#2k Drabble Challenge

[marvelstoriesepic]

I Would Let the World Burn

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky x Non-superhero!Girlfriend!Reader

Summary: You attend a public Avengers event as Bucky’s girlfriend for the first time, but things spiral from nerves to chaos in a matter of seconds. And when you’re caught in the crossfire, Bucky unleashes.

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: violence; injury; PTSD elements; emotional distress; explosions; mass panic; allusions to death; protective!Bucky; nobody hurts his girl; seriously, he’s a little feral here

Author’s Note: I need protective Bucky all day and all night omg. Thank you so much, my love, for this absolutely amazing request!! I hope you'll enjoy ♡

2k Drabble Challenge Masterlist | Masterlist

The lights are everywhere.

Glinting off skyscraper windows and camera lenses, bouncing off metallic armor and too-white smiles.

The voices are everywhere. They swarm like bees - the press, the fans, the murmuring of people watching people.

The flash of the cameras is a strobe light stinging the back of your eyes. Reporters shout questions like bullets, flinging them past your ears and into your chest.

You feel your lungs shrinking in your ribcage as if they’ve decided you’ve seen enough. Felt enough. Been too much.

You’re not supposed to be here.

Not in this crowd, not in this dress, not in front of a hundred reporters and their glittering cameras. Not in the spotlight. Not on the arm of the Bucky Barnes.

You tug at the hem of your dress, fingers nervous, breath catching on a sigh you don’t release. Everyone here looks like they belong - as if they were born to walk red carpets and sip sparkling drinks under light that only blinds you. You feel like an ink smudge on a page of golden script.

It’s the first time you’re out in the public with him. The first time the press will capture who’s been speculated to be the former Winter Soldier’s girlfriend.

Bucky spent the night whispering reassurances into your skin, but it seems you should have listened to his words rather than the feeling of his plump lips all over your body.

Your hand is in his, and his thumb traces slow circles against you, metal fingers warm from your skin. His other hand rests lightly on your back. He hasn’t let go of you once.

You look up at him.

And he’s already looking at you.

He looks perfect, tailored, controlled, dangerous in a way that makes people stare too long and then look away even faster.

His hair is swept back tonight, save for one defiant strand that keeps falling across his brow. You keep watching that strand as if it’s a lifeline. Like if you can count how many times it falls, maybe your nerves will shut the hell up.

You know he feels how tense you are.

He frowns, and it’s so soft it nearly breaks your heart. That Bucky Barnes can frown like that. As if you just told him you were fading into dust.

“Hey,” Bucky coos, voice soft, voice low, the world dissolving for a second into nothing but him and you. “You okay, sweetheart?”

You try to nod. But you can’t lie to him. Words jam in your throat, caught somewhere between the beat of your heart and the reality of who he is and who you are not.

“I just-” you manage, but it’s a little shaky, you look around. “I feel out of place.”

Bucky tilts his head, brow still furrowed tightly. “Why?”

You open your mouth, then close it again. Try to explain how it feels to be ordinary in a sea of extraordinary. How it feels to be his, but not one of them. How terrifying it is to not have armor, or training, or anything more than love for a man who could kill with his pinky finger and kindness in his eyes just for you.

Bucky steps in close, crowding the noise out with the breadth of his body, his warmth, the familiarity of his scent - cedar and cold and something quietly him. His nose brushes yours, and it’s stupid how it grounds you.

“I’d rather be anywhere else,” he murmurs, eyes locked on yours. “I’d rather be nowhere. Just me and you. On a rooftop. Under the sheets. In the woods. I don’t care. Just not here. No noise. No cameras. No Stark in a tuxedo with a martini making bad decisions.”

You laugh, and it trembles out of you.

His smile is all softness and secret promises. His eyes are glinting. “But if I have to be here - then I'm glad it’s with you.”

The way he says it - quiet, low, as if it’s something he only ever told the wind - freezes everything inside you and sets it on fire all at once.

You blink, and the fear stutters. Collapses a little. Because it’s not you and the Avengers. It’s you and Bucky.

His lips graze your ear, then your temple, taking his time. He’s not bothered at all by the cameras flashing around you, capturing this moment, capturing the Winter Soldier going soft on his girlfriend.

You want to fall into him. You want to crawl into his chest and live there.

You let out a breath. It’s just beginning to feel okay. The world quiets just for a second.

Then it explodes.

There’s a metallic whine, a rumble like thunder swallowed by stone. The ground jerks beneath your feet as though it’s trying to shake you off. Screams tear through the air. A plume of smoke mushrooms in the sky as fire roars from the far end of the pavilion. People scatter. Glass shatters. Concrete buckles.

You don’t even have time to be shocked when Bucky already reacts.

He pushes you behind him so fast your teeth snap together. He doesn’t look back. His body shields yours, metal arm braced outward, flesh hand pressing you into his back, eyes scanning for threats.

Another explosion cracks through the sky, rips through the atmosphere like an angry god. And right after, the next explosion follows, punched through the sky like a fist made of fire.

You cough, eyes watering. There’s debris. Someone’s car door skitters across the ground like a dead insect. Tony’s suit whirs to life across the square. Natasha’s already sprinting. Sam is in the air.

Bucky is moving, dragging you behind a line of armored cars, his body is coiled with tension, his expression is deadly serious.

“Stay here!” he orders. It’s his soldier voice. Cold steel and no argument. He’s never used this voice on you before.

“Bucky-”

“Y/n, stay down,” he barks sharply, and you nearly flinch. But his tone is not filled with anger. It’s filled with fear. “Do not move until I come back for you.”

Your heart is pounding so hard you think it might break your ribs. Your head is shaking from side to side so fast, you can’t do anything. “No- Bucky-”

He cups your face, his hands stiff, his hold almost rough. He leans in. “Stay. Here,” he growls. “I can’t do this if I’m worried about you.”

His eyes tell you he already is. He will be. But he doesn’t tell you.

He waits for you to nod, although he doesn’t have the time. An almost aggressive kiss is pressed to your mouth, then to your forehead, and he is gone. Thrown into chaos, lost in the smoke and fury and shouts.

You barely register the space he leaves behind. The smoke moves like a creature through the crowd, making people disappear wholly. Somewhere nearby, there’s another explosion. The screams rise again, louder.

You crouch lower, press yourself against the cold steel of the car, try to breathe through the hammer in your chest. You want to do what he said. You try to do what he said.

But the panic moves toward you.

You don’t see where it starts. Just feel it. A shove. A push. Someone collides with your hiding place, someone is behind you and suddenly you’re on the ground. White-hot pain at your side. You fall hard enough to see stars. A sharp ache slices down your shoulder where debris must have caught you. Blood runs hot and slick beneath your dress.

Disoriented, you try to push up on trembling arms but they shake too much, and everything is spinning.

You don’t see the soldier until you turn your head and there’s a flash of metal in his hand. A knife.

“Y/n!”

It’s your name. It’s Bucky’s voice. It’s not a shout. It’s a roar. As if it was ripped out of his chest. As if he’s afraid of what he’ll find when he gets to you.

From fifty yards away, across smoke and bodies and fire, he sees the blood blooming on your sleeve. Sees your fingers twitch as you try to sit up. Sees the man with the knife coming too close.

And he is barreling through the smoke like something unholy, eyes wild, teeth clenched, hands balled to fists. The light behind his eyes just snaps.

He moves as though he’s been set free. No hesitation. No fear. No softness left in him. His face is stone, is fury, is death, is Winter Soldier. His arm gleams under the flames, a ghost of his past resurrected in defense of his present.

Bucky hits the guy with bone-crushing force, enough to send teeth skittering across pavement. A scream echoes once before it’s cut off. Another blow. Another. Fist to face. Elbow to jaw. A crunch that sounds like death and rage all rolled into one. His vibranium hand wraps around the man’s throat, and you swear you see something flash in his eyes - something ancient and broken - before Bucky picks him up and slams him against a crumbling wall. Again. And again.

It’s not strategy. It’s not mercy. It’s pure rage.

Somewhere, Steve yells his name like a warning.

Bucky doesn’t stop.

“Bucky-” you croak, blood warm down your arm. You try to sit up.

In an instant, he turns back to you, easing up on his brutal hold and the soldier crumples to the ground. Bucky’s whole body is tight with adrenaline, his breath sawing in and out as though he ran through a warzone - which he kind of did. For you. His eyes find yours and shatter.

He’s at your side in half a breath.

“Baby,” he whispers, hands on your face, on your shoulder, trembling now. “No, no, no. You weren’t supposed to be- I told you to stay-”

“I tried,” you defend weakly, dizzy. “I didn’t- I’m okay. I think. Just- grazed me, maybe-”

But he’s not hearing you. Not through the panic tearing holes in his composure. His hands flutter, unsure where to land without hurting you more. His voice drops, gravelly and hushed. “I shouldn’t have brought you here. Shit, I should’ve known-”

“Hey.” You grab his wrists. “Bucky.”

He stills, but he won’t meet your eyes. Your thumb brushes the inside of his wrist. “I’m okay.”

But he’s too far in his head.

He wraps you in his arms in seconds, cradles you as if you’re made of moonlight and scripture, as if you’re hallowed and half-broken and held together by threads only he can see.

His metal hand supports your back, curved protectively around your spine. His other hand is pressing your legs into his chest.

The darkening sky is still full of smoke and sirens.

Colors smear across the sky like blood in water. Reds and blues. Shouting and static. Flashing lights and fractured ground. Somewhere nearby, someone is screaming. Somewhere farther, something explodes.

But not for him anymore. He doesn’t seem to hear anything. Doesn’t seem to listen to anything other than your breathing, your pulse.

He walks fast, but carefully. Erratic feet cut through rubble, his jaw is locked so hard, his body so rigid, he surely is in pain from holding all that tension. His eyes are storm-dark and unblinking. No one stops him. Not Steve. Not Tony. Not even the medics who see the look on his face and take a cautious step back as though maybe the devil borrowed his bones tonight.

He never trusted any random medic to look you over. It has to be someone he knows.

You whisper his name.

Soft. Breathless. Almost an apology.

And he almost drops to his knees.

“I’ve got you,” he rasps, hoarse and urgent. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

You know you are. But he doesn’t.

Your fingers curl in the collar of his suit jacket. His real name - James - lives on your tongue but never quite makes it out because he’s holding you too close, and perhaps saying his name might crush him completely.

He smells like smoke and ash and steel and blood. Your temple is tucked against the curve of his neck, where his pulse thunders beneath the surface. He’s warm and shaking.

He bursts into the quinjet that brought you here like a man on fire, like a man trying to outpace grief, and he yells something sharp. He lays you down - reluctantly, tenderly, surrendering - onto a stretcher, but his hands don’t stop touching you.

He’s a storm with a purpose, and that purpose is you.

You, safe.

You, whole.

You, alive.

“Bucky,” you try to ease, blinking up at him, face pale under flickering emergency lights. “I told you, baby. It’s not that bad.” Your voice is soft. Slow.

“You were on the ground.” His voice cracks.

“I was on the ground for like two seconds-”

“You’re bleeding.”

“It stopped, baby. Okay? There’s no fresh blood.” You are close to whispering.

Bucky doesn’t seem eased, though. He sits beside you. Big body bent in half, elbows on knees, one trembling hand reaching to gently - so, so gently - brush your hair from your forehead.

And then he says it.

“I would’ve burned the whole goddamn city to get to you.” Quiet. Like a vow. Like a confession. Like faith. Like a truth, he doesn’t know how to carry anymore. “I would’ve torn down buildings with my bare hands if I didn’t see your breathing. I don’t care who saw. I don’t care what they think-” his voice breaks, his breaths spill all over his words. “I can’t be okay without you.”

You stare up at him. Your throat is tight, eyes are stinging. Because he doesn’t say things like that. Not often. Not out loud. You see it in his eyes every day, in the way he looks at you, in the way he treats you. But it’s something else entirely to hear him form those words and let his tongue roll them out.

He presses his forehead to yours. His breath ghosts over your lips. His eyes are closed. His hand cups the back of your head.

He’s holding you so close to him, as if he’s never intending to let go ever again.

[daydreamgoddess14]

The Reading Rooms

Inspired by some other gorgeous individuals, I thought I'd try and compile some of my weekly reading into some kind of list. Since throwing myself into the Marvel fandom and actually writing for these characters rather than just reading, I've followed - and been followed by (cue fangirl shriek) - some epic blogs, and I want to be able to throw as many new readers and followers their way as I can.

Always remember to heed the warnings posted by the individual authors. What I'm happy to read may not be what you're happy to read, so I take no responsibility if you find something you're not into.

And finally, Tumblr is a community. Reblog, gush like you've never gushed before - I promise you, the authors below will love it, and love you for it! We write because we love to, but we share our work because we love the community of it. If you read something you like, let the world know! 💕

The List

Lessons in Love-Making by @artficlly. I've only read the first chapter so far, but this already has me totally hooked! Bucky Barnes x Reader.

Not a Fairy Tale Kiss (no names for this exist) by @azriona . This is the very definition of EPIC. A staggering word count, an absolute feat of storytelling. I've barely scratched the surface of this so far, but I'm loving every second. Posted on AO3, so head over there for your fix! Bucky Barnes x Reader.

@mrs-elsie-barnes , the writer that you are! I have a whole heap of recommendations here. First up, Policy & Procedure - if you like your Bucky Congressman shaped, this Bucky Barnes x Reader fic has your name on it. Then we have the little (slightly spoilery) Thunderbolts* drabble - Home Time - Bucky Barnes x Reader. Finally, we have the super hot - I've got to let you know (I need you tonight) featuring Joaquin Torres x Reader.

The 2k Drabble Challenge by @marvelstoriesepic is bananas. The dedication, the range, the heartbreak, and longing... ugh, these are all incredible, but my personal highlights are Misfire, Where We Were When The Stars Came Out, What the Mirror Doesn't Say & Tattoo Me In Flowers. Bucky Barnes x Reader.

Put Your Hands In Mine by @buck-star is so moving and vitally important. I loved it so much. Bucky Barnes x Reader.

Oil & Water by @flowersforbucky was so insanely hot it had me squealing. It is literally perfect if you would like to sit on that man's face. Bucky Barnes x Reader.

Charm and Claim by @ramp-it-up were both so excellent and super hot! Bucky Barnes x Reader.

@aquaticmercy is a genius and the writing is impeccable and when I tell you I RUN to every post... I've so much to catch up on, but Interstate Love Song was gorgeous. Bucky Barnes x Reader.

Let Me Hurt a Little Longer by @daxisyzz was so good! I loved the slightly manipulative POV, who wouldn't want Bucky's hands on them?! Bucky Barnes x Reader.

The Dog Tags series by @marvelwitchergilmore is brilliant! Part 1 is linked, be sure to check out the rest, and what a masterlist to get stuck into - especially for my Slow Horses babes because there's some River Cartwright in there, too! (cc. @cillmequick @dreamer-98 @annaelizabethhenry1 @liquid-confidenc3 💕)

Then we have @navybrat817 , who is pure genius and her post Thunderbolts* fic Not Exactly A Secret. Navy's setting up a Tower Shenanigans list, so expect more from the Thunderbolts*. As well as this, I read the excellent Late Night and Late Night Recap. Bucky Barnes x Reader.

I came across @jobean12-blog 's This Is Love this week, an oldie but a very goodie! Bucky Barnes x Reader.

If you haven't read Security Clearance by @societyfolklore yet, why?! This was soooo hot! Bucky Barnes x Reader.

And lastly, I'm sharing this little New Dad Bucky Headcannon by @sunday-bug , and lemme tell ya, it will not be the last thing I share of Sunny's! I can't wait to get stuck into her Masterlist because it's going to take over my life in the best possible way!

This covers everything I've read this week 🙌

God, I hope the links all work cos that took forever 🤣. Apologies for sharing via my own slightly unhinged reblogs. Next time, I'll try and make sure I share original links where possible!

💕

pressing post and hoping all the tags work 🫡

[hugheshischier4313]

YOU MISS HIM DON’T YOU | Q. HUGHES

Pairing: Quinn Hughes x reader

Warnings: maybe emotional cheating?

Word count: 2k

Author’s note: Hi lovelies! I was rewatching desperate housewives and a certain scene encouraged me to write something similar. It was supposed to be a quick little Drabble/blurb but im at 10 pages now and still not done. So here’s a snippet :)

———————————————————————

Quinn had known about your boyfriend from the very beginning. He had seen you together, bringing boxes to the apartment beside his, and noticed you immediately. He wished he could say it had all been innocent, but the first thing he saw was how your legs looked in the tennis skirt you had been wearing. You bent down to pick up a fallen pillow as he exited his car in the parking garage. His eyes lingered on you, and he forced himself to turn away before you noticed. He swore he would offer to help you before he met eyes with Andrew as he stepped out of the parking garage elevator.

"I didn't mean to; it just happened. You were bent over, in a skirt, right outside my car; it was hard to look away when I didn't expect you to be there." Quinn had a slight pink tone to his features right now, and you were smiling, trying to suppress a laugh. You stood in the kitchen, pouring the margaritas into your cups.

"You mean the skirt I'm wearing right now? Is that why you mentioned it? Quinn, you could have kept that secret forever. I mean, you couldn't waterboard that information out of me." You were always more giggly when drinking, which was contagious to Quinn. "But since you didn't, I'm gonna use this against you for the foreseeable future."  The laugh left you when you got back to Quinn's couch. "I'll try not to make any sudden movements that may catch you off guard," you teased as you stood before him and handed him his drink.

"It's not funny; I've felt bad about this for months." he tried to be serious, but the smile never left his face. As you nodded with a smirk on your lip, you turned from him after he grabbed the glass, "Y/N, I'm serious." He wasn't; he could never stay upset with you, even in a joking manner. 

"I guess I'll just go back to my apartment then; I don't want to bring back any of your past shame." your body once again turned towards him as you leaned down over to hug him, "Bye, Hughes, I'll make sure to only wear this when you're out of town." He let out a sarcastic 'ha.' "You don't have to leave; I can control myself. I promise." he rolled his eyes and slowly got up to stop you.

"I don't know; I think the only logical answer is to wear your Drew sweats." You had pivoted and ran to his room before he could reply. You had bugged him countless times to try them on over the past months; you had just wanted to see if they were worth the hype because the black sweats had been sold out forever (and maybe, subconsciously, because of your past love for Justin Bieber). And every time he said no, you took this as your opportunity to try them and bug him simultaneously.

Being in Quinn's room was familiar to you. You had spent most days at one of the two apartments, and sometimes that meant laying in his bed watching TV after he had just returned from a string of away games or after a challenging game or practice. You had worn his clothes before, too; it was always in a platonic way, the first time you had locked yourself out after being out on a run when it started raining. You lost your key on the run, and the concierge was gone for the night. You had also spent the night; he let you sleep in his bed and took the couch. 

As you ran into the room, you closed the door behind you and walked into the closet, closing that door, too. You had found the sweats and slowly walked out of the closet. There was no sight of Quinn, and the bedroom door was still closed. You walked towards the door, sweats in your hand, as you called out to him, "Q? Are you -" But you were cut off as he tackled you onto the bed next to you.

The two of you lay on the bed laughing before turning to face each other. The laughter died down, and you were smiling and looking at each other. The two of you lay there for a while, not saying anything until you broke the silence, "Your eyes are a different colour every time I see you, but today I can see every shade in them." You don't know why you needed to share your observation with him, but it felt right. "You cut your hair." He reached out to tuck a strand behind your ear and play with the end of another. His voice had been so him, soft yet dominant. It was true; you had gotten a slight trim the day before and a few longer layers at the bottom of your hair, a small and simple detail that could have been missed. In fact, he was the only person to notice; none of your classmates or even Andrew, although over Facetime, had noticed. 

The room felt heavy as you looked from his hand in your hair to his eyes again, stopping to look at his lips for a second. And when you reached his gaze, it was unreadable. "I -" A phone began to ring as Quinn was about to speak. You could see a shift in his demeanour as you continued to look at him. He got up to find the cause of the sound. "It's your phone." He walked it over to you before heading out to the living room again. The phone illuminated ANDREW CALLING.

You looked towards the empty doorway as you brought the phone up to your ear. "Hey you," your playful voice sounded forced, and the smile on your lips was even more so. "Hey, I have a surprise for you. The notification said it was in the lobby." This shocked you, not only because it was a surprise but because Andrew was never one for small gestures. It was always something big like him ordering 4 dozen roses to your desk after your fourth date. But he had never just sent you or given you something randomly.

Andrew could be a sweet guy; you worked together before he asked you to have dinner with him. You knew you were moving and had no intention of starting anything serious before moving to Vancouver, but he had been so persistent, and it felt nice to have a distraction with all the craziness of moving. But living in different provinces has brought no comfort to either of you. It felt like pen pals most of the time. You would call him a few times a week and talk for an hour before he had to go. There had been a few times where you could have sworn you heard someone else there, but the times you mentioned it, it felt like the fight had been more trouble than the issue itself.

And maybe subconsciously, you felt like a hypocrite. Your relationship with Quinn was platonic, but the number of times you were confused as a couple in public could be seen another way. In fact, you hated to admit it, but it felt like you communicated more with Quinn when he was away than with your boyfriend. 

"There's something for me in the lobby of my apartment complex? Andrew, what did you do? It's 7pm?" As you started talking, Quinn walked into view, bringing your drinks and extending to you. "It's a surprise; you should go get it now; I'm assuming it's just on the concierge desk based on the picture." You stared up at Quinn as you listened to Andrew, "Okay, I'll be down in a minute, and I'll call you back once I have it." The phone call was quickly over. 

"What did you order?" Quinn asked with a smile, used to all the packages you've received. A few that had been too heavy for you to carry on your own that Quinn had taken himself. Even when they hadn't been too heavy, he would carry them for you if he was there. "I'm not sure, Andrew sent it to me." You could have sworn there was a look on his face that was gone as quickly as it appeared. "You want me to go with you in case you need help?" there was no hesitation in your quick reply of 'yes.'

As the two of you walked down the hall, you were overly aware of the distance between you. It was no different than it had been in the past, but there was a particular charge. The words shared and unshared in the bedroom hung heavy. "So I never got to even put the sweats on," you joked while waiting in front of the elevator. "You can borrow them when we get back up if you want," his answer made your breath hitch. He had never let you try them on, much less borrow them.

He looked at you, letting you walk into the elevator first. The ride down was quick and quiet, but how you looked at each other made everything race faster. Your heartbeat quickened as you saw his slight deviation towards your lips before making their way back up. "Quinn," your voice came out as a low plea; whether it was to continue or to stop was uncertain. He stepped closer to you as the two of you stood in silence for a brief moment before the doors opened. As you stepped out, your heart felt heavy.

As you made your way towards the front desk, you saw the back of a man at the desk, but when you heard the voice,  it made you freeze. Andrew, he was in your lobby waiting for you, Quinn failed to notice your pause and ran into you. However, before you could tip forward, Quinn had steadied you with a hand on your arm and waist. Andrew called out when he turned around. 

"Andrew! What are you doing here?" You didn't miss the look he gave the sight of the two of you or how his gaze only lingered on Quinn's hand on your waist as he walked closer. You unhooked yourself from Quinn to hug Andrew. The hug was stiff; he held himself higher, and his head hadn't moved from the position it had been in before. You figured he was still looking at Quinn. 

"I wanted to surprise you; we settled a case earlier than expected, so I took a few days off." You had pulled yourself to his side, a view of both him and Quinn. They kept looking towards each other, completely ignoring you. "Well, Andrew, this is my friend I always tell you about, Quinn. He introduced himself the day I moved in, remember? He lives next door to me." Andrew smiled down at you as you continued. "Quinn, you remember Andrew." Quinn looked from you to Andrew before extending his hand. "Good to see you again, man." Andrew hesitated before shaking his hand. 

There was a quick silence before Quinn grabbed his phone from his pocket and looked at the screen, excusing himself, "I have to make a phone call; I'll see you around," but before he could walk off, you gave him a side hug goodbye. You had done it a thousand times before, and feeling like you couldn't because Andrew was there didn't feel like a good sign, so you did it anyway. "I'll text you," you quietly said as you let go.

The next few days had been uneventful, showing Andrew around Vancouver. The hallway had felt unusually empty each time you passed, hoping to run into Quinn. A string of away games was starting that Monday, and when you came back from dropping off Andrew at the airport on Sunday night, you noticed the bag sitting in front of your apartment door. 

The black sweats were inside with a note, 'I'll pick them up when I'm back. Enjoy :). ~ Q" He never asked for them back

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[frostara]

Challenges

Cregan Stark x Karstark!Female

Synopsis: It takes some time to get to know each other, and lots of words to understand.

Wordcount: 2k

Tags: characters miscommunicate at first, but overall fluff, Cregan is 17, Astrid is 15

Notes: Hi! This could be read as chapter 2 for this work, but does pretty well on its own. All thanks to one person who asked for a second part - I hope you'll like it </3 I wanted to describe Cregan and Astrid the way they are - youthful people, with their own beliefs that are sometimes wrong (Astrid is so silly I love her) and quick to change temper. I worked on this drabble a little harder and hopefully, it was worth it!

Winterfell was like a living being—always alert and ready, yet calm and composed. It thrived with the quiet bustle of its people, the rustle of dry bushes, and cold of its stone walls. A guarded place, where the only thing Astrid had to worry about was herself. At least for now.

One moon have passed since she was wed to the Lord of the Winterfell, and yet, she felt rather wary of him. Cregan, whom she called so yet in her mind, was always surrounded by either maister-at-arms or castellan, which left her seeking his attention that he could not give.

Though, Astrid would be forever ungrateful if said that she was entirely alone. She had grown quite fond of maester Alvin, an old grey-haired man, but skilled and cunning like no one. He often inquired after her well-being with genuine courtesy and shared his wise thoughts, for which she was forever grateful.

Yet the companionship of one old master could not fill the void of loneliness. Her handmaidens, taught to serve their lady quietly, rarely spoke unless adressed directly. To make them speak freely was a challenge, but one she welcomed.

"My Lady, Lord Cregan sent me to let it be known that he awaits you in Godswood, and I am to accompany You on Your way," said Ethel as she entered chambers after a gentle knock. She was a pretty girl, not much older than Astrid, and probably the one she was fond of.

"Right. Well then, let us not keep the Lord waiting," - Astrid replied, standing perhaps more quickly than intended, letting Ethel drape a warm cloak over her frame to shield her from wind in this chilly weather.

As they made their way, her nervousness spilled in questions she bothered Ethel with: "Was Lord in a good mood? Did he seem upset with anything? Was he alone?" She could swear on all Old Gods that Ethel was laughing at her, but skillfully maintained her composure. Though, Astrid was too nervous to pay attention to that, pressing on. Luckily, the walk was short, and soon they were able to see the red leaves that framed the massive tree. Ethel bowed and turned her back, leaving Astrid to herself.

She took a moment to steady herself before stepping closer to where Cregan stood. She felt cold seep through her body, making her shiver. Heart tree was there, proudly emracing everything with its branches as if hiding from the sky. He looked like a real Stark, in a place he was always supposed to be. And Astrid was just a huble guest, even if being his wife. Light wind was playing with his dark hair, moving leaves casting shadows on his stern face.

"My Lord wished to see me?"

He turned to face her, his black eyes softening slightly as a polite smile tugged at his lips. "I did. I wish to know how my Lady fares."

Cregan walked towards her, and it was only then that she noticed a crimson leaf he was holding in his hand. She returned his smile, though uncertain of what to say. He seemed to be unbothered by silence that layed between them, as he studied her appearance. During their wedding he barely payed attention to her. Perhaps, that was why he was observing her so carefully now.

"I am very happy to be here," - Astrid nodded to her words, as if to make sure he believed her. "Winterfell does not cease to amaze me."

Cregan hummed to himself, not really putting his mind to her words. He seemed lost in thoughts, and these thoughts were far away from here. Far from her. She felt subtle sting in her when she thought of it. Why did he call her, if he still did not care about her being?

He was still holding the leaf in his callused hands, twirling it with his fingers when he brought it to her, putting it in her braided hair.

"Red suits you well. Has anyone told you that before?"

He murmured, seeming to be pleased with his work, running his fingers along her braid, his lingering touch leaving Astrid speechless. Her eyes widened as she tried to hide her confusion. He was gentle, almost reverent, and it warmed her heart in a way she never felt before. Was this the first time he truly saw her as a wife?

"No, my Lord. I believe you are the first to notice."

Cregan took his hand away from her hair, offering his elbow for her to grab. "Very well. Let us walk, I would not wish for you to get cold while standing here," - as he put his hand on his sword.

Astrid hesitated a moment before wrapping her fingers around his clothed arm, feeling the soft fur and fabric of his cloack, contrasting with his cold and rough to touch sword, accepting the offer. It pleased her more than she cared to admit to spend time with him in the godswood, a sacred place. Though it was still a mystery to her, what made him be so attentive to her today?

It was very quiet there, only rare birds chirping and leaves rustle could be heard. Astrid took a deep breath, enjoying frosty and fresh air that smelled of wood and earth. She found this moment very peaceful, this walk was a sweet gesture and it was not nice of her to doubt her husbands kindness.

"I have been thinking about our marriage," Cregan began after a while. "It seems to me that I have not fulfilled my duties to you. For this, I ask your understanding, and, perhaps, your forgiveness."

Cregan turned his gaze to her, awaiting what she has to say. She was now taken aback by his words. A suspicious thought was starting to form in her head - his previous behaviour could not be judged, it fitted his position. But these gentle words now were not sounding like the ones he would actually say. An odd feeling took place in her, yet, she could only listen to him right now.

"It is no secret to me how tiring your position may be," she started carefully. "And I could never hold it against you."

She studied his face, searching for any sign of anger or discomfort. Yet a gnawing curiosity urged her to push further. Astrid evased any other words from him, now being curious to get an answer for her thoughts:

"My Lord, if I may ask, did someone suggest that you speak to me like that?" - she stopped, making her husband follow her action, now facing each other. He was confused, and he could not hide that, making it obvious he was not prepared for such confrontation. Astrid believed there was also a hint of irritation in his expression.

"In what way are you implying this?" he asked, his tone guarded but lacking the harshness she feared.

Cregan even forgot to adress her properly. It made Astrid smile ever so slightly, now making her scared that she could offend him with her words.

"Do not misunderstand me, my Lord, but your actions are...rather opposing your character, which makes me suggest that you might have sought an advice about our relationship from someone."

She tried her best to sound friendly and not too arrogant, but confused look on his face eased her worries - he probably could not be angry with her now, that he looked so amusing. Astrid awaited patiently, when he finally spoke up.

"First of all, do not jest with me in such a way," he replied, his voice firm but lacking true anger. "I may be your husband, but my behavior is none of yours to question."

He glanced away, looking in direction of a bird that landed on a low-hanging branch nearby. The pause gave Astrid a moment to collect herself, and she only smiled at her thoughts, now being more confident to continue.

"Forgive me," her tone sincere. "I only wanted to make sure I understood the situation well." She reached out, lightly tugging on his sleeve to draw his attention back to her. The gesture startled him, and instinctively, he caught her hand in his. For a moment, they stood frozen, her smaller hand caught in his. He did not let go, and his grip, though firm, was not harsh.

Wind sent another gust as couple of bright red leaves fell from tree, falling at their legs. Laying onthe ground, they could be mistaken for small pools of blood. It sent a shiver down Astrid's spine, the movement was visible for Cregan. It made him snap from frozen state as he let her hand hung in the air, bringing his own to his sword, slight embarrasment from an intimate moment made him cough, as if to shift their attention away.

But Astrid still was confused. Was she right then? Perhaps, her behaviour made it impossible for her Lord to seek her company? She felt nervousness fill her heart once again, making her clasp her hands together on stomach, as if trying to calm herself down.

"Maester Alvin is someone you could consider guilty," Cregan's voice cut through silence, breaking the formed pause.

"Though, I believe, his intentions were kind."

"Should I be grateful for it then?" she bit on her inner cheeck, fidgeting with cold fingers. Astrid felt emarrased: she probably looked so stupid right now; her concern made her act very rude, or atleast, that is what she believed.

"You could at least try to not to be mad at me."

He rubbed the back of his neck, as if looking for the right words. The situation they currently trapped themselves in was quite awkward. Astrid hummed softly at his words in an attemp to answer, but words would get stuck in her throat.

"I am not mad, my Lord" - it was all she could mutter, before quickly facing him away. She was definetly not acting like a modest lady right now. But who was to blame for that?

"Cregan."

Astrid blinked, turning her head back at her husband.

"Call me by my name. You are my wife, you have such right." He shrugged, an unsure smile tugging at his lips.

This time, he held out his hand to her.

"I believe we will have many days to continue this argument, if you wish that," she took his hand, now holding it gently, but with a firm grip, returning his favour as she unconsciously smiled herself.

"But we had spent more than we should have time here. Let us head back to castle, before anyone starts looking for us."

Their way back was more pleasant, as the silence that followed them was now a welcomed one, sometimes interrupted with quiet laughter.

[reiderwriter]

Elevator Pitch

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

WC: 2k!!

Warnings: Smut, fingering, semi-public sex/ foreplay, praise kink-ish, some pet names completely ignored Spencer's germophobia to make this work 18+ MINORS DNI

Summary: Getting trapped in an elevator is never fun, but at least the attractive you're sharing the metal box of death with has an interesting idea about how you can pass the time.

A/N: This is just a really quick drabble for @imagining-in-the-margins Meet Cute challenge for this month!! I have an idea for another one that I'll post closer to Halloween too, so look forward to that alongside all the kinktober fics 👀

Check out my masterlist here!

You weren't planning on running late on your very first day on your new team, but here you were. You were scheduled to meet Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner in his office at 9 a.m. sharp, and here you were at 8:57, trapped inside an elevator. At least you weren't alone, but alone with a stranger, and one who seemed to be talkative in the worst way wasn't exactly ideal either. 

"Hey, don't panic. There are about 6 elevator-related deaths per year and about 100,000 injuries. I'm pretty confident about those statistics." He said, taking a sip of his coffee as he stood calmly by the door, pressing buttons and waiting for something to happen. 

"Oh god, I'm gonna die in here." You whimpered a little bit, falling to your knees and screwing your eyes shut. 

"No, I said we're not gonna die. Or its at least very unlikely." 

"And I'm supposed to trust you?" 

"Yes, I'm very good with numbers. Elevator accidents account for 0.00024% of all elevators in service in the US. There you don't have to panic anymore." Almost punctuating his words, the elevator gave a low groan and fell an inch lower, pushing him off balance and toppling to the floor right next to you. 

"That was just unfortunate timing." He said, his breath hitting your face. Your eyes opened again finally, and you noticed that due to his topple, he was way closer than before, face merely inches from your own. Whoever this overconfident stranger was, he was attractive. Distractingly so, as you didn't respond to his sentence the entire time he was there in front of you, words suddenly escaping you as you stared into his dark, wide eyes. 

"Mechanical issues are the cause of about 15.3% of elevator incidents. Since we're in Quantico, we can probably rule out foul play, which means that they'll probably have us back up and running in around 27 minutes." Opening his mouth ruined the fantasy for a minute, waking you up to the reality of your situation. 

"Did you work an elevator case or something, why do you know so much about this?" You regretted the question as soon as you asked it, as he launched into another speech. 

"I read the statistical reports published by the CPSC and the OSHA. It’s really interesting stuff actually, there are-”

“Please don’t take this the wrong way but I need you to shut up. I don’t think I can take any more statistics about my inevitable death by elevator. Can we do something else instead?”

“Like what?” 

“I don’t know. Can you… Can you hold my hand?” You felt yourself flush red the second the words left your mouth, and suddenly it was your turn to talk too much. “My mom used to do it when I was scared as a kid, and obviously you’re not my mom, and you don’t even know me, but I thought it could help comfort both of us. Human contact and touch is supposedly comforting in times of distress so I just thought…” He cut you off by silently grabbing your hand and settling into a seated position beside you and you sent a little prayer up to god to spare both your soul and your heart. 

Because Jesus Christ it was beating hard now.

“Oxytocin,” he said and you looked up at him with a questioning look. “Oxytocin is released when you come into contact with other people, it’s the reason newborn babies benefit from skin-to-skin contact and why humans enjoy petting domestic animals so much. And the whole sex to destress thing.” He nodded and looked away, but you could have sworn the oxygen was completely sucked out of the room when he mentioned sex. 

“Sex?” He turned to you as you said the word, as if processing the conversation you were in the middle of it. 

“Yeah, never heard of it?” You rolled your eyes and squeezed his hand in your own for a second, but his body was leaning closer into yours now, his entire attention on you, as if he expected you to answer the question. 

“Of course I have.” 

“And what do you think? Can it help you de-stress?” 

Your mouth moves before you can stop it. “Can we stop talking about this please, I’m already scared, I don’t need to be scared and horny.” You close your eyes and groan as his widen again, and suddenly you’re praying again, but this time you wouldn’t really mind if you became one of those six elevator malfunction deaths. 

“I don’t know, maybe it would help you. There are some studies that show that stress can have aphrodisiacal impacts in women, you know?” His voice was light, but your entire body stiffened as you looked into his eyes, trying to gauge what this stranger was offering. 

“So what, you’re suggesting I just get more and more turned on until I’m not worried about death?” 

“No, I’m suggesting I close the gap between us and distract you for a while.” You spared a glance down to his lips then, his tongue darting out to lick them and pulling you in closer. You nodded quickly, a small movement and he pushed his lips down into yours. 

He was soft at first, and you almost felt like pulling away and scalding yourself for engaging in risky behavior during a near-death experience. But just as you moved to pull away, his hand came up to your hair and you melted right back into him, the kiss deepening as you slanted your neck up to give up more of yourself to him. 

You barely feel his hands pulling you into his lap, but you’re suddenly there and so happy you are. Your free hand wanders up to his chest as he squeezes your connected digits again, sending your heart into a fit of palpitations. In a panic you pull away, groaning a little as you can feel his not stiff member poking between your legs. 

“Sorry, I don’t think we exchanged names. I’m Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N..” 

“Nice to meet you, Y/N.” His lips fall down to your neck as he whispers the words into your skin, and you let your head fall back as his hands untangle from you and fall to your hips, encouraging your movements as you begin grinding over him.

“And you said we had twenty-seven minutes before we’re free, right?” 

“Whose the one talking too much now?” He bit into your neck sharply then, and you moaned out, battling the urge to let him take you there on the elevator floor. From it’s perch on your hip, his hand slips down and pops the button in your pants, pushing inside and finally touching you through your panties.

“That’s it, good girl, just keep grinding down on me.” Unconsciously, you press your hips into his hands, the pressure leaving you letting out a whistful sigh of relief. 

“God,… Should we be doing this here?” Your words were unsure, but your movements weren’t as you pushed yourself into him again and again, desperate to feel more of him as he rubbed circles into your clit, driving you closer and closer to your peak. 

“Let’s assume for now that the elevator malfunction has wiped out the CCTV,” he says, lips pressing against your skin as you lose yourself in his touch again. “We absolutely should be doing this.” 

His words fell straight to your core, and you felt yourself grow more aroused as you pondered being caught in such an intimate position with a stranger.

“You think you can cum right here, baby? Think you can give me one soon?” His words almost sent you over the edge, his smile widening as your hips twitched over his. 

“Fuck, yes, yes, please, don’t stop.” 

“Not so scared about this elevator anymore are you? Or did you want to spend your last moments coming undone in my hands?” With his words, you lost the ability to speak, simply moaning out your agreement to his every word. 

“I think I can hear someone talking through the walls, baby, you’re going to have to cum now for me, can you do that?” You nodded to him as he increased his pace on your words, and within seconds, you were letting it all out, head falling against his shoulder as you twitched through your orgasm. He pulled his hands out of your pants quickly and pressed a kiss to your lips, pulling you up to a standing position and making you look presentable as the doors to the elevator were finally pried open from the other side. 

“Hey, how are you guys holding up in there?” The call came from the maintenance staff, and you were sudden;y thankful that he’d finished you off when he did because as horny as you’d been, actually getting caught like that was something entirely different than the fantasy of it. 

You’re almost sorry that you have to leave when you do, suddenly absolutely involved in helping him “destress” the same way he’d helped you out. But he removes his hands from you and strikes up a conversation with the maintenance staff working to get your elevator level with the floor doors. You gravitate to the back of the stall, gripping the railing while your brain catches up to the circumstances. 

In no time, the elevator is back in working order, and you and your stranger are stepping foot on steady ground again, and saying your goodbyes.  

“Aaron Hotchner’s office is through those doors. Up the stairs to the left.” He smiles and nods at you before turning down the corridor and leaving you there by yourself. A glance at your clock tells you you’re too late to question his words, and how he even knew where you were going. You take off down the hall, ready to profusely apologize to your new boss and pledge to take the stairs for the rest of your days. 

When Hotch finally greets you, he has already heard about the elevator malfunction, and all is thankfully forgiven. You have to bite your tongue before asking if everyone on this floor is psychic. But you’re still late, and you have a case, so your introductions have to take place in the briefing room and you half-run, half-walk behind the older man as he makes his way down the hall. 

“Everyone we have a new team member today, please help her out for this first one and show her the ropes.” He introduces you by name, and you’re suddenly doing your best to memorize the names of a Prentiss, a Rossi, a Morgan, a JJ, and one Penelope Garcia. They seem to be waiting for someone else, but with the clock ticking, Penelope begins debriefing you on the next case.  

“Sorry I’m late,” a voice calls from the door, and you feel the hairs on your neck stand up in shock as everyone slowly turns to greet the newcomer. 

“What time do you call this?” Morgan laughs as the familiar man approaches, and a quick glance around tells you that the only seat left at the table, which had been so obviously reserved by the pile of paper files in contrast to everyone else's digital alternatives, was right next to you. 

“Spencer, we have a new team member, this is Y/N. She’ll be joining us on cases from today onwards.” Hotch quickly says, and you lock eyes with the man just as he falls into his seat. 

“I think we’re acquainted. Nice to meet you, Y/N. I’m Spencer Reid.” The room falls silent as he holds out his hand for you to shake, and you do your best to not show your shock and embarrassment on your face. You let your hand fall into his, the same one that you’d held earlier, the same one that had worked you up to the edge and then helped you pour over it, the same one that had pulled you together afterward. You said nothing after you’d finally pulled apart, waiting for him to make the next move once again. 

“I look forward to working with you.” 

[aethon-recs]

This Week in Tomarrymort (4 – 10 October 2024)

Another week chock-full of updates! October is always such a rich and amazingly productive month in fandom, with such an explosion of new ideas and fics with the many prompt challenges going on. And a few more @tomarrybigbang fics as well! 

As with last week, please feel free to add some extra context to your fic update in the reblog, like a little bit about the chapter(s) updated. For this format of weekly list, there’s no space to add a summary or extra info about the fics, so I’ll rely on the authors to share a bit more about their updates, if you’re so inclined! 🤍

A recap of the author notes from last week:

such unholy heaving by @cealesti (M, 10k, WIP) “A horror/suspense F/F Tomarry fic set in a D&D-inspired fantasy setting.” These Fragments We've Shored by @rowena-rain (M, 28k, WIP) “GOVERNMENT WARNING: (1) According to the Surgeon General, Harry Potter should not drink alcoholic beverages while resurrecting Lord Voldemort because of the risk of...everything. (2) Consumption of alcoholic beverages impairs your ability to operate Deathly Hallows, and may cause, er, problems. Aka, Harry gets hammered and decides it's a great idea to drunk "text" (i.e., summon) Voldemort with the Stone. Voldemort isn't one to pass up an opportunity to exploit vulnerability for personal gain.” Do It Over by @marrythemonstersao3 (T, 46k, WIP) “A depressed postwar Harry has taken Death's hand, reunited with the horcrux he mourned, and traveled into his own past Now he wakes up on the morning of his eleventh birthday, ready to do things differently this time. He has no grand plans, just the instinct to be close to the man whose soul he shares.” Anytime, Anywhere, Always by @moontearpensfic (E, 18k, WIP) “A role reversal AU! In this latest chapter, Tom tells a scary story for Halloween to get Harry hot and bothered.” on line sex & rabbit stew by @izharmilgram (E, 3k, complete) “Includes time-travelling Professor Harry Potter, phone sex in the 1950s, horcrux shenanigans, parseltongue, Tom being sexually frustrated... fun stuff.” The Brief Fiery Plummets by @marrythemonstersao3 (T, 1k, WIP) “A series of 100-word drabbles exploring different moments Harry might have woken up in after traveling back to the past in When the Weight is Gone.” forgive me father by @cindle-writes (E, 2k, complete) “A PWP one-shot where Tom sneaks into Harry's bed while he's sleeping and seduces him, featuring adoptive father Harry and shota boypussy Tom.”

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Tomarrymort One Shots and Completed Fic

Chapter 15 (Completed) of Just Business by @holaolla1

One Shot | family friends by @reggieblk

One Shot | young lust by @xodahafez

One Shot | the precarity of virgin souls by @izharmilgram

One Shot | roughly, dry and painful by @2sidesofthesamesoul

One Shot | don’t wake me (i’m not dreaming) by @dreaming-in-the-dark

One Shot | The Sweetness of Your Tears by @v33r00

One Shot | sleeping with ghosts by @theonceandfuturequeenoftarts

One Shot | Newly Forged by @obsidianpen

One Shot | bad guy by @circleofplanets

One Shot | nineteen (ever so priceless) by @midsummersins

One Shot | Consequences of Murder by @penrot

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Tomarrymort Ongoing Fics

Chapter 3 of friend of the devil (a friend of mine) by @shyinsunlight

Chapter 37 of Part One - The Solitude of Suffering by @iseliljathedreamer

Chapter 63 of Holly & Yew by @lovely-lotus

Chapter 7 of Anytime, Anywhere, Always by @moontearpensfic

Chapter 15 of Sits the wind in that quarter by @mosiva

Chapter 1 of it’s hard being casual by sansaerys

Chapter 12 of Saint Harry by @alenablack @chaos-bear

Chapter 9 of Ills of Murder by @shadow-of-the-eclipse

Chapter 3 of a pound of flesh by @ictyn

Chapter 7 of Hole in the Wall by tomrddle

Chapter 11 of Aphelion by TimaeusKosmou

Chapter 36 of Seeing Sand by @valkyrie-chemist

Chapter 14 of the stars, my destination by @milkandmoon-ao3

Chapter 2 of Lunacy by @crowcrowcrowthing

Chapters 1 and 2 of What quickens me is the violence in thee by @i-dream-of-libraries

Chapter 1 of The Sacred Art Of Repression by @goldenzingy46

Chapter 2 of such unholy heaving by @cealesti

Chapters 5 through 7 of The Brief Fiery Plummets by @marrythemonstersao3

Chapter 4 of Fate's Coffin by @noxxytocin

Chapter 1 of Infinite by @moontearpensfic

Chapter 5 of i am anonymous, you are a concrete wall by Pensievable

Chapter 1 of Plague by @a-sentimental-man

Chapter 5 of Forbidden Darkness by @neurowriter14

Chapter 4 of Memories of a Killer by @chemfreak89

Chapter 1 of the alchemy by @cindle-writes

Chapters 126 and 127 of Liquida Tenebris (Remastered) by @dymis

Chapter 1 of despite everything, it's still you by @boromirsayshi

Chapter 8 of all you do is kill, love snakes, and lie by @soopsiedaisies

*

[clairdelunelove]

winning game

itadori yuuji x f!reader

genre: fluff (gamer!yuuji drabble!)

warnings: suggestive, broad gamer lingo, 2k words

synopsis: yuuji's great at everything and, unsurprisingly, he's an amazing gamer. but what happens when he gets a little– say– distracted?

a.n. woAH who wrote this?! hehe but hear me out, I luv watching streams and I lowkey game on the side soo, this was expected. this was HEAVILY inspired by @r5x95r13ros's beautiful art. I apologize for the person I became while writing this. but oh my gosh, did it change me. (⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄)

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gamer!yuuji who begs you to sit on his lap while he's gaming because he loves the way you feel on him

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gamer!yuuji who normally doesn’t mind any type of video game genre. it’s fun! just a little hobby that helps him destress after a long day. as long as he has friends that are willing to play, he’s satisfied. however, it’s rather interesting that he seems to do exceptionally well in fps games. it could be due to the fact that he has reflexes like no other. he can and will adapt to any situation, regardless of the fact that he might not have the most experience in the game or he’s still learning the basics. focuses on minor details; like an enemy’s character model glitching through the wall or hearing their footsteps on the floorboards. any hint that’ll pinpoint his enemies location. which is 100% why he’d have his volume turned up to the max. also, he’s a proficient learner. think of him as the type of person that’s automatically skilled at a game even if he’s never played it before. even in real combat, he just has a knack of strategizing ten steps ahead of the enemy team and wins rounds because of it. and he doesn’t possess a competitive drive like some of the ‘rage-quitters’ on his team but he locks in if he manages to make a mistake. he’ll express a sincere, “my bad!” and then douse the entire opposition the next round, making it to the top of the leaderboard. he has this adorable habit where if he unlocks an incredibly rare achievement and you compliment him on the feat, he’ll tilt his head in confusion. just doesn’t grasp how impressive he is. yet he feeds into your praise like if you had a carrot on a stick. beams at you and cheers, “did you see that? did you think it was cool? I can do it again, watch!” 

gamer!yuuji who tries his hardest to stay quiet while he’s on a voice call with friends but you know it won’t last long. you’re relaxing on his small dorm bed, stretched out while scrolling through your phone, and he’s situated at his desk. there’s a controller cradled in his slender fingers. it’s his preferred way of playing fps games and it’s definitely not the easiest (or most frequently used method) but he’s told you that he enjoys the challenge. doesn’t mind not having hotkeys or easy movement to aid him throughout gameplay. hence, causing his skill to be that much more impressive. the neon colors of his pc illuminate the darkened room, creating a glow around his sharp features and his concentration on the screen in front of him gives you the (very) necessary time to appreciatively stare. he’s clad in the dark, hooded zip up jacket that you gifted him for his birthday. you don’t question the logic of how he can hear when his headphones are over the hoodie that’s haphazardly draped over his pink hair. gaze flitting downward, you’re gnawing on your lower lip when the black tank top yuuji’s wearing does little to conceal his collarbones and the prominent dip of his chest. and the attractive sight is almost enough for you to excuse the raucous callouts that leave his lips. “flanking in,” he announces as he subconsciously leans closer to his screen to get a better view, “crap! they’re baiting! to your right!” and he tries to lessen the intensity of his voice– he really does– but he’s caught in the thrill of being the last person alive on his team. 

gamer!yuuji who’s justification for loading into another match is, “it’ll be quick, promise!” he always keeps his promises to you and this is no exception. though, through his headphones, his friends are loudly pleading for him to play another round. and you just don’t have the heart to tell yuuji to turn their request down. “you can play another, yuu. I can wait,” you suggest with a knowing smile. he moves to pull the headset’s mic away and his lips are pulled into a small frown. his words are soft as he asks, “you sure? I can always tell them I gotta spend time with my girl, ya know. they’ll understand.” and there’s a heat that engulfs you at his casual endearment for you that he uses with his friends. you hum, aware that yuuji deserves to relish in some alone time, “yup! don’t worry, I’ll still be here when you’re done.” after your answer, he seems to contemplate your decision because his brows are furrowed. there’s a sharp glint in his eyes that you recognize and know that he’s come up with a consensus. finally, he leans in his seat to press a delicate kiss on your cheek and murmurs a proposal that benefits the both of you, “sit on my lap for this round, will you? jus’ wanna hold you while I’m playing.” and to prove his point, he swivels his chair in your direction. it's a dangerous game he's playing but he hasn't caught on yet. instead, he moves to spread his legs to make enough room for you, his sweatpants causing the motion to be effortless, and ushers you to him with a pat to his thigh. 

gamer!yuuji who doesn’t feel the slightest bit of embarrassment or shame when his friends clown him over voice chat for whispering sweet nothings into your ear. he’s enamored by you! thinks that he received a literal blessing when the two of you started dating because, like, you’re perfect! and if you don’t share his sentiment then he’ll continually show you that you’re the only one for him. thus, he feels obligated to remind you every single chance he has. “you’re so pretty,” he coos when you’re seated on his lap. his chest is pressed against your back and quite frankly, it’s almost too surreal for him. this angle is, also, absolutely ideal for him to shower you with the praise and attention that you deserve. and goodness, yuuji makes certain of it. he implores you by lifting your chin with his index finger, his touch is gentle. however, the gaze that he settles upon you is heavy. “the prettiest,” he slurs, “all f’me, right?” and this man has his mic unmuted the entire time. of course his friends are quick to tease him, tossing in their own complaints of, “c’mon man!” or “get a room, lovebirds!” but yuuji’s on cloud nine when you’re in his lap like this. you, on the other hand, are the epitome of flustered. you’re reminded of the breadth of his physique because while he’s not necessarily the biggest male in the world, he’s still brawny. with his sleeves pushed up to his forearms, he reaches around you to grab his controller again and utters a teasing, “aw, you guys are haters,” to his friends. unperturbed by their protests, he leans closer, lulled by your saccharine perfume, and rests his head on your shoulder. just a moment of peace shared between the both of you. his arms come around to encase you in a warm embrace, sweetly asking if you’re comfortable, and before long he’s loading up into another game. 

gamer!yuuji who, while waiting for his teammates to rez him, rests his large hands on your thighs. it’s almost alarming how natural the action is. the scenario that usually happens is that he ends up swearing when his character dies, places his controller down, and dives right back into latching onto your thighs. finds pleasure in how soft you are between his strong fingers. “you need anything? water? snacks?” he asks, ready to do anything for your comfort. his fingertips lovingly trace circles on the curve of your upper thighs as he waits for your answer. a mischievous grin dances on his face when he quickly adds, “more kisses?” and his eagerness causes you to giggle as you teasingly push him away when he drifts toward you. “if you win the game I’ll give you a kiss,” you offer and his eyes light up at your words. but then he’s pouting, “but I haven’t kissed you all day!” and you would’ve felt guilty, given his wide eyes and somber dip of his pretty lips, if it wasn’t for the fact that he already has. “you just gave me a kiss, yuu,” you remind him while you’re still comfortably tucked into his chest. “that was just a kiss on the cheek,” he clarifies and huffs like it was obvious, “let me make it up to you now.” but he’s interrupted by one of his friends hollering for him to focus and you’re a fit of giggles when he outwardly sulks. “they need their star player,” you croon. 

gamer!yuuji who’s reduced to sloppy aim/bad callouts because you’re whispering praises and pressing hot kisses on his neck. you didn’t think it’d end up like this but you can’t help but purr, “did so good, yuu. I’m so proud of you,” when he manages to wipe the opposing squad. and at the recognition, he readjusts himself in his seat and nods to himself. like he’s not expecting the low drawl in your tone. or how warm you are in his lap. there’s a foggy daze in his eyes when you angle yourself closer to him so it’d be easier to cheer him on. “hah, you’re proud of me?” he repeats, eyes glued to the screen in hopes of hearing your pretty voice again. you hum, drawing yourself into the junction of his neck and pressing a sticky kiss at the sensitive spot, “mhm, so proud.” he almost drops his controller, scrambling to regain hold on it, and clears his throat at his mishap when his friends comment on it. his ears are tinged red and he weakly breathes out your name. a warning? a plea for more? you’re not sure but it’s hypnotic the way his eyes droop until they’re half-lidded. it’s when you nip at his neck that he smacks a hand over his mouth to muffle the groan that threatens to leave his lips. “not fair,” he rasps as he misses his shots due to your teasing. his team is losing and their star player is slowly losing his concentration the more the match goes on. you trail kisses along the expanse of his neck, reveling in how he squirms from underneath you. he’s melting. fully dizzy when you press another open-mouthed kiss below his jaw. the game ends with yuuji winning but that’s not his biggest victory at the moment. scrambling to mute himself on his mic, he pivots his attention to you, big brown eyes captivated in yours, and pleads, “please kiss me, baby.” his voice is syrupy and thick, like it’s cemented in his throat. the headphones that he wears are immediately discarded. his hands automatically trail down to hold onto your waist, coercing you even closer in his tight hold. he hovers above your glossy lips, fully mesmerized, and he sweetly begs some more, “please.” 

gamer!yuuji who decides it’s his turn to punish you with his own teasing since he won the game. his hands are all over you, smearing along your body in an attempt to memorize the shape. then, he lifts you up, manhandling you so that your legs are on either side of him. now, you’re finally facing him. he does it with ease. a swoop of his strong arms and you're exactly where he wants you. “this’ll be better,” he voices, mostly to himself. likes the weight of you on him. keeps him grounded. yet you can’t help but notice that even his voice is intoxicating. desperate. it almost borders a groan. he gently presses down on your thighs, efficiently laying you over his lap so you’re flush against him. a slow exhale passes his lips at the contact and you’re hyper-sensitive to how rough the fabric of his sweatpants are. hot, heavy– him. he huffs, amused yet greedy, when you weakly whine. and he considers that his earlier speculation was correct. you’re the prettiest like this; cheeks flared with desire and fingers needily tugging at him. he’s not any better. blushy hair a tousled mess and a tinge of red dusting across his face. there are hearts in his eyes. the air between the two of you is suffocating. but he breathes you in like he’s deprived and he’s finally getting his fill now. “gonna let me play with you now, pretty girl?” his breathing is raspy, rising at the ends of it like you have a grip on him that you’re unaware of. he brings a calloused hand up and drapes it along your neck. it's so large in comparison that his thumb brushes along your nape. feels you gulp beneath the press of his fingertips and you're going cross-eyed from mapping out the veins on his hands. and he might ask you about it after. or he might use it as leverage later on. a fact is known though. unknowingly, you flipped a switch within him and this time he won’t lose.

[sonofa-dreamer]

whoever sent me that tennis drabble anon ask, this is shaping up to be at least 6k words :-) i think at least 2k of them are about thighs also, the temptation to make this a challengers rodansey au is very present in light of @fredddoloso's recent drawings...

[pastafossa]

"You’re who I want." (Michael Kinsella x F!Reader)

Time for Day 3 of the Tuna-Tober prompt challenge! For Day Three, I chose to combine the fluff and angst prompts ("I feel real when I'm with you" and 'Broken'), and I also decided to try my hand at one of Charlie Cox's other characters for once, that being our favorite sad, tragic, sweetheart of a mobster Michael Kinsella! You can see the rest of the prompts I've chosen here if you'd like to know what's coming this month from me. Also, if you'd like notifications when I post a new story, drabble, or chapter, you can follow my sideblog @pastaxandria and set it for notifications! And off we go!

Ship: Michael Kinsella x F!Reader

Wordcount: 2k

Warnings for this fic: mentions of blood, kiss at the end, angst (but with a happy ending obvs)

It was Birdy that called you right as you were getting ready to settle in for the night, the heavy downpour a drumbeat against your windows that you’d hoped would lull you into a peaceful sleep. But that wasn’t in your cards tonight, it seemed. 

“He’s headed yer way. Things… didn’t go well tonight.” 

Not for the first time, you quietly cursed the way the Kinsellas had dragged Michael back into their business as you dug out the first aid kit, setting it beside a change of clothes and a few clean towels to help Michael dry off from the rain when he arrived. You didn’t care what the Kinsellas got up to on their own time, who they sold to and what their family business was. What you cared about was whether Michael had actually wanted this. You knew he'd had different plans when he'd finally gotten out of prison, plans of a quieter, more peaceful life. But he was a loyal man, one who was endlessly devoted to his family, and that loyalty, that devotion was something Amanda was all too happy to take advantage of. 

You had thoughts on her, too, but much like your night's rest, it would also have to wait. 

 “We lost a few o’ ours. He managed ta turn it around at the last second, but… Well, the family argued after. Things were said to him, and…”

Some nights, nights much like these, you wondered just how long Michael had left before he broke beneath the weight of expectation and grim responsibility. It was a burden he shouldered without complaint, even as it became clear he was destined to crumble beneath it. In the two years since you’d met that beautiful, quiet man in a small coffee shop, you’d watched those brittle cracks form, line by line. Over time, as he'd gradually begun to let you in, you’d discovered far deeper fissures that lay buried beneath his fractured armor. Your lack of fear, your absence of judgement over what he’d done in the past, had only pried open that door further until he sought you out with regularity, just as you did him. Time passed, and your orbits revolved closer and closer together, spiraling planets caught inescapably in the pull of each other’s gravity.   

Neither of you had named what this was between you. But if he could find comfort here, safety here, then you’d happily give it. 

 “Just… be gentle with him, dear.” 

Somehow, even the quiet knock at your door sounded exhausted. You hurried out of the kitchen where you’d been filling up the kettle—you’d learned very quickly how important it was to have it ready at all hours when you’d moved to Ireland—and headed down the warm hall to the front door. You unlocked the door and tugged it open, letting in the roaring sound of the pouring rain and a gust of chilled, bitter wind. 

“Oh, Michael,” you whispered. 

He was soaked down to the bone, his dark hair plastered against his skin as he leaned tiredly against the doorframe, his body wracked with shivers from the cold. What was worse: even with the rain, you could still see traces of blood on his shirt and his hands, with more of it leaking steadily from a ragged split on his lip. Fortunately, only the blood on his mouth seemed to belong to him. He tried to throw you a small smile, but it was far too crooked, too brittle to be real, and you had a feeling his eyes weren’t red because of the rain. The moment he realized you didn’t buy the act, that shield fell away, and you were left with just Michael at his most exposed, empty and limp on your doorstep. 

“That bad, eh?” he asked tiredly, trying for dark humor and missing by miles.

“Shit, get in here before you freeze.” You caught his sleeve and tugged him forward until you could shut the door behind him. He didn’t fight you on it physically, for which you were grateful, but he couldn’t seem to resist at least a little verbal stubbornness. 

“I’m gettin’ yer floors all wet,” he said distantly. Without the need to pretend, his tone had gone empty and lifeless, drained of all energy as if he’d used up what little he had left on the walk over. He dropped his head slowly, staring down at the growing puddle of rainwater on the floor, his face twisting through an unreadable expression. “‘M sorry, pet. I shouldn’t have—”

“Floors can be dried, Mikey.” You waved the objection away, locking the door before turning back to Michael where he was still standing shivering in the hall, curled into himself as if he were reluctant to take up any further space, as if he feared he were unwelcome. And something about it, about the way he seemed to barely be holding himself together, just… broke your heart. “Come here.”

He shivered again, even as he shook his head, arms wrapped around himself. You could almost see him changing his mind, a wave of regret rearing up inside him, flashing in the dark of his eyes, eyes still looking too damp for just the rain. “I’ll… I’ll get blood on ya.” “I don’t care.”

He clenched his jaw, still refusing to meet your eye, a sign of just how bad things had gone for him. Some of the blood on his clothes and skin had joined the puddle of rainwater at his feet, the pale tile darkening to a tinted, rusty pink. And that only seemed to make him feel worse, as it seeped into the grooves and lines between each tile, staining it. “No, I-I shoulda stopped ‘a home first, cleaned up. And it’s late, yer clearly dressed for bed. We can talk another time—”

You crossed the distance between you both before he could take a single step towards the front door. He went stiff and rigid, closed off the moment you pulled him into you, but you let him work through it as you wound your arms tightly around him, hooking the fingers of one hand in his belt loops. You had to make it clear you weren’t going anywhere. You used the other hand to stroke gently down his back, heedless of the water and blood that began to dampen your clothes, breathing in the scent of warm whiskey and leather, of gun oil and fresh rain and blood. “Stop worrying about my clothes or the floors, you silly man,” you said softly, setting your chin on his shoulder. His breath hitched at your voice, his arms still locked between you, a barrier you knew he needed help to break down. “I don’t care about those. I care about you, Michael. No matter what happens, that won’t change. I’ll stand here all night with you if I have to.”

He choked out a shaking breath against your hair, and you could feel it the moment he began to break, his arms tentatively unwinding so his hands could find their way around your waist. Almost as if he were still convinced his touch, his need for comfort would be rejected. Something far warmer than rain dripped against your neck. “Why?” he whispered. “I don’t understand. I have nothin’ to give ya. To give anyone. I keep tryin’ to be what everyone needs, but I can’t even do tha’ right. Why do ya keep openin’ the door for a broken man, pet?”

“You might be hurt, but you’re far from broken,” you murmured, turning your head to lay it on his shoulder as his hold gradually tightened around you, his hands fisting in the fabric of your shirt. Another shaky breath rattled out of him, more of his tears rolling down your throat until he finally let his head fall to your neck, accepting what you’d offered. “I open the door because I just need you, exactly as you are. You’re who I want. So you can let go, Mikey. There’s nothing here you need to fix, no one else you need to be.” 

That was all it took, and between one breath and the next, he crumbled in your arms, the entire terrible night, terrible year, terrible life tearing its way out of him in choked, ragged sobs, the sounds of someone who hadn't been able to let go for some time. You held him as tightly as you could, soft, comforting whispers in his ears, your hands running gently down his back and back up through his hair as he let fall every last wall he’d put up between him and the outside world. 

It took time for that cresting wave of emotion to ease, time you spent with your head on his shoulder, with your chest to his, until eventually the shaking of his body began to slow, his breath easing against your throat into something slower and gentler. Only then did you guide him to the bathroom, setting him down on the side of the tub so you could clean him up. He accepted the care in silence, his eyes half closed, his form slumped and exhausted, drained after the emotional release. You knew better than to press before he was ready—and besides, people had demanded enough out of him tonight without you adding to it—so you let the quiet have its place as you bandaged him up, cleaning the blood from his hands and drying him off without so much as a hint of judgment. Whenever his breath grew a little shaky again, you’d lift his hand, pressing a kiss to his knuckles to remind him he was safe.

You left him alone just long enough for him to change, and you were grateful you'd both decided he should keep a few changes of clothes here. It was another unspoken intimacy between you both, this knowledge that your home was a retreat for him just as his home sometimes was for you, even if neither of you had said as much. Once he was changed and he stepped out of the bathroom, dark eyes immediately seeking you out, you tipped your head in a request he follow you before heading towards the bedroom.

He hesitated, and you paused in the doorway, waiting.

It wasn’t every time he came here that you both wound up curled up together. So far, it only seemed to happen on those bad nights, those nights when one of you needed the other’s presence to act as a shield against nightmares, against waves of grief or bloodied hurt. Until now, however, those moments had always taken place on the couch, the two of you dozing off together under the excuse that you’d never intended to fall asleep at all and well, it was late, wasn't it? It was expected. Tonight, however, you just… thought he deserved a bed.

That you and he had never taken this step before hung heavy between you, weighted and intimate as he considered you, his gaze shifting over your shoulder to the open doorway in thought. Neither of you had dared offer access to the other’s bed until now. Hell, you hadn’t even kissed yet, though there’d been… moments when you’d both come close, dancing along that edge, driven by adrenaline or alcohol or just a quiet moment when you both seemed to be drawn into it. But there was no alcohol now, no mistaking the shift in the air. There’d be no going back after this, no more pretending, even if no one had believed either of you before now when you’d both sworn you were simply good friends.

After a long moment… the soft padding of his footsteps began to follow. 

The bed came first, soft sheets and the gradually returning warmth of him, one of your arms draped over his waist as he buried his face in your hair, the two of you twined together so closely that there was no space at all between you. 

Then came his voice, the soft lilt of it soothing you as much as your touch seemed to be soothing him. 

“I don’t know what I’d do without ya,” he murmured, his breath slowly easing down into something like peace, like contentment. He nuzzled at you gently, and you tipped your head up to meet his eyes. The warmth in them stole your breath away, filled with tender light and a devotion so deep you knew you could spend the rest of your life searching for the bottom and never find it. “Every time I think I’ve lost who I am again, yer there to bring me back. I just… I feel real when I’m with ya. I…” 

His eyes searched yours for a moment before he seemed to make a decision. He dipped his head down slowly, giving you every chance to pull away. Instead, you tilted your head back, your hand sliding up to tangle in his damp hair as his lips finally met yours. 

Your first kiss with him was a soft, new thing, fragile as spun strands of glass. His lips still tasted a little of copper and whiskey, skin chapped from the cold night air, but his breath was warm, and his mouth moved against yours with a growing confidence as you leaned into him, using your fingers in his hair to pull him in closer, his beard a pleasant scrape against your skin. His name on your lips was a sigh, a gift to him, one he breathed in as if he wanted to draw it down into the very heart of him. When he finally pulled away, he laid his forehead against yours, his eyes fluttering closed as he just... breathed with you. You reached up to stroke your fingers warmly against his cheek, and he smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling, though he didn't seem ready to open them just yet. “Wanted ta do that for a while, now,” he admitted. “Since not long after we met, if ’m honest.” “I may or may not have wanted the same thing,” you huffed softly, his smile growing wider. 

“Can I take ya to breakfast tomorrow?”

You made a contented noise as you curled into him, and he wound around you, the two of you getting comfortable for the night. It felt… permanent, as if you two had simply been waiting to find your way here, this place you were both meant for. 

“I’d love that.”

And maybe tomorrow... you'd tell him you loved him, too.

[novashelby]

Spin me! Peaky Blinders Writing Challenge

Wheel of Names, wheel of smut! Write 'spin me' in the comments and I will write a smut based on the:

A -> wheel of names B-> wheel of kinks and fetishes C-> wheel of prompts

And I will write a one-shot smut based on that. No, you cannot choose your character or kink. I can't, either. Whatever I get, is what we got.

I am capping the submissive at 15 because these are one shots and not drabbles. So, the word count will be roughly 800-2k.

Tagging those who may be interested(no pressure): @wonderlanddreamer @mothhball @futurefamousdeadmusician @lau219 @thatcrazyblonde57 @zablife @rei-is-still-here @peakysgiri @brummiereader @pacifymebby @paradiseprincesss

[xcalkenf]

SNEAKING OUT. [MAFIA!SUKUNA X F!READER] P2

NOTICE: f! reader, mafia sukuna, the reader was sold by her family to sukuna, sukuna calls reader brat + mine, fluff (wow), short part 2 note: This is a short one since I'm still sick and can't think of any good plot. Sorry about that, will upload more drabbles instead of 500-2k word fics since that will take less time to write. No smut, sorry people.

800 ish

The car ride back to the penthouse was tense. Sukuna’s knuckles whitened as he gripped the steering wheel, his jaw set in a firm line. You, on the other hand, stared out of the window, your anger simmering beneath the surface. The city blurred past, a chaotic dance of lights and shadows.

When the car finally pulled into the underground garage, you practically flung the door open, desperate for space. Sukuna followed suit, his expression unreadable. The silence stretched between you, heavy with unspoken words.

As you stepped out of the elevator onto your floor, he caught your wrist, pulling you to a halt. His touch was electric, sending shivers up your spine. “Listen,” he said, his voice low and gravelly. “Again, I don’t do affection. It’s not in my nature.”

You met his gaze, challenge burning in your eyes. “And what if it’s in mine?”

His lips quirked, a hint of amusement. “Then you’re in for disappointment.”

But before you could retort, he leaned down, capturing your lips in a kiss. It was fierce, possessive—the kind that left no room for doubt. His mouth moved against yours, demanding and hungry. And for a moment, you forgot everything—the gilded cage, the blood on his hands, the danger lurking outside.

When he finally pulled away, you were breathless, your heart pounding. His eyes bore into yours, a storm of emotions swirling within. “That,” he murmured, “was a small affection.”

Your cheeks flushed, and you took a step back, steadying yourself against the wall. “I thought you said—”

“I know what I said,” he interrupted. “But, sometimes I crave a moment of tenderness..”

His ears turned a delightful shade of red, and he cleared his throat. “Go to your room, brat.”

And with that, he practically fled down the hallway, leaving you standing there, dazed and disoriented. You thought he was mad, but in reality, he was just adorably embarrassed. Perhaps there was hope for this guarded heart after all.

-

A gentle glow was created on the wooden floor by the morning light that slipped through the curtains. You sat up in bed and blinked, confused. You quickly wondered if you were alone in the quiet room. Maybe he had left early to go to work. 

You slipped out of bed, your feet sinking into the plush carpet. The penthouse was eerily silent, and you tiptoed across the hallway, pushing open the door to his room. Empty. The sheets were neatly folded, the pillows untouched. Great, another day without him. Even after last night, you thought. 

As soon as you entered the living room, your heart began to rush. The door to the balcony was slightly open, and there he was, sitting on its edge, staring down at the city. His shoulder tattoo was visible as he wear his "comfortable"-looking clothes and ruffled pink hair. To be honest, he did look quite nice now that you think of it. 

“You took the day off,” you said, your voice barely a whisper.

He glanced at you, his eyes unreadable. “Someone has to make sure you don’t escape.”

You swallowed, the weight of his words sinking in. “I’m sorry,” you blurted out. “For last night. I didn’t mean to—”

He waved a dismissive hand. “It’s in the past.”

“But—”

“Brat,” he interrupted, his tone sharp. “Move on from it.”

You bit your lip, the memory of his lips against yours still fresh. “Why are you like this?” you whispered. “One moment, you’re—”

“Because,” he snapped, “I can’t afford sentimentality. Not in my world.”

You turned away,  frustration warring within you. But then you remembered the kiss—the way he’d held you, his eyes. “Last night,” you said softly. “That wasn’t nothing, was it?”

His silence spoke volumes.

“Why?” you speak out. “Why bother?”

He stood, walking closer to you. His fingers brushing your cheek. 

He leaned closer, his breath warm against your cheek. "I care about you," he admitted, his voice barely audible. 

"More than I should." 

Your heart skipped a beat. "Why?" 

His lips brushed against your forehead, a fleeting touch. “Because you’re mine,” he murmured. 

You gaze up at him, and thoughts of confusion cross your mind. "What's causing him to act this way now? Maybe he's trying?" You gave it some thought.

With a swift dismissal, you backed away from Sukuna and asked, "U-uh, have you had breakfast?" You ask in an attempt to lighten the mood, eyes looking everywhere -too ashamed to even look him in the eye. 

He raises an eyebrow while his gaze remain fixed on your face.

"Breakfast?" he uttered, as though the word meant anything more than just food. "It's not necessary for me."

But you didn't give up, your curiosity winning out. You spoke softly, "You should probably eat." "Even monarchs require food."

He snorted. "Brat," he remarked in a sarcastic voice. "You're annoying."

Unaffected, you shrugged. "Perhaps. However, sometimes even a killer needs a little sweetness."

And just like that, the tension eased, leaving room for something fragile—a thread of connection between you and him.

A/N: Ok so I did say I *might* put smut in this part, but I think I'm gonna move that to another part (If I manage to figure out what to write) Sorry about the short writing :) God bless <3

TAG: @szuuyl , @dimplesxx , @ssetsuka , @kozutooru , @domainofmarie

(for some reason, I can’t tag the people in itallic.)

@xstom in tumblr 2024. DONT REPOST/COPY! !creds to those who own the dividers and banners!

[marvelstoriesepic]

Your Ghost Knows Me

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky x Avenger!Reader

Summary: On a mission to dismantle a Hydra base, Bucky’s activation codes are triggered. And what does he do without a kill order?

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: mind control; non-consensual behavior (not sexual but bodily autonomy themes); possessive behavior; gun violence (implied, not graphic); threats of violence; emotional manipulation (unintentional); PTSD; trauma responses; forced proximity; mentions of Bucky’s past; Hydra

Author’s Note: I'll never get tired of a possessive Winter Soldier!! Honestly, I should write about him more often. Anyway, this absolutely iconic request is from my sweet dear!! Thank you so much, and I hope you'll enjoy ♡

2k Drabble Challenge Masterlist | Masterlist

There is always something quiet about Bucky when he looks at you before the mission begins. Quiet in the way thunder is quiet just before the crack. As if he is holding something inside himself too loud for the world.

You always say his name and he would look at you like he’s afraid to blink.

You don’t think you’re supposed to notice the way he hovers at your side. You’re not supposed to feel his shadow, stitched to your steps. But you do. You always do. Because Bucky Barnes does not know how to stay subtle. Not with you. Not when he thinks you might not make it out of this alive.

Your mission is to break into an old Hydra base with heat still humming through the walls and ghosts still hanging from the rafters.

The team drops in like rain. Controlled chaos. Clint on the left flank. Sam from above. Steve on the right flank. Nat somewhere in the dark.

You are light-footed and fast and smart and alive. Bucky stays behind you. Always behind you. Watching your six. He never lets you fall.

And you get the proof of this for the thousandth time when he throws his arm out and grabs your vest to yank you back hard enough to make you gasp. Your heart stutters in your throat. You stumble, twist, spin - and crash into him.

There was a tripwire. You almost walked into it. And Bucky saw. He sees everything.

“You okay?” He breathes, voice low, not quite touching worry but brushing the edges of it.

“Yeah,” you whisper back. “Thanks.”

He nods. Says nothing. Keeps moving.

You press forward into the maze of concrete and metal that is the Hydra base, gun raised, heart playing the drum in your ribs.

Bucky slows.

You glance over at him. “What is it?”

He stares at a rusted door, barely ajar. A soft static pulses from within, like an old radio dying in slow motion. The sound crawls down your spine. Your skin prickles.

“Bucky,” you start, reaching for him. “Let’s move.”

But he’s already walking toward that door with narrowed eyes.

The room is dark. Cold. Frost is on the walls like a memory that won’t let go. A machine in the corner makes low noises. Wires twitch on the floor like veins ripped from a corpse. The air stinks of metal and mildew and something old. Something wrong.

And then it speaks. A voice, thick with static, seeps out of the machine. A voice you don’t understand. Not really. You can’t make out the words, but you know them. You know what they mean.

“Желание. Ржавый.”

You spin around, heart rushing up to your ears, calling his name, but it’s too late.

“Семнадцать. Рассвет.”

Bucky stands frozen.

Stone. Steel. Silence.

His face is slack. That haunted stillness takes over.

He isn’t gone. But he isn’t Bucky anymore.

“Печь.”

His eyes go distant. Flat. His face cracks into something you’ve only seen in nightmares. No fury. No fear. Just absence.

“Доброкачественный.”

“No,” you breathe. Your heart forgets how to beat. “Bucky,” you basically yell at him. Nobody even knew there were still functioning systems here. But they’d been waiting. Planning.

“Девять.”

“Bucky please snap out of this.” You know it’s useless. You don’t know why you say it.

“Возвращение на родину.“

Your hand trembles around the grip of your weapon as you force yourself to jump out of the shock your limbs are locked in. You raise your arm and aim. You pull the trigger. One.

“Один.”

Two.

“Грузовой вагон.”

Three.

Four times.

The machine sparks. Cracks. Screams. A dozen red lights blink and die like stars going out. The voice cuts out, perhaps wanting to give a command, a final breath of Russian strangled by silence. And it slams into the room like a body.

For a heartbeat, for a breath, you think it’s over.

You hope it’s over.

But his name dies on your tongue when you turn back to him.

Bucky doesn’t speak. He doesn’t blink. He doesn’t breathe like a man. He doesn’t look at you - he tracks you, the way a sniper does. As if you’re a piece of intel.

Sam’s voice crackles over the comms. “Hey. We heard something. Everything good over there?”

You can’t answer right away.

Your voice is lost.

Because Bucky Barnes is gone.

And the Winter Soldier is standing in his place.

It takes you a minute to explain your situation and you hear the tremor in Steve’s voice when he tells you they’re on their way.

You try to breathe around the panic growing like thorns in your chest.

You whisper his name, again and again, as if it’s a spell that might pull him back. But the Winter Soldier does not know your voice.

Does not know you.

And when Steve finally rounds the corner, face pale, shield up, Bucky growls.

Low. Subhuman. A warning without words.

“Woah, woah- easy,” Steve says, holding up a hand. He looks at you. “He’s- He’s not gone. We’ll fix this. We can bring him back.”

You don’t know how promising he tries to make this sound.

But Bucky shifts his body, in front of you.

He plants himself between you and everyone else, like a wall, like a weapon.

Like a threat.

No orders. No hesitation. Just instinct.

He scans Steve’s hands. Sam’s gun. Natasha’s eyes.

Every time someone even twitches in your direction, he angles his body tighter around you, metal hand flexing. His breathing is shallow. Sharp.

He has no words. No explanations. He doesn’t seem to need them.

You try to take a step forward, away from his back. He moves with you. You stop. So does he.

“Please,” you whisper. “Bucky. Come back.”

But he doesn’t flinch.

Not for the begging in your voice. Not for the heartbreak in your eyes.

But you know he doesn’t hear you. He only hears the ghosts in his blood. The machine in his brain. The purpose Hydra seared into his bones.

“Alright, this can’t-“ The moment Sam takes a step forward, Bucky moves.

He grabs you. Not roughly, not violently, but fully. As if the air between your bodies has never existed. As if he’s made of magnets and you’re the only thing that ever pulled him north.

His metal arm anchors around your waist, his other hand at your shoulder, your spine, your hip - everywhere, all at once. He places himself between you and the others again and makes sure to keep you there as if you are a holy thing. His breath is ragged. Feral.

“Bucky,” Steve tries. There is something pained in his tone. Also something warning. “Let her go.”

But he doesn’t listen.

Because there is nothing left to listen to.

No more commands. No more codes. No more voice in his ear.

So he seems to have written a new directive into his mind and that is you.

You are the mission now. You are the purpose, the protection, the last thing left when everything else burns.

His hand is wrapped around your wrist so tightly, it makes your breath hitch. But you don’t pull away. You can’t. There is something in his eyes. Something not Bucky but not nothing either.

Not the soldier.

Not the man.

Just this animal of loyalty. Of violence. Of need.

You try.

God, you try.

You speak to him in pieces. In whispers. In words coming from trembling lips and bruised hope.

“Bucky,” you plead.

Soft. Like maybe softness will do it. Like maybe he’ll come back to the sound of your voice wrapped in love instead of command.

But he doesn’t.

And he doesn’t let anyone near you.

Not Steve, who takes one careful step and ends up with a knife lodged in the floor in front of his foot.

Not Sam, who reaches out and gets a warning growl that raises the hairs on your arms.

Not Natasha, who tries to circle behind, quiet as a whisper - and is met with the barrel of Bucky’s gun aimed clean between her eyes.

You frantically call Bucky’s name.

“Hey- easy,” she says, voice low. “Nobody wants to harm your girl, Barnes.”

He doesn’t blink. He doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t care.

He tightens his grip on you, fingers locking around your arm like a shackle. You try to find a piece of Bucky still breathing in there.

But all you see is possession.

He steps back into the shadows, pulling you with him, shielding you with his body as if the world is trying to take you and he’s the last wall still standing.

No one sees you now.

Because he won’t let them.

He moves you behind crates. Walls. Corners. Shadows. Always putting something between you and them. Always hiding you. Not out of shame. Not out of fear.

Out of possession.

Out of protection.

Out of a command he gave himself.

You are a mission. A precious object. A singular order sculpted into the ruins of his memory.

You hear Steve’s heavy sigh. His quiet and deep voice. The pain in it. “We need to sedate him.”

The next thing you pick up is the click of a safety releasing.

Bucky’s gun is pointed and ready.

He would kill for you right now.

He would kill them.

All of them.

Within the blink of an eye.

For you.

“No,” you croak out, voice breaking. It feels wrong to call him Bucky. It feels wrong to call him Soldat. “Please don’t! Don’t do this!”

You don’t know if it’s something in your voice or something in your tense stance against his back, but he slowly lowers his gun, slowly turns his head to stare at you.

Empty.

Unreachable.

But somehow not cold.

And then his hand rises. Flesh fingers trace your jaw. So gently it nearly breaks you.

It’s not affection. It’s assessment.

He’s checking. For wounds. For weakness. For threats, you might be hiding beneath your skin.

You breathe as if forgetting how to.

You try to shift. Just a little. Just to look behind him. Just to meet Steve’s eyes, Sam’s, Natasha’s, Clint’s - who finally got his ass here as well.

But Bucky moves. Fast.

A hand around your chin. Tilting your face back toward him.

Eyes narrow. Jaw locks.

You know what it means.

He doesn’t want you to look at them.

He doesn’t want you to speak with them.

He doesn’t want you to think of them.

You are his now.

Because something in his mind burned the world down and left you standing in the wreckage, and he needs something to hold onto. Not just anything. Not just anyone. You.

You try again.

Whispers, again.

“I have to talk to them-”

He shakes his head. Once. Sharp. Final.

“No,” he growls. Not language. Not word. Just a sound scraped from somewhere too deep and too far gone.

You flinch and he feels it.

His grip grows stiff.

Your body goes still.

He doesn’t want to hurt you. But he doesn’t let you go.

You catch the glint of Steve’s shield out of the corner of your eye.

They haven’t moved in minutes.

They’re waiting.

They’re watching.

They don’t want to hurt him either. But they will if they have to.

“Don’t,” you murmur. “Don’t come closer. Don’t- don’t try to talk to me, he- he doesn’t want that.”

You hear Sam lower his weapon, just a hair. “We can’t leave you like this.”

You want to cry. You want to scream. You want to pull Bucky into your arms and shake him until something clicks and he remembers you. Remembers himself.

But the Winter Soldier only seems to be remembering his duty. Violence shaped into protection.

And right now, that protection looks like isolation.

You. Alone. Tucked behind crates and corners and silence and his broad shoulders.

You speak anyway. Because you have to. Because he’s in there somewhere. Because he might not hear the others, but maybe he can still hear you.

“Bucky,” you speak. Swallow. “They’re not the enemy.”

His hand twitches on your arm.

“They’re your friends.”

He tightens his grip.

“They’re my friends.”

He releases another deep and gravelly sound.

His body is tense, electric, fury held in the cage of his bones.

“Please,” you say. You hate the sound of your own voice now. You sound like you are shattering in slow motion. “You don’t have to protect me from them. You don’t- I’m not-”

You breathe out shakily.

Your lip trembles. Your eyes sting.

Because he’s looking at you as if he would kill the whole world to keep you safe. And he doesn’t even remember who you are.

You press your forehead to his chest. His body doesn’t move.

He’s breathing faster now. His pulse thrums under your cheek.

But he lets you stay there.

That has to be something.

Behind Bucky, someone whispers your name. Carefully. Cautiously. As though if they say it wrong you’ll be ripped out of this moment and Bucky will hunt them all down.

You lift your head.

Bucky sees it.

Sees the way your eyes pull toward Sam’s voice.

Sees the way you’re still trying to hold onto them. Still reaching.

He doesn’t like that.

He hates that.

His hand finds the back of your neck. He pulls you into him, hides your face in his chest. Your shoulders lock. His body shields you like a fortress of flesh and metal and confusion. As if your gaze is a window, and he is closing the shutters.

You are not theirs anymore.

And he will not let you be.

[gremlin-girly]

Every Fic Ever Masterlist

Hello and welcome to my Every Fic Ever Masterlist! Here you will (hopefully) find all of my fics I have ever written EVER (duh)

To make life easier, I have also created collections which you can find under the read more line (from @/saradika-graphics)

My Masterlist is updated regularly

This masterlist is divided into 2 sections: Latest,and Every Fic Ever (separated by character).

Too ensure this isn't too bulky, I have only included fic key emojis and word count next to the links. PLEASE ENSURE YOU READ A FIC'S TAGS. I am not responsible for your content consumption and whilst I try to tag everything appropriately I still might miss something!

Final reminder that this is an 18+ blog so MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Fic Key: 💖 fluff, 🔥smut, ⛈️angst, dark

Happy Reading! <3

🌷Latest Fics 🌷

Valentine's Drabbles

Sweater Trouble 💖 - part of the 20s Challenge

🌷Every Fic Ever🌷

Sebastian Stan Characters

Bucky Barnes / The Winter Soldier

Trust Me 💖 - 574

Late Night * 💖- 689

Valentine's Night 💖 - 752

Spare Parts 💖 -800

It's a Wonderful Life 💖💔 - 2.9k

Forget-Me-Not Blues 💖 - 4.2k

Soulmate AU

Flufftober 2024

Flufftober Day 1: Lost Pet MeetCute 💖

(Alt. Alpine's Adventure - reposted as Part 1 of Tails of New York) - 3.3k

Flufftober day 4: Market Day 💖-

Flufftober Day 13: Attic 💖- 2k

Flufftober day 16: Only One Bed 💖 -

Flufftober 18: "I got You." 💖(Alt. Apollo's Accident - reposted as Part 2 of Tails of New York) -

Flufftober Day 30: "Forever." 💖 -

Kinktober 2024

Kinktober Day 9: Somnophilia 🔥- 1.9k

Kinktober Day 14: Spreader Bar 🔥- 2.6k

Kinktober Day: Shower Sex 🔥- 2.9k

Kinktober Day 26: Masks 🔥 💀

Kinktober Day 27: Threesome/Sex Pollen (Stucky x f!reader) 🔥 -

Fluffcember 2024

Fluffcember Day 6: Gingerbread House 💖 - 500

Fluffcember Day 21: Homecooked Meals

Fluffcember Day 30: Warming Up

Sheriff Lee Bodecker (The Devil All The Time) Kinktober 2024 Kinktober day 13: Handcuffs🔥- 1.1k

Lance Tucker (The Bronze) Kinktober 2024 Kinktober Day : Overstimulation🔥

Chris Evans Characters

Steve Rogers / Captain America

Busy Morning 💖 - 512 words

Valentine's Day 💖 - 394 words

Flufftober 2024

Flufftober Day 8: Chopping Wood (pre-serum Steve!)💖 -1.6k Flufftober Day 15: "What are you wearing?"/"It's Laundry Day!" 💖- 879 words

Flufftober Day 24: Gravestone ⛈️💖- 1.7k

Flufftober Day 27: Written But Never Sent ⛈️💖 -

Kinktober 2024

Kinktober 6: Handjobs 💖🔥(Alt. Unnamed WIP - reposted as Part 1 of And They Were Roommates) -2.9k

Kinktober Day 10: Morning Sex 🔥💖 (Alt. Unnamed WIP - reposted as Part 2 of And They Were Roommates) -

Kinktober Day 11: Enemies AND lovers 🔥

Kinktober Day 30: Cowgirl 🔥

Alt: Sick Day

Fluffcember 2024

Fluffcember Day 2: Hot Bath 💖 - 289 words

Fluffcember Day 10: Fallen Through Ice

Fluffcember Day 19: Fondue

Fluffcember Day 24: Christmas Tree

Fluffcember Day 31: Fireworks

Jake Jensen (The Losers)

All Nighter 💖

part of the Sleepy!Reader collection

Valentine's Morning 💖 354 words

Bubbles - 6.1k 💖🔥

Part of Sun, Sea and Sirens

Space Cakes 🔥 - 4.8k

Part of the Green Collection

Flufftober 2024 💖

Day 7: Hoodie Weather

Day 25: Haunted House

Kinktober 2024 🔥

Day 2: Office Sex

Day 15: Blowjobs/Milf

Day 17: Costumes (Honey Bunny)

Fluffcember 2024 💖

Day 11: Slippery

Day 23: Confessions

Ransom Drysdale (Knives Out)

Valentine's Treat 💖

Sweater Trouble 💖 - part of the 20s Challenge

Flufftober 2024 💖

Day 20: Sweater Weather

Day 26: "I can't find it."

Kinktober 2024 🔥

Day 22: Clothes

Day 24: Free Use

Fluffcember 2024 💖

Day 4: Christmas Sweater

Day 12: Skiing

Day 27: Family Gathering

Lloyd Hansen (The Gray Man)

Thin Walls 💖🔥

Hash 🔥 Part of the Green collection

Valentine's Menu

Kinktober 2024 🔥

Day 4: CNC

Day 21: Body Worship (Sweet Thing)

Fluffcember 2024 💖

Day 9: Sugar Rush

Day 29: Mint

Johnny Storm (The Fantastic 4) Flufftober 2024 Day 28: Lucky Charm💖 - 927 words Kinktober 2024 Kinktober 1: Scratching 🔥 Kinktober 31: Spitting 🔥

Fluffcember 2024 Fluffcember Day 1: Roasted Marshmallows 💖 - word count: 298

Ari Levinson (Red Sea Diving Resort)

Kinktober 2024 Day : Massage Fluffcember 2024 Fluffcember Day 7: Condensed Breath 💖- Word Count: 1k

Ionian Sun 🔥- Word Count: Part of @/steviebbboi 's 200 Follower Writer challenge

Curtis Everett (Snowpiercer)

Valentine's Special 💖 Linked to Fluffcember 26

Kinktober 2024🔥

Day 25: Drunk Sex

Fluffcember 2024💖

Day 26: Forgiveness

Other MCU Characters

Stucky (Steve and Bucky) x f!reader Kinktober 2024 Kinktober Day 3: Clit/Cock Warming 🔥- Word count: 1.2k Kinktober Day : Threesome 🔥

Baron Helmut Zemo / Zemo Flufftober 2024 Flufftober Day 17: Bewitched 💖 - Word count: 2.6k

Kinktober 2024 Kinktober day : Discipline 🔥

Fluffcember 2024 Fluffcember Day 8: Sparkling Snow This is a part 2 to Flufftober 17

Loki Flufftober 2024 Flufftober Day 11: Ingredients, Potions, Spells 💖 -Word count: 2.3k Flufftober 21: Rainy Day 💖- Flufftober 31: Make A Wish -

Kinktober 2024 Kinktober Day 5: Macrophilia 🔥 Kinktober Day : Overstimulation/Dacryphilia 🔥

Series/Collections: The Perfect Jotunn Bride 🔥(eventual 💖) Part 1 | Part 2

From Kinktober and Kinktober this has become a mini WIP - if I update I update!

Sam Wilson/Falcon/Captain America Flufftober 2024 Flufftober Day 2: "On your left!" 💖- Word Count: 1k Flufftober Day 12: "This is spooky." / "Really?" - 💖 Flufftober Day 28 - Betrayal 💖

Thor Flufftober 2024

Fluffcember 2024

Natasha Romanoff / Black Widow Flufftober 2024 Flufftober Day 6: Mistaken Identity

Yelena Belova / Black Widow Flufftober 2024 Flufftober Day : "Don't do that!" / "But..." 💖 Word count: 1k

Kinktober 2024 Day : Competence

Fluffcember 2024 Day 3: Snowman

Wanda Maximoff / Scarlet Witch Flufftober 2024 Flufftober Day 23: Comfort Food 💖 Flufftober Day 31: Make A Wish ����

Dean Winchester (Supernatural)

Flufftober 2024 Kinktober 2024 Day 16: Role Play Kinktober Day :Make Up Sex 💖🔥 Fluffcember 2024

Sam Winchester (Supernatural)

Fluffcember 2024

Dean, Cas, Sam and Jack

Fluffcember 2024

Baldur's Gate 3 Characters

Scratch, Lae'zel and Tav Flufftober 2024 Flufftober Day 19: Paw 💖

Halsin Flufftober 2024 Flufftober Day 5: Acorn, Chesnut, Pinecone 💖

Kinktober 2024 Kinktober Day : Hunter/Prey 🔥

[mooniania]

All Mine teaser

SYPNOSIS - being the headlines of articles, flashing lights on you ever since dispatch started a dating rumor (that was soon confirmed) between you a member from the rookie girl group le sserrafim and txt’s oldest member Choi Yeonjun. After months of dating you can finally tell the world that he’s all yours.

PAIRING - fem idol!reader x yeonjun

GENRE - established relationship, reader is 6th member of le sserafim, fluff and angst (mostly fluff), suggestive, inspired by All mine by Kali Uchis REALLY GOOD SONG PLS LISTEN 🙏🙏

WARNINGS - delusional fans making a big deal out of a relationship, kinda suggestive, english isn’t my first language so if grammar is wrong or if i repeat words sorry not my intention (will add on to the warnings as i add on to the drabble)

TEASER WORD COUNT - 174 (currently still in process of writing the full drabble is about 713 as of right now i think the final word count will be about 1k-2k not sure)

a/n - if you’d like to be tagged for this lmk in the comments or asks! i’m not sure when it will come out but i’m hoping this week! if you enjoy this teaser please like and reblog it’s very appreciated :)

He picked up the call. You paused the movie and tried your hardest to pick up what his manager was telling him. "Are you being serious right now? how? I thought we were doing good at keeping it a secret." Now that you had context clues, you knew what the conversation was about. You quietly got Yeonjun's attention and signaled for him to put the phone on speaker so you could hear. He complied.

 "Dispatch saw Y/N leaving the dorms, and since it appears that the both of you are close because of the tiktok challenges you both do together, they assumed that you and Y/N are dating."

 You face-palmed yourself; this was all your fault, and now you might bring down your group’s reputation. You felt terrible but relieved that you wouldn’t have to hide your relationship anymore.

 The last thing Yeonjun's manager told him was that the company was going to confirm the relationship and to prepare for the media's backlash. You knew you were in for a long one.

© mooniania 2023

do not copy, translate, rewrite or repost any of my works on any other social media platform.

[hintonchallenge]

welcome to the second challenge: greaser girl week!

the theme

the theme for this is focusing on works involving the canonical greaser girls (and women, as this extends to the parents!) from s. e. hinton's works. the challenge is to write about them, with a minimum of 2k words within the set time frame.

rules for works

as stated, these challenges are meant for all of s. e. hinton's books, tim hunter's adaptation of tex and the two coppola films. characters and plots from the television show and the musical aren't applicable. you can do crossovers with hinton canons for this as well! (ie: you can cross over tex and hawkes harbor but you cannot submit a work involving any musical or television version of canon or any characters found solely in those canons.)

you can submit works involving OCs, but OCs cannot be the sole main focus. ie, you can submit a work involving a Sylvia/OFC but you can't submit a work that only involves the OFC without any canon greaser girl present or prominent in the work.

this challenge is also only for participants who are 18+. i will vet everyone who wants to participate; that's why it's semi-public. if you're underage, you will not be allowed to participate and i reserve the right to deny participation if harassment or bad behavior occurs.

entries must hit the minimum for 2,000 total words since this is character focused. when i say that, i mean if you want to write three separate one shots, all three would have to add up to 2k or more in word count. or if you wanted to do drabbles or longer pieces, they still need to hit the 2k minimum total when they're submitted. you aren't obligated to write one whole piece that is 2k — all you need to do is get there whether it's over one work submitted or multiple.

yes, you may submit multiple works! just please submit them and then post them during the week of posting.

as stated elsewhere, your works will not be policed. that means that if someone writes a ship or tackles are more controversial subject or has a rating higher than T/PG-13, your works are fine and allowed. the only thing that is required is that you tag appropriately and rate appropriately on AO3 and you treat fellow people who are involved respectfully.

do not post your works until posting week! i understand you might get antsy, but please wait until submission week.

timeframe

signup open june 10th, 2025 and close june 19th, 2025. all i require for sign up is your tumblr url, your ao3 user, the idea you have and the greaser girl you intend to focus on. that's it. once you sign up, you can more or less begin to write unless i have a follow up question/clarification.

mid-way check in. since this is a shorter we'll have a check in around june 24th to see how things are going. this is going to be a tumblr post with responses, and maybe shooting a message.

challenge close date and posting week. fics are to be posted starting at july 1st, and will go on until the 8th. i'll be posting and promoting them, adding them to the ao3 collection if you haven't done yourself (please make sure your account is open for collections!). please feel free to comment others, give encouragement and engage.

if you have any other questions, please hit up the ask box!

[garbinge]

That One Christmas Without Carmy

Michael "Mikey" Berzatto & Platonic!F!Reader

30 Day Fic Challenge (22/30)

Word Count: 2k A/N: A little flashback with Mikey.

Warnings: All my fics are 18+ regardless of content. Mentions of abuse, angst, sadness, depression. Other fics from this universe The Bear Taglist: @drabbles-mc @justreblogginfics @quixscentsposts @dadbodfanatic-x @adorable-punk-superheroes @lodeddiperrodrick @isalver @captainweasleybarnes @musicwithteeth @fancyvoidtragedy @shinebright2000 @knight4xmas @gills-lounge @navs-bhat @cosmicak @kmc1989

It was the one Christmas Carmy didn’t come home. With how things were with him, you weren’t shocked. He barely answered your texts, you talked for two minutes every few months. Things were just different, you knew he was distancing himself. It took some time but you put the pieces together as to why and weren’t going to force him into anything. 

You walked into the house, apple cider in your hand, something you did every year you came. Sugar hated that Donna drank herself a mess every holiday, which made bringing alcohol feel wrong, not to mention when you started coming over for these events as an adult, you were still under the legal drinking age and you knew food was off limits when Donna was cooking the 7 fishes. So apple cider it was. 

Not bothering to engage in whatever conversation was happening in the living room, you moved throughout the house looking for a quiet corner to just collect your thoughts. Life had been pretty rocky lately, you just moved back not that long ago and you still felt like you were trying to get your footing from being in Indiana with the jackass that was your ex. You weren’t sure what life held for you, but the pressure alone was enough to weigh you down. 

You let out the deepest sigh as you collapsed your back on the wall next to the pantry where Mikey was standing, the only quiet corner of the house that wasn’t the bathroom which was currently being hot boxed by the Faks. 

He let out a chuckle and a head shake, letting his long hair fall all crazy around him. 

“Just need a minute.” You stared at the ceiling. 

“Feel that.” Mikey was now staring up at the ceiling with you. “Sorry about the craziness.” 

“Ironically, Mikey, this is the most stable environment I’ve been in.” 

“You know that’s fucked, right?” He looked over at you with a smile. 

“Beats sitting in an empty house waiting for a santa that never comes.” You remembered the one Christmas in middle school where your dad told you he was going to visit Santa and to stay in the living room and he’d be back with gifts, he didn’t show back up for 3 days, and all he had in his hand was a public indecency ticket and a 6-pack. “I don’t think you get how much this shit means to me Mikey. You, Sug, Carm, shit, even Richie. You guys saved me, Donna being well,” you pointed to the kitchen as a way to replace any verb that just felt completely underwhelming in comparison of the action, “it’s something I’d happily deal with just to have your guys company.” 

“We love you, kid.” He grabbed your shoulder, staring at you. 

After a moment of silence, you spoke up. 

“You talk to him lately?” 

“No.” He answered quickly. “You?” He was now staring down at the floor, waiting for an answer.

“Not really. Maybe a month ago. He actually called me once, wished me a happy half birthday.” You chuckled and looked over at Mikey who was making a weird face. “It’s like a tradition.” You started to explain since he looked very confused. “We’ve done it since we were kids.” You shrugged. “But other than that and a text to let me know he wasn’t coming home, he hasn’t answered my calls. Barely texts me back.” 

“You know last year, he was standing right there where you are, giving me shit ‘bout talking to Claire Bear for him.” He laughed at the memory while you rolled your eyes. “Jealous?” Mikey caught you and smirked. 

“Barely.” You huffed. “It’s just so crazy you guys can’t see it.” You shrugged and looked at Mikey who was giving you a look like ‘are you going to continue?’. It made you laugh but you obliged. “You’re gonna make fun of me and him for saying this, but Carm, he’s so delicate. He gets tipped off his scale so easily you gotta ease him into things. I bet you, you, Richie, and Fak bum rushed him about how hot she is, and how he needs to hit that and whatever. That shit throws him off, you gotta be smooth with it. When he’s here, he’s waiting for something to tip the scales, that's why it’s so easy to tip.” 

“It was cousin Steve, not Fak, but you’re not wrong, that is what happened.” He nodded, letting his hand rest on the frame across from him as his head dropped and his back was still against the other side of the frame. “It’s like you’re his best friend or some shit.” It was meant as a joke, a light hearted comment but it held a lot more weight for you.

“I don’t know about that anymore.” 

“What happened to you out in Indiana. Could tell shits been different for you since then.” Mikey continued the conversation, his leg now lightly kicking the door frame as a subconscious tik. 

“Some really fucked shit happened. After all of it, I went to see Carmy, could tell he was working really hard to separate himself from this, and I just so happen to be a part of this. I think I tip the scales.” 

“If it makes you feel better, I most definitely tip the fuckin’ Carmy scales.” Mikey laughed, looking back down at the ground. 

“You know, you’re like a brother to me, Mikey.” That comment brought his eyes back up to you, his head nodding and his hair flopping all over the place as he acknowledged you. 

“I love you like a sister, you know this, sometimes even more than Sugar, you don’t ask Ma if she’s okay 20 times a day.” He teased, a smile growing on his face. 

It was nice to see him smile, it was so rare these days it felt like. 

“Your moms scales are easily tipped, too. Probably where Carm gets it.” You were now walking past him in the door frame and sitting on the radiator box that was parallel to the stairs. “Guess I got my dad’s scales, untippable.” You shrugged as you jumped up. 

“Think I got mine’s too.” Mikey’s eyebrows raised, he shifted his positioning, so he was facing you since you moved, but quickly mimicked how he was standing before, back against the door frame, hand on the opposite side holding him up. “How is your Pops?” 

You laughed and shook your head. “It’s Christmas Eve so, drunk, probably in a casino.” 

“Some things don’t change.” His eyes were now connected to yours. 

“And yet I feel like I can’t recognize my life anymore.” Your legs began to kick back and forth slightly hitting the radiator beneath you.

“Well, a lot of things do change.” Mikey shrugged, a smile growing on his face at the irony of his statements. 

“Funny guy.” You smiled back. 

“Bear made me this drawing that Christmas. Told me about Copenhagen.” He let out a deep sigh. “I tipped the scale though.” 

“He just misses you, Mike. Wishes he was doing this with you.” It was spoken like it was so obvious and Mikey missed all the signs. 

“He told you that?” It was curious how he asked, like he knew all along, but there was some shit no one but him knew that prevented it all from happening. 

“No, but I know he told you that, he’s my best friend, I've known him since we were kids, I know what he’s thinking before he thinks it.” You spoke jokingly but obviously.

“It’s just a mess here.” Mikey wasn’t in the mood to joke about this and you could tell that immediately.

“But it’s home.” You spoke in the same seriousness.The doorbell rang and you looked at Mikey and quickly nodded your head to the right. “I’ll get it.” 

Mikey stayed leaning against the pantry’s door frame as you walked over to the front door. With a smile, you tossed open the door, expecting to see Pete or even one of the Fak’s since they always managed to lock themselves out every year but your heart dropped when you saw him. 

“Hey, I uh, called your dad, said I could probably find you here.” 

The last time you saw this man was when Richie was pointing a gun at him in the middle of The Beef which was last year. That added with the fact that he mentioned talking to your father, you barely got to talk to him and he can just call him up and he offers up your information like its nothing. The feeling of your heart dropping was quickly being replaced with rage bubbling in every part of your boddy, but your hands and arms specifically. 

“What the fuck do you want.” It must’ve been obvious you were getting angry because the man in front of you lifted his arms in a sense on innocence but you knew there was nothing innocent about him. 

“Was back in the area, missed you, I know how much you love the holidays, figured maybe we could go out, catch up, or not talk at all.” His eyebrows raised and as he was talking you definitely smelt the alcohol on his breath. 

“You should actually get the fuck out of here.” Your hand was firm on the door, despite them shaking, ready to slam it closed. 

The man took a step forward now, his begging mixed with a desire to show power. As his hand rested on the door he began to slightly push it open against yours.  “Don’t be like that, I always hated when you were like that, you’re too pretty to have an attitude that ugly.” 

Suddenly, the pushing on the door stopped and you felt a hand right above yours. Turning you saw Mikey standing behind you, taking all the weight of the door in his hand as he held firm with a deep frown on his face. 

“Pretty sure she told you to get the fuck outta here.” 

You weren’t sure if you were mortified or happy someone had your back right now. 

“I’m talkin’ to the lady, alright, don’t mean to be a bother, you don’t–you don’t gotta get involved.” It was said to be nonchalant but anyone could have read between the lines. 

“No, you’re not talkin’ to the lady.” In a way so opposite of his other hand, Mikey lightly touched your shoulder and smiled at you as he nodded behind him. Quickly he was taking your hand in his and moving you behind him. “C’mere sweetheart, stand right there.” He turned his attention back to the man at the door and hardened his face again. “You’re talkin’ to me. Who are you?” 

“I’m a friend.” He pointed to you and tried to peak past Mikey at you. 

“You ain’t shit. This is my house, my property, and she’s my friend. So I’m gonna need you to get the fuck out of here.” Mikey gripped the guy up with such ease, if it wasn’t for the flex of his muscles and the veins on his arms popping out, it wouldn’t have been obvious as to how hard his grip around this guys neck was. He tossed him down the stairs almost like a ragdoll, it helped that the man was in the bag drunk and had little to no reflexes readily available anymore. “If you ring this doorbell or do any other shit in or around this house, I’ll kill you.” With that the door was being slammed and he was turning to look at you. It broke him to see someone he saw as family so scared, your eyes were terrified still. 

He was tossing his arm over your shoulder and pushing you back through the kitchen and to the dining room where the chaos was. A sure way to keep your mind off everything. 

“Hey, c’mon now. Ignore that, let’s steal one of those cannolis, yea?”