum for me, pretty girl. Right on my fucking tongue.”

You shattered.

Your thighs clamped around his head, your hips jerking as waves of pleasure tore through you. He held you down, let you ride it out, his lips never leaving your heat until you were whimpering from the overstimulation.

When he finally pulled back, his mouth was glistening. And his eyes? Ravenous.

“Still with me?” he asked.

You nodded, breathless.

“Good. Because I’m not fucking done.”

He stripped in seconds—shirt, jeans, boxers—until he was standing in front of you, hard and heavy between his thighs, his veins popping, tip flushed.

Your eyes widened.

He smirked.

“Think you can take it?”

“Please,” you whispered.

He leaned down, kissing you slowly this time. “You sure about this? Because once I fuck you, baby, that’s it.”

Your heart pounded.

“I don’t want anyone else.”

That’s all he needed.

He climbed on top of you, lined himself up at your entrance—bare, hot, throbbing.

And slid in.

Raw. No condom. No barrier. Just you and him and all that heat and skin and emotion crashing into one breathless, broken moan.

“Fuck—you feel too good,” he hissed, burying himself deeper. “So tight. So warm. You were made for me.”

You clung to his shoulders, nails digging into his back as he filled you to the hilt.

The stretch was overwhelming. He was big—thick, heavy—but you took all of him.

“Look at that,” he whispered against your neck. “Taking me so well. Letting me fuck you raw. So fucking desperate for me.”

He started moving—slow, deep thrusts that made your whole body tremble.

The room was filled with the sound of skin on skin, moans, whispered curses. Your name on his lips. His name on yours.

“You’re mine,” he growled, picking up the pace. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” you gasped.

“Again.”

“I’m yours, Heeseung—fuck—I’m yours!”

He wrapped his hand around your throat—not squeezing, just holding—and drove into you harder.

“You’re gonna cum for me again,” he growled. “Let me feel it. Let me feel you fall apart on my cock.”

You were already there.

Your body tensed. Your legs wrapped around his waist. You came with a cry, pulsing around him.

That sent him over the edge.

“Shit—gonna fill you up,” he groaned. “Gonna cum inside this perfect pussy.”

You gasped.

And then you felt it—warm, thick, deep. His release spilling inside you with a low, broken moan as he buried himself to the base.

He didn’t pull out right away.

Just hovered over you, breath ragged, forehead pressed to yours.

“You’re fucking mine now.”

You nod, frantically, still panting.

You didn’t know what you got urself into.

Because a week later, everything shattered.

Someone blurted it out at another party.

“Yeah, Heeseung and her? They fucked upstairs at Jake’s. Ask him.”

The room went silent.

Yunah stared.

“What the fuck did you just say?”

Your blood went cold.

You were done for.

You ran out of the room.

He didn’t follow.

Didn’t call.

Didn’t defend you.

And that hurt worse than anything.

You cried for days.

Minji threatened to kill him.

Winter said “I told you so.”

Karina and Hanni held your hands.

But nothing helped.

Because it wasn’t just sex.

You loved him.

And he let you think it meant nothing.

The night it rained, he showed up on your street, hoodie soaked, eyes wrecked.

And whispered, “I love you.”

You slammed the door in his face.

He knocked again.

“I was scared,” he said. “Scared that I wanted something I couldn’t have. But I never meant to hurt you. Please—let me fix this.”

You looked at him.

At the boy who broke you.

The boy who made you feel like everything.

And you whispered, “One chance.”

He pulled you into his arms like he’d never let go.

Now with heeseung?

He kisses you slow.

Loves you softer.

Fucks you like he means it.

You still catch Yunah giving him death stares. But she’s trying.

Because even she sees it now.

Heeseung doesn’t just want you.

He’s yours.

And he always was.

Even when it broke every rule in the girls book.

#fanfic #k pop fanfic #enhypen #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen x reader #enhypen smut #heeseung #heeseung x reader

401 notes · View notes

alchemistc · 7 months ago

Text

The voice echoes. He's coming in and out of it, desperate to open his eyes, desperate to make sure he can actually feel all his fingers and toes, but it's hard.

He knows that voice though. He knows he does.

The building hadn't been as stable as they thought it was. Probably in the investigation later on they'll discover building codes not up to standard, faulty evacuation plans. He got the kid out, though. He knows he got the kid out.

Eddie too, he's pretty sure.

".. uck!" The voice yells. It's kind of funny, he thinks to himself, as he can feel the strings of consciousness slipping, how much his name sounds like a curse when you're having a hard time keeping things straight. And then everything fades to black.

---

"Buck, please. Just wake up."

He wants to, is the thing. It's not like he's not trying, he wants to tell the voice, wants to be a little petulant about it too. That feels like the right attitude to have, for some reason.

It's hard to breathe. Might be something has him pinned. He'd seen beams falling, he's pretty sure.

"Goddamnit!" the voice yells, and Buck strains to remember. "I can't move this fucking thing unless you're able to get out from under it on your own, so wake the hell up. C'mon. Give me something to work with."

Buck wiggles a toe. Fucking ow.

Fingers, next, and that - that's a whole new ballgame of pain, but holy shit he can feel it all. Jesus Christ it hurts.

"For fucks sake, Evan, I'll take anything, at this point. Please."

Buck's lips suddenly feel a lot less numb. He does know that voice.

Hasn't heard it in three weeks, except for on the voicemail he'd left three months ago complaining about downtown parking for the hundredth time and letting Buck know he was gonna circle the block again, but -

"T- Tommy?"

Buck blinks his eyes open just in time to see Tommy drop to his knees near Buck's head, a relief filled sob echoing around the space. Buck takes the opportunity to stare.

"Hey," Tommy says, breathless, the corners of his eyes wet, his turnouts fully covered in dusty debris. It's an achingly familiar sight, even if he's significantly less sooty than the last time.

"You swear a lot more on the job," Buck notes, and Tommy bites out a desperate laugh, slipping a hand from a glove to reach for Buck's cheek.

"How are you feeling?" Tommy asks, and Buck crinkles his nose, widens his eyes. He laughs again, and Buck - God Buck has missed this but he's still having trouble taking in a full breath and - Tommy pulls a hand away from Buck's neck. "Your pulse is steady. Elevated, but you should be - can you wiggle fingers and toes?'

"Hurts like hell, but yeah."

"Well. A building just fell on you. So that tracks."

Buck takes stock of himself, even though he feels goddamn miserable taking his eyes away from Tommy.

Sure enough, there's a beam barred low across his chest. Definitely at least bruised ribs, if not broken ones. He can't see much over it, but it feels like he's got full, painful movement in his legs. "Tommy, I think my halligan's pinned with me."

He snorts. There's nothing funny about this, but Buck finds himself snorting back, the two of them bouncing off each other until Buck eventually winces at the pressure and Tommy gets himself under control. He's fully crying now, wet fat tears streaked through the dust on his face. "Thank fuck I am also a firefighter," Tommy says, and Buck prepares himself for the moment Tommy gets the tool under the beam at the right angle to lift. "How's your pain?" Tommy asks, when he's situated.

"On a scale from ladder pinning my ankle to lightning strike?"

Tommy scowls.

"I'll be able to move if you make room. If that's what you're asking."

Tommy eyes the space. The beam. The settling dust and the only real angle he's got with enough leverage to make space for Buck to slide himself free. He won't be able to help Buck pull himself out. "The moment you have an inch you move backward as fast as you can. There's at least two yards of clearance behind you, and I'm not dropping this thing on your fucking head by accident."

Buck nods.

Tommy grabs his chin. "Verbal confirmation, Evan," he demands, suddenly so serious Buck has to swallow back a bratty retort.

"One inch, pull myself backwards."

Tommy nods. Situates his hands. "Good." And then before Buck can brace for the pain he's lifting the beam.

It's fast. So fast Buck doesn't have time to scream, or listen to the signals from his brain telling him he's fucking dying. Tommy lifts, Buck scrambles, and he has just enough room to clear his legs before rubble shifts to their left and Tommy's dropping the halligan to roll his entire body over Buck's.

A few broken pieces of concrete roll to a stop before they reach the two of them, and Buck beams up at Tommy. "Little bit of an overreaction, don't you think?"

Tommy settles his weight. Tips his chin so that he can see Buck beyond his visor. "I feel like maybe you aren't taking this as seriously as you should."

Buck shoves a shoulder against Tommy's weight, and he rolls right off, lays side to side with Buck while they both catch their breath. It's such a fucking familiar position that Buck fails to stifle a laugh.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, when he's calmed down enough that Tommy has stopped asking him concussion protocol questions.

Tommy sighs. Turns to his side, and Buck knows this position, too. They never did it in turnouts, though. "They grounded us an hour before the collapse."

"I heard," Buck presses. "I also heard the 217 was working fire suppression on the perimeter."

Tommy looks guilty. He rolls his neck, reaches out under the guise of checking Buck's pulse again.

Buck doesn't stop him.

"Yeah I might be fired," he says, and then shrugs a shoulder. "They called for full evac and when Eddie came out with that kid but you didn't -."

Buck feels a little breathless again. He almost asks Tommy how much he's got in his tank - Bucks's ran out a while ago. But they seem - pretty firmly trapped. Buck can't see an exit point, and he's almost positive there's not enough room for both of them to stand at the same time. They'll need that oxygen. "You came after me?"

Tommy sighs. Seems satisfied that Buck's heart is still doing what it's supposed to, and that he's not leaking internally. When he shifts his hand, it's not away - callused hands catch the underside of Buck's chin, fingers curl over his cheek. "I'd tell you not to read into it, but..."

Buck's breath catches. He holds it. There's - he has no idea how much air they have. They don't have time (or enough air, maybe) for Buck to lean up and kiss him. "Tommy."

"We'll talk about it when we're both safely out of here and bundled in our shiny blankets. If the 118 doesn't kill me first."

"What...?" Buck doesn't know what that means. They did everything they could to convince him not to reach out but they also weren't, like, calling for his head. He wants to know what it means. Tommy's brow goes up.

He shifts to his knees, holds out a hand. "Help me look around. See if we can find an air pocket."

He helps Buck to a kneel of his own like it's nothing, and despite the creaks and groans and the sting of sore muscles, Buck doesn't think there's anything permanently damaged. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It'll keep, Evan."

More than anything, Buck wants to call him out on that. The implication that Tommy knows more about the 118's current feelings on Tommy than Buck does. His name, suddenly back in play like Tommy hadn't used the lack of it to dig the knife in.

Buck shifts his weight and checks for his flashlight. Aims up, first, as high as the beam of light will go. There's really not much room in this little pocket of space.

He can hear Tommy shifting on his knees behind him. They need to be smart. Conserve air, conserve energy. Buck had been near a sidewall when the building came down, but who knows how long it'll take for the building to be stable enough to attempt a rescue. Maybe they're still gonna die in here, after all.

God, he doesn't want Tommy to die.

"Back to Evan, I noticed," Buck comments, doing a terrible job of not sounding eager, and he can hear the heaving breath Tommy takes, the way the shift of his body just pauses.

"The thing is, the moment I realized I might not have any more time, all I wanted was another five minutes. Just to hear you breathe. See your face. You wouldn't even have to know I'd done it, just -." He sucks a breath in through his nose. "I just realized the pain is still worth it."

That spurs Buck into action, because - because they're not gonna die - not here, not now, not for as many years as Buck can squeeze out of this life. He shifts. He pokes. He checks for light beyond the pockets between rubble. He takes even, measured breaths around the rapidly tightening muscles around his ribs and the moment he feels a draft he almost cries.

"Tommy!"

He turns to catch his eye, thrilled, ready to drag him over and -

"Tommy?"

He's slumped on his side. And - and god damnit, Buck is so fucking stupid, he should have checked Tommy too, should have known if he was hurt he'd hide it like the massive asshole he is.

There's nothing obvious until Buck pulls at his turnouts, and then he has to hold in a scream so he doesn't bring the rest of the place down on them.

---

The paramedics don't fight him when he shoves his way into the ambulance behind them. No one does, not as he's shoving Hen and Chim away from him while they desperately try to check his vitals, not when Eddie takes one look at the rebar sticking through Tommy's side and his face goes fucking white.

He crashes twice on the way to the hospital.

---

Buck comes to slowly, and is immediately pissed, because he's in a fucking hospital bed.

Eddie leans over him when he sits up. "Take a second, man."

"Did you drug me?"

The eyebrow raise is a little condescending. "You passed the fuck out in the middle of the waiting room when they told us Tommy's surgery went well."

Well that's - that's - oh God, Tommy's okay. He remembers now. Tommy pulled through. Tommy was out of surgery and they were setting him up in a room and it'd be a while before he woke up but he was -

"I wanna see him."

Eddie chuckles, and Buck seriously considers throwing something at him, but before he can find something to toss Eddie's leaning sideways in his seat to pull the curtain divider away. "Even the nurses were taking bets that you'd kill a man if they put you in separate rooms."

He'll have to thank Gina later.

Tommy's still asleep. In repose, he breathes deep and even, eyes fluttering behind his lids, and Buck remembers what an active fucking sleeper he is, how much it had infuriated him that Tommy could never remember his dreams. God.

He's bruised around the eyes, there's a clean shave on the side of his head where he'd taken falling rubble in his mad dash past the kid Buck had sent ahead of him. The hospital gown looks so stupid on him.

Buck glares when Eddie tries to wrangle him back under his thin blanket - swings his legs over the side and tries not to wince when he puts his weight down and feels exactly how fucked up his ribs are. The bindings are tight. He's gonna need help rewrapping them.

"Tommy said something about you guys wanting to kill him. Know anything about that?"

It's a little accusatory. A lot, actually. Eddie sighs. "He tried to bring your shit by the station a week later when he knew you were off shift. Chim and Hen weren't, uh ... particularly nice about it."

Buck blinks. He still hasn't gotten any of that back.

"So he just ...took it back? Didn't leave it behind?"

"Oh he took about fifteen minutes of having his head bit off and then grabbed the box and shoved it back in his bed before he left."

Despite how absolutely ridiculous that all sounds, it makes something sizzle under his skin. If it was all just adrenaline, all just heat of the moment panic, Tommy would have left that box anyway.

They know so much and still so little about each other.

He's pretty sure he might actually get the chance to know more now. Even if he has to pry it from Tommy piece by piece for another decade or five.

Buck shoves that thought right down and gives himself the next two days to think about.

"And what'd you do, while they were berating him?"

"Oh, I threw like three loaves of bread in there with your stuff while he wasn't looking."

"You gave him my moping bread?"

"Two of the sourdoughs and an Irish soda bread."

"What if he didn't open the box back up?"

Eddie shrugs. "I hedged my bets. Either he opened that box back up to do his own moping or eventually there'd be some moldy ass bread in there."

"I hate raisins, by the way," comes the croaky voice to Buck's left, and Buck doesn't hesitate to wheel his saline bag the extra foot to reach the bedside. Buck knows that already. He'd made the soda bread out of spite, at three in the morning when he realized the second pillow still smelled like Tommy's shampoo and he'd remembered the almost-argument they'd had about wet hair on the pillows.

Tommy's hand meets Buck's halfway, and his smile is tired and magnificent.

Eddie smirks. "So you opened the box, then."

Tommy doesn't look away from Buck. His fingers squeeze. "I opened the box."

"Eddie, I need you to go distract Gina for like, three and a half minutes."

"...I know I'm going to regret asking," Eddie says.

"Tommy's hooked up to a bunch of monitors that are gonna make some extra noise in a second here, and they've already seen us making out in this hospital, they don't need to be alerted to another free show."

Eddie's out of his seat immediately, and halfway out the door when he turns back. "Just so we're all on the same page, this is not me encouraging this. You two are just walking talking piles of trauma and you can't just kiss about it and suddenly everything is fine."

Buck can taste the bitchy comment on the tip of Tommy's tongue. He squeezes Tommy's fingers and counts himself lucky when all Tommy does is make a dismissive noise in the back of his throat.

It's not like Eddie's wrong.

The door clicks shut behind him.

---

Tommy sets aside a third jello cup and stares at the cards in his hand. He glances through his lashes as he sets two cards down on the pile. "Two sevens."

"Bullshit."

His eyes gleam with challenge as he flips them both over and Buck has to take another loss. He doesn't care, is the thing. He'll happily lose at cards to Tommy for the next -

Six months is a reasonable length of time, probably. They've hit that mark once before.

Tommy shifts his weight, grimaces, and Buck is on his feet in a heartbeat. "You need another pillow? Change the angle of the bed?"

He laughs, soft and warm, rolls his eyes. "That joke I made about you guys needing your own ward? You may not have it named after you, but it's practically the Ritz around here. All the nurses have come by like six times just to see if I needed my pillow fluffed. I'm good, Evan." Buck settles back into his seat. "I just have a hole the size of a boba straw in my side."

"It was significantly wider than a boba straw."

"Could still suck a tapioca pearl through it," Tommy reminds him, almost petulantly. It's been a treat discovering that Tommy can throw it back almost as well as Buck when he's ornery about being bedridden for a full two days.

Buck finishes rearranging his cards. Grabs three random ones and sets them atop the pile. "Three eights."

Tommy stares at his cards. Glances up at Buck. Turns his gaze to his cards one more time.

"One nine," he declares, and Buck doesn't even complain that he'd fully let him off the hook there.

---

Tommy is actually the worst patient in the world. They have to have Eddie over to wrap Buck's ribs for at least a week, and Tommy refused to take any pain meds home with him, and every morning when Buck fusses with the dressings on Tommy's side Tommy stares in the mirror and complains that the scar isn't even symmetrical to the one on his ribs. Buck spends twenty minutes reminding him he'd have a punctured lung, if that was the case, and that seems to shut him up for a little while, at least.

"Hey," Tommy says, on day eleven, when Buck leans over him on the sofa to say goodbye and head back to the loft. Tommy's fine, really. He needs rest and leaving for the night isn't going to kill either one of them. Still, he tugs at Buck's belt loops until Buck allows a knee to bend and press into the cushion beside him. "This is not me asking you to move in with me."

"What -?"

Tommy presses something into his hand. It's warm, like Tommy's been smoothing it in his palm for a while, grooved along the edge facing Buck's fingers. "Yet," he says, softer than before, watching Buck palm it with a smile that Buck is beginning to fully understand the implications of.

It's a key.

Buck blinks. The years stretch ahead of him. Grumpy grizzled Tommy bitching about the towel rack having too many wet towels on it. Silver fox Tommy grinning over some flirty kids head at Buck as he tries to make it back to the booth they got to the bar early to camp at. Tommy, tomorrow, fondly annoyed when Buck confesses he can't watch another true crime documentary or it'll actually kill him.

"I love you," Buck blurts, and feels like crying when Tommy tugs him close for a kiss.

#bucktommy #bucktommy fic #tevan fic #the double whammy

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buckets-and-trees · 20 days ago

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Thermostat's Set at Six-Nine [Bed Chem collection]

Characters/Pairings: Bucky Barnes x curvy!Millennial female!reader Word Count: 3k Summary: Bucky invaded your bed the night after you bumped into each other at the bake sale, and it trips a streak...

Content Warnings: modern AU; hook up culture/bootycall; established no-strings sexual relationship; explicit smut (vaginal fingering, vaginal intercourse, unprotected sex and ejaculation)

Logistical Notes: We met Bed Chem Bucky last summer during HBS, so what better time to bump into him again than for the FIRST WEEK of @buckybarnesevents Hot Bucky Summer 2025?! Using the dialogue prompt "Mind your own damn business" and the themes of secret sex and loosly embarrassment and denial as well.

Previous: Even Better Than In My Head | Collection List ↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

You meant for it to be a one-time relapse, but Bucky’s been in your bed three nights in a row.

The first night, he left before sunrise. The next, he lingered in your bed, snoring with his arm casually possessive across your waist, until you wriggled free and locked yourself in the bathroom, equal parts annoyed and turned on by the hickeys blooming over your breasts and neck. But last night, he stayed so late into the morning that you had to tell him directly to get out, that you needed to get ready for work, that your boss had already noticed you showing up late twice this week. You thought it would embarrass him, or at least make him reconsider, but he only smirked, pressed you up against the wall in your entryway, and left you with an orgasm and a rude little text before you’d even made it to your car.

Tonight, you promised yourself, you’re going to turn him away.

You never imagined—when you started sleeping with the man who once got you off in the back of a security truck, who barely bothered to learn your last name and only ever texted after midnight—that he would become… clingy.

And yet, night four, 2:07 am, your front door clicks open with the softest of sounds. You should have changed the code on the lock. You shouldn’t have given him the code in the first place. But the truth is, you wanted this. You wanted to be wanted, even by the worst possible man for you.

You lie very still in bed, feigning sleep, as Bucky pads through your tiny apartment in stocking feet, nearly quiet as an assassin.

You know you should have locked him out—especially tonight, when your phone is full of sweet, anticipatory texts from Aiden about your brunch plans in the morning, about whether you like lemon curd or if you have any allergies. You even set an early alarm, put out the dress you planned to wear, and prepped the coffeepot. But Bucky’s shadow falling across the threshold, the shiver of anticipation snaking up your spine, undoes all logic.

He doesn’t say your name. Instead, he sits on the edge of your bed as if summoned. He runs a palm up your calf, kneading an absent bruise on your thigh he probably put there the night before.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he says, voice barely above a whisper.

You pretend to still be asleep. You strive for even breathing, for a slack jaw and closed eyes, but you know the way your body betrays you—how your back arches with the tiniest invitation, how your breath catches in the silence of the room.

Bucky leans in, his stubble dragging along the inside of your knee. He doesn’t hesitate. Two fingers sweep up to your hip, his thumb hooks into the elastic of your shorts and panties, and then he’s tugging, impatient, taking your bare ass in the palm of his hand.

He pushes your shirt up. His lips blaze a hot trail up your spine that you can’t ignore, and you have to let out a soft, desperately contented moan.

You feel the grin on his lips against your skin. “Knew you’d be ready to play,” he says, pressing a hot kiss to the crook of your neck. His breath is faintly minty and cool, as if he knew you’d be auditioning him again tonight.

“I have to get up early,” you say, and you finally open your eyes, staring up at the ceiling. “I have plans.”

Bucky’s hand finds its way back to the inside of your thigh, two thick fingers gently circling as if the entire world is only the small of your body beneath his touch. “You gonna let some other guy taste you?” His lips curve against your shoulder, half-mocking, half-possessive. The two of you know you’re not exclusive. That’s been the understanding since the beginning.

You snort, turning your head to glare at him. “Maybe I will. Maybe he’ll let me sleep.”

He smirks, unperturbed. “You don’t want sleep, you want this.” His fingers slide inside you, slow and devastating, his thumb finding your clit like it was programmed to ruin you. “You don’t need to get up early if you never go back to sleep.” His words melt into the curve of your ear, a criminal’s confession offered in the hush before dawn.

You want to protest, to tell him no, that you need to banish him from your apartment, your bed, and, most importantly, your mind.

If only he wanted you in the daytime the way he wants you now.

Wait.

Do you even want that with him?

And Aiden might be satisfying in bed in the future.

Bucky’s mouth is on your hip, then your waist, then the lowest curve of your back. “You want me to be gentle, or do you want it how you like it?” he asks, and it’s not a question at all because he already knows.

He fucks you with his fingers until you whimper, until your thighs tremble and your pajamas are halfway down your calves and you don't even remember ever owning resistance.

"I have to…" you whisper, but he cuts you off with a sharp slap—equal parts attention and punctuation—on your left cheek.

"You have to nothing," he says, and then he flips you, one-armed, so you're faceup, and he slides his cock in so slow, an intrusion, invasive and inevitable. He's watching your face, the way the corners of your mouth go slack, the way your eyes glass over. He jerks your thigh up, knee to his ribcage, and leans in to bite your jaw, not enough to break the skin but enough that you know he could. You whimper and he pulses inside you, his breath ragged and animal.

"Fuck, you're tight," he grits, voice thick with the edge of darkness that always follows him through the door. His hand tightens on your hip until you're sure you’ll bruise, until he’s moving your body to his rhythm like you’re just another tool, a favorite toy finally brought out and admired. You are too tired to protest, too sated by the animal logic his body impresses upon yours.

He fucks you slowly at first, which is almost a taunt. You know how Bucky likes his rhythm—hard enough it feels like a fight, paced at some devil’s tempo—and when he goes slow, it means he’s in it not for the chase but the capture.

You hate that the way he holds your throat now feels like the safest place in the world, or that no one else even comes close to this, to you clinging to the back of his neck as if the entire earth would drop away if you ever let go.

You realize, in the few lucid spaces of pleasure between losing yourself, that you’re not even angry at him for breaking into your apartment or for making himself at home in your bed. You’re angry at yourself, for loving the way he doesn’t ask for permission, for loving that you never have to be good or gentle or careful. Here, with Bucky, you get to be feral. You get to let it all go.

He’s not saying anything, not even the little dirty nothings he usually mutters, just breathing against your skin, breathing with you, in you, all around you. The silence of your room is disturbed only by the slap of flesh and the needy little whimpers slipping past your lips despite all intentions otherwise. He watches you nearly the entire time, eyes open and hungry, as if he’s trying to memorize the exact shape of the moment when you finally break for him, the muscle memory of your shudder and sigh. Every time you try to look away, his hand turns your face back to his, and when you clench around him, he lets out a sharp, desperate sound that tells you more than words ever could—tells you he’s come unravelled, too.

You come. Of course you do. You always do with him. It wrecks you, the kind of orgasm that wracks a sob from you, trembling so hard your teeth chatter. He holds you down, fucking straight through your climax. He doesn’t slow; he chases his own finish with ruthless single-mindedness, the only sign of tenderness the gentle way his thumb wipes beneath your eye as you cry.

When he finishes—when he comes inside you, without a word, only a primal groan—he collapses on top of you. He’s big and warm and so heavy on you. You breathe around the urge to bite his ear, to bury your nose in the salt of his neck, to drag him deeper somehow. You wait for the weight to become unbearable, and then you wait some more.

You simply lie there, but nothing is insignificant in this simplicity-Bucky heaving, face pressed to your collarbone, his hair damp and loose from its tie. You slide your hands up from his back to his scalp, gentle, selfish, not willing to let him go yet, and you feel the rare tremble in his body, the aftershock of release. He doesn’t move except to adjust his grip, his hand splaying wide over your chest as if to imprint you, mark you out as his. You’re not sure if he’s prepared to fall asleep right there, or if he’s waiting for you to break first and send him away.

He’s so much body, sometimes you think he could just smother you and you wouldn’t even mind.

When you finally speak, it’s not to dismiss him.

“I’m getting up at seven-thirty,” you say, like an ultimatum.

He lifts his head, squinting at you, at your hair plastered across your forehead and the haunted redness of your cheeks. His hand drags up from your chest to curl around your jaw, thumb fitting against your lower lip. You want him to say something cruel or lewd, something to dilute the intimacy, but instead he kisses your chin with a slowness that’s almost hesitant. "I’ll wake you up," he says.

The way he says it makes you ache and angry.

He pulls out carefully, and you feel the mess he’s made of you, the slick that leaks between your thighs. Bucky tugs the covers over you, then lies down on his back, one arm cradled beneath his head, the other crooked so his palm rests on your belly, thumb drawing absent circles near your navel. It's almost sweet—almost—and so unlike what you'd expect from him that it flusters you. From the cast of his profile in the faint city light, you can tell he's still awake, maybe even as wired with adrenaline as you are.

After a minute, he says, "You think he’s boyfriend material, don’t you?"

You let out a huff that could be laughter or contempt.

“Mind your own damn business.”

He shifts a little closer, drags his knuckles up your ribs in a way that says I know every inch of this body, and you’re not keeping secrets from me.

You’re wary of the tenor of the moment.

“He’s what you’re supposed to want, right?”

You don't answer right away. You want to laugh, to roll away from his touch and blurt something bitchy and final, but the honest answer is you don’t know. You wanted someone to take you to brunch, maybe even to dinner. You don’t need that, but you want that.

"I haven't even decided if I like him yet," you say, your voice hollow with honesty.

Bucky grunts. "Yeah. Liar." The hand on your belly tightens, his thumb pressing into the soft curve above your hip. "You wouldn’t agree to go out with him if you didn’t."

"You don’t know that." You want to sound sharp, but it comes out softer, almost plaintive.

He shrugs, then moves his hand. “Sure, I do. Neither of us has slept with someone else for months now, right?”

You’re not surprised—he’s not wrong—but you’d never said that out loud, not even to yourself. You open your mouth to lie, to say “You can’t possibly know that,” but the words never surface. He knows. He’s always known. When you’re together, it’s like the whole world is distilled down to just this; sweat and friction and the comfort of never saying too much.

The silence stretches, stretching out into a palpable thing. He traces lazy shapes against your skin, his breath evening out, a counterpoint to your hammering heart.

“Go to sleep,” you mutter, but you don’t mean it as an order. You say it because you want the moment to end before you lose your nerve and ask him to stay. Because you don’t want to tell him to go either.

He’s already drifting off, you can feel the slack gravity of him giving in. Bucky’s never been clingy, but here he is, falling asleep in your bed on consecutive nights.

You lie there in the dark for a long moment, feeling his cum start to trickle down your thigh, and wonder what it would be like to have him in your bed every night, to know that’s what you both want.

In the morning, he wakes you up and tugs you to the shower that’s already running. You step under the spray, goosebumps rising on your skin, both from the chill and from the awareness of Bucky’s heavy presence behind you.

You expect him to crowd you, to push you up against the cold tile and pin your wrists, but instead he lathers up his hands and runs them down your back, scraping gently with his blunt nails. No groping, no sly grabs; he’s just methodically cleaning you, as if that’s what you do when you fuck someone four nights running—you wash them, you take their old skin and strip it off.

He makes a show of rinsing you off, turning you under the water, palming his hand across your brow to keep the suds out of your eyes. He doesn’t so much as steal a squeeze of your ass, doesn’t press his dick into the small of your back; he just does the job, brisk and pragmatic, like he’s washing a pet or a very dirty child.

You don’t know what to do with your hands, so you settle for lathering up his shoulders, scrubbing down his back, the broad expanse of him. There’s a long, pale scar just above his right hip, and you outline it with your fingertip. He flinches, ever so slightly, but lets you do it. Neither of you talks. You swap places, you share the soap. You know the choreography now, and you almost wish he would revert—grab the nape of your neck, make you look at him, demand you finish things the way only you can. But he doesn’t.

When you step out, he grabs a towel and wraps it around your shoulders, tugging you into him. He’s still naked, still dripping, but somehow this moment is less erotic than domestic, less slick with want and more layered with something you can’t bother to name. At least not until caffeine.

You look up at him, clutching the towel to your front, and say, “You’re a menace.”

He grins, a wolfish can’t-help-himself grin. “You’re welcome.”

You notice the raw pink marks left by your fingernails across his shoulders, the lingering evidence of your own hunger. He pretends not to see you seeing him, but you catch the smirk on his face, feeling more settled to have that more familiar expression back in its place.

You towel off in the bedroom, Bucky sitting at the edge of your bed, already half-dressed, scrolling through his phone. You think he’ll have a text from one of his buddies, or maybe his ex-wife, but when you catch a glimpse of the screen, it’s a weather app and then, jarringly, a photo of the cupcakes from the PTA bake sale. There’s a text chain open—he’s sent the picture to someone, captionless.

You want to ask, but you think it would be too much, too close to real. You and Bucky are filthy, nasty, relentless sex without strings, no schedule, on a whim when someone sends up a flare.

Maybe you’re both just fucking lonely.

You don’t ask.

Instead, you get dressed for brunch with Aiden, pulling on the dress you picked out last night and staring at your reflection. The map of bruises and bite marks that Bucky left on your shoulders and chest are somehow miraculously hidden, but you meticulously check to make sure.

Bucky hangs around until you start on your hair and make up, then plants a kiss on your shoulder blades and tells you, “Knock ‘em dead,” and leaves with his hands in his pockets. You tell yourself you should change the code, but you know you never will.

You spend the rest of the morning in a kind of liminal jet lag, floating through the motions of getting ready. You make it to the café five minutes late—a miracle for someone who has slept very little the past four nights.

Aiden is already seated at an outdoor table, sunlight sifting through the awning and lighting up his hair in a soft gold halo. He stands when he spots you, an old-fashioned but endearing gesture, and you feel immediately self-conscious, like you’re an imposter in a skin that doesn’t quite belong to you, meeting up with the prince from a Disney movie.

He pulls out your chair with a quiet, “You look amazing,” and the words are so gentle your chest aches.

You’re not sure what to do with this new vector of attention.

There’s nothing to do except order the French toast.

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x yn #aspen wrote something #female reader #bed chem bucky #hotbuckysummer2025

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14dayswithyou · 6 months ago

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How cutiesai made 14 Days With You

I've received quite a few requests in the past asking how I made 14DWY, what resources I used, how I organised my lore, etc. — so I figured I'd make one big post and share it with everyone else as well! It features a buuunch of helpful stuff I wish I'd known when I first made 14DWY, so hopefully this will help others too!

⚠ This is all copied & pasted from a Discord post I made back in early 2024! I'll also be adding to it over time, so feel free to check back every so often! ^^

What engine do I use?

14DWY uses the Ren'Py engine!

There are two preinstalled games (called "Tutorial" and "The Question") that give you a basic rundown on how to use the program!!

Zeil Learning's video called "Ren'py Tutorial For Beginners" is also a good place to start for those who have no idea where to begin with Ren'Py!

I also really recommend these Ren'Py resources:

Lemma Soft Forums

Ren'Py Discord server

Ren'Py subreddit

Zeil Learnings, ElaineDoesCoding, Visual Novel Design, and Ess Ren'Py Tutorials on YouTube

Searching through the "Ren'Py" tag on itch.io for community-made assets and resources (make sure to give credit if you use someone's asset(s))!

Feniks and Wattson offer some really helpful stuff!!

Not Ren'Py related, but helpful for creating a VN:

Obsidian and Notion for planning and worldbuilding

Visual Studio Code and Atom (comes preinstalled with Ren'Py iirc?) for scripting/coding

Pixabay and Pexels for royalty-free images and stock photos

DOVA-SYNDROME for music

Clip Studio Paint (paid) and Krita (free) for drawing

Toyhou.se to store your littol guys (If you need an invite code, I have over 300 to give away lmao ^^ Send in an ask to @cutiesigh if you'd like one!)

An itch.io account to upload your game for free and share it with others

General tips to keep in mind:

Make games for fun, not for fame. Too often, I see new developers create VNs with "trending tropes" because they see how successful it is and want the same level of popularity. As harsh as it sounds, this only makes your game feel hollow and superficial, and players will notice.

When using Ren'Py, it's better to have multiple .rpy files rather than putting everything into one large file!! It makes organising and finding things easier, and if something gets corrupted... at least you won't lose everything!

Plan everything beforehand, but give yourself room to expand and implement new ideas.

Start small and slowly expand over time. Don't start off with an overly ambitious project, as it can be disheartening when you put all this effort into something just for it not to gain any traction. Also, be grateful for your earliest supporters, as they're the ones who will lift your project off the ground!!

This is a personal preference, but I recommend starting off with itch.io as your main distribution platform. Most storefronts take a cut from your donations and revenue, and sites like Steam require a $100 fee just to publish your game on their platform. Itch is free, and you can even toggle off revenue sharing in your profile settings! (I like to keep it at 10% though, because I'm grateful for everything the site provides ♡)

If you ever need help with Ren'Py, you're always welcome to join the 14DWY Discord server and ping me in the help channel!

#💖 — 14 days with queue.#🖤 — shut up sai.#to be tagged later #faq

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jamingbenn · 6 months ago

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year in review - hockey rpf on ao3

hello!! the annual ao3 year in review had some friends and i thinking - wouldn't it be cool if we had a hockey rpf specific version of that. so i went ahead and collated the data below!!

i start with a broad overview, then dive deeper into the 3 most popular ships this year (with one bonus!)

if any images appear blurry, click on them to expand and they should become clear!

₊˚⊹♡ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅. ݁

before we jump in, some key things to highlight: - CREDIT TO: the webscraping part of my code heavily utilized the ao3 wrapped google colab code, as lovingly created by @kyucultures on twitter, as the main skeleton. i tweaked a couple of things but having it as a reference saved me a LOT of time and effort as a first time web scraper!!! thank you stranger <3 - please do NOT, under ANY circumstances, share any part of this collation on any other website. please do not screenshot or repost to twitter, tiktok, or any other public social platform. thank u!!! T_T - but do feel free to send requests to my inbox! if you want more info on a specific ship, tag, or you have a cool idea or wanna see a correlation between two variables, reach out and i should be able to take a look. if you want to take a deeper dive into a specific trope not mentioned here/chapter count/word counts/fic tags/ship tags/ratings/etc, shoot me an ask!

˚　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

with that all said and done... let's dive into hockey_rpf_2024_wrapped_insanity.ipynb

BIG PICTURE OVERVIEW

i scraped a total of 4266 fanfics that dated themselves as published or finished in the year 2024. of these 4000 odd fanfics, the most popular ships were:

Note: "Minor or Background Relationship(s)" clocked in at #9 with 91 fics, but I removed it as it was always a secondary tag and added no information to the chart. I did not discern between primary ship and secondary ship(s) either!

breaking down the 5 most popular ships over the course of the year, we see:

super interesting to see that HUGE jump for mattdrai in june/july for the stanley cup final. the general lull in the offseason is cool to see as well.

as for the most popular tags in all 2024 hockey rpf fic...

weee like our fluff. and our established relationships. and a little H/C never hurt no one.

i got curious here about which AUs were the most popular, so i filtered down for that. note that i only regex'd for tags that specifically start with "Alternate Universe - ", so A/B/O and some other stuff won't appear here!

idk it was cool to me.

also, here's a quick breakdown of the ratings % for works this year:

and as for the word counts, i pulled up a box plot of the top 20 most popular ships to see how the fic length distribution differed amongst ships:

mattdrai-ers you have some DEDICATION omg. respect

now for the ship by ship break down!!

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#1 MATTDRAI

most popular ship this year. peaked in june/july with the scf. so what do u people like to write about?

fun fun fun. i love that the scf is tagged there like yes actually she is also a main character

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#2 SIDGENO

(my babies) top tags for this ship are:

folks, we are a/b/o fiends and we cannot lie. thank you to all the selfless authors for feeding us good a/b/o fic this year. i hope to join your ranks soon.

(also: MPREG. omega sidney crosby. alpha geno. listen, the people have spoken, and like, i am listening.)

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#3 NICOJACK

top tags!!

it seems nice and cozy over there... room for one more?

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BONUS: JDTZ.

i wasnt gonna plot this but @marcandreyuri asked me if i could take a look and the results are so compelling i must include it. are yall ok. do u need a hug

top tags being h/c, angst, angst, TRADES, pining, open endings... T_T katie said its a "torture vortex" and i must concurr

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BONUS BONUS: ALPHA/BETA/OMEGA

as an a/b/o enthusiast myself i got curious as to what the most popular ships were within that tag. if you want me to take a look about this for any other tag lmk, but for a/b/o, as expected, SID GENO ON TOP BABY!:

thats all for now!!! if you have anything else you are interested in seeing the data for, send me an ask and i'll see if i can get it to ya!

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