#Arm Based Computing

[theribbajack]

"Now, the vow will be honoured, and my Lord brother's soul will return."

Radahn stans keep winning, but I personally am in Miyazaki's walls rn

[gummybugg]

Crater city's in-universe equivalent to msi's "if" album is called "else"

🚗 Want to rot your brain with each sporadic Crater City post? Join the taglist! Maybe I'll finish this wip someday, who knows! (dm to be added/removed): @writeouswriter @lyra-brie @digitalsatyr23 @talesfromtheunknowable @joswriting

[tunas-spriting]

happy birthday striders!!!

arms

[subzerocatalyst]

this... this is PEAK‼️‼️‼️‼️

The gremlins in my mind want to own a lil mini computer like this as if I we're some strange sci-fi novel character. To you beautiful humans who make stuff like this and know how to use raspberry pies, I love you. My fantasy to be a cyberpunk/lainecore/space girl is fuled by your mastery of this lil goobers

[orcboxer]

Things that work in fiction but not real life

torture getting reliable information out of people

knocking someone out to harmlessly incapacitate them for like an hour

jumping into water from staggering heights and surviving the fall completely intact

calling the police to deescalate a situation

rafting your way off a desert island

correctly profiling total strangers based on vibes

effectively operating every computer by typing and nothing else

ripping an IV out of your arm without consequences

heterosexual cowboy

[buckyseternaldoll]

on command.

this is the first story from my 707 followers' milestone event 💖

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky x Medic!Reader (female)

Summary: It started with a question you didn’t realize sounded filthy: “Can you come on command?” Bucky thought you were teasing. But you were just too clinical to know better. And now? He’s going to show you exactly what happens when curiosity goes too far.

Disclaimer: 18+ (mdni!), explicit smut content, p in v, oral sex (f receiving & m receiving), fingering, dirty talk, blowjob, face-fucking themes, size kink (mild), orgasm denial, soft dom!bucky, light power play, praise kink, slight dub-con vibes via misunderstanding, medical/clinical kink themes, slow build to climax, cockwarming (implied), cum on thighs, aftercare

Word Count: 7.1k

The med-bay smelled like antiseptic and fresh laundry—too clean for a room that had known so much blood. It was a Sunday evening, quiet and uneventful, the kind of shift where silence hummed against your ears and your thoughts wandered deeper than you intended. The kind of boredom that stretched into your ribs.

Until you heard the heavy thud of combat boots echo down the hallway.

You looked up from your tablet. He walked in with a presence that made the sterile air feel charged.

James Buchanan Barnes

Unit: Thunderbolts

Registry: Alpha-01

Notes: Vibranium prosthesis (left arm). Serum-enhanced physiology. Prior Hydra experimentation flagged in psychological history.

His combat shirt hung from one shoulder, blood soaked into the seams. His torso was bare—bruised, sweating, smeared with dried streaks of red. Deep brown hair fell in damp strands against his temples, jaw tight, body moving like something made to endure.

“Didn’t know we had new faces,” he said, voice gravel-rough as he eased himself down onto the med-bed. “Nice change.”

You nodded once and pulled on gloves. “Yes. I started this week.”

He dropped the shirt beside him, settling in like the cot was his personal recliner. The tone in his voice had suggested ease, maybe even a joke, but you didn’t react. You weren’t always sure when people were being sarcastic.

Especially not him.

You retrieved gauze, saline, antiseptic. You were focused on the wound low across his abdomen—a shallow blade graze, already clotting along the edge. As you cleaned around it, you recalled a conversation from earlier that week. Your first night shift had been filled with stories, warnings, casual gossip from the senior medics. They spoke about the team like they were walking myths. And Bucky Barnes, in particular, had been the centerpiece of several of those stories.

He can do anything if you tell him to, someone had said. Hydra programming, you know? Sit, kneel, come—just say it.

You hadn’t laughed. You’d written it down. Because you didn’t know it was a joke.

Now, he sat bare-chested in front of you, quiet, unmoving, skin warm beneath your gloved hands as you pressed sterile pads to the wound.

The question formed itself before you realized it was inappropriate.

You spoke plainly, genuinely. “I was wondering—can you get hard and ejaculate on command?”

The silence that followed was total. Not a pause. Not surprise.

It was a shift.

You didn’t notice it right away, too focused on folding gauze precisely, until the weight of his gaze pulled you back to the moment.

When you looked up, his entire body had stilled.

His eyes were on you. Unmoving. Brow low, mouth parted just slightly, as if he were still computing the words. The faint line between his brows deepened.

“Come again?” he asked, but his voice wasn’t casual. It wasn’t flirtatious either. It was something closer to caution.

You met his stare. “I asked if you’re able to achieve erection and reach orgasm on command. Based on what the other officers implied regarding your conditioning.”

He blinked once. Very slowly.

Your tone hadn’t faltered. You weren’t embarrassed. You were just curious—curious the same way you’d asked someone last week if the Hulk’s resting heart rate really was thirty-five BPM.

Bucky leaned back slightly, eyes scanning you like he was waiting for the punchline. When it didn’t come, his jaw worked, muscle flexing once under stubble.

Then he stood.

Not abruptly. But with enough weight behind the motion that you instinctively stepped back. The tray clinked behind you.

He stepped closer, enough that you felt the heat coming off his skin. Still watching you. Still trying to process.

“You’re seriously asking me that?” he said, quieter now. “Like, you’re not messing with me.”

“No,” you answered plainly. “I just wanted to understand the scope of the conditioning. Neurological control of physiological functions isn’t unheard of.”

He dragged a hand down his face. Let out a long breath through his nose. You saw the flicker in his expression—somewhere between disbelief and… something else.

“You really don’t realize how that sounded, do you.”

You tilted your head. “Should I?”

He huffed a soft, disbelieving laugh, almost under his breath.

Then he moved forward again—closer. Close enough that your hip bumped the counter edge.

“Are you asking because you want to know,” he said slowly, gaze dragging down your face, “or because you want to see?”

You stared back at him, unflinching. The intensity in his eyes didn’t register as threatening to you—just confusing. Your fingers curled slightly at your sides, still gloved. Still sterile. Still in the mindset of diagnostics and assessments, not flirtation. You weren’t sure what he meant by see, but the phrasing seemed to demand clarity.

So you gave it.

“I want to know,” you said plainly, meeting his eyes. “But if visual confirmation is possible, then yes—seeing would be helpful.”

His face didn’t move at first.

Not a blink. Not a breath.

Then his eyebrows lifted just a fraction—just enough to break the tension—but his mouth stayed parted like he’d lost his words somewhere between inhale and exhale.

You watched him, calm as ever. Not realizing that what you just said, to him, sounded like you were practically asking to watch him jerk off in the middle of med-bay.

His eyes narrowed slightly, still scanning you for a punchline. When there was none, something shifted. Not in you. In him.

Because that’s when it hit him—hard.

You weren’t fucking around.

You weren’t teasing. You weren’t flirting. You weren’t setting him up for some kind of HR trap. You were genuinely trying to understand the technical boundaries of Hydra’s physiological conditioning, like you were running through a checklist for your own notes.

He exhaled once through his nose and ran his palm over his jaw.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, half to himself. His gaze flicked to the side, like he needed to look anywhere but directly at you for a moment.

You could see it happening—the calculation behind his eyes. He was deciding whether or not to walk away. Whether to laugh. Whether to report this. But then something else moved through him, too—curiosity. You recognized the signs: pupils shifting slightly, breath shallower. He wasn’t sure either.

“I mean,” he said at last, voice rough, uncertain. “I’ve never… actually tried that. Not like—deliberately.”

You tilted your head slightly. “Would you be open to attempting it?”

His mouth parted again, like he wanted to respond but couldn’t decide which direction to take it. You sensed hesitation and tried to reassure him in the only way you knew how: by defaulting to protocol.

“If you’d prefer this be off-record,” you added, “we can skip the video documentation. I’ll log it manually.”

That did it.

His jaw dropped just a fraction further as he let out a breathless, incredulous noise. It wasn’t quite a laugh—it was something between disbelief and amusement, and it landed heavy in the air between you.

He looked back at you like you were some rare, alien creature. And maybe you were.

You hadn’t moved. You weren’t flustered. You weren’t seducing him. You were just… waiting. Like this was any other medical procedure.

Bucky dragged a hand through his hair, clearly still processing. Then his eyes returned to yours.

“You really wanna see if I can do that,” he said. It wasn’t a question. More like a final check. Like he needed to hear it in your voice one last time before he crossed the line.

“Yes,” you said simply. “For observation purposes.”

There was a long, still beat.

Then his stance shifted.

Something subtle in the way his feet planted, in the slow curl of his fingers at his side, in the way his shoulders rolled back with quiet intent. He wasn’t leaning anymore—he was centered now. Present. Watching you as something darker flickered behind his expression. Something curious. Something charged.

He nodded once. Low. Controlled.

“All right,” he said roughly, voice dipping just a bit lower than before. “Try me.”

—

You gave a short nod, already reaching back toward the tablet on the metal tray behind you, fingertips hovering to wake the screen. The chance to collect a new data point—something none of the other medics had dared ask for—was unexpectedly thrilling.

But the rustle of fabric behind you pulled your focus.

Bucky had stepped away from you again, his heavy boots padding quietly as he moved back toward the med-bed. Except this time, his fingers were already at his waistband.

You froze halfway between the tray and your chair.

He turned slightly toward you, eyes locked onto yours as his thumb worked open the button of his tactical pants. The zipper followed with a quiet rasp, slow and deliberate. He wasn’t speaking. Just watching.

And only then, only then, did your brain finally process the image forming in front of you.

His pants loosened around his hips, hung low now—unzipped and open just enough for you to see the black band of his briefs and the defined lines of his lower abdomen. The cut you’d just cleaned stretched faintly when he moved, muscles flexing subtly under the skin. His cock was still covered, but the shape of it—resting heavy against the fabric, shifting slightly as he adjusted—was impossible to miss. Still soft. Still untouched. But undeniably there. And Bucky wasn’t breaking eye contact.

Something shifted in your chest—an odd tightness you weren’t familiar with. A spike in heart rate. Not fear. Just sudden, confusing awareness. Your lips parted slightly, and your fingers fell away from the tablet screen.

Bucky let out a quiet breath. Not a laugh, not quite. A huff, amused and something darker beneath it.

“You’re realizing how bad everything looks now, huh?” he said, and his tone was different—still low, still calm, but tinged with heat. A crooked smirk played at the corner of his mouth. “Starting to piece it together?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t—not yet.

Because the tension in the air had shifted again. The weight of it wasn’t theoretical anymore. It was physical. Heavy. Warm. Centered on the space between you and the man now standing with his pants undone, cock barely covered, staring at you like this was still part of your little experiment.

You swallowed. Just once.

“I can stop,” he added, arching a brow. “But if you’re gonna ask me to do this… I need you to say it.”

“Say it?” you echoed.

He nodded, the line of his jaw tight, like something about this had challenged him in a way he wasn’t used to. “Yeah. The command. Give it. Let’s see if it works.���

You blinked, heartbeat tapping quick in your throat. Your gloves felt suddenly too tight.

It was for science.

Wasn’t it?

Except… now you were staring at the shape of a man’s cock through his briefs. At the subtle way it shifted behind fabric. At how he just stood there, open like a test subject, waiting for you to initiate the next step.

And suddenly, your carefully ordered brain started… glitching.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to look. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this—warm skin, eye contact, unspoken tension stretching tight across the space between you like a surgical suture about to snap.

You tried to stay focused. Tried to categorize what was happening as neuromuscular stimulus, externally initiated. That’s all. But the words slipped out of your mouth before you could repackage them more… appropriately.

“What kind of command should I say?”

Bucky’s brow arched. He shrugged one shoulder, still loose, still watching you like you were the show now. “Anything,” he said, voice smooth but quiet. “Try whatever comes naturally.”

Your brain immediately clicked into gear, cataloging possibilities, filtering for language precision. He’d said command. Singular. Direct.

“Get hard,” you said.

Bucky blinked once, slowly. “You might need to be more specific,” he murmured, the corner of his mouth twitching. “There’s a lotta things in here that can get hard. Floors. Plastics. Steel.”

You paused. Blinked again. Fair. Logical.

Your eyes dropped to the bulge at his front, the soft outline of his cock resting slightly to the left beneath dark cotton.

So you recalibrated. Clarified.

Your voice was steady when you said it:

“I command the cock of Bucky Barnes to get hard.”

The silence that followed wasn’t quiet. It was crackling. Electric.

And then—it worked.

You watched, frozen, as the shape beneath his briefs shifted. Thickened. From a resting weight to something firmer. Fuller. The fabric tightened around him as the shaft pressed upward and outward, no longer soft, no longer passive. He twitched once—just enough to catch your eye—and then kept swelling.

Your lips parted. You didn’t move.

That wasn’t supposed to happen.

It couldn’t happen.

But it had.

And Bucky… Bucky exhaled something between a scoff and a groan, and tipped his head slightly back like he couldn’t believe it either. When he looked at you again, his pupils had darkened, narrowed, and the curve of his lips had turned into something far less amused and far more interested.

“You’re kidding me,” he murmured, shaking his head. “You actually meant that.”

You nodded once, slowly, as your eyes locked onto the now very-obvious bulge straining his briefs.

He smirked, but there was a heat beneath it now—a flicker of something dangerous. His voice dropped a notch deeper.

“More.”

“What?”

“Give me another command,” he said. “Anything. Let’s test your theory.”

You hesitated. A beat too long. Then your eyes dropped again, tracking the shape beneath the black fabric. Your breath hitched—quiet, but noticeable to both of you. Your gloved hand curled reflexively at your side.

You bit your lip.

And then, softly, clinically—

“Twitch for me.”

And it did.

Just slightly. A small, visible movement under fabric. But enough.

A pulse. A response. An involuntary contraction of arousal-based musculature.

Your throat went dry.

A chill spidered down your spine, despite the warmth flooding your neck. Your mind scrambled to reframe this—to maintain control—but this no longer felt like controlled scientific inquiry. This was crossing into something else. Something biological. Something reproductive.

This wasn’t a training module anymore.

This was a live demonstration.

And you were the sole witness.

—

Bucky’s fingers curled under the waistband of his briefs.

He held your stare for a moment—something unspoken hanging in the air between you—and then he pulled them down.

Not rushed. Not coy. Just practical. Like it was necessary for the demonstration.

“You wanna learn properly, right?” he said. His voice was smooth, but edged. “Gotta see it bare if you want the full data.”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

Because your breath caught the moment it came into view.

You choked—literally—on your own saliva.

Half-hard, and already thick. Heavy. You could see the potential of it, the way the veins curved beneath flushed skin, the slight upward tilt even in its semi state. It looked obscene without even being fully erect yet, and you couldn’t stop your eyes from tracing it, from measuring it mentally like you were still running diagnostics.

But you weren’t anymore. You knew that now.

Bucky saw your stare, the way your eyes had locked there like you forgot how to blink. His voice dropped, barely audible over the thick hum of your pulse.

“Give me another command.”

Something in your body responded before your brain did. Your feet shifted—one step forward. Then another. And another. Four in total. Just enough to bring you closer. Close enough that you didn’t have to squint to see the twitch of him. The weight of it.

Your gaze finally broke from his cock and lifted—slow, dazed—until you met his eyes again. There was something in them now. Not confusion. Not amusement.

Permission.

“Stroke it for me,” you said, voice quieter than before. Not clinical. Not innocent. Just… real.

And that was the moment the game changed.

Bucky’s breath stuttered once in his throat, just the smallest hitch. Because now, you weren’t analyzing—you were participating.

And he liked that. He liked it a lot.

He wrapped his flesh hand around the base, slow and deliberate, his thumb swiping just under the tip as he started to stroke upward in long, lazy pulls. His cock twitched again in his palm, growing harder with every pass. No sounds left his mouth. His jaw clenched. His brows pulled tight. But he didn’t moan.

He was waiting for you to tell him to.

You shifted in place, thighs pressing together with a sudden, instinctive squeeze. Your breathing went uneven, and the pressure building between your legs was no longer something you could rationalize away. Wetness pooled at the center of your panties. Your skin was hot. Your thoughts a blur of static and want.

Your eyes dropped again. His cock had grown—thicker, longer, flushed deep at the head. Veins thickened along the shaft. The slide of his hand was smooth, practiced. Deliberate.

Your mouth opened again.

“Stroke faster.”

He obeyed instantly.

The rhythm changed, tightened, faster now—fingers gliding up the length, thumb brushing the tip each time in a way that made the muscles in his stomach twitch. His breathing picked up, but still no sound. Still waiting.

You stared.

Hard. Thick. Veined. It should’ve been obscene, but you couldn’t look away. The way his cock reacted to your voice felt like an experiment gone wrong—or maybe perfectly right. And you were the one holding the data, holding the power.

Your pulse beat between your legs.

And then—a glint.

Your eyes caught it before you could process it.

A bead of pre-cum had leaked from the tip, catching the light under the bright med-bay fluorescents. It clung there, glistening.

You groaned.

Not intentionally. Not performatively.

It was raw, low, a breathy little sound dragged straight from your chest before you could clamp it down.

And when you realized what you’d done, your hand flew to your mouth.

Bucky’s fist slowed for just a moment.

Then he smirked—eyes dark, blown wide, a faint sheen of sweat forming across his collarbone.

“That wasn’t very professional,” he murmured.

—

Bucky’s fist moved faster now—stroking with a pace that was no longer lazy or exploratory. It was urgent. Determined. Testing both your commands and his own control.

His eyes flicked up to you again, and this time his voice had a rasp to it. Thicker. Needier.

“Come on,” he said lowly, just above a whisper. “What’s next, huh? Moans? Touch? You’re running the experiment, right? Gotta get all your data points.”

The words coiled low in your abdomen like a tightening wire. He was pushing you now—not resisting, not breaking the role—but tempting you to go further. Daring you.

And fuck, you were already too far gone to backpedal.

You watched the way his cock jerked in his hand, the head flushed and leaking. The pace was obscene—wet, rhythmic, fast.

“Stop,” you said, breathless but firm.

His hand froze instantly, mid-stroke.

You stepped closer, chest rising with shallow breaths.

“Now grip it tight. At the base. Like a cock ring.”

His jaw clenched. But he obeyed.

Fingers slid down, wrapped tight at the base. The moment he squeezed, his hips jolted just slightly—a tiny thrust he didn’t mean to give. The muscles in his stomach twitched. His lips parted.

A whimper escaped him. Soft. Strained. Like it had been forced through grit teeth. Not a moan. But close.

Your own breath caught.

Something about that sound—his frustration, his restraint, the way he held himself back on your order—sent a hot wave crashing through your core.

Your nipples peaked, the fabric of your bra suddenly too tight, too abrasive, like even the fibers couldn’t stand not touching you directly. Heat spread low in your belly, soaking between your thighs. You didn’t dare look down at yourself. You didn’t need to.

You already felt how soaked you were.

Your eyes didn’t leave his cock.

It twitched slightly in his grip.

Alive.

Waiting.

You swallowed, and then—

“Moan for me.”

He did.

Not a pornographic moan. Not some overdone, fake gasp. It was real.

It started low in his chest, almost like a growl — rough, full of restraint snapping open. It vibrated in his throat before it left his mouth, his jaw slackening as he let out a slow, masculine moan that sounded like it had been pent up for hours.

“F-fuck—” he gasped, voice catching. “That what you wanted?”

It was full of yearning. Of weight. Like he’d been aching to be heard, and now your voice was the only one he’d obey.

Your thighs squeezed again, tighter this time. You shifted on instinct, trying to ease the pressure building deep inside you. But it was no use.

He saw it.

Saw you squirm, saw your chest rise like you couldn’t catch your breath, saw the tremble in your fingers now clenched around the edge of the tray behind you.

And he smiled.

But this one… wasn’t mocking.

It was sharp. Almost feral.

His hand still gripped the base of his cock, skin tight and flushed. But he didn’t move. He just looked at you, pupils blown wide.

Then—his voice dropped to something darker. More commanding.

“Your turn.”

You blinked.

“What?”

His smirk widened just slightly, voice gravel-smooth, no longer soft or playful.

“Take the gloves off,” he said. “Then touch me. And let’s stop pretending this is still about Hydra.”

—

For a moment, you hesitated.

Just a breath.

Then you peeled off your gloves—one hand, then the other—fingers flexing slightly in the cool med-bay air. The sterile barrier was gone now. There was no pretending this was still clinical. This wasn’t about notes. This wasn’t about data.

This was about him. And you.

Your footsteps were slow, measured, as you stepped the last bit of distance between you and Bucky. He stood in front of the med-bed, body bare from the waist down, cock flushed and leaking, his chest rising just a little faster now.

You reached out.

Your fingers wrapped around him—replacing his own grip at the base. He let go immediately, lifting his hand away to let you take over, the breath in his throat catching as your skin made contact.

He was hot. Heavy. Alive in your palm, twitching slightly as your hand encircled the base. The skin was soft where it needed to be, velvet over steel, and the tip was slick and pulsing.

You looked up at him.

Your gaze met his, and his eyes were dark, narrowed—hungry.

His lips parted just slightly, voice rough and short.

“Stroke me. Then blow me.”

The order made your thighs clench.

You obeyed without speaking.

Your hand began to move, slow at first, adjusting to the shape and heat of him, your grip gentle, exploratory. You watched the way his stomach flexed with each pass, the subtle twitch of muscle when you passed your thumb over the tip, smearing the pre-cum slowly down the shaft.

You leaned in.

Just slightly at first, tilting your head forward, your breath skating warm over the flushed head. Bucky’s eyes dropped to your mouth.

Then your tongue slipped out—just a taste.

One slow lick, right over the tip.

He groaned. Low. Guttural. His head tipped back for a split second, throat flexing.

You licked again, bolder this time, then wrapped your lips around the head of his cock and drew him in—slowly. You hollowed your cheeks slightly, using just enough pressure to feel him respond, the weight of him dragging your mouth open more as you took him deeper.

Your hand didn’t stop moving.

You stroked while you sucked—your fist gliding up and down the base in sync with your lips pulling wetly around the top. The angle made it easy, almost natural, to slide into a steady rhythm. Before long, your knees found the cold tile beneath you, and you dropped fully down.

On your knees for him.

Bucky’s hand reached for you.

His fingers threaded through your hair—not yanking, not controlling, but guiding. His palm cradled the back of your head, gentle but firm, keeping you steady, helping you move with him.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “Jesus—you feel…”

He didn’t finish the sentence.

He didn’t need to.

You felt it—every twitch, every surge. You could taste him. Hear the sound of your mouth working over him—slick, lewd, hot. His cock throbbed under your tongue, and your hand was slick with saliva and pre-cum now, sliding faster, keeping pace.

Your thighs were soaked. You didn’t dare check.

This was no longer about commands.

This was about the way he moaned when your lips sank lower.

About how his hips gave a slow, helpless jerk when your tongue curled underneath.

About how your name—or maybe a prayer—slipped from his lips like he was giving in.

—

Bucky’s moans were getting ragged—too close. You could feel it in the way his hand tightened at the back of your head, the subtle twitch in his hips, the tremble riding down the backs of his thighs. He was losing control.

But then—he stopped.

His cock slid from your mouth with a wet pop, strings of saliva still clinging as he stepped back, and his hand released your hair with a gentleness that contrasted the tension still buzzing in the air.

You blinked up at him, breathless. Lips swollen, jaw slack.

Confused.

He leaned down suddenly, close, the blunt edge of his nose brushing your cheek, his mouth ghosting against your ear.

“I gotta stop,” he said, voice thick and wrecked. “If I keep going, I’m gonna come—and that’s not how I want this to end.”

Before you could speak, he inhaled sharply, slow and deliberate—right near your neck, your shoulder.

“I can smell you,” he whispered, so close you could feel his breath. “So sweet… fuck, you smell good. Like heat. Like need. It’s all I can fucking think about.”

Your throat tightened. Your thighs instinctively pressed together, but it was no use. Your panties were soaked through. You could feel it now—sticky against your skin, the telltale ache of need building deep and low.

He pulled back, eyes locking with yours.

“Get on the bed.”

You didn’t think. You just moved.

You climbed onto the med-bed, hands shaking as you laid flat, the sterile paper beneath your back crinkling under you. Your chest rose and fell too fast. Your heart was hammering.

Bucky stepped up beside you, fingers moving straight to the controls along the side panel. You watched him adjust the platform—angling it upward, shifting it higher, higher—until your hips were raised perfectly at the edge, aligned with the height of the rolling med-chair he pulled in behind him.

Then his hands went to your waist.

He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your uniform pants—flicking the button open, tugging down the zipper slowly.

His eyes stayed on yours the whole time.

The fabric slid down your hips, over your thighs, exposing your underwear—already ruined.

His gaze finally dropped, and the sound he made was primal. A low, breathless groan punched straight from his chest.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “Look at that.”

Your panties were dark with arousal, wet from center to seam, clinging to your folds. His thumb grazed the soaked cotton, dragging it along the sticky heat there.

“You’re this wet for me?” he murmured. “Just from watching me stroke my cock?”

You swallowed but didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Your hips tilted slightly into his touch, searching for more.

He hooked his fingers under the waistband and peeled your panties down, slow. As he pulled them off your legs, he paused—his eyes lingering for a heartbeat too long on the soaked gusset—and groaned again under his breath.

If he brought them to his nose, you didn’t see it. You were too busy trying not to tremble as he settled between your thighs.

He grabbed the chair, dragged it forward with one hand, and sat—his eyes level with your cunt now, bare and glistening, exposed completely on the edge of the bed.

“You ever had someone eat you out?” he asked, voice deep and low.

You shook your head. Small. Honest.

A flicker of something passed over his face—dark and pleased. His pupils blew wide, tongue wetting his bottom lip.

“Good,” he said, breath ghosting hot against your inner thighs. “I want to be the first.”

Then he leaned in—and licked you.

The first pass of his tongue was slow, wide, and devastating. A drag from your entrance up to your clit in one long, shivering stroke.

You gasped, back arching. “Oh—!”

He moaned into your cunt, low and deep.

Again.

He licked you slower now, more deliberately, the slurp audible. He nosed into you, spread you with two fingers of his flesh hand and devoured you like it was the only thing he was built to do. His tongue circled, then flattened. Then flicked—messy, wet, perfect.

Your hips twitched. Your hand flew to the bed rail, fingers clenching tight.

“Bucky—” you whimpered, voice trembling.

He grunted into you—sound vibrating straight through your clit.

Then you felt it.

Cold.

His vibranium fingers slid between your folds.

One pressed at your entrance—gentle, firm. A slow stretch as he slipped it in, knuckle by knuckle, filling you in one smooth thrust.

You cried out. Your thighs jerked.

The coldness of metal inside your hot, fluttering walls was overwhelming. You clenched around it instinctively, hips rocking into the sensation.

“Shit—yeah,” Bucky rasped, pulling back enough to speak. “Clenching already? Fuck, you feel good.”

His mouth returned to your clit, tongue circling, then sucking, lips closing around it just right.

At the same time, that finger started to move. A slow, deliberate rhythm. In and out, curling just slightly.

You whimpered. Your eyes squeezed shut. The heat building between your legs was unbearable.

“More—” you gasped. “I want—”

You didn’t finish the sentence.

You didn’t have to.

Because your body had already betrayed you—back arching, hips bucking, slick dripping down to his palm.

His mouth sucked harder, tongue flicking faster, finger fucking you deeper—and you felt yourself start to unravel.

His breath hit your cunt when he spoke again.

“You want more?” His voice was rough, dark. “Say it. Tell me what you need.”

—

Your back arched as the first vibranium finger curled inside you, drawing another soft whimper from your lips. You needed more. The pressure was good—but not enough. Not yet.

Your hips rocked forward instinctively, searching, rolling toward his mouth, his hand, anything he’d give.

“Please,” you breathed, voice trembling. “Another…”

Bucky didn’t hesitate.

Another cool, sleek finger joined the first, easing in slowly with a delicious stretch that made your thighs jerk open wider. He groaned against your cunt as he watched your body react.

“That’s it,” he murmured, lips brushing against your inner thigh. “Take it. Just like that.”

Your hips rolled, desperate for more friction. The pressure was growing deeper, stronger—but it still wasn’t enough. Your moans grew softer, more frequent, broken by panting breaths. You couldn’t form words. Couldn’t ask.

But he knew.

Without needing permission, he slid a third vibranium finger inside you, and that made you cry out.

“F-fuck—” you gasped, legs shaking.

The stretch was intense—your walls clenching tight around the cool metal, fluttering with every slow curl of his fingers. You didn’t know you could feel this full from just fingers. But the pressure was perfect. Overwhelming. Too much and not enough at the same time.

Bucky groaned, his own voice ragged now.

“Fuck, look at you,” he said, voice thick and reverent. “Clenching around me like you’re starving for it.”

He set a faster rhythm, fingers pumping into you with slick, wet sounds that filled the space between your own needy moans. His thumb slid up, circling your clit while his tongue flicked beneath it, and it was too much—your thighs shaking, your breath coming in shallow, desperate bursts.

Your hands gripped the rail above your head. Your body was so close, teetering, right there—

And then he stopped.

Just like that.

You whimpered, a broken sob of air as your hips bucked forward, trying to chase the friction he just took away.

“No—” you gasped.

He didn’t answer. He just sat back slightly, eyes hooded with heat, breath heavy, fingers soaked in your arousal.

He raised his hand to his mouth.

Licked the wet off one finger.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “You taste so sweet. Addictive.”

Then, to your surprise, he brought those same fingers to your lips.

You parted them without thinking.

The taste of yourself hit your tongue—salty, musky, warm. It made you moan softly, eyes fluttering closed.

Bucky’s hand dropped, and he leaned over you, one arm curling around your waist as he pulled you upright from the bed in one swift, effortless move. Your legs wrapped around him loosely, chest pressed to his, your soaked cunt still throbbing.

He kissed you.

And it wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t desperate. It was claiming.

Slow. Deep. The kind of kiss that spoke everything his mouth couldn’t say. Tongue sliding against yours, hands anchoring you close, his cock thick and hard between your bodies.

You broke the kiss first, breath catching in your throat. A soft moan escaped you as you leaned into the crook of his neck, lips brushing his jaw, your breath hot against his ear.

“I need your cock,” you whispered, voice shaking. “Inside. Now.”

He jolted. Just slightly—but you felt it. The way his fingers dug into your hips, the way his cock twitched hard against your stomach.

“Are you sure?” he asked, voice rough. “We don’t have to go that far. I can just—keep going. Oral only. Or I can stop.”

But you weren’t having that.

You pulled back just enough to look him in the eye.

Your voice steady now. Low. Commanding.

“It’s a command. Fuck me. Use your cock.”

Something in him broke.

His expression shifted instantly—lips parting, pupils dilating, breath punching out of him like you’d knocked the air from his lungs. And then his hands were on your hips, dragging you down the bed, adjusting your angle.

“Yes, ma’am,” he breathed.

—

Bucky stepped in close, hands firm on your thighs as he aligned his cock at your entrance. You were still clinging to him from the kiss—legs locked around his waist, hips tilted forward—and the tip of him slid through your slick folds, gliding right up to your clit.

You gasped. Your arms tightened around his shoulders.

He let his forehead rest against yours, breath hot between your lips.

“Gonna split you open real slow, doll,” he whispered, voice dark and low. “Wanna make sure you feel me for days. Wanna make you think of my cock when you’re sittin’ at that medic desk, squirming in that chair…”

You whimpered, breath catching hard in your throat.

He shifted his hips slightly, the fat head of his cock nudging right at your entrance. There. Warm. Heavy.

“Still okay?” he asked, eyes scanning your face.

You nodded quickly—too fast.

But Bucky didn’t move yet.

He was patient. His flesh hand slid to your lower back, supporting you. His vibranium arm cradled under your thighs. You were secure. Held. Open.

He pushed in slowly.

The stretch was immediate.

Your breath hitched. Your brows pinched tight.

It wasn’t pain. It wasn’t discomfort.

It was just—a lot.

So thick. So full. Your walls struggled to accommodate the girth of him, every inch pressing into you with that impossible, deliberate pressure.

Your fingers clawed slightly at his back, seeking grounding. Your lips parted around a breathy, trembling moan.

He stilled halfway.

“Talk to me,” he whispered. “Need me to stop?”

You shook your head. “Just—need a second. You’re���”

“I know,” he muttered, placing a soft kiss against your temple. “You’re taking it so well.”

His cock twitched inside you, and the sensation made your core flutter around him again.

You adjusted your hips subtly, trying to find that sweet angle, and he caught your eyes—dark, hungry, but still gentle.

You gave him a tiny nod.

“Okay.”

He eased forward again, the rest of him slowly sheathing inside—inch by thick inch—until his hips met yours and you were completely full.

You both paused.

You gasped softly, still trying to breathe through the stretch. He stayed still, letting you feel everything: his length, his weight, the way he filled every space inside you like he was made for it.

Then—he began to move.

His hips rolled forward, slow and deep. A drag of thick cock against tight, soaked walls. You moaned quietly into his neck, your arms around his shoulders as he rocked into you with careful, steady rhythm.

“Fuck, you feel good,” he groaned. “Tightest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever felt. Gripping me like you don’t wanna let go.”

You didn’t. Couldn’t. Your body wrapped around him like instinct, taking everything he gave, hips jerking slightly with each push forward.

The pace stayed tender, but every thrust got a little deeper.

He lifted you slightly with each one, your thighs trembling around his waist.

But after a while, he slowed again—kissed your jaw, your cheek, the corner of your mouth.

Then his voice dropped.

“Turn around for me.”

You blinked up at him, dazed. “What?”

“Wanna see you bend over that bed,” he said, voice rough. “Wanna fuck you from behind. Real slow. Let you feel every inch while you arch that back for me.”

You moaned.

He slowly pulled out—slick and thick and aching—then gently set you down on the mattress.

The bed hissed slightly as he adjusted the height down, just enough to allow your knees to hit the floor if needed. You leaned forward, hands braced on the mattress, spine arching as he guided you into place.

Your cunt throbbed—open and wet, dripping for him.

“That’s it,” he muttered behind you. “Just like that.”

Then he slid back in.

Your mouth dropped open with a gasp as his cock filled you again from behind—this time deeper, the angle hitting something different, something devastating.

He kept his hands firm on your hips, pulling you back gently as he rocked forward. The rhythm wasn’t hard—but deliberate. Controlled. Every stroke sank to the hilt, then withdrew just enough to let you feel the drag before he shoved back in.

You whimpered, braced against the bed, flushed from the neck down.

And he just kept going.

“Still good, baby?” he murmured, thumb brushing over the curve of your lower back.

You nodded, nearly trembling. “S-so good…”

But the words were starting to fall apart.

So was your mind.

And neither of you had even come yet.

—

Bucky’s thrusts deepened, hips rolling into yours at a steady, dragging pace. Each stroke hit just right, and you were keening for him—barely holding yourself upright, knuckles white as you clutched the edge of the med-bed beneath you.

But then his rhythm slowed.

You gasped when he slipped out, your empty cunt fluttering at the sudden loss. Before you could speak, his hands were already guiding your hips—flipping you over with a gentleness that made your heart twist.

You landed on your back.

He hovered over you for just a beat, gaze sweeping your face.

Then he leaned down and kissed you—slow and tender. Like a thank you. Like a promise.

“Lie back,” he murmured against your lips. “Wanna see your face when you come.”

Your cheeks burned. But you obeyed.

You slid further onto the mattress until you were lying flat, arms at your sides, heart pounding in your ears. He followed—climbed onto the narrow bed, the space barely enough for him, but he made it work.

He settled between your thighs again, and without a word, lined himself up.

Then—he pushed back in.

Your body stretched around him once more, the delicious fullness making you gasp. He groaned softly above you, head dropping to your shoulder.

And then he started to move.

Still gentle—but faster now.

Deeper. The strokes came in a rhythm designed to wreck you, his hips driving into yours, the mattress squeaking faintly beneath the both of you. His mouth hovered over yours, your foreheads touching, breath shared.

You looked up at him—really looked—and something in your chest cracked open.

He was flushed. Focused. Eyes trained on every expression you made. Every gasp. Every tremble.

“You’re so close, huh?” he whispered, voice rough. “Can feel you squeezing me.”

You nodded, breath caught in your throat. Your hands gripped his shoulders now, fingers digging into his back.

“Bucky—” you choked. “I’m— I’m coming—”

His mouth found yours as you shattered beneath him.

Your entire body clenched around his cock, heat surging through you like a wave breaking. Your walls pulsed tight around him, spasming with every beat of your climax. Your legs shook. Your fingers trembled. Your voice caught somewhere between a moan and a sob.

And he kept going—just enough to help you ride it out, hips rocking in slow, shallow thrusts as your body twitched and trembled beneath him.

“That’s it,” he whispered. “Just like that. You did so fucking good…”

When your spasms started to ease—when your cunt stopped fluttering and your hips finally slumped against the mattress—he pulled out, slick and twitching.

His hand wrapped around his cock, stroking hard and fast.

You could barely watch, breathless and dazed, but the sight of him, flushed and towering above you, fucking his fist with your arousal still shining on him—it was filthy in the best way.

A few strokes later, he came.

Hot ropes spilled across your lower belly, streaking your thighs in thick, warm pulses. He grunted low, teeth clenched, brows furrowed as his release overtook him.

You lay there, wrecked. Chest heaving. Skin slick with sweat.

Bucky? He panted for a moment—but that Super Soldier thing had him steadying fast. He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your stomach, just above the mess he’d made.

Then he reached for the tissue box by the tray.

You flinched when the cool wipe hit your thigh, but he was gentle—careful as he cleaned the sticky remnants off your skin. His touch wasn’t sexual anymore. It was care. Quiet. Wordless.

He helped you sit up, tugging your pants back into place like it was second nature. Buttoned them for you. His fingers lingered at the waistband.

Neither of you spoke right away.

You didn’t need to.

There was no awkwardness. No guilt. Just… this unspoken truth between you.

This would happen again.

You both knew it.

Bucky looked around the room once everything was cleaned—bed straightened, gloves tossed, no trace left.

Then he turned to you, mouth tugging at one corner in a crooked grin.

“Maybe next time,” he said, voice low, “we try sex on command, too?”

You laughed softly, breath still shaky.

You nodded.

“Yeah,” you said. “For documentation purposes.”

💌: @iamthatonefangirl @sonja-blayde

[ccest]

Optical bonding for TFT LCD Panel with Touch Panel(Glass)

Unlock enhanced display performance with CCest.com's optical bonding for TFT LCD panels featuring touch panels. Our cutting-edge bonding technology reduces reflection and improves durability, providing clearer, more vibrant visuals. Explore our solutions for improved touchscreen functionality and durability in various environments, delivering superior quality and reliability.Visit Us : https://www.ccest.com/Optical-Bonding-Service/

[angrythingstarlight]

Can see this being roommate!Bucky

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZPRcGCfkW/

Tell me why I saw a comment that said: I've watched my husband down a whole team just cause they downed me first. He definitely got the gak gak that night. 😂😂

-gif/idea anon

Roommate Bucky is always ready to defend you. And you—you're about to learn firsthand why gamers are notorious for being good with their fingers.

Pairing: Roommate!Bucky x Reader

WC: 2K

CW: Size kink, Beefy Bucky being absolutely massive, praise, degradation, choking, hand kink, fingering, overstimulation, hint of voyeurism, video game violence.

AN: Written on my phone, unbetad. This isn't based on any game in particular. It's just an excuse to write a little bit o' smut.

“No. No. Nonononono.” 

YOU’RE DEAD flashes across the screen mocking you as your avatar’s bullet-riddled body fades into the abyss. You slump in the oversized gaming chair, tossing your controller on the desk. Jeers ring in your headset and you rip it off, throwing it next to the controller. She was so pretty. It took you ages to find one you liked and could pair with the cute outfit you picked.

The guys on your team didn’t even give you a chance. Who takes out one of their own? These jackasses apparently.

"You okay?" Heavy footsteps resound behind you. Glancing up, you see your roommate strolling into the living room. Your heart races at the sight of him. He’s gorgeous. No one should look this good.

Deep blue eyes framed by long lashes. Beard neatly trimmed, enhancing his jaw. He's wearing a pair of loose grey sweats that cling to his muscular thighs, long brunet locks, damp from the shower, curl around his nape. No shirt of course.

Your eyes follow a bead of water that rolls down his massive chest and goes into the valley of his ridged abs. It hits the band of his navy blue boxers peeking out from his pants and your mouth goes dry imagining what's hidden under those layers of cotton.

While you’re busy ogling him, he notices the mess you left on his desk and the start over screen on his gaming computer. “What happened, bunny?” 

The reminder of that stupid game has your frustation and anger returning in droves and it overtakes your burgeoning lust. You explain how the guys, his gaming buddies, decided to fuck with you by taking you out in a flurry of friendly fire when they realized Bucky wasn’t in the room. The longer you speak, detailing all the nasty things they said to you, the more his features harden, a muscle ticking away in his clenched jaw.  

“Huh,” he mutters under his breath. Bucky ambles over to the chair and lifts you out of it like you weigh nothing to him, considering what he benches for fun, you know you don’t. He sits down and arranges you over his thick thighs, your back resting against his warm, bare chest. He leans forward, picking up the controller and headset.

 It's not the first time, you've sat on his lap during one of his gaming marathons, Bucky says you help him play better.

“What are you doing?” You ask, canting your head back, his body wash, fresh cedar and vanilla, wafts over you and it takes everything in you not to drop your face into his chest and just inhale him. 

The corner of his lip lifts into a smirk. “You’ll see.” 

Adjusting the headset, he takes the controller in both hands, his corded biceps that are bigger than your head brush against the sides of your breasts.

If he feels the shiver that wracks down your body, he doesn’t comment on it. He never does.

The controller looks so small in his large hands, your gaze follows the veins lining the back of them as his fingers nimbly manipulate the buttons. A rush of heat spreads through you when he rests his chin on your shoulder.

You try to clench your thighs to quell the ache beating between them, but your legs are dangling over his and you can’t.

“I—I’m not.” The lie is obvious even to your ears. He hums noncommittally, but you feel his arms press closer to your body, pushing your tits together. 

You shift on his lap, freezing in place when you feel his chest rise and fall against your back, his deep, knowing laugh rolls across your skin. He teaaes, “don’t tell me you're needy already, bunny?” 

Sometimes you can't tell if he's teasing or not. You asked once and he just grinned like tie answer should be obvious.

“Sure you’re not,” Bucky casually retorts after a man appears on the screen. His guy is more menacing than your avatar, tall and flanked in dark green camouflage, face concealed by a skull mask. Weapons rotate next to him, eventually stopping on a machine gun. Static crackles through his headset and he’s dropped onto a rooftop. “I’m back fuckers.” 

Various greetings trickle through, only to be cut short when it becomes apparent that Bucky is going on a rampage. He storms across the building. Player after player goes down. Some you don’t even see until they fall to their death. 

“Aw c’mon.” 

“Fuck you.” 

“Seriously, what the fuck Barnes–” 

He’s ruthless. Headshots. Stabbing. More headshots. Your already damp panties are drenched when you point out the one that shot you first, and Bucky’s guy stomps the fuck out of Walker6969 before snapping his neck. A slightly undignified giggle slips past your lips when you hear his obnoxious complaint about Bucky not playing fair. Oh. Fucking. Well. More curses filter through his headset as he absolutely decimates the field. 

Bucky tilts his face towards you with a blithe smirk, taking out another player without missing a beat. “I warned you shitstains that you better be nice to my girl.” 

It’s not long before there’s no one left. Bucky tosses the control down, and wraps his arm around your belly, and leans back, taking you with him. “Feel better?” 

“Yeah,” you reply sincerely, both impressed at his skill and pleased that he was so willing to defend you. “Thank you.” 

“You really want to thank me, Bunny?” he whispers in your ear, nipping the lobe with a soft bite. 

Your breath hitches. His hands curve under your knees, placing your legs over the armrests. “I asked you a question,” Bucky states, his tone domineering and dark. 

You struggle to find any answer, but you can’t think with your roommate’s warm hand sliding down your shorts and cupping pussy and all you can do is whimper.

“You’re soaked,” he teases, tracing a finger down the middle of your clothed cunt. His touch is light, so light, but it sends a zap through your clit. “Could feel this hot little pussy throbbing on me. Practically begging for my cock,” Heat fans up the back of your neck and spreads to your face. He could feel that? Before you can drown in embarrassment, he’s kissing his way across your shoulder. ”Need me to get rid of this ache, don’t you?”

You want your roommates hands on you more than anything in this world. You’ve thought about this so many times, you can’t believe it’s happening. His touch feels better than you dreamed. His other hand travels a leisurely, gradual path up your shirt, moving your bra out of the way so he can roll your sensitive nipple between his rough fingers. 

Another slow sweep over your pussy, just skimming your pulsating, swollen clit. It’s not enough. “Please,” you whine out, grinding down over his growing bulge. He’s getting bigger and bigger under you. 

“Please what? Hmm, bunny, please what?” He cruelly taunts, pinching your nipple until your back arches off his chest. “Use your words.” 

You cry out, the spark of pain fades into a heady, warm pleasure. “Touch me.” 

You feel his lips curve into a smile, his teeth scrape over your throat. His thumb presses down your clit and goes still. “I am touching you.” 

This is unbearable.

You’ve never been so wet in your life and he hasn’t done anything. You need him so badly it hurts.

Your pussy clenches down on nothing, you feel so empty.

“Bucky, I need you, need your fingers inside me, please fuck me,” you babble, willing to say anything to get more of him. 

He doesn’t make you wait long. Without warning, he pushes your panties aside and a thick, calloused finger slides inside you. 

“Tight little thing, aren’t you?” he remarks, adding another. Bucky used to everything being small compared to him. You are no exception. He doesn’t give you time to get used to the stretch before he starts scissoring you open, working your hot, wet cunt until he can give you one more finger. Bucky crooks his fingers, and he finds that elusive spot, the one you swore didn’t exist until now. He finds it again. And again. And again. White-hot sensations make you curl in yourself, your thighs trembling. The rough pads of his thick fingers languidly working that sensitive spot as he moves to your other nipple, plucking it into a hard peak.

“That’s your spot huh?” He asks with a cocky rasp. He knows. You told him by the way your moans went all breathy and softy and you started grinding on his cock like a greedy slut being to be filled. Judging by the way he can barely fit three fingers inside you, he knows his cock is going to split you in two. He can’t wait.

“Oh god,” you breathe out, clawing deep marks in the leather under your hands.

The wet schlick schlick schlick of your pussy with every knuckle-deep thrust of his fingers is pornographic.

Right around the second or third time, you clench down around him; he decides he’s going to film you, put your pretty pussy front and center on his flatscreen across from his bed, and make you watch as he fucks you the same way you’re fucking yourself on his fingers, your hips rolling back and forth, grinding your ass over his throbbing cock. Gonna make you watch as you struggle to keep every inch inside you, make you watch him fuck you stupid. 

“Look at you making a mess all over me. Should make you clean it when you’re done. Gonna have you keep my cock warm while I finish the game.” The debauched image of you sitting on his cock while he plays flashes through your mind and a desperate moan builds in your throat, spilling out of your parted lips. “Yeah, you’re going to let me use this sweet cunt any time I want, gonna turn you into my personal fuckdoll.” 

His thumb swipes over your clit, once, twice. Sensations burn through your veins, your body feels so hot and tight, like you’re on the edge of imploding. His hand leaves your nipple and grabs your throat, the sudden pressure makes your head feel light. “Oh god." Right there, fuck he just has to keep doing that, you’re so close, he just has to stay right there. 

It’s like he can read your mind because he does, going harder and harder, giving you everything you need. “C’mon bunny, let me have it, give it to me.” 

“Fuck yesyesyes, don’t stop please don’t–” you sob, the start of your orgasm sparks inside you. 

“Not gonna tell you again, cum for me right the fuck now,” he rasps in your ear, squeezing tightly as he slams into your cunt, his thumb circling your clit faster and faster. His fingers catch your spot again, the pressure so good and so right that it sends you over the edge. Your orgasm barreling over you, wringing pleasure from every nerve in your body, and you gush around him.

“There it is, that’s my girl,” he praises, his words lost over the steady roar in your ears. He fucks you through it, drawing it out, only stopping after your vision blurs and you let out a pathetic noise, somewhere between a whimper and a sob, but you feel too good to care how you sound.

You’re a mess—limbs trembling and weak, still so lightheaded, you can't lift your head, letting it loll lazily over his broad shoulder. He gently takes his fingers out of your pulsating cunt and holds it up, the evidence of your release dripping down to his wrist. He brings his long index finger to his mouth, sucking it dry with a grin. “Damn, you taste good.”

"I–fuck Bucky that was amazing." You grab the armrests and push yourself up.

“Where ya goin’? I didn’t say I was done with you,” Bucky says, his hand loose around your throat as he brings you back down. "I was jus' getting you warmed up."

Oh.

He grinds against your ass, his heavy cock digging into you. He's so big. Despite the fact that you're still on an orgasmic high, you want more. You want Bucky.

“You still gonna thank me Bunny?"

And I—

Roommate!Bucky has returned!

[cosmic-dust-poltergeist]

Idk, just a thought.

Bruce: WE DON'T KILL PEOPLE, JASON

Dick: Pfft okay

Bruce: What do you mean by that?

Dick: Just saying, for a family that "doesn't kill", we have a pretty high kill count

Jason: Whaaaa?

Dick: Yeah, all things considered, Cass has the lowest count. You'd know this if you talked to us

Bruce: Dick, what are you talking about?

Jason: Wait! Replacement has a kill count???

Dick: He holds the record for most kills currently

Bruce and Jason: WHAT?

Dick, a little too proud: He's going to be so scary when he embraces being a supervillain

Tim, appearing with a pout: Still not a supervillain. Stop saying that.

Dick, beaming: No

Jason: wait, wait, wait, how does he-?? When-?? But I'm a crimelord and Demon Brat was an assassin???? Just how many have you killed???

Tim, ignoring Bruce having a mental breakdown: I lost count after I blow up all of Ra's bases. But a couple thousand?

Jason, shocked: For real?

Dick: See! Baby supervillain!

Tim: I'm not a baby anything, asshole. I'm 19!

Jason: Damn, baby bird. Wait! Does this mean Bruce and you (Dick) have kills counts?

Dick, shrugs: Yeah, Slade still tries to recruit me occasionally because of it.

Tim: Yeah, and Bruce likes to pretend he doesn't, but he does. If we want to add all the people he put in states worse than death while you were dead, who later killed themselves because of it, it's an even bigger list.

Dick, guiltily frowns: I'm not sure I want to add those. My list would get a hell of a lot longer too.

Tim, shrugs: Not all kills are to be proud of.

Jason, flabbergasted: I think I need to process this... my life is a lie

Tim: Talk to Alfred, it'll help

Jason, gestures to the despairing Bruce: What about him?

Dick: We've actually discussed this several times in front of him before, if we set him up at the bat computer, the med bay, or in his room, he pretends the whole conversation was a hallucination or something

Jason: Seriously?

Tim, nodding: Damian is so salty about it

Dick, strong arming Bruce to the bat computer and opening Bruce's latest case: Dami'll understand eventually.

Jason: Man, I need to hang out with you fuckers more often

Dick: I've been telling you!

Tim: There's a lot you don't know that we won't be discussing here, come to my safe house in southend on Thursday. We're having a sibling hangout at 4pm

[kisses4themissus]

Loathing you, my whole life long | M.R X Reader

a/n: I'M BACK TO WRITING AND HOPEFULLY THE FANFIC CURSE WONT HIT SO BAD THIS TIME!! and yess its gonna be a series!!

pairing: Michael "Robby" Robinavitch X Single mom!Reader

wc: 2.2k

!! all my medical knowledge is based off my mom's own health so some is actually correct !!

Requests are open for dr. robby! | masterlist | next pt

Chatter and machines beeping filled the ED.

Mel sat down at a desk, updating charts; occasionally glancing over to see dana, perla, doctor collins and princess standing in central grinning at the staff elevators, waiting for something.

“You doing ok, mel?” Frank asked the blonde, mel nodded and pushed up her glasses. “Yeah all good, what’s next?” She asked, standing up from the desk.

Frank sighed and glanced around the ER stopping at the sight of his coworkers waiting, he motioned for mel to follow as he approached the women.

“What’s going on?” Frank’s question make’s princess grin even wider. 

“Robby messed up and the ICU attending is apparently making her way down anytime now.” Collins filled langdon and mel in before turning back with everyone. “ICU attending?” Mel asked but was stopped as the interns all ran up to central, half of the ED stopping their activities to watch.

“Is she here yet?” Santos asked, out of breath a bit.

“Did we miss it!” Victoria asked as she and whitaker stabled each other out.

The elevator dinged causing everything to halt.

Out stepped a young woman, her bage swaying from her compression jacket. Wordlessly dana pointed to trauma one where robby stood, picking up gloves from the last trauma.

You smiled thankful before dropping the expression and pushed the doors open. 

“What does H.I.T stand for medically robinavitch?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest.

Robby sighed and straightened out before turning to you. 

Taking too long for your liking you answered for him. “Heparin induced thrombocytopenia, moron!” You scoffed, your blood too warm for your liking.

“Is this about that old lady?” He asked, scratching his bread as you quietly seethed at him. “Yes and now that old lady had burns on her legs due to your ignorance!” You raised your arms in annoyance at the older doctor’s calm reaction.

“You’re the attending, it’s your job to caught the tiny details your residents and interns miss!” You argued, robby only nodded in return his attention to the computer in the corner of the room. “It was heparin or she would’ve clotted up.” Robby defending making your scoff quickling turning into laughter.

“That’s total bullshit and you know it robinavitch!” You turned to walk out but stopped as you opened the door to the ED. “I’m sure gloria would love a malpractice lawsuit against the hospital due to the illiterate  ER attending!” You added before storming to the elevators and back to your floor.

Robby’s head picked up at your words, quickly following behind you as the elevator closed, separating you both.

Robby groaned, his fist clenching by his side.

Turning around he looked to notice half of the department stood near central watching it all, some of them quietly recording. “Get back to work, you all have patients waiting!” He scoffed and immediately broke everyone away, leaving dana chuckling at him.

“She seems nice..?” Mel shrugged as langdon chuckled to himself. Victoria shook her head.

“Someone already sent the video to the group chat!” Santos chuckled, showing everyone the video, the soundtrack of wicked playing over your yelling.

“Shen said twenty robby falls for her in two months.” Mohan smiled at the texts, langdon pulled out and his phone as bets filled the chat. 

“So is she galinda and doctor robby is elphaba?” Mel asked, looking up trying to figure the duo in her head. “She totally gives galinda.” Mohan agreed with victoria.

 - - - - - - - -

You sighed as you stepping out of the staff elevator’s to the ED floor, scanning the floor you grinned as you spotted the other attendings. 

“Good morning you two!” You smiled to Shen and Ellis.

“Morning.” Ellis greeted, sounding tired from her shift.

“Ahh, there she is, doctor galinda!” Shen smiled happily at you. You rolled your eyes at the two. “Stop being mean to the one who bought baked goods to you all down here in hell.” You motioned to the tote bag on your shoulder.

“Marry me, like actually.” Ellis sighed as she happily followed you to the break room where you laid out your baked goods on the table.

Minutes later robby groaned as he walked into the ED. Dana greeted him with a smile before turning to pick up her bagel, with a head tilt, robby quickly shrugged off his bag and motioned toward’s the baked good.

“Friday treat?” He asked, smirking as he opened up his travel mug. 

“You know it, there’s more in the break room, i’d hurry before ellis shoves them in her pockets.” dana pointed to where most employee’s walked out with a baked treat in their hands. 

Robby nodded and walked over, looking into the room. All of the interns and few resident’s stood, talking about each treat. “Morning.” Robby greeted, earning muffled greetings back.

“You have to try a muffin, it’s so good!” Langdon moaned as he fell back into his chair, still chewing his half eaten muffin. Robby just nodded and picked up a brownie, as he chewed the treat he looked at the boxes of treats, no note was in sight.

“Who got these?” His question brought the room to a playful silence.

Mel and whitaker both quietly stared at one another.

“Jack?” Robby guessed, only earning a shake of the head from mohan. Shen walked in a smile on his face. “He ate one?!” Shen asked, eyes wide as he stared at the older attending. “You know who got them?” Robby asked shen who began to chuckle. 

“Doctor galinda made them herself.” Shen beamed as robby’s brows furrowed at the name. 

“Who?”

Ellis groaned as victoria explained the nickname for you, quickly grabbing handfuls of the treats onto a napkin before robby grabbed the boxes. 

“Spit them out.” He said before walking towards the staff elevators, boxes in hand.

Langdon shook his head as he continued to chew on his muffin.

- - - - - - - -

You sighed as you leaned against the nurses station, waiting on a patient’s physical therapy to be done.

Quickly perking up as staff passed by, beaming about your baking. “It’s nothing!” You brushed off the compliments and went back to looking at your watch.

The click of the ICU doors being open, you mindlessly glanced over to see a seething robby walking towards you, your baked goods being carried on his forearm.

Robby walked over to your desk and stared you down. Quickly walking over to him. “What’s your problem robinavitch?” You questioned, standing tall as he stared you down,.

“Don’t go buttering up my staff with all these treats!” Robby demanded, his brows furrowing.

Most of the ICU staff stopped, watching you both. 

“I don’t know what your talking about, i just thought treats for you hard workers would be nice, even my floor got some!” You defended, now crossing your arms at robby.

“I know what you’re trying to get at, it’s not gonna work.” Robby leaned forwards towards. You rolled your eyes and chuckled, before leaning in.

“I don’t know what you mean by that!” You smirked, quickly standing up straight as the doors opened once more.

Turning your head you smiled as gloria walked in, a tired expression on her face.

“Good morning gloria!” You beamed, quickly getting in step with the woman; who seemingly relaxed at your energy as you began going over patients and their discharge plans, leaving robby to seeth at the nurses station, tossing the boxes onto your desk before leaving the ICU.

An ICU nurse turned to a nursing assistant who had seen the whole thing and both began snickering, the assistant quickly stopped recording on her phone and sent it to a group chat.

“Poor galinda..” One of them joked.

- - - - - - - -

The video from the ICU had spread like a wildfire among the hospital staff.

Santos sat at a desk, sighing as she laid her head down on the cool desk, a small ding from her phone made her look up and pull out her phone to see a video attachment from donnie.

Clicking on the video, it had shown robby getting close to you and muttering something not heard by the camera, the video had ended with robby dropping the baked goods on your desk before leaving. Santos gave a hidden smile, laughing a bit.

Mohan walked up, phone in hand and a shocked expression on her face. “Did you see the video too?” Mohan asked santos who nodded and began chuckling.

“I can’t believe he did that!” Samira scoffed as she replayed the video. 

“You two saw the video?” Victoria asked, walking up to the pair, in shock as well. Mohan and santos nodded as the girls watched robby move past them.

“That was kind of a dickhead move, you gotta admit.” Victoria sighed, sitting down across from santos.

“Apparently, She’s not even affected by it.” Mohan told the others as she scrolled through her messages with other nurses on the ICU floor.

Hours had passed by, during a slow moment, langdon had mel show dana the video of robby and you, earning a groan from the charge nurse.

“Dana, see if ICU has a bed available for south 13.” Robby asked the nurse who chuckled and picked up the phone, eyeing robby as she was given a no.

“We were a second too late, neurological took the last available bed.” She sighed, hanging up the phone as robby chuckled, running a hand over his neck. “Oh how convenient.” He laughed.

- - - - - - - -

Walking to your car you sighed, carrying the boxes of half gone baked goods in your hands.

You had notice when you began working at the hospital, the parking lot was always full even for the staff, no one had bothered parking across the street by the park; you were now understanding why no one did.

As you walked through the park, airpods playing your music. 

A sharp whistle made you take one out, looking over you smiled at the few ED workers. You quickly made a detour and approached the group. 

“How you doing today?” Princess asked as you gently sat the boxes down.

“Been better, my feet are too tired to walk to my car.” You sighed, sitting down next to langdon on a bench. “Thankful it’s friday right?” Langdon asked, bumping your knee with his.

You tiredly nodded and rubbed your eyes. 

“Yep, now gotta go clock in for my at home job.” You sighed into your palms.

“At home job?” Mel asked, you smiled and nodded at her. “Yep, cleaning my apartment, water my plants, feed my lovebug, bathtime..” You explained, moving your head around, hoping to pop it.

Sighing, you opened your eyes and quickly rolled them as robby began walking towards the group, donnie behind him, rolling a cooler.

“Alright gotta go before i fall asleep on the bench!” You popped up and walked to your car, leaving the baked goods.

“Lovebug?” Mel asked the others who shook it off.

- - - - - - - -

“Oh there she is!” You squealed.

“Mommy!” a little girl no older then five quickly ran from the porch steps of your parents house towards you.

“My lovebug!” You smiled, opening your arms for the little girl who quickly squeezed you with all her might.

Lovebug; all of the hospital’s staff had heard of the name, everyone had assumed it was a pet you had, no one had suspected you had a child, especially you being a young mother. To you it was obvious you had child, but never outright saying it, assuming everyone else knew it too.

“How was today?” She asked, shrugging off her little backpack, tossing it on the seat beside her carseat.

“It was good, everyone loved our treats!” You smiled at the little girl who smiled widen back.

Your mind had gone back to robby but with a quickly check of reality you quickly thanked your parents before taking your daughter home to your apartment.

“How was your day bug?” You asked, looking in the rearview mirror, your little girl grinned and kicked her legs and she sang something under her breath.

“Great, we colored and then-then we went to eat!” She explained, her little legs kicking in excitement as she recalled her day to you. 

You had shaken your day with robby out of your mind, happily thinking about your daughter and her day’s experience.

- - - - - - - -

Robby sighed everyone had left the park, leaving him to be the last one, he scoffed as the boxes of treats sat on the bench, he quickly picked it up and sighed, it had now been only a handful of treats left in the box, with a sigh robby took them with back to his home.

After a warm shower and a decent dinner, robby sat down on his couch, his tv playing whatever show he had on for noise. He sighed as he fidgeted on the couch once more.

The need for something sweet hit him as he flipped through channel’s, passing a cooking show. As he went to get up to go to the market down the street he stopped, the tupperware sat on his countertop, with a hefty sigh and a look at his clock.

Walking over robby, opened the lid and went through the leftover treats, finally ending up picking out a few cookies. He quickly grabbed a bit of milk before going to his couch with his treat for the night.

Sitting down, he mindlessly took a bite of the cookie, part of his mind too enthralled by the tv show on the screen. He chewed for a bit before stopping to stare at the cookie, chuckling to himself.

“Fuck..” He muttered before going back for more. He now understood why his staff were boasting about your treats.

Next part !!

[reiding-writing]

Cold!reader who defends Spencer when’s someone’s making fun of his autistic traits, and the teams like “what?????”

STAGNANT — SPENCER REID!

why would someone ask spencer a question if they didn’t want to hear the answer?

late s8!spencer x cold!reader 1.2k fluff? cold!reader masterlist.

main masterlist.

a/n — the cold!reader roster i have atm has me kicking my feet and twirling my hair, stay tuned

You step into the cramped precinct in a town that barely makes the map, the smell of stale coffee and old paper immediately hitting you.

The air hums with tension—murder cases tend to have that effect on a room. Your team disperses, each member diving into their respective tasks like clockwork.

You stay near Spencer, keeping an eye on the board he’s already scouring, his sharp mind undoubtedly miles ahead of everyone else’s.

It doesn’t take long for the local officers to start asking questions. You’ve seen it before: their curiosity morphing into disbelief as they’re confronted with Spencer Reid in full form.

This particular case involves a peculiar type of soil found on the victim’s shoes, and when one officer, a grizzled man named Officer Moore, offhandedly asks about its significance, Spencer lights up.

“It’s fascinating, actually,” he begins, his voice picking up with enthusiasm. “The soil contains traces of montmorillonite clay, which is common in areas with volcanic ash deposits. This specific type is unique to the western side of the county, and based on the composition—” He gestures to the samples bagged on the table, oblivious to the officer’s quickly fading interest.

Spencer continues, lost in his explanation, his words flowing like water over smooth stones. You watch the officer shift uncomfortably, his expression hardening into impatience. The moment Spencer pauses to breathe, Moore cuts in, looking at you with a smirk.

“Is he like this all the time? Never shuts up, huh?”

You freeze. The room, bustling moments ago, seems quieter now. Your team is too far off to hear, but you’re right here. Close enough to feel the sting of the comment.

Spencer doesn’t notice. Or maybe he pretends not to. Either way, it doesn’t sit right with you. The dismissive tone, the condescension dripping from the officer’s words—it sparks a heat under your skin that you don’t bother to hide.

“Are you stupid?” Your voice is sharp, like a knife scraping metal. Moore’s smug expression falters.

“Excuse me-?”

“You heard me,” you continue, stepping closer, your gaze fixed on him. “If you can’t keep up with what Dr. Reid is saying, that’s your problem. He’s giving you answers—solutions—that you clearly wouldn’t find on your own. So maybe try listening instead of running your mouth.”

Moore blinks, taken aback. His hand hovers near the cup of coffee on the table, forgotten. “I didn’t mean—”

“Yeah, you did.” you interrupt, crossing your arms. “And for the record, if he’s too much for you to handle, then stay out of his way, you’ll murk his IQ into single digits.”

The room is quiet now, the subtle hum of computers and distant voices the only sound. Spencer finally looks up, his expression unreadable. There’s a hint of surprise in his eyes, but mostly he just seems... confused.

Moore mutters something under his breath and stalks off, clearly not willing to press the issue further. Good. You watch him go, your blood still simmering.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Spencer says softly, his voice carrying a note of uncertainty.

“Yes, I did,” you reply without hesitation. “He was being a jerk.”

Spencer tilts his head, studying you. “People say things like that all the time.”

“Well, they shouldn’t,” you counter, your tone firm. “And if you wont put your foot down about it then I will.”

For a moment, he just stares at you, as if trying to decipher some hidden code in your words. Then, unexpectedly, he smiles—small and fleeting, but genuine. It feels like a victory, however minor.

—

Later, when the team regroups, the tension in the precinct has eased, though you can still feel a few lingering stares from the local officers.

Hotch gives you all the rundown of the next steps, his voice steady and commanding as always. You nod along, but your focus drifts to Spencer, who’s scribbling something in his notebook, seemingly unbothered by the earlier incident.

As the team breaks off to get to work, Emily sidles up beside you, her dark eyes alight with curiosity. “So,” she begins, drawing out the word. “What was that about?”

“What was what about?” you reply, feigning ignorance.

“That little showdown with Officer Grumpy Pants earlier,” she says, smirking. “Word has it you tore him a new one,”

You shrug. “He was being disrespectful.”

Emily raises an eyebrow. “To Reid?”

“To all of us, honestly,” you say. “But yeah, mostly Reid. He didn’t deserve that.”

Emily studies you for a moment, her smirk softening into something more thoughtful. “Awe how sweet,”

“Don’t start,” you warn, but there’s no real bite to your words. Emily laughs, raising her hands in mock surrender.

“Hey, no judgment,” she says. “It’s just... very human of you.”

“I’m not a robot.”

She gestures vaguely toward you. “Oh hush you know what I mean,”

You roll your eyes but don’t bother arguing. Instead, you glance across the room at Spencer, who’s now deep in conversation with JJ and Rossi. The earlier exchange seems to have rolled off him, as if it never happened.

But you know better. You’ve seen the way comments like that stick, the way they fester in that moment f hesitation before he speaks. You’re not sure why it matters so much to you—why he matters so much—but you don’t dwell on it.

—

The case drags on into the evening, the pieces of the puzzle slowly falling into place. By the time the unsub is in custody and the team is preparing to head back to the jet, exhaustion hangs heavy in the air.

As you gather your things, Morgan claps a hand on your shoulder. “Hey, Ice Queen,” he says, his tone teasing. “You did good.”

“Thank you? I was doing my job.” you reply, shooting him a bemused look.

He chuckles. “Not with the case, sweetness. Word is you went full gladiator on one of the locals earlier.”

“Word travels way too fast in this team,” you mutter.

Morgan grins. “What can I say? We’re a nosy bunch. But it’s nice to know you haven’t lost your bite now you’re saddled up to boy wonder.”

He gestures with his head towards where Spencer was sleeping on the jet’s couch, wrapped in a cheap blanket like baby.

You fight back the urge to smile.

“I never changed,” you say dryly.

Morgan laughs, but there’s a glimmer of respect in his eyes. “Sure you did,”

“No I didn’t,”

He nudges your shoulder, a whisper of “You’ll admit it one day,” before he walks off.

[superbat-love]

Flash: Thanks for volunteering to take care of my cat for me while I’m on the offworld mission, Supes. You’re the best.

Superman: No problem, Barry.

Flash: For real, though. Not many people would want to pet sit him, he’s pretty stubborn and feisty.

Superman: Well…

//Flashback//

Superman: Don’t you dare, Batman.

Batman: [scowling]

Superman: I can move faster than a speeding bullet. I will stop you.

Batman: [creeps closer to the edge of the roof, slowly extending out an arm]

Superman: You wouldn’t.

Batman: [casually topples the villain off the roof, keeping his eyes on Superman]

Villain: Noooo!

Superman: [catches the villain, drops him off at the Gotham City Police Department and flies back to Batman]

Superman: I can’t believe you! Didn’t we talk about not intimidating villains by pushing them off roofs? You never listen to a word I say!

Batman: [looking completely unrepentant] I knew you’d catch him.

//Flashback//

Alien delegate: Greetings puny earthlings. Welcome to our base. [extends his hand out for a handshake]

Batman: [smacks his hand away with his clawed gloves]

Alien delegate: Oww! He scratched me!

Superman: Batman!

Batman: I’d sooner trust a deadly creature than this cretin.

Superman, the world’s deadliest puppy: You say that about everyone we meet.

//End flashbacks//

Superman: I think I can handle him. I’ve had plenty of practice with stubborn and feisty kitties.

Batman: [typing on the computer and not paying attention to them] Hn.

[echoekhi]

I’m Declaring War Against “What If” Videos: Project Copy-Knight

What Are “What If” Videos?

These videos follow a common recipe: A narrator, given a fandom (usually anime ones like My Hero Academia and Naruto), explores an alternative timeline where something is different. Maybe the main character has extra powers, maybe a key plot point goes differently. They then go on and make up a whole new story, detailing the conflicts and romance between characters, much like an ordinary fanfic.

Except, they are fanfics. Actual fanfics, pulled off AO3, FFN and Wattpad, given a different title, with random thumbnail and background images added to them, narrated by computer text-to-speech synthesizers.

They are very easy to make: pick a fanfic, copy all the text into a text-to-speech generator, mix the resulting audio file with some generic art from the fandom as the background, give it a snappy title like “What if Deku had the Power of Ten Rings”, photoshop an attention-grabbing thumbnail, dump it onto YouTube and get thousands of views.

In fact, the process is so straightforward and requires so little effort, it’s pretty clear some of these channels have automated pipelines to pump these out en-masse. They don’t bother with asking the fic authors for permission. Sometimes they don’t even bother with putting the fic’s link in the description or crediting the author. These content-farms then monetise these videos, so they get a cut from YouTube’s ads.

In short, an industry has emerged from the systematic copyright theft of fanfiction, for profit.

Project Copy-Knight

Since the adversaries almost certainly have automated systems set up for this, the only realistic countermeasure is with another automated system. Identifying fanfics manually by listening to the videos and searching them up with tags is just too slow and impractical.

And so, I came up with a simple automated pipeline to identify the original authors of “What If” videos.

It would go download these videos, run speech recognition on it, search the text through a database full of AO3 fics, and identify which work it came from. After manual confirmation, the original authors will be notified that their works have been subject to copyright theft, and instructions provided on how to DMCA-strike the channel out of existence.

I built a prototype over the weekend, and it works surprisingly well:

On a randomly-selected YouTube channel (in this case Infinite Paradox Fanfic), the toolchain was able to identify the origin of half of the content. The raw output, after manual verification, turned out to be extremely accurate. The time taken to identify the source of a video was about 5 minutes, most of those were spent running Whisper, and the actual full-text-search query and Levenshtein analysis was less than 5 seconds.

The other videos probably came from fanfiction websites other than AO3, like fanfiction.net or Wattpad. As I do not have access to archives of those websites, I cannot identify the other ones, but they are almost certainly not original.

Armed with this fantastic proof-of-concept, I’m officially declaring war against “What If” videos. The mission statement of Project Copy-Knight will be the elimination of “What If” videos based on the theft of AO3 content on YouTube.

I Need Your Help

I am acutely aware that I cannot accomplish this on my own. There are many moving parts in this system that simply cannot be completely automated – like the selection of YouTube channels to feed into the toolchain, the manual verification step to prevent false-positives being sent to authors, the reaching-out to authors who have comments disabled, etc, etc.

So, if you are interested in helping to defend fanworks, or just want to have a chat or ask about the technical details of the toolchain, please consider joining my Discord server. I could really use your help.

------

See full blog article and acknowledgements here: https://echoekhi.com/2023/11/25/project-copy-knight/

[fireinmoonshot]

Pairing: Joaquín Torres x Fem!Reader Summary: Joaquín loves referring to you as his wife after your wedding... even when it's driving Sam insane at work. Warnings: I don't think there are any. Word Count: 937 A/N: I had a request to write something about this and since the fic about Joaquín loving to be called husband has done so well, I thought this one would be a cute one. It's not very fluffy or romance based and Sam is in it a lot but I think it turned out pretty cute and funny and very Joaquín. Enjoy 💗

It’s uncharacteristically quiet inside Sam and Joaquin’s base. The two men are sat at their desks, eyes focused on their computer screens as they look up information about their next target, trying to memorise as much as possible before it’s inevitably time for them to save the world again. 

Sam leans back in his chair and stifles a yawn. “So, when’s your girl coming by?” He asks, looking across the room at Joaquin, who is sat at his own desk, staring blankly at his computer.

Joaquin blinks, sitting up a little straighter at the mention of you, and turns to look at Sam. Despite the fact that staring at a computer screen is part of his job, even he’s getting tired of it today. 

“Oh, my girl? You mean… my wife?”

Sam immediately regrets saying anything. Joaquin has been talking all morning about how you’re coming by to visit and take him out for lunch this afternoon. He’s been excited because you’ve never come to visit their base before and after marrying you last month, being apart from you is harder than ever. 

The thing is, every time Joaquin mentions you lately he never mentions you by name. It’s always ‘my wife’ or some variation of it. Sam has never heard of anyone liking a word so much.

“If you say one more word I’m sending you home and finishing off this mission plan alone,” Sam sighs, turning back towards his own computer where he’s been reading up on their target.

For a moment, Joaquin just stares at Sam. “Okay, what’s so wrong about me referring to her as my wife? Just cause you’re not married doesn’t mean I can’t talk about my marriage, Sam.”

If it were anyone else, Sam would’ve been surprised by their confidence in saying something so bold directly to him. But with Joaquin… well, this is really just a regular Tuesday.

“Cause she has a name, man, and I don’t need you trying to rub the fact that you’re married and I’m not in my face, Joaquin,” Sam shakes his head. He’s not as annoyed about it as he sounds – he’s really just trying to get Joaquin to use your name for once. It’s almost like a challenge to him at this point.

As if you’ve been summoned, there’s a knock on the door of the base. You push it open a little, just enough to poke your head through to make sure you’ve got the right room. When you see Sam and Joaquin, you smile. “Am I interrupting?”

Joaquin springs from his chair and is across the room, wrapping his arms around you like he hasn’t seen you for weeks. He moves so quickly Sam barely even registers him moving.

“How you doin’, Mrs Torres?” Sam asks, spinning around in his chair so he’s facing you. He feels like he’s the one interrupting based on the way Joaquin is hanging off you like a koala. 

You pull out of Joaquin’s arms, smiling a little at the way that he still keeps a hand on your waist. “I’m good, Sam. How has this one been today?” You point a finger towards Joaquin.

“The usual,” Sam grins. He knows that you immediately know what he means by that. His smile grows even bigger at the look on Joaquin’s face. “He’s talked about you so much that it’s felt like you’ve been in the office with us all day.”

Joaquin pouts a little but quickly removes the look from his face, not wanting Sam to notice and tease him about it later. “Hey, don’t talk about me like that to my wife, man.”

“Oh, here we go again,” Sam huffs out a laugh. He’s pretty sure Joaquin hadn’t even meant to say it that time, but he jokes with him anyway. “You can’t call her by her name just once?” 

“I am. It’s ‘my wife’,” Joaquin protests, looking proudly between you and Sam as he says the words. Then, his grin fades. “Wait. That did not sound as good out loud as it sounded in my head.”

Sam puts a hand over his face and tries not to laugh. 

Beside Joaquin, you’re also trying not to laugh. You hadn’t taken offence at his words – you knew what he meant by them. But his realisation was amusing.

“I’m sorry, angel. I know that’s not your actual name,” Joaquin apologises, his grip tightening on your waist a little. “It came out all wrong.”

You meet Joaquin’s eyes and smile at your husband. “I know what you meant, but you’re right. It did not sound good in the slightest.” You look over at Sam. “You mind if I steal him away for an hour or so?”

Sam shakes his head. “You can take him for the rest of the day as far as I’m concerned.”

“Hey,” Joaquin narrows his eyes at Sam. 

“Go on,” Sam waves his hand at Joaquin, ignoring the look he’s giving him. “Your wife wants to take you out to lunch and you’re wasting time, Joaquin.” He smiles a little as he speaks, knowing Joaquin will enjoy him giving in and referring to you as his wife.

Joaquin smiles a little – just as Sam had expected.

You reach down and take one of Joaquin’s hands in yours. “Come on, husband. We have an hour and I intend to make the most of it. I’m sure Sam feels the same way.”

At hearing the word husband come out of your mouth, Joaquin’s smile grows. He happily starts to lead you out of the office, hand holding yours tight. “I’ll lead the way, my wife…”

[on-the-clear-blue]

An idea that just popped into my brain...

Bernard, in the house boat living room, typing away on his computer, looks up when Tim enters: Oh, Babe your home early? Was patrol okay....ehst do you have.

Tim, tearing off his Red Robin outfit and holding something in his arms: So you know about that super evil, super old guy that runs an eco-friendly murder cult that is like super obsessed with me?

Bernard, closing his laptop and sighing: Do I have to move? Do what ever witness protection shit you superheros have?

Tim, humming and shaking his head before holding out what looks to be a bundle of clothing:No no...it seems he somehow found out about us dating and me planning to propose yo you and sent an early wedding gift.

Tim shifting the cloth to show a sleeping baby: Say hello to our child, I don't know just yet how he got both of our DNA but I did run a test and he is 100% ours, I think he used Lexs stuff like how he made Kon..

Bernard, staring at the baby and his rapidly undressing boyfriend who was rambling: Wait...propose? You wanted to get married?

Tim, still going on: -Lexs cloning tech is pretty hit or miss, *my* gear waz based on that but was...Wait you didn't know? I...I thought you have been hinting at it for a while...that's what I planned for next weeks date night.

Bernard, mouth agape: I haven't. Like at all, I mean, I will say yes because we now have a kid and I love you a lot but it would have taken me by surprise.

Tim, midly surprised: Huh...well anyways, Ra's sent us a child? I was thinking Alvin is a good name?

Bernard: Fuck that I am not going to have my son named after a chipmunk.

[cherrygirlfriend]

── MANCHILD ♡

♡ pairing: situationship!rafe x reader

♡ summary: your situationship acts like a manchild.

♡ warnings / tags: dumb man!

♡ author's note: drinking the new celsius flavor! based on manchild by sabrina carpenter <3

RAFE MASTERLIST ♡

you laid in your best friend's bed, your brows furrowed as you stared at the 'read' mark under the message you'd sent to rafe.

do you wanna come over tonight?

read.

you locked your phone and grabbed one of elle's throw pillows, shoving your face into the soft faux-fur and letting out a muffled scream. elle chuckled, cocking her head to the side.

"is he ignoring you again?"

"no..." you mumbled, only for your best friend to raise her brows, telling you that she didn't believe anything you said, "alright, he's ignoring me again..." you sighed. elle walked over to the bed, sitting down right next to you, "i told you, you need to cut him off. he's just gonna keep stringing you along."

"he's just such a..."

"manchild?"

elle wasn't wrong; rafe always treated you like you were disposable, like you didn't really matter. your best friend poured vodka into two shot glasses, holding one out for you to take, "we're gonna have a blast tonight. and you're gonna stop thinking about that dickhead."

after taking a deep breath, you finally picked up the shot meant for you, and after clinking your small glasses together, you downed the liquid, doing your best to ignore the way it was burning your throat.

your head was already swimming with the force of alcohol when you got to the club, your body pretty much moving without your brain giving it any commands, but all that mattered to you was that you felt good. you weren't thinking about rafe, your phone buried in your purse...

but it felt like your heart stopped the moment you saw them.

rafe's arms were around a random girl's waist, his head nuzzling her shoulder, and you could picture what he was whispering into the girl's ear "god, you're gorgeous..." "i need you..." "you should come home with me but i need you..." all the words he said to you. when you were together, all rafe paid attention to was his computer. but now, all his attention was on the stranger.

you took in a deep breath, ignoring the girl who was practically glued to rafe, and made your way to him. you stood in his eye-line, your arms crossed; you felt an idiot to be openly jealous like this but if he was going to be a douche may as well out do the crazy game. the girl stiffened in her seat as she caught you in staring.

rafe pulled away from her the second his eyes met yours. recoiling from her touch, his eyes widening. the boy’s expression quickly turned arrogant, as usual, his brow quirking as he sized you up.

"hi there." you smiled, your grin so painfully big that it was borderline psychotic. "what are you doing here?" rafe asked through gritted teeth, a sickeningly sweet smile returning your lips.

"what? you didn't miss me? didn't want me to come here?" you cocked your head to the side, "last time i checked this was a public event. maybe you should've stayed home if you didn't want someone to see you."

neither of you noticed when the girl faded into the background, rafe being too busy staring daggers at you, "you said your phone was broken. i guess that was a lie." your words made rafe scoff, "god, you're stupid, and slow, and useless.. i can't believe i let you trap me."

"wasn't that hard. i think you'd give it up for a fly if it had a dick."

the smack you delivered onto rafe's cheek echoed around the club "i never wanna see you again." you stated before turning around and walking away.

only for you to make out with him in the men's bathroom an hour later.

TAGLIST: @raahosh, @nemesyaaa, @purpleplumpudding, @littlelamy, @dollyfiles, @esotericcangel, @mattyskies, @bakugouswaif, @nonietosay, @my-name-is-baby, @tinythebunni, @fratbrochrisgf, @ariieeesworld, @silkylovey, @izumis-salty-penis, @cameronsbabydoll, @love-ella333, @haylorbestie,