#Birthday Writing Challenge

[baronessvonglitter]

My birthday is in two weeks and as a fun little present for myself, I am creating my very first Fanfic Challenge!

Music is so important to my writing (as it is for all of us) so I'm putting together a Pedro character with a love song.

For those who want to participate, ask me for a number (1-21) and you'll be given a Pedro character relating to that number. You can choose a different number for the song selection (also 1-21), or opt for the same number for both (if it's available).

What you do with the song is totally up to you: you can use the lyrics, have it mentioned within the story, anything that inspires you. And even though this challenge is Fuck-tober, feel free to write fluff, angst, whatever your heart desires. AU, MLM, anything goes! Your creativity is unlimited 💖

October 2 is the ideal due date (my birthday), but I'm the kind of person who celebrates all month long, so any time next month is good for me!

You can tag me in your completed works and also use #fucktober and #birthdaybaroness

Please reach out to me with any questions! ❤️

[make-me-imagine]

Hold My Hand

Plot: Tensions and feelings arise when you and Sherlock end up in a precarious situation when running from a murderer.

Prompts: Forced Proximity, Sexual Tension (mild), “Hold my hand and don’t you dare let go.” <changed slightly, I hope you don't mind

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes (Enola Holmes) x Gn!Reader

Written for @multifandomfix for their birthday event. Happy Birthday! I couldn't decide on one prompt so I kind of mashed a bunch together lol.

Warnings: Nothing really.

Words: 1k.

A/N: After watched Enola Holmes 1&2 I've been debating writing for Sherlock. I have a Christmas fic planned for him, and I thought this might be a good time to test it out. Also I had no idea what to title this lol.

-

Your throat was hoarse as you ran down the cobblestone street. You glanced behind you, seeing the man chasing you not far behind. Glancing to your right, you saw Sherlock, jaw clenched, hair flying as he ran beside you.

When you agreed to help Enola with her current case - which she fervently assured you wold be an easy one - running from a murderous and crooked inspector with Sherlock Holmes beside you, was not how you thought it would end up.

Slipping through a small group of people, you stumbled to a stop, as your eyes cast over the busy market square.

"The market?" You asked out of breath.

"Yes, we could lose him in here."

The bustling crowds would surely provide you cover from your assailant, giving you time to lose him, but you risked being split up in the busy crowd.

Apparently Sherlock had this same thought, as you felt his hand reach down and grab your own. You felt your heart jolt in your chest as you looked from his hand, to his eyes, which he locked with yours.

"Hold my hand and don't let go." His voice was tense, and his gaze sharp.

You nodded, before he quickly started off into the crowded market. His hand was gripped tightly around yours as you ran close behind him, slipping through the crowds of people.

Looking back behind you, you spotted the familiar bowler hat of the man chasing you, as he bobbed through the crowd. You could tell he was losing sight of you as he hesitated in his steps.

"Were losing him!" You called to Sherlock as you weaved past a large group of vendors.

Taking a sharp left, and slipping past a market stall, Sherlock pulled you into a thin, darkened crevasse of an alleyway.

The alleyway forced proximity between the two of you, as your chests pressed together. You felt Sherlock slowly let go of your hand. You moved your hands and planted them against the wall behind you. The pressure of Sherlock's grip slowly fading.

Noting the closeness of your bodies, you found yourself holding your breath. Your eyes locked for a moment and you felt something pass between you, before you both broke eye contact and peered out into the crowds.

If your sudden avoidance of eye contact was to avoid the tension that palpitated between you, or to look for your assailant, you weren't sure.

Your eyes moved from one person to another, waiting to see the man pass by. After a few moments of not seeing him, you felt nervousness and relief wash over you. You may have lost him for now, but he could be anywhere.

Looking back to Sherlock, you felt a small jolt course through you, as you saw his eyes already locked on you. You felt the back of your neck heat up, as his eyes bored into you.

The detective had made you nervous from the moment you met him. The way his eyes seemed to follow your every movement, the way he studied you, you couldn't help but wonder what he could see. It had to be something notable since he seemed determined to keep you with him since he agreed to help Enola with her case a day prior.

Finally breaking the tension that seemed to be growing heavier between you, you spoke with a hushed voice. "What now?"

Sherlock seemed to snap out of his thoughts as you spoke. He paused for a moment as he took a breath.

"Now, we slip out into the crowd, grab something that could disguise us, and find our way back to Enola. Hopefully she and Tewkesbury have gathered the evidence she needed while we were being chased through London. She should have had plenty of time. Once we have it, we take the evidence to Lestrade, and then-" He paused, his voice going silent.

You rose your brow lightly "And then?" You asked.

"And then-" He began, his voice soft, but you saw his thought falter as he spoke "And then the case is done."

You weren't sure why you thought he intended to say something else, but you felt the disappointment of it anyways. You nodded your head as you forced yourself to look away from him.

Peering out into the crowds, you mumbled softly. "Sneak out. Find a disguise. Find Enola. Case closed. Sounds easy enough."

Looking back at Sherlock, he had a soft smile on his face "Something Sounding easy, and being easy don't always coincide."

You smiled softly and shrugged your head "I guess we'll find out if it does this time."

As you began to step out from the alleyway, you jumped back when you felt Sherlock grab your hand

"Wait."

"What?" You asked as you looked around hurriedly "Did you see him?"

"No, no, we're fine, it's just..."

You eyed him with curiosity as he seemed lost for words. "What is it Sherlock?"

"I- I don't know how much time we will have to talk once we leave this alley and get back to Enola."

You felt your heartbeat speed up as your neck grew hot again. It was unusual seeing Sherlock Holmes uncertain.

"Yes..?"

"I- I have enjoyed my time with you these last few days. You...pique my interest in ways I find to be unexpected. So, if- if it is desirable to you. Perhaps, once this case is over, you would be willing to have dinner with me?"

His previously downcast gaze slowly rose to meet yours. The restraint you had to use not to show your surprise was great. But you remained stoic, before you smiled softly at him.

"I would love to have dinner with you Sherlock."

You saw the small hint of relief wash over his face before he smiled. With a nod of his head he spoke softly "Great. I could pick you up tomorrow, around six?"

You repressed the grin pulling at your face as you nodded "Alright, six it is."

His smile grew wider for a moment before he remembered your current situation. He cleared his throat.

"Perhaps we should go now, before we are found here."

You were jolted back into the moment as you nodded your head "Yes, right."

You both spared each other soft knowing smiles before you slipped from your hideaway. Sherlock's hand reluctantly slipped away from yours as you quickly returning to your previous business. But both of you anew with an excited and expectant energy.

xx End xx

General Taglist: @criminaly-supernatural, @imaginesfire, @onuen, @witchygagirl, @alexxavicry

I have every intention of writing at least one more Sherlock fic, so if you wish to be tagged in that, or any future Sherlock fics, let me know! (Please be specific which Sherlock Holmes as there are multiple I write for)

[sirowsky]

Hello, my loves! Just wanted to let you know I'm still here 😊

I'm trying to deal with some buried trauma which is draining me emotionally, so writing has been difficult and is temporarily suspended.

However, my birthday is coming around on Sunday, and I do want to write something for my annual tumblr celebration!

So, if anyone has anything you'd like me to take a stab at, I'm happy to try and write some short drabbles. As usual, you can send me anything at all as a prompt, even just one word. I love a challenge 😅

I hope you're all doing alright, and if you're not, here's a nice warm hug from me to you 🤗 You're beautiful and important and I'm happy you're here.

[lem0nademouth]

idk who needs to hear this but diabetics can have sugar. they can have as much sugar as they want as long as they take the appropriate amount of insulin. the only reason diabetics are ever told to lower their sugar intake is to reduce the amount of insulin they use. and almost every sugar free alternative sweetener is either a literal carcinogen or insanely expensive. not to mention the fact that sugar is naturally occurring in every. single. thing. you. eat.

[sirowsky-stories]

For The Love Of A Grump

Summary: Pero reflects on how you made his birthday the best it possibly could've been.

Requested by @chaoticfestninja

Rating: General/Everyone Warnings: Pero Tovar x female reader, but told from Pero's pov. As always, my Pero has issues with self-worth, but this story is a positive one, focused on his perspective of being loved. Word Count: 900

   He’d asked you to keep it small, and you had. But you’d also made it enormous, somehow managing to incorporate the entire world into the intimate celebration, and for the life of him, he’s never known how you do those things.

   Dragging him out of bed first thing in the morning, almost before the sun had even risen, he’d grumbled at you, truly feeling upset that you hadn’t let him sleep in, or even wished him happy birthday before ordering him to get dressed and hauling him out to the car.

   The drive had been long and listening to your upbeat sing-along with your favorite pop music radio station, had eventually worn him down and made him laugh.    He’d never been able to resist your joyous energy and the way you seemed so unaffected by his general grumpiness.

   It was exactly what had eventually convinced him he’d already fallen for you, that day in the pouring rain two years ago, when he’d gotten angry with you for not even letting the autumn weather get to you. As if that could ever be a bad thing.

   That was the moment it had dawned on him, the only reason he would’ve been so upset was if he hadn’t wanted your positivity to infect him. But it already had, and he was already lost in it by then, craving it so badly it had frightened him into trying to scare you away.

   You’d been immune to his mood swings from the start, never backing down no matter how terribly he’d treated you, and so impossibly elated whenever he’d showed you even a hint of happiness, that your very skin had seemed to shine with your joy.

   He’d loved you long before he’d been able to understand it, but you’d known from the moment you’d met him, and you’d been determined to help him see it.

   He trusts you beyond all reason, which was why he’d kept his mouth shut that morning in the car, not letting himself gripe at you. He knows better. You had a plan, and whatever it was, he’d be stupid to interfere with it.

   The beach had been deserted that time in the morning, the ocean calm and pink in the first light of the day. Growing up far from the coast, he’d always been enchanted by the sea, drawn to it and calmed by it, so you’d brought him there to start the day off in the best possible way.

   Breakfast on a blanket in the sand, followed by soothing cuddles and soft kisses, while the waves had begun to gently roll against the land. You’d let him doze off in your arms, giving him back the desired sleep-in you’d robbed him of earlier.

   Getting back in car, you hadn’t brought him home, but instead taken him on a remembrance tour of your relationship, driving past all the places where you could recall something significant happening between you, and it had amazed him how much you’d held onto. Especially all the bad, which you somehow managed to see the positives of.

   The next stop had been his favorite lunch diner, where you’d made sure the staff had treated him to their birthday special, complete with a song and dance routine which had left him laughing with equal parts embarrassment and delight.

   But it was the afternoon which had really taken him to a sense of wonder, as you’d borrowed a pair of horses and taken him on a cross-country ride which had lasted until nightfall, over giant plains, mountains, rivers, and which had seen the two of you cook dinner over an open fire.

   And even though you’d been all alone, not seeing another person for the duration of the journey, the vast sky above you, as well as the wonder of the natural features you’d navigated, had spoken to his heart about the connectivity of all things. From the distant sun, to the little bird which had taken refuge on his shoulder, under the brim of his hat, to escape the afternoon heat for a minute.

   Out there, he had been reminded of how small he is, but at the same time, how wonderous it is that one little person could’ve found his soulmate at all, within this chaotic and artfully crafted world.

   The evening had been spent among the sheets, where you’d allowed him to show you every nuance of his affection and desire for you, and it was only when his strength had finally run out and he’d tugged you into his arms to feel your stubbornly stoic and unfathomably kind heart beat against his ribs, that you’d finally wished him a happy birthday.

   Because you’d known, the same way you always know these things, that he would only hear the truth of your words once you’d already expressed them in every other way possible.

   Not because he doesn’t believe what you say, but simply because that’s how little he thinks of himself.

   You are the only proof he’s ever had, that his life and existence has any meaning. He lives for you and the joy he somehow gives you by merely being there.

   And as he falls asleep with you safely tucked against him, he thinks that one day he might be able to deserve your love. If he keeps letting you guide him.

   If he keeps letting your unbridled positivity infect him.

   Forever.

THE END

[navybrat817]

Navy's Beach Fun Nonsense Poll

My birthday is next month, lovelies! Sort of a self writing challenge like @witchywithwhiskey , sort of a celebration like @thezombieprostitute , and all nonsense, I'd love to create some ficlets. They may not necessarily be summer themed, but the genres will have specific beach "categories" that I'll share once ready. The numbers are also from dialogue prompt lists, which you won't see in advance. It'll be like opening your own little gift!

I've added this in the poll, but wanted to say again that I may not be able to write every request, but I'm going to try and share as much as I can!

Love you lovelies! ❤️

[k-atsukibakugou]

hey mercury! i hope it's okay to submit a second birthday drink hehe but i'd love a lemon drop to my girl momo yaoyorozu if you're up for it! 🎉

i strayed a little from her being the bartender but i was hit with a wave of horny and this is what came out LMAO birthday bash intro + rules + menu | event masterlist

“i don’t know if i can handle another one,” she giggles, stumbling with your hands intertwined back to the bar, her skin hot against yours when you both stand at the edge of the bar after many calculated, slow steps to the centre of the bar, both of you attempting to stay steady on your feet. swiping a menu from atop the bar, you spin back around to face momo, trying to focus on the words on the paper instead of the way it felt to have her stand by you, her cheeks flushed pink, her dark eyes getting glassy after the last round of drinks you’d ordered to the table. even more distracting was the dress she’d decided to wear, the high neck making you woozy as if the fabric was cut into deep plunged v-shape. and those boots she was wearing, the tall, thigh highs leaving only a sliver of skin bare before the hem of her dress began.

“one more, it’s not even 12.” you smile back, her giggles infectious as you tried to steel your features (as much as you could, at least), blinking slowly at the menu like it would help you look more sober than you were. shuffling closer to you, momo drags her long finger along the menu as she skims along the laminated paper, “they don’t have any wine.”

you want to kiss the naive pout off her, your eye’s glued to her glossy lips when you giggle at her, “you’ve never been to a dive bar, have you?”

shaking her head, she leans closer to you, tilting the menu towards you as if you’d be able to find something on the menu that was more than 2000¥. instead of making a classy wine appear, you excitedly point at the bottom corner of the paper, right beneath the word SHOTS, “ooh! have a lemon drop with me!”

her cheek presses to your own when she leans even closer to you to see what you’re reading, squinting at the small font under dim lights, “that is straight vodka.”

“it has lemon juice in it! and a sugar coated lemon slice,” you correct, your voice light, a little flirty like you always got when drinking with her. you spin on your heel to lean over the bar before she can argue the point once more, “four lemon drops please!”

piling the four glasses (all filled to the brim with cheap, fragrant vodka and a splash of lemon juice) onto the round tray and a small bowl of sugar-coated lemon wedges, you thank the bartender before gripping either side of the tray, wobbling behind momo back to the booth tucked into a quieter corner of the bar, sliding in beside her after you sat the tray down.

comfortable once again in the booth, you face her again with a smile, placing one of the tall shot glasses in front of her, “alright, make sure you drink it quick, don’t sip it like your expensive, aged wine. we’re gonna cheers, tap it on the table, drink it and then suck the lemon.”

she watches you with wide eyes, focusing on your instructions as much as she can with the alcohol finally making her head feel light. staring at your lips, she nods, repeating back your instructions with a smile, “cheers, tap, drink, suck, got it.”

twisting back around to get your own glass and lemon, you shuffle closer, your thigh brushing against the bare skin at the top of her boots, holding your glass up to her, biting your lip to hide a giddy smile.

“ready?” momo laughs, a sound that makes you dizzier than all the alcohol in this bar, her hair bouncing when she nods, gently clicking the side of her shot to yours before you tap the bottom of it against the tabletop in unison.

“cheers!” you celebrate, shooting the foul drink back, scrunching your eyes shut at the taste of the clear liquor invading your senses, you felt more like you’d dunked your head into a bucket of the stuff rather than just a shot of it. with a sour face, you tap momo’s hand still holding her lemon to remind her to suck as you sucked the juice out of your own, licking the sugar off the flesh before you bit into it. successfully washing your mouth of the strong taste with the tart sweetness of the lemon, you watched momo’s face scrunch at the taste of the sour lemon, the bridge of her nose scrunching as she tried to swallow the juice from the lemon wedge.

tossing the lemon rind onto the tray, you whoop and cheer, cupping your hands around your mouth to amplify the sound, many other drunk patrons blindly mimicking your cheering from across the room, the sound making you hold your stomach as you laughed again. wiping juice from her lips with the back of her hand, momo laughed with you, leaning across you to place her lemon rind with yours, stacking her empty shot into yours at the edge of the table.

“you like those?” she questions, dark eyes flicking back and forth between your eyes as she adjusts herself beside you, pressing her thigh harder to yours as her perfume filled your brain, the sensation of her hot skin against yours nearly had you forgetting to respond.

“it’s not so bad,” she waves you off with a roll of her eyes, mumbling her disbelief of your enjoyment in bottom shelf shots, still trying to forget the taste of it in her mouth.

still smiling with her, you reach for one more on the tray to place in front of her, “here, i’ll make it better. you remember what to do?”

“i’m not that drunk.”

picking up one more sugary lemon, you place it between your teeth, the flesh poking out from between your glossy lips, your heart beating in your throat as she follows your every move, her eyes glued to your lips when she raises her glass into the air.

with her glass raised, you mumble around the fruit, “-scheers!”

your pulse races watching her tilt her head back, hypnotised as you watch her throat bob as she swallows the liquor, following her when she places the glass back down with a sour face; your cunt throbs when she grabs a hold of your jaw with two perfectly manicured hands, blunt nails digging into your jaw as she pulls your face to hers, pressing her soft lips to yours when she bites at the lemon between your teeth.

your eyes flutter shut, inhaling sharply through your nose when her hand slides down the side of your throat to settle at your collarbone, her hold keeping you still as she licked at the lemon wedge. your hands jump to her thighs, involuntarily squeezing her plush skin when she hummed against your lips, the sound vibrating around the fruit between you.

it’s all so much, the taste of her, the taste of the alcohol and juice on her lips, the feeling of her tongue sliding over your lips to suck up any sugar granules stuck to your skin, the feeling of her pulling you closer, humming and whimpering against you.

she still holds you close as she finishes sucking the lemon, keeping her lips to yours even when she’s sucked the flesh dry of the sour juice and licked your lips clean of the sticky, sweet sugar. she’s so close, your chests almost touching with how your chest heaved, your thighs entangling the closer she tried to get to you in the small booth. your starry eyes are reflected back in her own blown out pupils (her own the exact same, glittering under the dim light), and your thighs are tightly squeezed together in an attempt to quell the ache growing low in your stomach.

sucking in a breath, your voice isn’t an octave above a whisper, “better?”

her tongue swipes across her bottom lip, catching a stray sugar granule, a movement you watch in what feels like slow motion, nodding, she repeats your movements, sitting the last shot in front of you, holding the lemon wedge at her mouth when she took a deep breath, “mhm, your turn.”

[fairyniceyeah]

💎🦌Day 4: “Great. I Got a Cold for My Birthday.”

@sicktember

Summary: Joshua gets sick on his birthday. What was supposed to be a nice day quickly turns into a disaster.

CW: /

 

Sickie: Joshua Caretaker: S.Coups/Seungcheol

He should have seen it coming. He really should have. 

It had started with a small, annoying headache that could be ignored until he got a bit dehydrated two days ago. Then the past day he had noticed how hoarse his voice had started to sound and his throat had kinda hurt when he went to bed early.

Yet, he had not put one and one together. Not until …

Joshua woke up to his leader and best friend turning on the light in his room and then jumping full force on top of Joshua’s blanket-covered body. While the leader took great care to not put his complete body weight on him, it was still a sudden, heavy and most annoyingly unexpected weight on him.

“Umpf. Cheollie, wha…?”

“Happy Birthday, Shua”, Seungcheol called happily, much more excited than Joshua himself felt. Joshua tried to wiggle out of the tight hug, but instantly his face was peppered with kisses all over. 

Wonwoo, Mingyu and Minghao, their dorm mates and the traitors, were laughing their asses off in the doorway, Mingyu nearly dropping the cupcakes he was holding as he slumped into Wonwoo.

“Thanks, I love you too, Cheollie. Now, get off”, Joshua groaned and managed to fight Seungcheol off in order sit up. Seungcheol beamed at him nevertheless, still sprawled over Joshua’s lap. 

Sitting up made Joshua remember all the feelings from the past. His headache returned in full force… and … and…

He pitched forward with a loud sneeze, too sudden to turn away or even have time to stifle it into his elbow. Instead he sneezed right into Seungcheol’s face. 

They stared at each other with similar looks of shock (and disgust on Seungcheol’s part) before Joshua felt his nose twitch again and he turned to the side to sneeze into his elbow a few times. 

“Fuck. Sorry”, he apologized as soon as he could, wincing as he heard his own voice. It was a mix of roughness from the sore throat (and oh God, did sneezing with an aching throat hurt) and stuffiness from what was definitely a congested nose. “Great. I got a cold for my birthday.”

“Yeah, I’d say so”, Seungcheol said, thankfully accepting the tissue Minghao handed to him from very far away and wiping his face. 

“Uh, happy birthday? Hyungs.” Wonwoo, Mingyu and Minghao slowly backed out, clearly not willing to risk contagion. Within seconds all that was left of them was the cupcakes Mingyu had left standing on the floor. 

With an exaggerated sigh, Seungcheol rolled onto his back next to Joshua. “I’m gonna call the managers for Covid tests.”

💎

Two hours later, both of them stood at the side of the practice room, watching the other members during their break after the first part of their dance practice. Already Joshua was exhausted. Trying to keep his distance, all while trying to dance correctly and trying to not cough or sneeze was draining him to no end. Both him and Seungcheol had been told to wear masks and avoid the other members as much as possible. The Covid-tests had been negative luckily, but still the managers had reminded them multiple times to stay far away from the others. As if Joshua wanted to infect the members. 

Joshua understood the precautions, he really did. Still, it was his birthday and it felt weird not having one of his dongsaengs draped over himself if Jeonghan or Seungcheol didn’t. Seungcheol did cling to him mostly, but nevertheless…

Dino and Hoshi were laying on top of one another, giggling over an inside joke. Jeonghan, Jihoon and Minghao were standing together, talking animatedly. Jun was helping DK with his choreo, and Mingyu was calling out numbers in evaluation, mostly at random to edge them on. Wonwoo, Seungkwan and Vernon were sitting together talking, the youngest sprawled over the other two.

Normally, Joshua would be right in the middle, with one or more of his dongsaengs attached to him. But instead he was watching from the sidelines on the one day he knew everybody would be fighting over his attention. He might pretend he didn’t like it, but who wouldn’t want a bit of pampering and love?

Especially now … he didn’t feel well and he wanted hugs. It was the one thing he couldn’t get. He hadn’t imagined his birthday would turn out this sad and depressing. As if reading his thoughts, the leader grabbed Joshua’s hand in his, pulling him into his embrace. 

“I know it sucks, baby”, he whispered into Joshua’s ear, his voice a bit muffled by the mask. Joshua nodded against his shoulder, trying to hide the tears he felt bubbling up. It was bad enough he never saw his family for birthdays anymore, now he couldn’t even really spend the day with his found family. 

A sudden cough seized his chest, causing him to slightly double over and try to pull away. Seungcheol didn’t let him, however, holding him even tighter. It took some time until Joshua was able to calm down his breathing again, wincing as his chest hurt. By then the others had stopped their conversations and turned to look at them.

“Why don’t you go home and have a nice day on the couch?”, Jeonghan suggested worriedly. “Rest and get well soon?”

On one hand that sounded amazing. He was so tired and achy. 

But … on the other, he didn’t want to leave. He wanted to be with his members. 

Seungcheol lifted his hand to feel Joshua’s forehead. “You’re warm and I can tell you are exhausted. I think Hannie has a good point. There is no need to push through.”

“Okay”, Joshua mumbled, resigned. Maybe it would help his mood if he wasn’t constantly reminded of what he couldn’t have. Seungcheol wrapped his arm around the younger’s shoulder and led him from the room. 

💎

Joshua’s mood did not improve at all. The manager had taken one look at him, taken one of the thermometer guns the company had bought during the pandemic and seen that his temperature was up (Joshua didn’t exactly know, he still hadn’t gotten used to the Celsius system) and promptly announced that a doctor’s visit was in order. 

The vocalist had never ever wanted to hear “Happy Birthday” from a doctor. Getting told he had to cough out some mucus (disgusting) to get tested for other respiratory illnesses (yey) which meant they had to wait at the clinic for the results (why?) had only soured his mood further. At least Seungcheol had been allowed to stay with him and they even let Joshua sleep on one of the cots. 

Joshua stared helplessly at Seungcheol, who looked a bit worried now that a nurse had given them the official diagnosis. He had no idea what she had said, completely unfamiliar with any medical terms. 

The leader fumbled for his phone and typed in some words, holding it out for Joshua to see.

Bronchitis the screen read. Great. Even worse than a cold, he got bronchitis for his birthday. Joshua was so done with the day. Climbing under his bed covers and sleeping away what was left of that terrible day, sounded like the only option now.

“You’ll get a prescription for cough medicine and fever reducers. Rest and drink fluids. If you feel worse, come back”, the nurse informed them and left.

💎

Curled under his blankets and changed into comfy pajamas, his back turned to the door, Joshua glumly glared at his phone. 

Due to illness Joshua-ssi’s birthday v-live is canceled. Please keep the artist in your thoughts and let’s hope for his swift recovery.

It wasn’t like Joshua wanted to do the live, he truly didn’t feel well enough to show himself to and entertain thousands of carats … but it was just reminding him of all what the day should have been. He had already called his mom and tried not to cry and failed spectacularly at that. Right now, he missed her more than anything.

“Hey”, Seungcheol said, shouldering open the door and putting down a tray full of medicine, tissues and a cup of tea. “How are you feeling?”

“Well, what do you think?”, Joshua snapped, instantly regretting it. It wasn’t the leader’s fault he was sick, in fact Seungcheol had shown him nothing but kindness all day. “Sorry, I just … I … frustrated, I guess…”

Seungcheol sighed and sat down on the bed by Joshua’s side. “I know today hasn’t really gone the way you wanted it to. I promise we’ll make it up to you when you’re healthy again, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Is there anything I can do to lift your mood?”

“I don’t want to get you sick…”

Seungcheol gently flicked his forehead. “I don’t care. If I am destined to get sick, I will be because you straight-up sneezed into my face, not because I cuddled you.”

“I told you I was sorry”, Joshua grumbled, turning away to stare at the wall. 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn't tease. Let me make it up to you with cuddles, okay?”

💎

When Joshua woke up hours later, still feeling wretched and awfully sick, he was alone. Seungcheol was nowhere to be seen. It wasn’t like the leader didn’t have any schedules, quite the contrary. He was healthy and he shouldn’t waste his whole day watching over his sick friend when he had practices and meetings to attend. 

Still, it would have been nice if he had stayed. 

Now that he was awake, Joshua decided to use the opportunity to use the bathroom. Shakily he got up, slipping his feet into warm socks that Seungcheol must have left by his bedside. He already missed the warmth of his blanket but he would have to suffer for only a few minutes before he could lie back down. 

Walking was harder than expected, his chest hurting and making him cough violently. Disgusted, but not able to care much, Joshua wiped the mucus on his sleeve on his pants before opening the door to the hallway. 

“Shua?”, Seungheol’s voice called, causing the vocalist to jump. He hadn’t expected the leader to be home.

He coughed again, the pain in his throat bringing tears to his eyes. Seungcheol instantly wrapped him in his arms, holding him up. “Oh, baby.”

“Don’t feel good”, Joshua mumbled, resting his head on his friend's shoulder. 

“I know”, Seungcheol whispered, “wanna come to the living room for now? Maybe being upright might help.”

Joshua nodded, not sure if it would actually help but not quite wanting to be alone. Seungcheol took his hand in his, tugging him along. 

As they rounded the corner to the living room, a chorus of voices suddenly yelled: “Surprise!”

In shock, Joshua jumped back, only Seungcheol’s quick reflexes keeping him on his feet.

There, spread out in the living room, stood all their members, wearing thick, hospital grade masks in different colors and various versions of party hats. A huge poster with “Happy Birthday, Shua” was hanging on the wall, one side already pinned, the other held up by Mingyu, clearly still in the process of getting set up. Seungkwan and Vernon were holding a cake and Seokmin and Jihoon activated small confetti cannons as they all started to sing. 

How had … when … what?

Bewildered, Joshua stared at them as they cheered, staring up at Seungcheol in confusion. “We wanted you to have a lovely day no matter how sick you are”, the leader explained, having put on one of the colorful masks too and held out one for the younger. “We know it’s not what …”

“It’s amazing”, Joshua mumbled, still not quite processing. 

“Should you be … isn’t … wasn’t there a meeting this afternoon?”

“Oh, yeah. The manager managed to move it to tomorrow, we have the whole day free for you. They all knew you needed a pick-me-up today.”

Joshua wasn’t sure if he was going to laugh or cry. Instead he hid his face in his hands, feeling his cheeks heat up not just from fever but from embarrassment.

“You didn’t have to”, he mumbled. 

“We didn’t”, Seungcheol said, getting interrupted by Seungkwan who yelled: “But we wanted to, hyung! You deserve it!”

Tears rose in his eyes but then Jeonghan called: “No crying allowed today!”

“Thank you, guys, really”, Joshua whispered.

“Happy Birthday, baby”, Seungcheol said and pulled him into an embrace again, ruffling his hair.

It most certainly wasn’t what he had expected of the day but sitting on the armchair, surrounded by his members, though they had to keep their distance, was the best present he could have gotten, bronchitis be damned.

Masterlist links: Fairy's Full Masterlist Fairy's Sicktember 2024

[max-nico]

[baronessvonglitter]

hi honey!! happy EARLY birthday <3 I'd love in on your fuck-tober challenge (don't think I'll have anything done in time for the 2nd BUT I can definitely do october!!)

could I grab #6 for a pedro boy and #9 for a song, if they're still available? (sweats nervously)

Awesome!! And thank you so much for the early bday wishes!🥳 any time in October is fine! (October is basically birthday season in my family hehe)

Pedro boy #6 is Maxwell Lord Song #9 is "Feels Like the First Time" by Foreigner

(and I saw what you did there 😏6 and 9.. nice)

Have fun!!

[nobigsecrets]

Happy Birthday

"13 years," Danny states while looking at the ocean churning below.

"What?" Steve asks, instinctively moving closer.

"It's more than a quarter of my life now that I've been here in Hawaii," Danny clarifies and then looks up to meet Steve's eyes with a smile. "With you."

[sirowsky]

How about a baking / cooking competition between reader/ofc and multiple Pedro characters?

This is also finished and awaiting posting tomorrow! Thank you again, my friend ❤️ I've had really good fun with all the birthday stories 🎁

[late-to-the-party-81]

Happy Birthday, Yasha

AN: Creeping in with a story for Bucky’s birthday, I bring you Cap Quartet filth. This is just porn. Not a sniff of plot. Based in the same BDSM AU as The ties that bind us. Sam and Steve have fully consented to this scene in advance and can safeword at any time without consequence.

Beta’d by the wonderful @endlesstwanted and with Russian help from @bittersweet-in-boston

Likes are loved, reblogs are golden

Mood board by me and dividers by @firefly-graphics

Bingo and Challenge fills:

@buckybarnesevents Bucky’s Birthday Bash - Base - AU Bucky; Filling - Forced Proximity Frosting - Sam, Nat and Steve; Toppings - Humiliation/Degradation Kink, And

Build a Bucky Bingo - March - Impact Play

@stuckygeekevents Bingo - O1 - “Why did you flinch?”

@stuckybingo - N3 - Free space

@steverogersbingoBingo  - D4 - Sex Party

@caplanbuckybarnes’s Weekly Writing Challenge #3 - “Please kiss me.”

Master list | Stucky Bingo Master List | SRB Master list | BaBB Master List | SGE Bingo Masterlist

Summary: It’s Bucky’s birthday and Nat has arranged a private party, just for him.

Relationship: Dom Bucky x Domme Nat x Switch (but Sub in this) Sam x Sub Steve.

Word count: 3.2k

CW: BDSM AU, Pre-established relationship, Polyamorous relationship, Bondage, Impact Play, Ass Play, Body Worship, Female Masturbation (briefly), Frotting, Anal Sex, Humiliation/Degradation Kink, edging, Face Sitting, Oral Sex, Cum Play/Cum eating, Cum Slut Steve Rogers, Aftercare, Safe, Sane and Consensual.

Bucky couldn’t help but grin, his arms around Nat’s waist and his chin resting on her shoulder as he took in the scene before him.

“Is this all for me, Natty?”

“Of course it is, Yasha. A party just for you.” His pack-mate and fellow Dom stated, her smile evident in the tone of her voice.

They were standing in the playroom, and spread out - and tied up - on the bed in front of them were their Switch, Sam, and their Sub Steve. 

Sam was laid on his back, arms attached to the headboard and ropes around his thigh holding his legs open. A silver plug with a bright red jewel poked out from between his round buttocks. Steve was laid face down on top of Sam, his small body similarly bound but with a blue, jewelled plug stretching his rim wide. Neither could move much, but it wasn’t stopping the pair of them trying to rub their cocks together as they messily made out.

“Fuck,”Bucky exclaimed again. “Look at them. Pretty as a picture and all dressed up for me. How am I gonna top this when it’s your birthday?”

Nat turned her head and nipped at Bucky’s ear. “You’ll think of something, handsome. You always do. Now, go enjoy your birthday treat. They’ve been like this for fifteen minutes already and I edged them a couple of times before I brought you down here, so they’re both a hair's-breadth away from coming apart.”

“You’re staying, though?” Bucky nuzzled into Nat’s neck, enjoying the way his scruff brought a red rash up on her neck. She might be a Dom as well, but that didn’t mean Bucky didn’t like marking her. She gave as good as she got anyway.

“I was hoping you’d ask. I want to see which one of them starts to cry first. You go left, I go right?”

“Deal.”

Bucky had known when Nat said she had a surprise for him today that it would be something along these lines, so he’d been waiting, just dressed in his leather pants, until she came to get him. Nat herself was dressed in her favourite PVC outfit - a push up bra with cutouts at the nipples, crotchless panties and thigh-high stiletto boots. She looked exquisite.

He stalked over to the right hand side of the bed, climbing up beside the two desperate, strung up men. He tapped Sam on his shoulder, as Nat on the other side tapped Steve, and the two broke apart and looked at the two Doms. Two pairs of eyes were blown wide and two faces had lax expressions, already looking totally fucked out. Bucky laid down and captured Sam’s lips, Nat doing the same to Steve.

It never ceased to amaze Bucky how different Sam was from Steve. Steve was a Sub, but a bratty one, needing to be forced into submission for his own good more often than not. Sam, though, as a Switch, was never intentionally bratty, but sometimes had difficulties moving from one headspace to the other. It seemed that Nat had done the hard work already, or maybe Sam was just in a submissive move, because he opened himself to Bucky’s domineering kiss without any resistance. Bucky laid his left hand on top of Steve’s buttocks, feeling the little movements his favourite brat was trying to make in an attempt to get friction on his no-doubt aching prick. With a grin into Sam’s mouth, Bucky brought his hand down onto Steve’s ass - a warning to stay still. He heard the angry squeak despite it being muffled by Nat.

Bucky pulled back, enjoying the way Sam chased his lips, and how Sam’s broad chest heaved with need.

“You’re gonna be a good boy for me, aren’t you Sammy? Gonna let me do exactly what I want, when I want, yeah?”

“Yes, s-sir,” Sam stuttered out, eyes glazed.

“Unlike this one,” continued Bucky as he took a firm grip of Steve’s dirty blonde hair and jerked his head back, pulling him from Nat. Steve’s eyes rolled, the little pain-slut he was, but there was still defiance in his eyes - he wasn’t as deep down as Sam was. “Fighting it as usual, Stevie? And on my birthday too? What am I going to do with you?”

Steve just narrowed his eyes, but for once didn’t talk back. He was probably too distracted by his throbbing cock to come up with something witty.

“Natty, can you reward Sam for being a good boy while I just work on Steve’s attitude?”

Nat smiled back enigmatically, then moved herself so Sam could turn his head and take one of her PVC clad breasts into his mouth and tease the nipple with his tongue. Nat let her head loll back and allowed herself to enjoy the sensations. Bucky, on the other hand, rose up from the bed, and with the feeling of Steve’s blue eyes boring a hole between his shoulder blades he went and opened up the wooden armoire that held their toys. His fingers trailed along the handles of the various implements used for chastisement and finally settled on his flogger. There were two of almost every implement, one made for Nat’s small grip and one made for Bucky’s much larger one. If Sam was in Dom mode with Steve, then he borrowed Bucky’s, but Sam wasn’t as much into impact play as the two Doms.

As Bucky turned back to the bed he carefully kept the flogger hidden behind his back, not wanting Steve to know how he was going to get punished until it happened. He positioned himself by the side of the bed and used his free hand to hold Steve’s head down against Sam’s collarbone, making it impossible for him to see.

“Stay still, and be good,” Bucky commanded, but wasn’t at all surprised when a sharp “Fuck you” was the answer. He leant down, head close to Steve’s ear. “I plan to, sweetheart. I’m gonna fuck you until you make a mess of yourself and Sammy. Maybe I’ll make you clean it up as well.” Bucky didn’t even need to see it to know that Steve shivered at the mental picture he’d painted. Pain and humiliation were Steve’s bag - it’s why they meshed so well, Steve enjoying everything that Bucky could dish out. Without any further warning, Bucky brought the flogger down on Steve’s deceptively plump ass. He didn’t strike all that hard, but starting too soft with Steve never brought the right results and he bit back a dark chuckle as Steve let out a shout and wiggled as much as he could, resulting in him just rubbing his trapped dick against Sam’s. 

“Why did you flinch?” Bucky asked with mock confusion.

“Fuck!” was the breathy response. This was gonna be good.

Bucky flicked his eyes up to Nat’s, which sparkled back at him with amusement as she stroked her hand over Sam’s short hair and encouraged him to pay attention to her other breast. She was already lazily playing with her clit, enjoying the scene before her. Bucky smirked and brought the flogger back down onto Steve, another beautiful sound of pained pleasure meeting his ears. It only took another dozen swipes, evenly distributed over Steve’s ass and upper thighs, for Bucky to feel the fight go out of his Sub, Steve finally relaxing under his hand.

Discarding the flogger to the floor, Bucky moved back around to the end of the bed and climbed up between the two pairs of spread legs. He took hold of one plug with each hand and slowly pulled and twisted them until Steve’s and Sam’s rims were stretched around the widest part of each before pushing them back in. Two choked off groans echoed around the room, and Bucky’s grin broadened as he started to fuck both of them with the plugs. As anticipated, Steve started showing signs of being close to orgasm first, so Bucky stopped playing with his plug, enjoying the strangled wail of disappointment that spilled from him. However, it was only a minute or so later that Bucky saw Sam’s balls start to draw up, so he stopped playing with his plug as well. 

Having tested for himself how ready they both were, Bucky unzipped his pants and pulled out his cock. He picked up the bottle of lube that Nat had thoughtfully tucked at the base of the bed and squirted some out onto his palm. As he stroked himself, he took another moment just to appreciate how beautifully Sam and Steve had been laid out for him. Fuck, it would be easy just to stroke himself to the view and leave the pair of them needy and unsatisfied. It was a tempting thought - he always delighted in marking both of them with his cum -, but neither of them had been particularly badly behaved recently and he was feeling in a kind mood.

Satisfied that he was sufficiently slicked up, Bucky removed Steve’s plug, being a little rough but in the way that Steve liked. Without ceremony, he pressed his cock inside Steve’s hole, the guttural moan sounding like music to his ears. Nat had moved off the bed and had come to stand behind him, a reverse of their earlier pose. She peered around his thick body as he speared into Steve, who had returned to kissing Sam as the pair of them were jostled together.

“Look how beautifully he takes you, Buck,” Nat observed, her gaze fixated on the way Steve’s body stretched to accommodate Bucky’s thick cock. Bucky placed his hands on Steve’s hips, gripping them tightly as he pulled back and thrust forward with vigour.

“You did a wonderful job preparing him, moya printsessa.”

He thrust forward again, enjoying the way his balls slapped against where Sam and Steve were pressed together, their combined precum making a sticky mess. He let himself sink into the pleasure of using his Sub until Nat let him know that Steve was close to coming.

“Careful, moy lyubimii.”

Gritting his teeth, Bucky pulled out of the warm clutch of Steve’s ass and pushed the plug back in, watching the ripple of the muscles in Steve’s back and listening to his once more frustrated wail. Bucky gave a harsh spank to his still red ass.

“Patience, kitten. ‘I want’ doesn’t get. You come if I allow it.”

Using deft fingers, Bucky removed Sam’s plug more carefully than he had Steve’s, and lowered his hips, curling himself over Steve where he was laid on top of Sam so he could sink into his other lover. Sam’s moan was deeper but equally as needy sounding as Steve’s as Bucky started to fuck into him. It was taking all of Bucky’s control to hold back, because he didn’t want to come yet - he had his own plan and was determined to see it through. And, with the way that he was pressed against both of them, he wasn’t surprised by how both Sam and Steve continued to moan, the friction between them increasing with Bucky’s movement.

“Don’t come yet, sweethearts. The first to come doesn’t get my cum and doesn’t get to have Nat ride his cock. He’ll also have to be on clean up duty as well. So best behaviour, both of you.

“Sir!” Sam shouted out in panic. “Please! I’m too close. I’m gonna come.”

“You’ll just have to hold it, Samuel. You get a break when I give you one.”

Taking a peak around Steve’s small frame, Bucky could see the way that Sam was now biting his lower lip, his fists holding tight to ropes that bound him to the bed as he desperately tried to hold back his orgasm. He gave a few more firm thrusts and decided it was time to return to Steve.

As soon as he slipped back inside his bratty sub, he knew that Steve was on a knife-edge. His whole body was trembling and he was letting out pathetic mewling noises each time Bucky punched his way up into Steve’s guts.

“Check his face, Natty,” Bucky huffed out between thrusts and Nat strutted around the bed. She leant down to peer at Steve’s face where it was buried into Sam’s neck. 

“You’re right, James. He’s crying already. Are you about to come, Steve?” she cooed. “You gonna make a mess all over Sam? Are you looking forward to cleaning me and Sam up and swallowing down all that cum?” She fisted her hand into Steve’s hair, wrenched it up and gave a little slap to his tear stained face. “I bet you’re not even sad that Bucky isn’t gonna come in you, because this way you get to taste it. You’re just our little cumdump, aren’t you, Steve? Can’t get enough of the taste. I bet we could get you to clean the whole floor with your tongue if we just splattered it with our cum. You act all bratty, but you just wanna be on your knees, don’t you? Maybe another day we should tie you down and just come all over you. Leave you in a sodden mess. You’d be in heaven.”

Steve cried out and his body spasmed around Bucky’s cock, his slim hips moving as much as they could, humping onto Sam as his orgasm rocked through him, pushed over the edge by Nat’s words. Bucky hissed and closed his eyes, trying to hold back his own orgasm, and Sam groaned as his cock slipped and slid against Steve’s.

“I knew it,” Nat said, her voice full of derision. “Pathetic.” She released Steve’s hair and shifted her attention back to Sam, running the back of her hand across his cheek bone as he looked at her with wide eyes. “You’re gonna be a good boy though, aren’t you? Gonna let Bucky come inside you, but not let yourself go until I’ve ridden that gorgeous dick of yours?”

“Yes, m-ma’am. G-gonna try.” 

“Make sure you do, or I’ll ruin it for you.”

Bucky almost felt sorry for Sam. He had to be struggling about now, and Bucky had seen Nat ruin orgasms before - it wasn’t nice. Bucky pulled out of Steve, who was now laid lax and snivelling, and returned to Sam’s waiting heat.

“Sir!” Sam shouted. “Oh god!” His hips bucked up as much as they could in his bound position, bumping Steve.

“Hold it, Sam,” Bucky barked back as he set a bruising pace, no longer able to resist the urge to just chase his pleasure. His movements jolted Steve even more, who whimpered as his spent cock was overstimulated from being rubbed up against Sam’s. Bucky could feel Sam’s channel flutter around him, desperately trying to hold back, and the sensation tipped Bucky off the cliff. A deep groan left him as he pumped rope after rope of cum deep into Sam, his hips continuing to snap back and forth until there was nothing left in him.

After he came down, Bucky pulled out and sat back on his heels, recovering his breath. Steve’s hole still gaped at him, and his cum was dripping out of Sam.

“Nat - come look.”

“Oooh, pretty,” she said before bending down and attacking Bucky’s lips with her own. They kissed ferociously for a few moments, fighting each other with tongues and teeth before they moved apart and untied Steve. They rolled him off Sam and he laid prone on the edge of the large bed. Bucky started to rub at the rope marks around his wrists and his thighs, bringing the blood back into full circulation

Meanwhile Nat climbed up onto the mattress, admiring Sam’s still rock-hard cock, the head a deep crimson-purple and covered in Steve’s cum and his own pre-cum. She leant down and licked a stripe up it, letting out an evil giggle at how it twitched.

“Nat! Please!” Sam begged, and with a smirk she took pity on him, throwing her leg over him, taking hold of his cock and sinking down in one move. She leaned back, her hands braced on Sam’s spread legs and began to ride him.

“Fuck, Sam. Love this dick so much. Feels so good. Just hold on for me.”

Bucky watched in amusement, only stopping to tap Steve’s face with his softening cock and then feeding it between Steve’s lips when he blinkingly opened his eyes. 

“First clean up duty, Stevie.”

Steve just moaned and started to suck and lick at the cock in his mouth, eager for every drop of Bucky’s cum he could get. 

On the other side of the bed, Nat had changed her position, now palming one of her own breasts through her bra, pinching the nipple through its peek-a-boo hole and rubbing at her clit with her other hand. Sam was tossing his head back and forth on the pillow, whimpering, and as soon as Nat shuddered out her own orgasm, Sam’s face screwed up and he shouted, finally letting himself let go. 

Nat gave herself a few moments to recover before she eased off Sam, his cum running down her inner thighs, and straddled Steve instead, her puffy cunt hovering over his face. 

“Next clean up, Steve. And you better make me cum again.”

“I will, ma’am. Please. Wanna taste you and Sam.” Steve couldn’t keep the eagerness from his voice.

“So you can be good? Now, get to work.” She sat down and Bucky heard her sigh in pleasure as Steve slurped loudly, his small hands coming up to hold Nat’s thighs. Bucky smiled and moved over to release Sam’s bonds and rub at his aching limbs.

“So perfect for us, Sam,” he praised. “Just relax for a moment. You worked so hard.” 

“Please kiss me,” Sam slurred out, and who was Bucky to deny him? He laid down next to Sam and gently kissed him, lazily trailing his fingers over Sam’s still sensitive body, amused by the answering whimpers and twitches.

“Fuck! Steve!” Nat shouted, her hips bucking. “There! Just there.” She had one hand on the headboard and the other in Steve’s hair, holding his head in place as she fucked his face with her pussy. She threw her head back and wailed as her second orgasm washed over her. She rocked her hips slower as she came down, and then slid down Steve’s body. His face was flushed red, shiny with her and Sam’s combined spend, and his hair was sticking up every which way. He looked totally debauched and more than happy about it. Nat kissed him deeply before urging him up and over to Sam. 

“Clean his cock first, Steve,” she urged. “Then you can get your taste of Bucky’s cum.”

Steve crawled with wobbly limbs over to where Sam was now dozing, his head in Bucky’s lap, having his hair petted. When Steve started to lick and kiss at his cock and balls, Sam let out a happy sigh. 

Nat pulled herself up against the headboard, the other side of Sam, and looked indulgently down at her Switch and Sub before turning her attention to Bucky.

“Did you enjoy that, Yasha?”

Bucky opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by Sam’s whining moan as Steve pushed his face between his ass cheeks, and most probably, wormed his tongue in Sam’s ass. Bucky chuckled. “Best birthday ever, milaya. We’d best start planning for Steve’s. What was it you said about all of us coming over him and leaving him lying in it?”

Tag list: @christywrites, @alexakeyloveloki, @doasyoudesireandlive, @apenny4thots,

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[i-heart-slashers]

Happy Birthday!!

For the Birthday requests how about a dark comedy Ghostface + blood + hugs + laughter (if it's a reader insert could it be a nongendered or male?)

Thank you for the birthday wishes!

ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ: Ghostface

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: dark comedy

ᴘʀᴏᴍᴘᴛ ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ: blood, hugs & laughter

You hear the phone ring, the shrill sound slicing through the silence. It's never good when the phone rings this late, but you pick it up anyway, your curiosity outweighing your common sense.

"Hello?" you say, your voice shakier than you'd like.

"Do you like scary movies?" The voice on the other end is cold, smooth, and too familiar for comfort.

Ghostface.

Your stomach twists. You've heard the rumors —of course, you have—but living it? That's different. You laugh, though it's more out of nerves than humor. "No, but I hear you're a big fan."

There's a pause, and then Ghostface chuckles. "I like a good laugh, don't you? Blood and guts aside, it's all in good fun."

Fun?

You glance at the door, considering your options for escaping. Too late. A knock echoes from the other side, and your heart skips a beat. You freeze.

"You know what's funny?" the voice continues. "People always run like that'll stop me. It's almost... cute."

You think you hear the sound of a blade being dragged against the door, slow and deliberate. There's no running from this. Not tonight.

"Tell me," Ghostface asks, voice dripping with mock affection, "how do you feel about hugs?"

You feel a cold sweat trickling down your spine at the weird change of topic from guts to hugs. "Not really my thing," you manage to choke out, inching toward the window.

"Too bad," Ghostface whispers. The door creaks open. "I give great hugs, especially tight ones around the neck..."

You make a break for it, stumbling over the window ledge. But then he's there, looming over you, laughter bubbling up from behind the mask.

Glancing up just in time, you see the glint of the knife as it slashes. You scream loudly, and the world spins, painted red.

And then.... silence—except for the sound of his laughter. "Told you. Good fun, right?"

[sirowsky-stories]

Forward Luxation

Summary: You're recovering from a dislocated shoulder and have to go to a physical therapist. But getting there, you find nothing at all is what you'd expected, least of all the man in charge of your training.

Requested by @bilibiche

Rating: Mature 18+ONLY Warnings: Marcus Moreno x female reader, reader is not described at all, and yes, we're taking liberties with the fact that any visit to an expert in human functionality requires one to take their clothes off. Lots of sexual tension here. Word Count: 2750

   The waiting room is surprisingly cozy for a physical therapist’s office. Although you’ve never been to one before, so you don’t really have anything to compare it to. You’d just sort of imagined it being a bit like a dentist’s office, with the cheap magazines, plastic plants, beige curtains which haven’t been changed in five years, uncomfortable chairs and squeaky linoleum floors.    But this is nothing like that.

   You’re sitting in one of the four available really nice armchairs, each with a little coffee-table to the side, on top of which are no magazines but instead a selection of pamphlets with useful information about the most common muscle injuries and treatments, and phone numbers and websites to other reputable establishments where people can find help for all manner of problems, from yoga studios to psychologists.

   The wallpaper is cream white with a discreet floral pattern in the same color, but glossy against the matte base, and the curtains are a deep green which together with the wallpaper somehow gives the impression that you’re sitting in a park. Especially since the chairs have exposed wood along with the soft cushions, which are the same color green, with embroidered flowers in pale yellow. And you’re pretty sure they’re made entirely of silk.

   Even the coffee is fucking excellent.

   If not for the fact that you had to sign in at the front desk, confirming your appointment and even having to show your ID, before being shown in here, you would’ve thought for sure you were in the wrong place.    This all seems so much more expensive than what you could ever afford. You’re here courtesy of your insurance, so you don’t need to worry about the cost, but it still feels way too fancy for you.

   “Good morning,” a soft and pleasant voice interrupts your thoughts, and you turn your head to find a tall, fit, brown-eyed, ridiculously gorgeous man smiling at you.

   “Uh… g-good morning,” is all you manage in response, because he’s literally taken your breath away by just standing there.

   “My name’s Marcus, welcome to my rehabilitation center. If you’ll please follow me, we’ll get started with a quick exam,” he continues, giving no indication he’s noticed your flustered reaction as he politely steps to the side to indicate which direction you’ll be heading.

   Air floods back into your lungs when you start to move, getting up from the chair and falling in behind him, at which point, your brain starts working again.

   “You own this place?” you ask, jumping at the first topic to come to mind.

   “I do. I started this business eight years ago,” he replies, before reaching a room with a door already standing open, where he stops just outside and beckons for you to enter. “Does that surprise you?”

   “Well, no. I’m just a bit confused overall,” you admit.

   “Oh? How come?”

   “It’s just… My insurance company made it seem like it was a big deal to even get a spot here. That this is like, the best physical rehab center in the country. And then I get here and the only person I’ve seen is the receptionist.”

   “I see. You thought that such a prestigious establishment would have thirty employees and patients constantly coming and going?” he guesses, and you nod, feeling slightly embarrassed.

   But he’s smiling when he gestures for you to take a seat on the large examination table in the middle of the room, while he closes the door and then takes a seat on a mobile stool in front of you.    You note that the temperature in here is higher, and a moment later you realize that it’s probably because people need to undress for him to examine them properly, and suddenly you’re flustered again.

   “The reason why we’re considered one of the best, is precisely because we don’t take on more patients than what we can effectively handle, both from a managerial standpoint, and from a practical one.    Since it’s just me and David here, that means our slots are usually limited to five people per day. Obviously, I’m in charge of the actual therapy, while David handles the charts, bookings, contact with hospitals, insurance and so on.    These limitations enable us to work entirely stress-free with our patients, allowing each session to take almost however much time it requires, whether due to physical restrictions, or mental ones.”

   “Mental ones?” you repeat, getting slightly caught on the notion, since it seems misplaced to you.

   This is physical therapy, not psychological, right?

   “Bodily injuries often result in emotional distress, most of which only comes out when people are confronted with the consequences, which is essentially the heart of what we do here.”

   “So, you’re like a jack-of-all-trades kind of therapist, then?”

   “I suppose I am,” he agrees with a small chuckle. “Now, if you’re satisfied with our business model, we should get started.”

   “Sure,” you say entirely without confidence, feeling the hairs on your arms prickle with nervousness at the mere thought of potentially having to undress in front of this man.

   “Dislocated right shoulder. Forward luxation, if I remember correctly,” he recalls without looking at any charts or notes. “May I ask how it happened?”

   “Oh, I have horses,” you sigh, knowing he’s probably not gonna need much more explanation than that.

   And sure enough, he mirrors your sigh.

   “Ah, yes. That’ll do it. So, how long did you wait before calling for help?” he asks, crossing his arms over his waist with a knowing, although friendly, glare in his eyes.

   “About an hour.”

   His eyebrows shoot up at that, but he can’t seem to find the words at first. And as always, the moment you feel the slightest bit judged for your passion for horses, you get defensive.

   “I couldn’t just drop everything, I had two horses who were panicking because of a fucking snake, I had to get them into the stables.”

   “Yeah, okay, fair enough. How long did that take?” he prods, and you hesitate.

   Because you’ve had both of your horses since they were foals and you’ve trained them well enough that they always trust you, even when they’re scared, which is why it had only taken you a couple of minutes to get them into the stables that day.

   “I don’t have anyone who can help me,” you quietly explain. “I had to make sure they’d be okay if I had to be in hospital for a few days.”

   His expression softens then, but he’s not done investigating.

   “So, you went around hauling hay, probably some buckets of water, checking fences and gates… I assume you also made sure to get rid of the snake, only calling for help once you’d double-checked that you hadn’t missed anything.”

   “I didn’t call. I drove myself to the hospital,” you conclude, at which point Marcus seems to give up any notion that you’re a reasonable human being.

   “As impressive as it is that you were able to endure that kind of pain for so long, you do realize by delaying getting this injury corrected, you probably added another month to the rehab you’re gonna need? Which is only gonna keep you from working with your horses that much longer,” he admonishes, but he sounds concerned more than anything, which tugs at your heart because no one ever concerns themselves about you.

   “I know, but I was… scared,” you admit, surprising yourself, since you haven’t even admitted this to yourself yet. “I’ve never been seriously injured before, and I hate hospitals. I knew I had to go, I just… had to convince myself of it.”

   Unexpectedly, he smiles at you then.

   “Thank you. For being honest with me. That’s always a good start.” He looks so grateful and earnest as he meets your gaze, you struggle not to look away.

   “I know it might not seem like it, but I do want help. I’m just really crappy at asking for it or accepting it.”

   “Well then, you’ll be happy to know I’m stubborn as hell, and I don’t take no for an answer when I know I’m right.    Chances are, you’re gonna get amazingly irritated and sick of me before we’re done, but if you can trust me despite all that, I’ll get you well again,” he offers, and you struggle to believe you could ever get sick of such a wonderful person.

   “I’m not great with trusting people. But I’ll try.”

   “That’s all I can ask for.    Now, I’m gonna need you to take your shirt off so I can assess the mobility of your shoulder.”

   Well, that went from sweet to nerve-wracking in one fucking sentence…    Suddenly your pulse is pounding in your ears, but it’s not like you can refuse. At least, not if you want to regain full mobility.    Internally cursing yourself for wearing a t-shirt and not a top with thin straps of some sort, you start fumbling with the fabric, trying to get it off without causing yourself too much pain.

   He notices that you’re having a bit of trouble and steps around behind you to lift the shirt at the back, which is nice of him. Except that when his warm fingers brush against the bare skin of your neck, you involuntarily shiver, which he of course also notices.

   “Is it too cold in here?” he wonders. “I try to keep it warmer than the rest of the building, but if you need me to turn it up further-…”

   “No, no, I’m fine,” you interrupt him, feeling absolutely ridiculous at how strongly his mere presence affects you.

   “Alright, but just so you know, it’s no trouble. If there’s anything I can do to make this more comfortable for you, don’t hesitate to tell me,” he says, as he carefully starts to prod and examine your shoulder now that the shirt is off, and you’re abruptly having trouble breathing again with the sensation of his skin exploring yours.

   “Oh, you don’t want me to do that…” you think to yourself, while doing your best not to be self-conscious about your choice of bra for the day.

   “Why is that?”

   His mildly bemused and curious question makes you freeze, and as the realization hits you that you’d actually spoken out loud just now, panic floods your every cell in no time flat.    Wishing the ground would open and swallow you, or that lightning would hit you right now, you let your torso fall forwards and then brace your good elbow against your knee so that your hand can catch your head as it drops so heavily into your open palm that it feels like you’ve just slapped yourself.

   “I am so sorry,” you mumble, seriously wondering what the fuck is wrong with you, you don’t even know if the man’s single. “Please ignore me, I don’t get out much.”

   He’s quiet for a moment then, and in that short space of time, you manage to imagine several scenarios for how he’s probably about to scold you for behaving inappropriately.

   “Ah… You didn’t mean to say that out loud, did you?” he finally replies, and he still sounds only bemused, but it does nothing to rid you of your shame.

   “I’m sorry,” is all you can think to say, because that’s how you feel.

   “Hey, don’t feel bad, you haven’t done anything wrong. You’re allowed to think whatever you want.”

   “Even if it’s totally objectifying and unethical?” you counter, and there’s another pause before you hear a low chuckle behind you.

   “Okay, now I’m really curious. What were you thinking?”

   “Never mind, just… continue your exam,” you hurriedly try to deflect, even more mortified by the prospect of having to own up to your completely premature infatuation with him.

   But instead of leaving it alone, he rounds the table until he’s in front of you again, taking a seat on his stool so he’s at your eye-level.

   “As previously discussed, I’ve got time. So, please, do tell me what you think would make you feel the most comfortable with me,” he grins, clearly fully aware that it’s gonna be something juicy, and almost childishly excited to know what it is.

   For the most part, humiliation runs off you relatively easily. But that’s also because you rarely stray out of your comfort zone, which revolves around horses, dogs, driving tractors and using power tools.    Still, on the rare occasions when you do manage to get yourself cornered, you generally suffer for a minute and then you find a way to shake it off.

   And on the super-rare occasions, such as this one, when you’re so far beyond mortified that you don’t even know how to get out of it, something else happens.    You become kinda angry and a bit feral.    The last time it had happened you’d ended up spending a night in jail, and you hadn’t even been drunk.

   You can feel that anger take control of your brain and you know you’re about to say something ill-advised, but there’s no stopping it.    Raising your head, you lock gazes with him and see him flinch at the abrupt shift in your expression.

   “Basically any scenario in which you’re butt naked and in my bed,” you hear yourself almost snarl, and somehow, there’s no shame accompanying the words.

   As crude and inappropriate as they are, it’s the truth, and it wipes the sweetly crooked little smile off his face in a hurry. Although his eyes remain alight and curious.

   “Somehow that’s not what I was expecting you to say,” he slowly observes, and you can’t help how your face falls, hearing that.

   “You and me both, darlin’,” you exhale, feeling the anger fade as the air leaves your lungs, and in its wake, only regret remains. “Maybe I should just go.”

   Standing, you reach for your shirt at the top of the table, but he stops you with a hand on yours, and when you turn to see what he’s doing, he’s suddenly very close.

   “I told you that if you can trust me, I’ll help you.    It might’ve been unintentional, but you were honest with me just now, even though you didn’t want to be, which is a good sign.”

   “Not really,” you protest, starting to feel smaller against his large frame, “I get like that sometimes, when I’m overwhelmed. I blurt things out with no filter, it’s not a choice.”

   “It was still the truth, wasn’t it?” he persists, and you can’t deny it, so you nod. “Okay then, we have a baseline, so let’s build on it rather than abandon it.    I suggest we start with today’s session, and when we’re done, we make dinner reservations for this weekend.”

   You’re so unprepared for that last part, your mouth falls open and your mind goes completely blank for way too long. Like a damned fish, you just stand there, staring at him while his hand still holds yours, gently prying your shirt from it before he motions for you to take your seat again.    Grateful to be guided, since you still can’t think for yourself, you follow his directions and before long, the exam is done and he’s helping you get dressed.

   From there, he shows you out into the gym where he meticulously instructs you on which exercises to do and how often, making you swear not to overdo them.    And you might be imagining it, but you feel like he jumps on any excuse to touch you, holding your waist to make sure your core musculature doesn’t move when it’s not supposed to, or physically redirecting your hips when you’ve unknowingly turned them, even though he could’ve just told you to correct it yourself.

   When you’re done for the day, he takes you back to the exam room where he makes a few notes about how the session went and what you’ve agreed on.

   “Again, no lifting hay, grain, or heavy buckets,” he reiterates for what has to be the tenth time, and you can’t help but roll your eyes at him.

   “I heard you the first nine times.”

   “And you’re still not gonna listen to me, are you?”

   “I live alone with two horses and two dogs, I make no promises, one way or the other.”

   “I’m just gonna have to tie you to the bed then,” he says without a hint of a joke in his voice, before he reaches for a calendar on his desk. “But, dinner first.    How does six o’clock on Friday sound?”

THE END

[stuckygeekevents]

Bucky Barnes Birthday

On March 10th, 1917, our favorite sergeant was born. This month, the Stucky Geek Events discord will wish him a happy birthday with a prompt challenge.

Just claim a prompt in the collection, and then go where the muse takes you!

AO3 collection:

Join the server to have all the informations!!