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flowersforbucky · 8 months ago

Text

sweetener

bucky barnes x reader

summary: when the vacation that you've been planning for months gets canceled due to a last minute mission, you can't help but feel bummed - the bright side is that you're being sent on a mission with bucky.

word count: 5.3k - my masterlist

warnings/tags: canon level violence, descriptions of injuries, mention of blood, almost drowning, hospital setting, bad guys getting killed (not descriptive), non-sexual nudity, hurt/comfort trope, avenger!reader, friends to lovers, fluff, language, reader pov, no use of y/n, fem reader, bucky being super soft, not explicit but mdni please

when life deals us cards

make everything taste like it is salt

then you come through like the sweetener you are

to bring the bitter taste to a halt

Hand warmers. Flashlight and extra batteries. Can opener. Matches. First aid kit –

You glance down the handwritten list for the dozenth time that morning, checking and rechecking that you aren't forgetting anything obvious.

Your eyes flicker between the ridiculous amount of supplies scattered across your bed and the three large duffle bags on your floor that you're determined to pack it all into. You know that you are most likely being excessive, but you'd much rather be too thorough than not thorough enough when you're about to be miles deep in the Appalachian wilderness.

Sure, you'd be staying at a relatively civilized campground with restrooms and showers, but this is the first time that you've been camping in years, and your first time ever going camping alone.

A two day road trip there, then six days in the Great Smoky Mountains, and then another two day road trip back to upstate New York.

A much needed ten days of time spent by yourself, seeing as how you haven't gone on anything resembling a vacation in over two years. The last couple years have been nonstop work with very little time for relaxation.

To say that you're excited would be an understatement. Although you find immense fulfillment in the work that you do with the Avengers and can't see yourself doing anything else, you're ready to sit by a warm fire and sleep under the stars without a care in the world.

Just as you've finished packing the second bag and are about to begin on the third, the Bluetooth speaker that your cell phone is paired to begins blasting your ringtone, cutting off the music that you'd been listening to while you pack.

When you grab the phone off of your nightstand and see the name Nick Fury displayed across the screen, a ball of unease immediately forms in the pit of your stomach.

Nick Fury isn't the type to call and chit chat about how your day is going or what shows you've been binge watching. He's the type to call when he wants something done, and wants it done now.

“Hey, Fury,” you greet in a neutral tone as you perch on the edge of your bed. With the phone still connected to your speaker, you place it back down on the nightstand so that you are free to wring your hands together.

“Agent,” Fury's voice booms throughout your room. “I hope I've caught you before you've left the state of New York.”

Godfuckingdammit.

“Uh - yep. I'm still here. Packing up for my trip right now,” you answer, trying your hardest to conceal the irritation in your voice. There's a small voice in the back of your head telling you that you should just lie and say you are already on the road, but you're not stupid enough to lie to Nick Fury.

There's a second, louder voice in the back of your mind screaming at you that you shouldn’t have even answered the phone.

“You know I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I'm going to suggest you pack a tactical suit and weapon of choice instead of hiking boots and a sleeping bag. We just got word that a vibranium weapons dealer we've been tracking will be receiving a large shipment at a port in Destin tomorrow night. Need you and Barnes on a flight to Florida this afternoon.”

“Florida?” you repeat, unable to hide the shock and disappointment in your tone. “I can't go to Florida right now. I've been planning this trip for months. I put in the notice for my leave–”

“I realize that this is unfortunate timing but I'm afraid that this is non-negotiable, Agent,” he interrupts you in a tone of finality. “If we don't intercept this shipment then these weapons fall into very dangerous hands. With Romanoff and Rogers still in San Antonio until next week, I have no choice but to ask you and Barnes to handle it.”

You exhale an audible, frustrated breath and massage the heels of your palms into your eye sockets. You don't know why you're surprised. It's not like illegal arms dealers take your vacation time into consideration when they plot their dealings.

“Is that understood, Agent?” he asks when you don't respond.

“Yes,” you say as you dig your nails into the flesh of your palm to hold back any further argument. “Yes, I understand.”

“Great. The jet leaves in three hours.”

The line cuts off before you can get another word out.

You groan out loud. Three hours. That doesn't even leave you enough time to feel sorry for yourself.

You look around at the chaotic state of your room before your gaze lands on the already packed duffle bags filled with camping supplies.

You're too annoyed and short on time to care right now, so you empty the contents of both bags back onto your bed and tell yourself that you'll deal with the mess when you get back home. For now, you need to focus on packing the appropriate items for taking down a vibranium arms dealer in hotass Florida.

Beneath all of the disappointment and frustration, there's a glimmer of relief that at the very least it's Bucky who you're being sent on this unexpected mission with. You may not be fond of hot weather, but you are quite fond of him.

••••••

Just as Fury said, the jet departs from the compound at exactly three o'clock. You sit in the aircraft's cabin, reading through a thick file containing all of the information that SHIELD has compiled on Dmitri Petrov's crime empire, ranging from drug smuggling to illegal arms deals.

You are only a few pages into the report and it's abundantly clear why this mission was non-negotiable. Petrov has been getting away unscatched for years - tomorrow night will be the first clear opportunity for a take down since getting on SHIELD's radar.

“Coffee?” A voice snaps you back to reality, making you realize that you're reading the same sentence for the dozenth time. “Three creams, two sugars.”

You look up to find a vibranium hand holding out a disposable cup to you. If the fact that he's committed the way you take your coffee to memory isn't enough to increase your heart rate, his smirk and the crinkles around his blue eyes do the trick.

“Thank you,” you tell him, snapping the folder shut on the table in front of you. “My eyes are on the verge of bleeding.” You take a sip of the coffee - indeed, three creams and two sugars.

He takes the seat directly across from you, spinning the folder around for him to flip through himself.

“We land in less than half an hour and you've been reading this the entire flight,” he says teasingly as he thumbs through the pages. “I think it's safe to say you're prepared.”

“Just trying to get myself in the right headspace. I didn't know anything about this operation until a few hours ago, you know.”

Not one to complain, you had yet to bring up the fact that your trip had been postponed in order for you to be here. You had talked about the trip on several occasions with Bucky, but you didn't expect him to remember the exact dates that you were supposed to be gone.

Sure - if he was going to be away for over a week, you'd be hyper aware of it until he returned - but you weren't naive enough to think that he would know the exact dates of your comings and goings.

He places the file back down, returning his attention to you.

“I know,” he sighs, a sympathetic look on his face. “I was on my way to tell you to have a good trip and to be safe when I got the call from Fury this morning.”

Oh. Your cheeks heat at the casual admission from him.

“I'm sorry about your trip. I know you were really looking forward to it,” he adds sincerely. “I'm going to find extra enjoyment in putting Dmitri Petrov behind bars for causing it to get canceled.”

“You and me both,” you chuckle. “Really though, it's okay. I was bummed, but it's not the end of the world. It can easily be rescheduled once this guy is locked up and we're back home.”

You don't add the fact that you find yourself caring less and less about the canceled trip the longer that you sit here with him.

“There is at least one silver lining to this, you know,” he chimes, leaning forward with his elbows on the table between you. You instinctively lean in closer too, causing the side of your leg to brush against his beneath the table. You wait to see if he'll pull away, and when he doesn't, you leave the side of your thigh resting against his.

“Oh, yeah? And what's that?”

“Petrov’s shipment isn't set to arrive until tomorrow night, and they've sent us down here the day prior. It's not like we have to stay holed up in our hotel room for the next twenty-four hours, right?”

••••••

Bucky's right - there's no sense in locking yourselves inside the hotel room until the time of the weapons deal tomorrow evening, but when you see the hotel room that you'll be spending the next couple nights in, you think you would also be okay with staying inside if you had to.

It's not a five star resort by any means, but in comparison to the dingy roadside motels that you're normally stuck in for missions? This place might as well be a Four Seasons.

It's relatively small, but there's more than enough space for the two of you. There's one full size bed, plus a couch that converts to a futon mattress - the latter of which Bucky insists on taking, giving you the bed. The bathroom is nearly as big as the main room, with a jacuzzi tub that's bigger than three standard bathtubs put together.

And the best part of it? When you open the curtains to the sliding glass door on the backside of the room, there's a clear view of turquoise water and white sand.

“I guess Fury felt a little bad about springing this on me at the last minute, after all,” you sigh as you pull the door open, letting the light breeze pull the smell of saltwater into the room. “Can't say that I’ve been given a beachfront room for a mission before.”

Bucky walks up to stand beside you, leaning against the doorframe and staring out to the ocean.

“It's definitely a step up from the rat and roach infested Motel 6 that Sam and I had to spend three nights in when we were sent to Atlanta for recon last month.”

You shake your head, both cringing and laughing at the memory of him ranting about the motel room as soon as he saw you after returning home.

“It was the size of a fucking capybara. Why are you laughing? I opened the bathroom door and it charged at me–”

A sudden deep rumbling noise snaps you out of the memory and you glance down at your stomach in surprise. You suppose it makes sense that your body is screaming at you to eat - you had such little time to pack for Destin before your flight left that you hadn't even bothered with lunch today.

“How does pizza sound?” Bucky asks with a knowing smirk. “I saw a pizza place just down the street on the way here.”

“Anything sounds good right now,” you sigh, both starving and exhausted from your day of packing, unpacking, re-packing and traveling.

“I'll go grab one for us,” he tells you, pulling the keys to the rental car out of his pocket. “Just stay here and get settled in.”

You don't object, itching to change into comfier, more weather appropriate clothes. When you left the state of New York just a few hours ago, it was chilly outside. Now that you are in eighty plus degree Destin, the sweater and boots that you're wearing have got to go.

You unpack your bag, thankful that you had brought a pair of casual drawstring shorts. You throw them on, along with a tank top. You decide to go ahead and convert the futon from a sofa into a bed, and then search through the hotel room's small linen closet for a set of sheets and a quilt. If Bucky insists on you taking the comfier sleeping option and going to get food for the two of you, you figure the least you can do is make his bed for him.

When he returns, he not only has a large cardboard box containing the pizza, but a plastic bag hanging from his vibranium arm as well.

“Grab a towel and follow me,” he tells you before he's even closed the door behind him.

“Follow you?” You laugh, taken aback by the instructions. “Where are we going?”

You hop up from where you'd been mindlessly scrolling on your phone on the bed, doing as he asked and grabbing one of the complementary beach towels from the bathroom closet.

“Not staying holed up in our hotel room. Remember?”

And with that he pulls the sliding glass door open with his empty hand and exits the room, heading towards the beach that sits directly in the backyard. You don't even take the time to throw on a pair of tennis shoes before practically running after him through the sand.

He comes to a stop when he's a few yards away from where the waves wash up against shore and turns back to look at you. You take it as your cue to spread the towel across the sand at your feet.

He sits down and you follow, the cardboard box nestled between you. He opens it, revealing a pizza that is split down the middle - half your favorite, half his favorite.

“I know it's not a campfire in the Great Smoky Mountains,” he smirks. He digs into the plastic bag and pulls out a drink for each of you, along with some napkins. “But it's the best I could do in our current situation.”

The sentiment leaves you momentarily speechless. You know it isn't a grand declaration of love, and it might not mean as much to some people as it does to you - but you can't remember the last time someone went out of their way just to improve your day in such a simple yet thoughtful way.

Between the pizza, the vibrant pink and purple sky as the sun sinks beyond the ocean's horizon, the sound of the waves and him beside you, you wouldn't want to be anywhere else right now.

“No,” you murmur. “It's not. But it's perfect.”

••••••

The next day, you manage to forget that you're actually on a super important mission taking down a dangerous illegal arms dealer.

The first half of the day feels like an actual vacation - the closest thing you've had to a vacation in a long time, anyway. You sleep in until nearly ten o'clock in the morning - which may not be considered sleeping in for some people, but in this line of work, you've overslept if you're still in bed at eight am.

After waking up thoroughly rested and refreshed, the two of you get brunch and then spend the early hours of the afternoon leisurely strolling at the boardwalk just a short drive from your hotel.

You and Bucky are sitting on a bench eating ice cream when you check your phone for the first time in hours and realize how quickly the day has gone. It's already four o'clock - you're due to be on lookout at the pier where Petrov's exchange will occur soon.

“What's wrong?” Bucky asks when you huff under your breath as you stick your phone back into your pocket. “Nervous about tonight?”

You're not nervous, truthfully. You're fully confident that you and Bucky will be able to handle the job. You've been on countless missions less straight forward than this before, and so has he.

“No,” you shake your head as you take another bite of your ice cream cone. “It's… silly,” you say, waving your hand in dismissal.

“I'm sure it's not silly,” he assures you gently.

You pause, staring at a couple holding hands in the distance as you contemplate your words.

Bucky seems to follow your gaze.

“Today has just been really nice,” you shrug with a small smile. “I almost don't want to go back home.”

From your peripheral vision, you see his face shift to look at you. You continue to eat your ice cream, pretending that his stare doesn't warm you more than the Florida sun.

“We're on the same page then, doll.”

••••••

A few hours later, a feeder ship pulls up to the pier just after dusk.

“We've got eyes on three men,” you say lowly into your communication device. “They're guarding the pier. No sign of Petrov yet.”

“He'll show,” Fury's voice echoes in your ear. “Keep watch until then. Backup is on standby to take him in.” The comm clicks off before you can respond.

“I know there's a lot riding on this going smoothly,” you grumble as you bring your binoculars back up to your eyes. “But sometimes I think he just really needs to get laid.”

You and Bucky are across the road from the pier, concealed by large shrubs and the darkness of the night sky. You've been sitting here as still and silently as possible for well over an hour, before Petrov's men had even arrived to stand guard at the dock.

You really fucking have to pee.

Headlights begin to approach from down the street, and as the vehicle gets closer you're able to see that it's a large, black van.

Totally not suspicious at all.

It comes to a stop close to the boat dock, and a second later Petrov hops out of the driver's seat. You recognize him right away by his shrimpy build and receding hairline.

“I should just take them all out from here and be done with this,” Bucky grumbles from beside you.

“I agree,” you sigh. “But Fury's adamant that Petrov be brought in alive if possible. He’s got an empire behind him that we need to find out as much as possible about. His men, however..” you trail off.

Bucky looks through the scope of his gun, zeroing in on one of the guards.

“Blow a tire on the van first,” you murmur. “So Petrov can't flee.”

“I'll take out these three guards, and then I'll get Petrov and call for back-up. You worry about getting to that ship and taking out anyone inside. Sound like a plan?”

“Easy peasy,” you agree.

Less than thirty seconds later, all three guards have dropped dead and Petrov is frantically running to his van, unaware that Bucky had shot the back tire after killing his guards. You and Bucky emerge from the shrubs, sprinting across the road. He dashes towards Petrov, who freezes and begins shouting curses in Russian when he sees what is running towards him.

Bucky lands a punch to Petrov's jaw as you're running past them, only slowing down enough to not trip over the guard’s dead bodies that are littered across the dock.

You're only a few yards away from the ship when you hear Bucky screech your name. You immediately come to a halt, turning back to see why he could be calling for you.

You see a tall, burly man - someone that you and Bucky hadn't noticed before - sprinting down the dock after you. He raises his arm above his head, his hand holding a rocklike object that he sends barreling in your direction.

It's the last thing you see before everything fades to black.

••••••

The shrill, repetitive beeping of a monitor pulls you out of limbo and back to earth.

You're met with painfully bright, fluorescent lighting that has you squinting your eyes shut before you can make sense of your surroundings.

“Bucky,” you attempt to call out but it sounds like the croak of a lifelong smoker. Your eyes begin to adjust to the harsh lighting, allowing you to see that you're alone in a hospital room. You raise your fingertips to where it feels as if your brain is pulsing through your skull. There's a thick, defined knot on the top of your head that's sensitive to the touch.

Panic starts to take over you. Bits and pieces of the mission start to flash through your mind. Bucky shooting the guards, you running towards the feeder ship when you heard Bucky yell your name and then turning to see –

“Bucky!” You call out louder, your voice still hoarse. You sit up, not hesitating to carelessly yank an IV out of your arm. You're vaguely aware of the fact that you're in only a hospital gown and that blood is now trickling down your left arm, but you don't care.

You throw your legs over the side of the bed, standing up far too quickly. Your vision fades to a fuzzy gray and you're overcome with an intense wave of vertigo as the room spins around you. You grab onto the metal side railing of the hospital bed to keep yourself upright, desperately trying to focus your eyes enough to find the nurse's call button.

“Hi! I'll be to your room in just a moment–” An overly cheerful, feminine voice pours from the speaker a moment after pressing the button.

“What happened? How long have I been here? Where is my–”

The door to your room opens, and you immediately breathe an audible sigh of relief as your last question is answered. He looks as though he could use a good night's sleep, but he is okay.

“What the fuck happened?” Bucky exclaims as he rushes over to where you're still clutching the hospital bed railing for support. You follow his gaze to your arm, seeing that there's now blood all over your gown as well as the white floor around your feet.

“I could ask you the same thing,” you mumble, embarrassed by your current state. He guides you back to the edge of the mattress before walking away to get a towel from the bathroom. “I was worried something happened to you,” you add weakly.

He wipes the blood trail on your skin before using the hand towel to apply pressure to the puncture in the bend of your arm.

“I'm okay,” he assures you delicately. “I had just gone to get some coffee.” He glances at the styrofoam to-go cup that you hadn't even noticed him place on the bedside table when he entered the room.

“How long was I asleep?” You ask, noticing that it's still pitch dark outside. You also notice that he's no longer in the clothes that he wore on the mission - now wearing a pair of loose fitting black sweatpants and a matching hoodie. “What happened?”

“There was another guy in the back of Petrov’s van,” Bucky tenses, still holding the towel to your arm for you. “We were both distracted and he snuck up on you. He hit you over the head with a piece of vibranium and threw you into the water.” His jaw clenches as he recounts what happened, meeting your gaze with a pained look.

“But you saved me,” you finish for him.

“Yes,” he gulps. “I did. But I was almost too late. By the time I knocked out Petrov and killed the man who hit you.. it felt like it took forever to find you in the water. You almost drown–”

He cuts himself off, unable to force the last word out. A nurse enters the room as you open your mouth to offer him reassurance. Bucky holds your gaze for a split-second longer before reluctantly dropping his hold on your arm and turning to take a seat in the room's singular guest chair.

The nurse informs you that they did a CT scan while you were unconscious, and that while you don't have any swelling or bleeding on your brain from the blow, the doctor believes you to have a concussion and tells you that she will need to do an exam now that you are awake before they feel comfortable discharging you.

Judging by the high-pitched ringing that you've heard in your ears since you woke up and the way that you feel dizzy when you even think about trying to stand up, you don't doubt that you're concussed.

An hour later, you've been thoroughly examined and it is confirmed that yes - you are indeed concussed. The doctor discharges you under the condition that you don't drive and that someone keeps a close eye on you for the next twenty-four hours.

“Don't worry,” you hear Bucky tell her when you step into the bathroom to throw on a pair of dry sweatpants, a t-shirt, and cheap shower slides that the hospital had given you to wear back to the hotel, seeing as how your tactical suit and boots are still sopping wet with ocean water. “I'm not letting her out of my sight.”

The nurse who helps you dress gives you a small smirk at his words.

“You're a lucky woman,” she tells you quietly. “He was worried sick until you woke up.”

You avoid her gaze, your cheeks heating. You busy yourself by tightening the drawstrings to the gray sweatpants.

“I am lucky,” you agree. “He's a great partner.”

She raises an eyebrow at the word partner, but doesn't make any further comment.

By the time that you and Bucky make it back to your hotel room, the sun has started to rise.

Bucky all but carries you inside, only letting go of you when you're perched on the edge of the mattress. Your head is still throbbing despite the extra strength ibuprofen that you'd taken before leaving the hospital, and you still can't walk without stumbling from dizziness, but at least the intense ringing in your ears has begun to subside.

You feel tired down to your very bones, but you have no doubt that Bucky is even more exhausted. You'd been unconscious for nearly eight hours during the night, whereas he had been awake the entire time sitting by your bedside.

“You get some rest,” you tell him. You brace your hands against the mattress, preparing to attempt to stand back up. “I smell like a mixture of sweat and fish from being in the ocean, so I'm going to shower off.”

You push yourself off of the bed, and as quickly as you stand, you're sitting back down. The room immediately begins spinning in circles around you, sending a wave of nausea through the pit of your stomach.

“Yeah, not likely,” Bucky huffs lightly. “You can't stand up, and the shower doesn't have a seat. How about we compromise on a bath?”

You give a weak nod, too tired to protest. A warm bath sounds incredible right now.

Bucky retreats to the bathroom, where he turns on the water to fill the tub before returning to help you get up from the bed without toppling over. He secures his flesh arm around your waist and guides you to the closed toilet, where you carefully sit down.

“Do you.. need help undressing? Or..?” He asks hesitantly.

“No,” you breathe with an awkward laugh. “I think I've got it.”

He gives you a quick nod, looking away to give you the privacy to shed your clothes. You carefully tug the oversized t-shirt the hospital had given you over your head, wincing when it brushes against the swollen knot on the side of your scalp. You rise off the lid of the toilet just enough to push your sweatpants down to your ankles.

“Okay,” you murmur, letting him know that you're ready to step into the tub.

He grabs one of your hands in his, and places his metal hand on the small of your back as you step over the side of the large jacuzzi tub and into the water.

You're aware of the intimacy of the scenario, but you can't find it in yourself to feel insecure or embarrassed right now - you're sure that's largely due to the concussion, but you think it's also simply because of who you're with.

If it were Sam, or Steve, or anyone else, you know you'd be mortified to be utterly exposed as they help you take a bath. If it were anyone else you wouldn't be taking a bath right now - you would have just gone to sleep and waited until you could fully do it yourself instead of putting yourself in such a vulnerable position.

Not that you don't trust your other teammates. But with Bucky, it doesn't feel vulnerable.

He lowers you into the water, your entire body instantly relaxing at the warmth. You glance to his face, noticing a faint purple bruise along his cheekbone.

“I'm going to leave the door cracked. I'll be right outside if you need anything. Just let me know when you're ready to get out, okay?”

You don't respond, instead reaching up to his face, where you run your finger along the outline of the bruise. He freezes beneath your touch, his eyes meeting yours.

“Don't worry,” he assures you softly. “It was a lot worse when it first happened. It's already almost gone.”

“I'm sorry,” you whisper. “It happened because of me. I wasn't paying attention as well as I should have been. Should have heard that guy coming.”

“Don't say that.” He places his flesh hand on top of where yours still rests against his cheek and then brings it in front of his lips, his eyes never leaving yours. “You're okay, and that's the only thing that matters now.”

“Mmm,” you hum, staring at his lips that are no more than an inch away from your hand.

“What are you thinking?” he asks, his voice patient and curious.

You hesitate for a brief moment before leaning forward and pressing your lips to the bruise in a featherlight kiss. You pull back, once more resting your back against the tub and giving him a small shrug.

“Just thinking that I wanted to do that. Have for a while.”

He grins, a faint blush taking over the apples of his cheeks.

“Yeah, I'd say you're definitely concussed.”

You chuckle, your smile matching his. “I am,” you agree. “But the concussion will go away soon, and I'll still want to kiss you then, too.”

He then presses his lips to the side of your hand, causing goosebumps to form across your skin despite the warm water that you sit in.

“I hope that you will do just that.”

••••••

One month later

You wake up to the smell of campfire smoke that creeps through the crack in the partially zipped tent.

Despite a thick sleeping bag, multiple blankets, and the plush sweater that you wear, you can't help but shiver.

Something is missing.

You look around the tent, your eyes adjusting to the early morning daylight that filters into the tent.

Someone is missing.

You reluctantly exit your cozy sleeping bag, shoving your wool sock covered feet into your boots and crawling out of the tent.

Bucky is facing away from you, cracking an egg into a pan that is positioned over the fire.

“Good morning,” you murmur as you creep up behind him, wrapping an arm around his midsection. He wraps his own arm around your shoulders, pulling you flush against him and pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Morning, sleepy head,” he teases softly. “What's on the agenda today?”

“Maybe some hiking, maybe some biking,” you shrug into him. “Maybe a little bit of you keeping me warm in that tent.”

He laughs, more carefree than you've ever seen him before.

“See? It's a good thing that your trip got postponed. What if I wasn't here to keep you warm?”

You raise up to capture his lips in yours, the taste of fresh brewed French press coffee on his breath.

“Remind me to thank Fury for that when we get back.”

thank you so much for reading 💕🫶🏻 comments and reblogs are infinitely appreciated!!

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lightasthesun · 1 year ago

Text

Comprehensive Lexicon Guide for First-Time SW Fic Readers:

Flimsi/Flimsiplast = Paper

Flimsiwork/Datawork = Paperwork

Stylus = Pen

Datapad = Tablet

Comlink/Comm = Communication Device/Phone

Binders = Handcuffs

Chronometer = Clock

Spectacles = Eyeglasses

Chrono = Watch

Conservator = Refrigerator

Caf = Coffee

Nerfburger = Hamburger

Blue milk = Milk (literally blue)

Hubba chips = French Fries

Sweet roll = Doughnut

Flatcakes = Pancakes

Tabac = Tobacco

HoloNet = World Wide Web

Holovision/HoloTV = Television

Holodrama/Holovids = Movie/Videos

Holocamera/Holocam = Camera

Holomap = three-dimensional map

Holojournal = Newspaper

Holocube = Picture frame

Holotable = Projector

Holoscanner = X-ray machine

Holojournalist = Reporter

Flatholo/Holograph = Photograph

Sonic Damper = Active Noise Cancellation

Refresher/Fresher= Bathroom

Sonic Bath = Bath

Sanisteam/Sonic shower = Waterless Shower

Hydrospanner = Wrench

Hydro Flask = Water Bottle

Power Cell/Energy Cell = Batteries

Authorization Chip = Decryption key

Datatape = Disk

Datastick = Flash drive

(Personal) Com Code = Phone number

Datachip = SD Card

Synthflesh = Synthetic skin

Glowrod = Flashlight

Sparkstick = Match

Slugthrower = Gun

Slug = Bullet

Vibroblade = a blade that can vibrate at high frequencies, increasing its cutting power and penetrating ability (tactical knife)

Rangefinder = Rifle scope

Turbolaser = Cannon

Ion pike/Vibropike = Spear

Electro Staff = Stun baton

Blaster = Pistol/Rifle

Stun Blaster = similar to a Taser

Landspeeder/Airspeeder/Speeder = Car

Turbolift = Elevator

Slideramp = Escalator

Starfighter = Fighter jet

Rotorcraft = Helicopter

Hoverpack/Jetpack= Jet pack

Speeder Bike = Motorcycle

Skylane = Traffic lane

Railspeeder/Hovertrain = Train

Power Chair/Hoverchair= Wheelchair

Windscreen = Windshield

Podracing = Car racing

Dejarik = Chess

Sabacc = Poker and Blackjack combined

Galactic Rebels = Combat simulator

B'shingh = Dungeons and dragons

Jizz = Jazz music

Wailer = Singer (ie. Jizz Wailer)

Cantina = Bar or Pup

Para Sailing = Paragliding

Aurebesh = Alphabet

Credits = Money

Sleeping Pallet = Bedroll

Naming Day = Birthday

Youngling = Child

Galactic Basic Standard/ Basic = English

Medkit/Medpac = First aid kit

Hypo = Syringe

Medic/Healer = Doctor

Medcenter = Hospital

Bactapatch = Bandaid

Nanoweave = Fabric

Transparisteel = Glass

Plastifoam = Packing material

Durasteel = Steel

Plasteel = Plastic

Duracrete = Concrete

Slicer = Hacker (slicing = hacking)

Identikit = Passport

Minder = Therapist

Synthleather = Vinyl

Viewport = Window

Cooling Unit = Air-conditioning

Honeydarter = Bee

Slythmonger = Drugdealer

Spice = Drugs

Stimpill = Caffeine pill

Power Socket = Plug

Cutters = Scissors

Cycle = Day

Standard Cycle = 24h

Standard Week = 5 days

Standard Month = 35 standard days

Standard Year = approx. ten months

Tenday = literally ten days

Cigarras/Smokes = Cigarettes

Click = Kilometer or 'a moment'

Parsec = a unit of distance

Tweezers/Clanker/tin head/tinnie = Droid

Separatist = Seppie

Promise Ring = Wedding Ring

Body Glove = Jumpsuit

Slicksuit = Wet suit

Civvies = Civilian clothing

Carbonite = a metal alloy used to freeze a person in a state of hibernation

Hyperdrive = device that allows a starship to travel faster than lightspeed

Moisture vaporator = device that can extract water from the air, commonly used on tatooine

Glareshades = Sunglasses

Gasser = Gas Oven

Repulsorlift = technology that can create an anti-gravity field and is used for levitating heavy objects

Heating unit = Heater

Utility Droid = Roomba

Sunbonnet = a Clone trooper helmet

Bad Batcher = a defective Clone Trooper

Banthabrain = birdbrain/ a stupid person

Bantha fodder = waste of space/nonsense

Blast! = word of exclamation

Blasted! = s.o in anger or annoyance

Blaster-brained = dimwitted

Blaster fodder = cannon fodder

Blast off = Piss off

Brainless = Stupid

Bug/Bugger = used to refer to Geonosians

Forceforsaken = godforsaken

Full of Poodoo = full of shit

Poodoo = Shit

Kriff = Fuck

Jedi scum = derogatory term for jedi

Kark = derogatory expletive

Larty = LAAT/i gunship

Laserbrain = insult

Meat droid = derogatory term for Clone Troopers

Redrobes = Palpatines guard

Rookie/Shinie = newly recruited Trooper

Scum = insult to refer to bounty hunters/rebels

Sharpie = Sharp-witted

Sithspawn/Sithspit/Hellspawn! = expletive

Sleemo = Slimeball

Son of a bantha = insult

Wizard! = Cool

Spaced = dead

Hutt-spawn = Bastard

Karabast = exclamation of dismay

Stang = Crap

Buckethead/Bucketbrain = derogatory term for Stormtroopers

Bucket = Helmet

Nat-born = Natural Born

Roger Roger = affirmative/copy that

Droid poppers = EMP grenade

Sitrep = short for situation report

Backwater Planet = any planet that isn't part of the core system

Holocron = device that can project a three-dimensional image of a person/object and is used for communication or entertainment.

Kessel Run = a risky Operation. Commonly used as a metaphor in impossible situations.

Thermal Detonator= device that can create a powerful explosion like a grenade or bomb

Ray Shield/Energy Shield = creates a (protective) barrier

Rebreather = device that allows a person to breathe underwater or in toxic environments

Phrases:

Wild goose chase = wild bantha chase

That's bantha shit = that's bullshit

As slippery as a greased Dug = untrustworthy

Credit for your thoughts = penny for your thoughts

Cut the poodoo = cut the crap

to get your gills in a twist = get upset about something

Holy mother of meteors = holy mother of god

Oh my skies/ Oh my stars = exclamation of surprise

Stars' end! = exclamation of disbelief

What in the blue blazes = exclamation

When Geonosis freezes over/When it snows on tatooine = extremely unlikely

Who pissed in your power supply = who pissed you off

Blast it = damn it

By the maker = exclamation of surprise

Great karking Dragon = expression of disbelief

Lothcat got your tongue = equivalent of 'cat got your tongue?'

Sod it = expression of frustration

#shitpost incoming #I'm converting my friend into a star wars fan so I thought why not make a dictionary for every new fic reader lmao #star wars #writing star wars #star wars languages #star wars lore #im definitely missing some but these are words I've seen most commonly used in fanfic #userlumi #writing star wars fic #aurebesh #galactic basic Standard #as long as one person finds this post helpful it was worth it #youre all welcome to add to it #im stopping now coz otherwise I'mma clog the dash

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bi-writes · 10 months ago

Note

simon’s reactions to mail order bride finding another cat and bringing it home

mail-order bride

there's a ruckus outside. clattering inside of the rubbish bins, rattling the metal of them. and maybe it could've just been a wild animal, something tearing apart the garbage bags and making a mess, but then there were a few cries, squeaks of terror that were too unnerving to ignore. a cry of distress that wouldn't allow for a good night's rest.

simon throws the back door open. there's a few soldiers milling about, leaning against the outside of the mess hall and barracks as they have a smoke or play some cards. some of them are playing games under the lights, kicking around footballs for a laugh. but he hears it, right around the corner, little eeps and have his neck craning as he turns into the alleyway behind his office.

there's a set of bins there that reek. but he can see the rustle of plastic moving, and when he picks up the top bag and clicks his flashlight on, he's met with fierce hisses of a little orange tabby kitten, with red around her eyes and oil sticking to her fur.

"fuckin' christ," simon mutters, sucking on his teeth. he doesn't know why he's out here. normally, the sounds of it wouldn't even force him to blink twice, but he couldn't help himself, he had to follow it. he looks over his shoulder for a moment, debating, but his mind is already made up.

he thinks of you. his pretty little wife, probably curled up on the couch at home with your candles lit and something warm in the oven. the cat is probably snoozing on one of her shelves, one of her arms hanging over the edge and her little face squished into the cushions he had installed on top of them recently. he thinks of your pretty face and your glowing smile, and he hears your voice in his head as he looks back down into the bin and makes eye contact with the mangy little thing again.

he reaches down and grabs it by the scruff of its neck, lifting it up. her little paws spread, showing her tiny claws, and he sighs, holding it out in front of him as he makes his way back to the barracks.

"what in the living fuck is that, LT?" a bubbly voice laughs. simon continues to hold the kitten out at arms length, his boots heavy as he heads towards the washrooms.

"wot the fuck does it look like, sergeant?" simon snaps. johnny picks up his pace so he can walk beside him, laughing as he smacks simon the back of his vest. simon pushes the door open, dropping the kitten into the sink.

it continues to cry and yip at him. he turns the water on, reaching over for a bottle of dish soap and squeezing it until it splatters against the kitten's back. johnny watches from the doorway as simon tries to scrub the little thing clean, cursing at it all the way as he tries to get all the gunk off of it.

"stop fuckin' squirmin'," simon huffs. "ow! oi! ya lil' shit!"

when simon turns the water off, the kitten is shaking in the sink. simon looks around for something to dry it with, and when he finds nothing, he turns to look at johnny.

"give me your shirt," simon demands. johnny stands up straight.

"what?"

"did i fuckin' stutter? give me y'r bloody shirt, sergeant."

"but! but tha's--"

"an order," simon barks. "give it ta me."

johnny rolls his eyes, gripping his shirt from the back collar and pulling it over his head before tossing it at his lieutenant. simon catches it, picking up the kitten and wrapping it in johnny's shirt before tucking it into the crook of his arm.

"'m goin' 'ome. tell price i'll be back in a few days."

"y'r goin' home? it's late, and we--"

"goodnight, johnny."

you jolt awake when you hear the front door. you rub your eyes, sitting up in bed, but you relax a little when you hear the sound of simon's boots in the living room dropping by the door. you get out of bed, putting your slippers on. when you flick the lamp on, simon is standing in the doorway of the bedroom, in full gear and his skull mask as he looms there, his head nearly hitting the top of the threshold.

"simon?" you croak softly. "i...i thought you weren't gonna be home for a few days."

he's holding something, a ball of bundled-up fabric, and you sniffle as you come closer.

"what is it?" you ask. "is something wrong?"

and then you hear it. the softest little chirp, a squeak coming from his arms. you lean over a little, reaching over and pulling back the fabric, and you let out a little gasp as you see two little yellow eyes blinking up at you, surrounded by tuffs of wet and wild orange fur.

"oh! simon!" you breathe, putting a hand to your chest. "wha...w-what--"

"was in the rubbish," simon mutters, clearing his throat. "i couldn't..."

you look up at him. you can only see his eyes, dark with eye-black smudged save for his blonde lashes, and you soften when you see the way he's looking down. he's frowning, but you know he isn't upset. simon cares, more than he'd like to admit, and you reach up with one delicate hand and touch the skull gently, stroking the cheek of it.

"i know," you say softly, smiling up at him. simon sighs, a little shakily, you notice, and you pass your thumb over where his lips would be before taking the bundle from his arms. you hear what simon doesn't say, understand what he's having difficult accepting, the things that aren't possible for him anymore, the things he has to do to keep himself sane now that there's a voice in his head that always sounds just like yours.

helpless, sweet little kitten, with claws like knives and a temper unlike that of simon's. the thoughts that went through his head, you know them, even if he doesn't tell you. when he saw this little thing, when he saw those big eyes.

i couldn't leave her behind.

no. he couldn't.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #ghost mwii #ghost x reader #cod #call of duty #order up

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maifazcomics · 4 months ago

Text

0 - The Fool: Alan Wake

(Art description: The Fool Tarot Card showcasing Alan Wake from Alan Wake 1, flashlight in hands, searching for Alice. He doesn't look for what's coming ahead of him, being one step away from walking into a precipice and falling straight into Cauldron Lake.)

The fool, a card of infinite potential, but also of unexperience. Poor Alan, he doesn't know what the next years hold for him...

---------------------

In another note, hello there! With this, I'm kickstarting a project I've beem dreaming for years of doing again and finally found a piece of art that would be a good recipient for. Welcome to my personal RCU-themed Major Arcana deck! (kinda of a done-to-death thing in fandoms ig? But I love all of them ngl) Hope you like it :)

#alan wake #alan wake 1 #alan wake (the character)#RCU #remedy connected universe #remedyverse #major arcana #0 - The fool #The fool #I also meant to write the names of the cards in finnish..... maybe later #maifazartes #art #illustration

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katemoneymartinsgf · 2 months ago

Note

could you do one where paige and azzi are on a camping trip and have to share a tent or somthing and realize they like eachother

Camping |pazzi|

a/n: Finals week, sorry i’ve been lacking😔

“Don’t freak out,” Ice says, pulling another sleeping bag out of a duffel. “But we may have overestimated the tent-to-human ratio.”

Paige glances over. “What does that mean?”

“It means y’all are cozy tonight,” Ice grins, tossing a sleeping bag toward her. “It’s a two-person tent. And you’re with Azzi.”

Paige catches the bag mid-air and throws a look at Azzi, who just shrugs like, not my fault, before adjusting her ponytail.

“It’s fine,” Paige says, a little too quickly. “Totally chill.”

Azzi grins. “Sure, P.”

They set up the tent just before sunset — Paige fumbling with the poles, Azzi making fun of her under her breath, both of them pretending this isn’t a mildly life-changing situation.

By the time everyone’s had dinner, messed around with a cheap card game, and roasted enough marshmallows to count as a meal, it’s dark.

The two of them crawl into the tent, take off their shoes, and immediately run into problem number one.

“There’s only one sleeping bag,” Paige says, holding it up like it might multiply if she stares hard enough.

Azzi stretches out on the tent floor, hoodie riding up slightly over her stomach. “We can unzip it. Make it a blanket.”

Paige blinks. “Right. Smart. Blanket.”

She unzips it and tosses it over them, trying not to look like she’s panicking. Azzi lays back next to her — shoulder to shoulder, close enough to feel every tiny movement.

“Camp vibes,” Azzi mumbles, tugging the blanket tighter around her.

“You look too comfortable right now,” Paige says, arms crossed. “I think you might be built for this.”

“I am comfortable,” Azzi says, grinning. “You good?”

“Fine,” Paige says. “You just take up a lot of space.”

Azzi turns her head. “It’s a tent, not a twin bed. Chill.”

“You’re literally a space heater.”

“Wow. That’s actually the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Paige laughs. Quietly. “You’re ridiculous.”

Azzi shifts a little closer, her arm brushing Paige’s. “You’re warm though.”

“Don’t start,” Paige says, already pulling the blanket tighter around herself like a shield. “We’ve got all night in this tent and I’m barely holding it together.”

Azzi raises an eyebrow. “You holding it together?”

“No.”

Azzi laughs — not loud, not teasing, just low and honest and kind. And Paige feels it in her chest.

—

They talk for a while. About nothing and everything.

Azzi tells a story about how Ice once got lost in a corn maze and blamed “midwest energy” for an hour. Paige tells her about the one time she tried camping in eighth grade, cried when her phone died, and made her dad come pick her up at midnight.

“I brought extra chargers this time,” Paige says.

“Oh, so we’re growing.”

“Character development.”

Azzi’s head tips back when she laughs again, and Paige doesn’t realize she’s staring until the silence hits and Azzi catches her.

“What?” Azzi asks softly.

Paige swallows. “You’re just…”

She trails off. Doesn’t finish the sentence.

Azzi lets it sit there before Paige changes the subject.

“This blanket is way to small and you keep stealing ,” Paige says, tugging at one side. “Now there’s, like, draft zones.”

Azzi snorts. “It’s called sharing.”

“You took, like, 70 percent of it.”

“You’re the one with cold feet.”

“You say that like it’s my fault.”

“It is your fault,” Azzi says, tugging it closer to her shoulder. “Poor circulation.”

“You made that up.”

Azzi grins. “Maybe.”

Paige mutters something under her breath and shifts, pulling the bag higher around her chest. Their arms brush. Neither of them move away.

The flashlight dims in the corner.

They go quiet for a minute.

Azzi’s voice is soft when she speaks again. “So is this better than the your first camping?”

Paige blinks up at the ceiling. “Sure, but it’s because i’ve never done it like this.”

Azzi turns her head slightly. “Like how?”

Paige hesitates. “With someone I actually want to be around.”

Azzi doesn’t respond right away.

But she smiles.

“I like it,” she says quietly. “Even if you steal all the space.”

Paige laughs, too softly to sound real. “You’re literally the one with your elbow in my ribs.”

Azzi doesn’t move it.

Paige doesn’t ask her to.

They lie still for a while. The sleeping bag rustles every time someone adjusts. Paige keeps her hands tucked under her hoodie sleeves like she’s nervous to let them sit still.

“Can I ask something dumb?” she says finally.

Azzi glances over. “Always.”

“Were you hoping we’d get the same tent?”

Azzi doesn’t answer right away. Her voice, when it comes, is barely above a whisper.

“Yeah.”

Paige lets that settle. Lets it wrap around her like warmth.

“Me too,” she says.

Azzi breathes in slow. Then out. “I kept thinking… if I was near you long enough, I’d get over it.”

Paige’s stomach flips. “Over what?”

Azzi looks at her — really looks.

“This….you.”

And Paige… gets it.

She’s not sure when it started, or when it stopped being just a dumb crush that she could joke about in locker rooms. But now, Azzi’s knee is pressed against hers, and their fingers are two inches apart on the sleeping bag, and it feels like something they’ve both been dancing around for too long.

“You don’t have to get over it,” Paige says quietly.

Azzi’s voice cracks just a little. “No?”

Paige shakes her head. “Kinda hoping you won’t.”

And then she reaches over — slow, careful — and links their pinkies.

Azzi doesn’t look away.

Paige leans in.

The kiss is small, soft, something that’s been waiting its turn for months.

And when they pull back, Azzi’s forehead touches hers.

“Just so you know,” she murmurs, “you still hog the blanket.”

Paige smiles.

“You can have it,” she says. “You already have everything else.”

The morning creeps in slow — gray light seeping through the tent fabric, birds being unnecessarily loud, and the chill settling in around the sleeping bag like it’s got a grudge.

Azzi wakes up first.

Not because of the cold — definitely not because of the birds — but because her face is smushed against Paige’s collarbone, and Paige is breathing steady beneath her, still dead asleep.

And Azzi… is on top of her.

Like fully wrapped around Paige. Arm draped over her stomach. Knee tucked up against her thigh. Face hidden in her hoodie. The sleeping bag a mess around them.

She blinks. Doesn’t move.

Paige shifts slightly in her sleep, murmurs something under her breath, and tightens her arm around Azzi’s back like it’s instinct.

Azzi exhales into her chest.

Okay.

This is fine.

Totally normal for two friends who maybe kissed last night and then curled into each other like puzzle pieces. Totally normal.

Azzi doesn’t move.

Because… warmth. Obviously.

Ten minutes pass. Maybe fifteen.

Then Paige mumbles, voice still gravelly from sleep: “You awake?”

Azzi nods against her. “You?”

Paige smiles. “No.”

Azzi huffs a laugh, and Paige opens one eye, looking down at her.

“Are we pretending this is still about warmth?”

“I was.” Azzi shrugs.

“You’re not even cold.”

“You’re warm,” Azzi says simply.

And that’s apparently enough.

Paige shifts under her, eyes still half-closed. “We should probably get up.”

Azzi makes no move.

Paige grins. “Right. In five?”

“Ten.”

They’re quiet for another moment, just breathing.

Then—

The tent zipper yanks open from the outside.

“Y’ALL UP—”

It’s Ice.

And she’s screaming.

“NAH. NAHHH. SARAH, COME LOOK AT THIS. THEY’RE CUDDLING FOR REAL.”

Paige groans, immediately throwing the sleeping bag over both their heads like it’s armor. Azzi’s laughing into her hoodie.

“Tell them to zip it back up,” Paige mutters.

“They’re already taking pictures,” Azzi says, grinning.

“This is why I don’t camp.”

Azzi kisses her cheek through the hoodie.

“You love it.”

“I like you. That’s different.”

Azzi just hums, smug and close and still not moving.

And honestly?

They’re not getting up for a while.

#wnba #wnba basketball #ncaa wbb #wlw #pazzi fics #pazzi #paige bueckers #azzi fudd #paige x azzi #dallas wings #uconn huskies #uconn lives #uconn wbb

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deadhands69 · 3 months ago

Text

Lights. Camera. Action?

When y/n keeps ending up in every porn trope imaginable, how will the league of villains react? crack w/adult situations, language gn/afab reader Four short stories featuring: Tomura Shigaraki, Suichi Iguchi (Spinner), and Touya Todoroki (Dabi)

Stuck in the Washing Machine (feat. Tomura Shigaraki)

This laundry day has not gone as planned. You were almost done. A basket full of clean, fresh laundry warm out of the dryer. All of your chores finished before noon!

Then you see it: one last sock clinging to the back of the drum.

Naturally, you lean in to pull it out. Should be simple, right? Unfortunately not.

When you back up to pull yourself out, you hit your head in the process and your hair gets caught in one of the screws.

“Fucking piece of shit,” you mumble, cursing the old appliance for existing.

Well, you'll just have to untangle it, right? Easier said than done. You can't quite see where you're caught since it's so close to your scalp. In addition to that, you can't move your arms far enough in this position to do much of anything.

You're stuck.

Then you hear it: footsteps. Deus ex machina; you're saved!

“Hey,” your yells echo back at you, nearly painfully. “Can you help me?”

“What?” Tomura Shigaraki’s sleepy voice drawls from the hallway before you hear his footsteps approaching.

“I'm stuck,” you mumble, slightly ashamed of your situation.

“How the fuck did you manage that,” his gravely voice projects down at you, sounding…hot. You try to block the thought from your mind, there are more pressing matters at hand.

“Wow, you're actually stuck in there,” he says, barely hiding his amusement.

Yeah, he definitely sounds hot today. You're not sure what got you in this mood. Was it something you ate? Didn't eat? Maybe you're ovulating. In any case, suddenly you're desperate for him. If fucking someone's voice was on the table, you'd be first in line. Shit, you need to pull yourself together.

“Can you help?” you say a little more suggestively, arching your back to give him a view of the tiny shorts you threw on this morning.

“Uh, I can try.” You listen as his footsteps grow closer until you can see his sweat pant clad legs in what little peripheral vision you have.

He pulls out his phone for the flashlight, reaching his hands as far into the dryer as he can get. The closeness only spurs you on. With as much motion as you're capable of, you lean into his leg, rubbing your hip against him like a cat.

“Can you hold still?” he groans, voice still sending a thrill through you.

“Need you,” you moan, feeling drunk on your own arousal.

“I know you do. There's no way you're getting this untangled on your own.”

In the corner of your eye, a piece of metal flashes as he pulls it from his pocket. This draws you back to reality, but only barely.

“Wait,” you exclaim, “is that a knife?”

“Well, I'm not about to decay your head. Just hold still, I've almost got it.”

The clatter of the knife and dull sound of your hair being sliced reverberate around you. Suddenly, you're free.

Standing up, you stretch for a moment. When you turn to look at Shigaraki, he hands you a chunk of your hair. Confused, you accept it. Great, first you were stuck now you've had an impromptu haircut. That's nice.

Maybe this morning doesn't have to be all bad though.

“Since you saved me,” you lay it on thick, gripping his bicep, “is there anything I can do to thank you?”

“Yeah,” he yawns then considers for a moment, “since you're offering, can you throw my clothes in the dryer? And try not to get yourself stuck again,” he calls out from the doorway as he leaves.

Pizza Delivery Boy (feat. Spinner)

It was just here yesterday, you think while ripping apart your bedroom to find your wallet. If you would have checked earlier, you could have ordered from somewhere that let you pay with a saved card online or Venmo. Unfortunately, the best pizza place in your neighborhood has a strict cash only policy. By the time you realized you couldn’t find the money, the order was already in the oven and it was too late to cancel.

Your phone dings from under a pile of clothes. It’s one of your friends letting you know you left your wallet in her car last night; she'll drop it off after work late tonight. You switch apps to the delivery page. The status bar on your the screen ticks forward, indicating that the driver, ‘Spinner’, is on the way. Not that those are ever correct, but it gives you some vague idea of how little time you have left.

You pull up the couch cushions and search for change under the bed. The yield of your efforts still leaves you just short. Fuck.

With a screech of tires, followed by the light crunch of a vehicle hitting a curb, you're alerted to his presence. You rush to the door, watching through the peephole. The driver climbs out of his car with one hand carrying your pizza and the other flipping his magenta hair out of his face. The world briefly morphs into an old music video, it's like everything is in slow motion.

He’s cute. Really cute.

Maybe there’s another way you could pay for it.

“Hi, uh Spinner!” You answer the door with a bounce, suddenly feeling shy but you push through it. “So, here’s the thing. My friend has my wallet and I’m coming up short on cash. Surely there’s something I could do to make up for it?”

“Oh,” he says, processing what you’ve just said. He’s never had to deal with this on a delivery before.

“When’s your lunch break?” you ask in the most alluring voice you can manage.

“It’s now,” he says nonchalantly. “Well, it's soon. Right after I finish your delivery.”

“You wanna stick around,” you run your hands over his arm, pulling at the sleeve of his leather jacket. “I’m sure there’s some other way to make up for the rest of the bill.”

“Yeah, I’d be down to split it. You picked my favorite toppings and I need to get lunch anyways,” he says, moving into your living room to make himself at home.

As the two of you are eating, you keep glancing up at his face for signs he might be interested in more. Unfortunately, you got yourself pretty worked up in anticipation of trying to seduce him and you’re finding it nearly impossible to turn that off.

“So,” you muse, “after this. You still have like twenty minutes or so, right?”

“Yeah, why do you ask?”

“I thought I could do something for you,” you lean into his shoulder, “you know, to make up for it?”

“Oh, it’s really not a big deal. I had to get lunch anyways,” he says, “but if you want I could stick around for a bit. I think I know what you're getting at.”

He scoots and closer to the center of the couch near you and takes off his heavy jacket. “You know, I really appreciate it too. It's always so hard to unwind in the middle of the work day.”

Just as you're about to reach for his belt buckle, he leans past you – grabbing an n64 controller from the table.

“You want to be Mario or Luigi?” he asks with a huge smile.

The two of you proceed to play the most awkward session of Super Mario Bros of your life, jumping down pipes when you wish he was sliding into yours. When he leaves, he asks for your number, exclaiming how great it is to have a good "video game bro" to hang out with during the day now.

Walked In On (feat. Dabi)

It’s been a long day and you finally get a moment to yourself. All you want is to unwind, what better way to do that than an orgasm? Jumping in the shower, you set the water temp just right. Your favorite music is playing and you relax into it. You finally find the perfect angle for the shower head when–

BANG!

Suddenly the door crashes open and your roommate Dabi barges in.

You stifle a moan for long enough to yell, “hey, I’m in here!” It’s no use though - he’s already in the room, digging through the medicine cabinet.

“Well, there’s only one bathroom and you’re hogging it. Besides,” he adds, “the only Tylenol in the house is in here.” That’s not true, you think to yourself, but it doesn’t matter: he ruined it.

Or, maybe he didn’t.

Through the clear plastic shower curtain, you can make out his frame. Maybe you’re just turned on, but he’s pretty hot. And you’ve only been in here for five minutes, at most, he had to have timed it on purpose. It's almost like he wants to be in here with you.

“Heyyy, Dabi,” you breathe, hoping he hears the longing in your voice and gets the hint it’s okay to join you from that alone.

“Yeah?” he asks, shaking some pills out of a bottle before drinking straight out of the faucet.

“Can you give me some help in here?”

“What, did you get something caught in the drain or something? Because last time that was fucking disgu–”

“No, nothing like that,” you reply quickly, hoping to derail that thought before it gets too far. How is he not getting it, he’s the one who walked in here? “I mean, you came in at a very specific time.”

“Oh, that. If you needed me to get you tampons, you could have just said so. Not like I don't have a mom and sister. Yeah, I'll head to the store. We're out of paper towels so I need to go anyway.”

Good to know, but that's still not what you meant.

“No,” you say exasperated, “that's not the help I'm asking for. Do you want to get in the shower with me?”

You aren't sure how you could make it more obvious than that, surely he has to understand now.

He yanks the shower curtain back, startling you. But, now that he's here… his arms glisten with the drops of water splashing onto him from the shower. You notice the perfect line of his jaw, leaning in to kiss him.

Unfortunately for you, Dabi's attention is still elsewhere as he searches the ceiling. He moves, not noticing your advances.

“Is there a bug or something? That's what you needed help with in here, right?”

“There’s not a bug, I just thought maybe you’d want to take a shower with me.”

“Oh, yeah. That water bill was insane last month,” Dabi says, his face relaxing now that he thinks he understands. “I showered this morning though.”

He closes the curtain on you, turning to head out the door. “Plus,” he adds, “I wouldn’t want it to be weird for you to have to see my dick or anything.”

Weird? That's exactly what you want. You finish your shower quickly and spend the rest of the evening hiding in your bedroom.

Casting Couch (feat. all three)

After months without so much as being called back, you jumped at the first job interview you landed. It’s at a seedy bar on the side of town you don’t usually visit, but that’s not a deal breaker.

When you arrive, a polite man with some sort of smoke quirk greets you at the bar before taking you to a back room.

“Right this way,” he says, holding the door to the hallway. “They’re all back here waiting for you.”

“They? How many people are interviewing me?”

“Just the three of them, they like to work together on matters such as this.” He pushes open another door to a small room and gestures for you to sit on the couch across from the three men. They all perk up as soon as they see you and begin asking questions.

“So how much experience do you have?” asks the man with shaggy blue hair sitting across from you.

“How flexible are you in tough situations?” adds the one with the gecko quirk.

Then the darker haired man chimes in with, “how available can you make yourself?”

It’s all so familiar.

The three attractive men across from you. The leather couch. All of the suggestive questions they’ve been asking. You’ve heard of interviews like this. With how long it’s taken you to find work, you’ll happily play along. Looking at the three of them, you’re even excited for it.

“Okay, let’s get this over with,” you say, taking off your sweater.

“Right now?” asks the blue haired one, looking more confused than you expected.

“Yeah, you want to see what I can do, right?” you reply provocatively.

“Yeah, but,” adds the one with nose piercings, “there’s not enough room in here.” The others nod in agreement.

At that statement, you wonder what kind of crazy shit you’ve gotten yourself into. Curiosity gets the best of you though and you push forward. Whatever it is, you still need the job.

“Then aren’t you going to take me somewhere else?”

“Yeah, you might want to put your sweater on though. It’s pretty cold out,” the man with the fuschia hair replies. Reluctantly, you throw your sweater back on, knowing you’ll just be peeling it off again in a little while.

“Well, lead the way!” you say excited at the prospect of a potential job and the opportunity to sleep with three of the most attractive men you’ve ever seen in your life.

The four of you exit through the bar, the man at the counter waves knowingly. You exit, walking a few blocks down the sidewalk and turning to cut through a park. You must be going to one of their apartments. Abruptly, they stop in the middle of the field and turn to you.

“Now’s your time to shine,” the darker haired man nudges you.

“R-right here?” you ask.

“Yeah, this looks like a good place,” states the one with scars on his lip and eye. Again, the others nod in agreement.

“But there are people...” you whisper, glancing at the busy playground nearby.

“Oh, these people aren’t bothered by anything,” starts the scaled man. “No one in this neighborhood is. Just keep it over here and they’ll mind their own business. Dabi comes down here and does this by himself all the time,” he adds, pointing at the man next to him. Dabi looks pretty proud of himself.

“Huh,” you consider, “well, if you say it’s okay. Maybe we can go behind the gazebo or something.”

“You shy or something?” asks the man who you now know as Dabi.

“Yeah, something like that. I’ve just never done this before. Not like this, at least."

"Weird, but okay," says the one with blue hair.

The four of you walk behind the gazebo where you take your shirt off and they promptly ask if you are having heat flashes and need medical attention.

Needless to say, you did not get that job.

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