#Fic preview

[bcksbarnes]

you were given a mission: eliminate your target quickly. what you weren't told? your target is the very elusive, highly trained winter solider. that makes things a little bit harder. now you've found yourself back against the wall with his knife pressed to your throat and your gun to his chest. but there's a look in both of your eyes, one that says this won't end the way either of you planned.

𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇 𝐈𝐓 𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐍 - target!bucky barnes x assassin!reader

READ IT HERE

[blushweddinggowns]

Eddie was wide awake for the fourth night in a row while Steve’s voice streamed through the walls. Every passing second had his pathetic crush on the man dissolving more and more. The last bastion between Steve and Eddie telling him to fuck off. 

It took one last laugh for him to finally snap. He couldn’t take it for another second. He threw the covers back, marching out of his room to start pounding at Steve’s door.

He didn’t have to wait long. He could hear Steve scramble to open the door, tripping over himself before finally getting it open.

“What’s wrong?” Steve asked immediately, clearly concerned, “Are you okay?”

The reaction took Eddie aback. He didn’t- how did he not know what he was here for? 

Eddie barrelled right past it, his anger winning over his confusion, “Dude, you gotta shut the fuck up at night.”

Steve frowned at him, “What?”

“You gotta shut the fuck up at night,” Eddie repeated, crossing his arms over his chest. If he wanted to fight with him on this, Eddie was more than ready to play ball, “I can hear every goddamn word and I’m sick of it.”

Steve’s eyes widened, a blush crawling up his neck as he tried to stutter, “I-I-I didn’t-”

Whatever reaction Eddie had been expecting, it wasn’t this. But now that he started, he couldn’t stop. His brain refusing to catch up with the expression on Steve’s face, “And the showers at thee something? That’s gotta stop too. Can you not hear yourself? What’s your problem?”

“I-I didn’t think you could hear me!” Steve stuttered out, “I didn’t- oh god, you could hear everything?”

“Everything,” Eddie confirmed, his anger slowing down at Steve’s panic, “It’s not like I can recite your conversations but it’s enough to make sure I can’t fucking sleep.”

He could see Steve visibly relax at his words. Which was… suspicious. Maybe he should have been listening in at night instead of seething from exhaustion. 

Steve ran a hand through his hair, “I didn’t- I could never hear you! So I thought that you wouldn’t be able to hear me. I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah, so am I,” Eddie sighed, “What? You’ve never had shitty walls before?”

“Not for this price,” Steve shrugged, cringing at the look Eddie gave him, “Not that I’m complaining! You didn’t design the building.”

He looked sincere but Eddie’s lack of sleep had his filter evaporating. He pinched the bridge of his nose, hating that he was about to go full RA. But this wasn’t going to happen for another night, “So who keeps you up all night anyway?”

“It’s my job!” Steve rushed out to say, “And my best friend. She’s studying in France and we’re obsessed with each other. It’s the only time our schedules line up to talk. I didn’t even realize how loud I was being.” 

Great. Now Eddie was starting to feel bad. But he wasn’t ready to admit it yet, “You really didn’t know how loud the shower is? Don’t you hear that shit in the morning?”

Steve shrugged, “I’m a heavy sleeper.”

“Is your job like, sweat-inducing?” Eddie tried, “Or can a shower wait until before work?”

“The former,” Steve said quietly, shifting foot to foot, “It’s… a lot of movement.”

Eddie squinted at him, confused at what that could mean. Until it hit him. The cash, the late hours, his stupidly pretty face. The question spilled out of Eddie’s mouth before he could stop it, “You’re a stripper?”

Steve cringed at the wording, crossing his arms over his chest, “I’m a dancer.”

“At a strip club?”

“At a gay club,” Steve mumbled, clearly getting more uncomfortable by the second. 

Eddie didn’t notice. Too shocked at what he’d heard. He felt like his world had just been flipped on its head. Steve wasn’t supposed to- he wasn’t an option. Right?

“I didn’t think you were the gay for pay type,” Eddie said dumbly, cringing at the glare that earned him. Holy fuck he needed some sleep. Or a muzzle.

Steve stood a little straighter, his embarrassment replaced with an anger Eddie wasn’t prepared for, “First of all, I don’t fuck for money. Secondly, I’m not straight. I didn’t think that was something you’d have a problem with.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Eddie was fucking this up something fierce, gaping at Steve like a fish. He hadn’t been ready for him to turn the tables like this. He was supposed to be the dick here, not the other way around. 

Steve stared at him, clearly unimpressed with his lack of response, “Is that it? Because I’d like this conversation to be over now. Good night.”

from the first chapter of this fic (my holiday exchange fic! To be completed by the 14th deadline but I wanted to start posting whilst in the editing phase!)

also tag list for the official fic link! @faery-god @the-fatal-lozenge @nyeddleblog @my-love-of-books

(btw I only tagged who specifically asked for it because I don't wanna be annoying. But if you implied it and I missed you my bad! I'm just paranoid! Thank you everyone who has had an interest <3)

[inawickedlittletown]

WIP Wednesday

Thanks for the tag @ladyeyrewrites. Here's a little preview to the final chapter of Through The Darkness To The Dawn

Ravi was absolutely godsend and showed up with packing tape, coffee, and inexplicably a truck that apparently wasn’t his.

That morning, Evan had woken up determined. He had half a plan formed before they had even gotten out of bed. There were phone calls. Ravi first. Chim second. A text to Eddie. Tommy focused on making them breakfast so they had something in their stomachs to give them the energy for Evan’s plans. Then, they cleared out some space in Tommy’s garage and the next thing Tommy knew they were driving to Eddie’s house. Tommy just hoped that Eddie’s “okay” in return to Evan asking him to stay away from the house, actually resulted in Eddie not being there. 

As it turned out, Eddie had left. There was no one there when they arrived. 

The last time Tommy had been there, there had also been boxes stacked up everywhere in all the empty space. It was stranger to see boxes and also Evan’s stuff like it only half belonged there. His couch. His table. His bed. His dresser. All the parts of Evan’s life without a home. 

Ravi arrived a few minutes after Tommy had taken a walk around the place. He placed the coffee on the dining room table and wiggled his keys at them. 

“Borrowed a truck, thought that would make this faster. Where do we start?” Ravi asked. 

Tommy took a few gulps of the coffee Ravi handed him and looked to Evan who was frowning at the boxes that Eddie had packed up. 

A knock on the open door made them turn and then Chim appeared. “Oh, how early did you guys get here? Looks like you’re almost packed up, Buckaroo.” 

“I didn’t pack any of those,” Evan said. 

Tommy knew that Evan was itching to repack everything in the boxes and Tommy didn’t blame him. He hadn’t had to move anywhere in ages, but he’d helped more than enough people to know how stressful it was and Eddie had made this so much worse. It was one thing to pack up your own stuff unlabeled and something else to do it with someone else’s things. 

“Uh, who did?” Ravi asked, carefully. 

“Eddie,” Evan said practically through gritted teeth and then he turned and walked to the kitchen. They heard a cabinet open with a bang.

Tommy felt Ravi and Chim’s eyes go to him. 

NP tagging: @qwordavoider @xtarmanderx @cliophilyra

[deancasbigbang]

Title: Paging Doctor Novak

Author: Salamitsunami1

Artist: WitchyWorm

Rating: Explicit

Pairings: Dean/Cas, past Dean/Lisa, past Dean/Rhonda

Length: 40000

Warnings: Graphic and accurate depictions of medicine, medical emergencies, and medical procedures. Past unfaithful Dean. Minor character death

Tags: Rom-com, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Happy Ending, Hospital AU, Sexual Tension, Doctor Sexy M.D., Getting Together

Posting Date: October 31, 2024

Summary: Dean Winchester is many things — a nurse, an in-charge on the medical-surgical floor, and a big fan of the ladies. What he’s not is a commitment kind of guy, and he’s definitely not a night duty kind of guy. Things change when a hook-up-gone-wrong gets him lumped on night duty for an entire month, and to make matters worse, he’s been lumped on night duty with a brand new intern. As with all interns, Doctor Castiel Novak is cocky at best and dangerous at worst, but for some reason, and maybe it’s just the way his ass looks in those teal scrubs, Dean’s got a soft spot for the guy. Or a really hard one. Either way, it’s not long before Dean’s new roster is the least of his concerns; he wants that dorky doctor guy, and fuck, he wants him for real.

Excerpt: Being in charge, Dean’s job is simple — keep on top of any patients coming up from the ER or down from the OR, page the doctor when there’s a problem, and call the doctor when there’s an emergency. That’s how he ended up in Frank Devereaux’s room with the phone to his ear, and because the on-call doctor is almost always an intern this late at night, he’s willing to bet that whoever picks up isn’t gonna know Frank’s ass from his esophagus. “Hello?” “Hello?” Dean questions. “Is this the on-call doc or a Wendy’s?”  “This is Doctor Novak.” “Right. Well, this is Dean from med-surg. I’m calling about Frank Devereaux in bed two. He had a lap-chole yesterday, got back to the ward about six hours ago. His pain’s currently a nine out of ten, he’s just vomited up a whole lot of bile, and I’ve got a real bad feeling.” “Okay,” the intern says, like a question. “Would you like a consult?” Dean sighs wearily. “That’s why I called.” “Of course,” the intern says. “I’m on my way.” The phone call hasn’t exactly filled Dean with confidence, and it only gets worse when the intern stumbles onto the ward — his hair is all over the place, his stethoscope is hanging unevenly around his neck, he’s wearing these teal scrubs that are about a whole size too small and therefore clinging to every inch of him, and he’s wearing them with a pair of fucking Converse high-tops, of all things. All interns are cocky, that’s a given, but the cockiest of all is the surgical intern. Each and every year, guaranteed.  “Hello,” he says. “I’m looking for Dean.” Dean glances down at his own name tag. Unfortunately, it’s still right where he pinned it to his scrub top, so it seems the new intern might not even be able to read. In the interest of being nice, he forces a smile. “You found him.” “Oh. Hello, Dean,” the intern says. “I believe we spoke on the phone.” Dean only nods, waiting for the intern to introduce himself, but he does no such thing. No, this guy just stands there, he runs his fingers through his bedraggled hair, and so now there’s a smear of ink on his forehead where it’s rubbed against whatever’s written on his hand. Pointedly, Dean says, “And what did you say your name was again?” “I’m Doctor Novak.” Dean looks Doctor Novak up, down, then back up again. Taking him apart. He’s got bags under his eyes and cracks in his lips. Doctor or not, this guy’s a fucking mess.  “Well, doc,” Dean says, probably against his better judgment. “Frank’s this way.”

DCBB 2024 Posting Schedule

[katyawriteswhump]

wip weekend: new omega kitty cafe fic 🐈‍⬛

this little idea isn't set in the same universe as Love and other Catastrophes at the Omega Café.  i wanted to write more Omega kitty café fic, but didn’t want to disrupt the arc of the previous one… so i guess it’s an AU of that fic with a different set up. O!Steve owns the cafe, which is Comfort Omega focussed (he still wears the cat-boy ears ofc) and A!Eddie is his pastry supplier. i will try and get the first part up tomorrow...

🐈‍⬛💚🐈‍⬛💚🐈‍⬛💚🐈‍⬛💚

“Anything else I can do to help?” Eddie sidestepped a dainty afternoon tea table, as he headed back across the café.

“No, thanks. I’m good.” Steve snapped his chin up. He’d been fixating on the snug fit of Eddie’s ripped jeans, particularly around the crotch. “Um, Wayne always delivers to the other entrance. Will he be back tomorrow?”

“’Fraid not.” The Alpha sighed toward a fluffy purple rug, and his face twitched strangely. “He’s in hospital.”

Steve’s stomach dropped like a stone. “Shit! Is it serious?”

“Honestly, Honey? I dunno.”

Wayne. In hospital. Possibly seriously ill. Steve stared through Eddie like the Alpha had vanished. No, not Wayne. Not kind, ever-supportive Wayne…

“Christ, Steve, you look like you need a hug.”

Steve barely took in the words. His knees wobbled as dramatically as his lower lip. The Alpha approached, and Steve hunched in on himself, braced for… something. Instead, Eddie opened his arms, a respectful foot away, and the pull proved magnetic. Steve tumbled forward, strong Alpha arms banded around him, and he buried his face in Eddie’s t-shirt. His arms hugged around the Alpha’s neck like a crazy little spider-monkey scared of falling out of its tree.

“Hey, it’s all right, Sweetheart.” Eddie rubbed circles between Steve’s shoulder-blades. “Sorry I scared you. Listen, this is Wayne, huh? He’d be cut up if I told him you were upset, and… he’s gonna pull through, okay?”

Steve sniffled into Eddie’s solid chest. “I’m sorry. It was… kinda the last straw this morning. Running a business as an Omega is hard. Most people try to rip you off, trip you up, but n-not Wayne. N-never Wayne. He’s the best, and… and, I don’t feel so great this morning… and th-the m-mess with the coffee beans, and… Oh crap, I’m making this all about me. I’m such an unforgivable moron.”

“Hush, you’re good.” Eddie patiently soothed and rocked him, while Steve whimpered, and his inner voice sniped, What the fuck are you doing snivelling all over a stranger, and an Alpha one at that? “You know, you’re my last delivery. I really can stay and help sweep up those beans. What d’ya say, Kitty-cat?”

“Huh?”

Steve peeped up through the blur of his lashes. Eddie’s eyes were chocolate-cinnamon whirlpools that seemed to suck him in.

Kind eyes. Not something he ever expected in an Alpha. They were a little like Wayne’s.

“Steve? You want me to stay and help?”

Steve nodded vacantly. While his heart still bled for Wayne, the rest of his ditzy O-head senses were going crazy for pastries again. He inhaled a fruity hint of blueberry, mingled with still-warm all-butter pastry, apart from…

He plastered his wet face against the Alpha’s throat, snuffling and rooting around.

Oooooooh, that makes sense!

The irresistible smell was not the muffins, nor even the cinnamon swirls. The most sumptuous threads of fresh bakery goods radiated from Eddie’s scent gland.

Steve wallowed in it, all but chewed on it, while Eddie’s delicious musk fizzed and frothed to every corner of his lungs. Then a laugh rumbled from the Alpha’s chest: “You scenting me there, Kitty?”

“Shit!” Steve jumped away, sending a chair toppling, and sweeping his hair from his clammy brow. “Oh my God, I honestly don’t know what came over me. Christ! I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” He straightened the chair then his cat ears and started pacing, arms wrapped tight around himself. “I've been a comfort Omega since I was 19! I’ve never, ever, done anything inappropriate like that, and… and… I drooled on your t-shirt!”

“Relax, Steve.” Eddie’s squeeze of his shoulder stilled his feet and calmed him slightly. “Look, I reckon we both needed a hug this morning, and the hospital won’t let me see my uncle till noon. I can hang around, or do I give you some space?”

Wayne was Eddie’s uncle?

Steve gawked up at him, on the verge of losing his shit all over again. He’d been sobbing over Wayne, when it must be so much worse for Eddie. Whose kind, reassuring gaze captured Steve’s and held it. Another gentle squeeze, and Steve was okay again.

💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕

no pressure tag @wheneverfeasible 💕💕💕💕💕

my steddie fic on AO3 💕💕💕💕💕

[kentwvynes]

here's a preview for the fic i'm working on that was chosen in the poll the other day—

for a refresher, this is the one in which bruce tries to prove a point about clark's disguise by showing up to the daily planet wearing glasses, then gets mistaken for an intern

i don't have a title for it but i'm currently calling it the office siren bruce fic. enjoy!

~~~

Looking down both sides of the hallway to make sure the coast is clear, Clark slips into the copier room where a very frustrated Bruce— or Brian, should be say— is batting at the copier like a disturbed cat.

It would be an awful thing to do, bothering him at such a difficult time.

Clark approaches.

"'A pair of glasses is a ridiculous disguise, Clark.' 'It's only a matter of time before you're found out, Clark.' 'I could walk into the Daily Planet–'"

"Zip it, Kent," Bruce interrupts with a deadly glare, or what would be, were it not for the frames on his face. The glasses only serve to make the look more sultry than probably intended, and Clark briefly imagines misusing the copy machine before he remembers what he came in here for.

"Just saying," he says with a casual shrug. "Whenever you're ready to admit you're wrong–"

"I'm not. Clearly your coworkers are too busy to pay attention to their surroundings today."

Highly doubtful, Clark thinks. The thing about reporters is that they're incredibly perceptive, even under pressure. Last Election Day, when everyone was scrambling around the bull pen, Cat had the nerve to ridicule Clark for wearing the same tie three days in a row.

"And what's your excuse for Perry?" Clark asks. "You know, the guy who would definitely know your face, considering you met him a dozen times?"

Bruce hits a button on the copy machine. The thing beeps at him, but does nothing else. "Your boss is nearsighted, he never recognizes me until I tell him who I am anyway," Bruce explains as he stuffs paper into the wrong slot. "But it doesn't matter. Someone is bound to notice eventually."

Clark raises his eyebrows. "Exactly how long are you planning on keeping this up?"

"Until someone recognizes me."

Of course. Always so stubborn, his Bruce. "Right. Well good luck with that. Brian."

Bruce rolls his eyes, then presses another button on the copier. It beeps at him again. With a frustrated grunt, Bruce hits the button again and again, each press being received with a beep that's beginning to sound increasingly sassier, oddly enough. Clark watches on in amusement, horribly fond of the way Bruce scrunches his nose and stares down the machine like it's his mortal enemy. Just before Bruce reaches the point of throwing a chair at the thing, Clark reaches over and hits a different button on the copier. The evil machine finally complies.

When Bruce directs his glare at Clark for what must be the thirtieth time today, Clark simply smiles at him with a tilt of his head. "Double shot over ice."

Bruce blinks. "What?"

Clark's smile widens. "Interns take coffee orders."

With a wink and a click of his tongue, he turns to leave, tapping the doorframe on his way out. All the while, he can practically feel Bruce restraining himself from throwing one of his many concealed batarangs at the back of his head.

[themonkeycabal]

Fic: "Say Goood-Bye" Chapter 1

I have decided to share, here, the first chapter of the new fic "Say Good-Bye (to who I used to be)". I haven't written anything in ages and I'm feeling very insecure about it. I don't need pats on the back or anything, just tell me if it sucks or not. I feel like there's clunky bits -- either the beginning or the ending, I can't decide which.

And on that note, enjoy.

***

Paul Lewis stood on the artistically rustic deck of the pricy mountain resort. It was a lovely day, bright and vivid, the sun warm and the air refreshingly crisp. The view was pretty great, too.

The resort's sprawl of lodges, cabins, and sundry other outbuildings, were perched on the side of a hill that rolled up to a craggy, snow-capped peak. The view from the deck took in a broad valley with a white river rushing through it. Breaking up the dark green pine forests that blanketed the valley and crawled up the peaks, patches of birch and aspen trees were turning gold and vivid orange with the season. Across the river, beyond a scenic meadow, the valley gave way to another hilly rise up to another rugged and picturesque peak.

It was all very bucolic and pretty. Paul just wished it was peaceful. The main lodge behind him was absolutely crammed full of Perlmans and Marellis, gathered from the far-flung corners of the U.S. to attend the wedding of Marcia Marelli and Derek Young. The family had decided this wedding was the perfect excuse for a long over-due reunion. Those poor Youngs had no idea what they were stepping into.

Paul had no complaints about the Perlmans or Marellis; they were good people - with a couple of exceptions - and he had always felt warmly welcomed and included, but, by God, there were a lot of them. The two families had blended and expanded exponentially when Paul's sister-in-law, Jo, married Hugh Marelli. By the time Paul joined the family, they were well established as one giant, boisterous blob. And half of them hadn't even arrived yet! The place was going to be a madhouse for the next four days.

There was a sudden burst of noise - chatter, laughter, voices talking over voices - and then it dulled to a low murmur. He turned his head and watched his wife step on to the deck, pulling the lodge door shut behind her.

"Phew," she said, blowing a piece of hair out of her face. "And it hasn't even really begun. Just wait until the open bar opens. Hugh's going to have to take out a second mortgage to pay for it." Rebecca scanned her husband's face and narrowed her eyes consideringly. "How are you doing?"

"Oh, I'm fine," he said with a wave of his hand. "I just needed a minute of quiet to let my ears stop ringing."

"No kidding," she replied and leaned against the railing. "It's really gorgeous here. Darcy's due any minute or I'd say we should take a little walk."

"She called?"

"Yeah, she's reluctantly winding her way as we speak."

Paul smiled. Even coming from such a big family, Darcy did not really like the fuss. She was a bit of a Lewis like that. They weren't a small family, but they were tiny compared to the Perlman/Manelli mob. And, of course, you had to take into account the Stark family of two. Actually, that was just kind of sad; money didn't buy everything. Just as well she had the Perlman/Manelli/Lewis squads.

"And James?" Paul thew up finger quotes around the man's name.

James Buchanan "Bucky Freaking" Barnes was his daughter's partner and maybe boyfriend and she was bringing him to her cousin's wedding like he was just some guy. Like how she brought Steve Rogers home for Thanksgiving. That kid's life was unreal sometimes. But, they weren't supposed to call him Bucky because his status as a possibly wanted assassin was a little vague. Paul got the sense that nobody quite knew what to do with him. Anyway, best to not bring up that he was a hundred year-old super sniper.

So weird.

"Him, too." Rebecca laughed a little. "I can't wait to meet him. There's a weird sort of symmetry to Darcy knowing him, isn't there? Maybe symmetry isn't the right word," she mused, "but I find I'm not shocked they ended up partners."

"You expected the Greatest Generation brain-washed assassin?" Paul asked, a little skeptical.

"Bucky Barnes being alive was a shock," she clarified. "Bucky Barnes finding his way to Darcy? Feels like it was inevitable. Who, aside from Steve and Darcy, would understand him?"

Paul shrugged. "I guess."

"Besides," she continued, "according to Tony, Darcy has a nasty habit of collecting assassins."

"Not funny," he grumbled. Though it ended horribly, but he kind of understood Tony making an army of robots to protect his daughter (and the world, of course, or whatever). It was a conflicting sort of feeling, but it was the one point on which he and Tony always agreed - protect family. The destruction of Sokovia was terrible, but yeah, Paul got it.

Rebecca laughed at him again and rubbed a hand down his back. "Darcy doesn't need two dads grumpy about James. Let's give him a chance."

"Of course," he agreed easily enough, and despite some doubts, he did intend to give the man a chance. Darcy liked him; he should find out why. It wasn't easy to watch his little girl grow up, but she was a remarkable woman and he was proud of her. He trusted her to know what was best for her. Mostly. Still, Bucky Freaking Barnes?

The wall of noise rolled out of the lodge again, followed by the loud pronouncement, "Lafayette! We are here!"

"Darcy's arrived," Rebecca murmured with a smile an a shake of her head. She turned and held her arms out. "Are we taking on no-man's-land today?"

Darcy stepped into her mother's arms and gave her a good long hug. "Got to dig in first. And, you know, check in."

Letting go of Rebecca, Darcy turned to Paul and gave him his own long hug.

"Hey, baby girl," he murmured into her hair. "Missed you."

"Hi dad, I've missed you, too," she said back. Then gave him a smacking kiss on his cheek and stepped back.

Waving a hand, indicating the man hovering near her shoulder, Darcy introduced her partner, whatever that meant in her world. "Mom, dad, meet Bucky Barnes. Though, we're calling him James this weekend," she said. "Bucky, my mom Rebecca and my dad Paul."

Paul wasn't quite sure what he expected. Darcy had described Bucky as a little rough around the edges, and the word 'hobo' had been thrown around once or twice. But, the man before him looked like a nice, clean-cut fellow. His jaw was shaved, just a hint of a five o'clock shadow, his hair was trimmed short and tidy, and he was wearing a nice blue, cable-knit sweater and new jeans. He was tall, broad across the shoulders, but not Steve Rogers big. If he didn't know the guy was a hundred-something years-old, Paul would guess he was in his early 30s. Overall, except for the black glove on his left hand, he looked … normal.

"He decided he should look like a lawyer for the wedding," Darcy commented as Rebecca stepped forward to shake the man's hand.

"James, it's so nice to meet you," Rebecca greeted. "Ignore Darcy, I think you look very nice."

Darcy harrumphed. "I didn't say he didn't look nice."

"Mrs. Lewis, Darcy talks about you a lot, it's really nice to meet you, too," James replied, then gave Darcy a quick and narrow side-eyed glance. "She's always had a lot of opinions about my clothes. I mostly tune her out."

"Harsh," Darcy said, but she laughed anyway.

Bucky stepped up to Paul next, hand out. "Mr. Lewis, nice to meet you, sir."

"James. It's nice to have you here. It's always great to meet Darcy's friends." The other man's grasp was firm, but almost gentle, too, like he was being very aware of his own strength. Steve had been like that, careful in how he shook hands. And arm wrestled. God willing, James wouldn't be introduced to Lewis family dispute resolution this trip. He supposed it would come down to how well he and Sam got along.

Speaking of, Darcy was frowning, and asked, "Where's Sammy? Hiding from Aunt Edna's riveting account of her battle with lumbago?"

"He and Bryce went to explore the local town," Rebecca explained. "We weren't sure when you'd get in."

"Sorry," Darcy said with a shrug. "There was a problem with the concrete guys and then we got the wrong brick, and it was a whole thing for like three days. We got a late start."

Darcy was building something in New York. She said it was a bar, but Stark Industries was also involved, so Paul was sure it was a whole lot more than a local watering hole. Sometimes he wanted to know things, sometimes he didn't, but most times he wasn't sure if he did or didn't want to know.

"Well, you're here now and everybody's going to be so happy to see you," Rebecca told her.

"What's the plan for today?" Darcy asked.

"Nothing big," Paul put in. "The festivities don't start until tomorrow. But, we should go out for a family dinner tonight. Just us. And James, of course."

Bucky nodded from his spot at Darcy's side. He looked like a protective rottweiler. Interesting. "Sounds nice. Darce?"

"Yep," she agreed. "Let's go check in, and then you can hide while I brave the invasion."

The man snorted softly and shook his head. "I"m not hiding. You said you needed backup, I'm backup."

"You said I needed backup," she corrected him.

"Well, whatever," Bucky said, unbothered by the details. "I'm looking forward to meeting your grandmother."

Rebecca and Darcy gave him identical skeptical frowns. Paul sucked in his cheeks and looked up at the sky. He tried to stay neutral; nothing good came from getting in the middle of any Francine-related tussle. Or really a Francine-related anything. His mother-in-law was a walking landmine.

"That is such a lie," Darcy said finally. Then she gave Bucky a firm pat on the shoulder. "Okay, let's do this. Over the top, doughboy."

"I think you outrank me, so I'll let you lead the charge," Bucky told her with a smirk.

"I'm not impressed with your cowardice, Sergeant."

"I'd watch her," Rebecca put in, "she tried to court-martial a friend when she was eleven."

"Fourth Street was invading, we needed to shore up our defenses, and Becca was malingering. And whining. So much whining." She sighed dramatically. "Besides, she was always more of a frenemy."

"You tried to court-martial somebody when you were eleven?" Bucky asked, but he wasn't really asking. It was like he expected that, of course, Darcy tried to court martial somebody when she was in grade school. Clearly, he'd come to understand her well. Paul found that both comforting and discomfiting.

"Actually, I did court-martial her," Darcy said with an off-handed shrug. "And then we never spoke again."

"It was a kangaroo court," Rebecca laughed.

"I'll have you know," Darcy said with a superior sort of sniff, "that I stole Rhodey's UCMJ and I did it by the book! The literal book."

"Of course you did, sweetie."

Bucky was looking very amused by the whole thing. "You stole a copy of the Uniform Code of Military Justice?"

"Don't make it sound shady. I gave it back." She clapped her hands and started towards the door. "Now, it's time to storm the trenches."

"Why are we doing World War I today?" Paul asked, following along with Rebecca as they all headed back inside.

It was Bucky who answered with a wry twist to his lips. "Darce got the notion in her head that a family wedding was like trench warfare. It's been Verdun since Seattle."

Darcy opened the door and they were all smacked by the din. "It's not too late to call in artillery."

"Nah," Bucky said. "Bad terrain for artillery."

Darcy pouted at him then made a show of sniffing the air. "I smell brimstone."

"Oh stop," Rebecca chided as she shepherded her daughter inside. "You saw Ericka."

"What's an Ericka?" Darcy asked. "Oh, did you mean Satan's Handmaiden?"

"This is your mom's cousin?" Bucky asked, frowning like he was checking his memory for the list of potential hostiles.

"Yes," Rebecca confirmed. "And, Darcy, just stay away from her. No fights this weekend."

"I won't start anything," Darcy told her piously.

Paul laughed a little. She was so terrible at playing innocent. "But, you'll finish everything, won't you? How about we avoid getting to that point?"

"You're all determined to spoil my fun this weekend," Darcy said with a sigh as she stepped up to the check in counter.

***

[mynameismisty]

MINORS DNI.

⪩⪨ ME AND MY HUSBAND ⪩⪨

pairings: in-ho/frontman x wife!reader

warnings: mention of deaths, mention of violence, in-ho kinda being a manipulator

s/n: inspired by @angelseraphines gods and monsters fic<333

Fear.

That was all that filled your mind right now, after the first game— from what you thought was recreation of one of your favorite childhood games turning into a nightmare.

Problem was, you were only *watching*.

From the big screen in front of you, barely any lights in the room as it illuminated your features. You glance towards your husband, an unbothered look on his face like he's seen this numerous times to have grown numb to the sight.

The stacks of bodies that piled up near the shut entrance of the makeshit arena didn't help you get less queasy. You could feel something stirring in your stomach as your eyes refused to look away from the splatters of blood that adorned the game area's walls with every bullet that went through their heads.

You've known that this was his job for a long time now, when he told you what he did as the Frontman. It was after a big argument nearing the start of the games as you'd confronted him on why this business trip would take so long and why it was only on this specific time of the year. Why he'd leave you so lonely and why he would come back looking like he keeps losing bits of his humanity. Looking as if guilt was chipping away from the inside.

It led to the explanation, a cold hard one. He hugged you right after, switching up and telling you there was no other woman he'd want to be with. All your assumptions that he was cheating were wrong. But in some twisted way, you wanted it to be just cheating. And not the fact that your husband was responsible for the death of thousands if not millions.

Every night after that conversation, In-ho had grown more affectionate, more touchy and more initiating of intimacy but you declined. You felt like the cover of your dear husband unveiled itself, showing the ugly, non-empathic man underneath. It was like seeing the once sweet husband who you saw at the altar, eyes filled with tears as he kissed you with every fiber of being he had in his body— was now gone.

Dark circles adorned the under parts of his eyes, the lips that stretched into a wide smile whenever he saw you were now chapped, dry and tasted like bitter whiskey brands he buys.

Glancing at the liquor on the tray between you both, you think it must be a dream. As the screaming from the screen cause slight vibrations that make the liquid move ever so slightly. But your eyes focus, too much so that you feel dizzy seeing the liquor move round and round the glass bottle.

You felt sick, shutting your eyes while you tried to convince yourself this was all a dream. Even the ride to this secluded island seemed like a dream, with In-ho drugging you so that you pass out.

He claimed it was for you to not tell anyone else the route to the games.

A yell along with a cold sensation brings you back to your senses, looking at player 456, or as you've come to know— Gi-hun, screaming at the other players to freeze. You look down at your trembling hand on the arm rest, with your husband's laying stop of it and massaging your knuckles soothingly but it did little to help.

"This is why I told you never to interfere," His voice rings out, skinned of the warm, domestic tone and now a hollow feeling of coldness. This time, you knew he was right.

You should've never pried at all, maybe it'd all be fine if it really was just cheating.

You couldn't reply back, your voice too dry. You didn't want to look at him either. Not when we looked like the grim reaper, someone responsible for deaths of many. How many years has he been doing this? Five? Ten? Maybe even twenty? You forgot when the mysterious business trips started to happen.

"It was just concern." You hoarse.

"I don't need your concern, not when it comes to this."

"But it's not even about you anymore," Your voice was shaky. "It's about them. It's about them dying."

More people get shot as one of the purple-haired players push three players down to their deaths as they get shot. "They chose this. It is not my fault that they are the greedy ones."

"Seriously? That's what you chalk this up to? Jesus, In-ho," You laugh from the ridiculousness of it all. Your husband acting like a god, with the lives of people in his very hands.

Worst part is that he was. He was a god. In this island, he played the cards, he pulled the strings and he triggered the guns.

There wasn't a thing you could do for your darling husband to be back.

You hear an audible swallow from him, seeing him drink a shot of the left whiskey in the glass.

"I'm joining the games."

What?

"What?"

"I'm joining the games," He repeats. "Gi-hun needs to be stopped."

"What the hell are tou talking about, In-ho? Are you insane?"

"No." He says calmly, barely sparing a glance at you. "It's not enough to watch him play the hero."

"So you're going to play along? What the fuck is wrong with you? Alright, you're responsible for all their deaths but now you want to be shoved into a coffin next to them?"

You were seething with anger as you stand up. "You can't do this to me! Maybe I can forgive you for— for being this monster but I won't forgive you if you die in these games—"

"I'm not going to die in them." He chuckles. But it wasn't out of amusement or joy, it was more of a forced one. "If you don't want to see me anymore, I understand, you can leave."

Leave? As in seperate from him? Divorce? What the hell was he even talking about?

"I'll have the guards escort you back home on a boat."

In-ho did not look at you with love, nor with anger. He just gave you a look of acknowledgement and nodded solemnly.

Nothing was going through your mind but the echoing, hard footsteps through the room. That's all you can remember from the suppressed memory.

And now, it's been a few days. You have no idea whether In-ho is still alive or burnt to ashes by now. Maybe he's buried six feet underground out of respect for him as the boss.

All you're sure of is the growing baby inside your stomach when you tested positive before your husband left.

[sanjussence]

the lack of puppy binghe content in this fandom is genuinely shocking to me considering that bingpup is a real phenomenon and these two live in a porn world.

by god i must be the change i want to see in this world...

[covertbonezone]

Posted this on Twitter so might as well post it here too but preview of a different andrew-centric coffincest I am working on. It will be very, very dark.

⚰️🕊️ cw for descriptions of extreme violence

[heytheredelulu]

Full imagine is now out.

Not gonna lie, being on my period is inspiring some absolutely unhinged ideas.

For example:

He scoffs, his hand sliding up the soft flesh of your thigh until his fingertips brush the hem of your underwear.

“No. Baby, no.” You protest, bringing your hand down to stop him but his vibranium hand is faster, catching your wrist and pushing it away.

“Yes. Baby, yes.” He muses, slipping his index finger under the fabric and gently wrapping the string of your tampon around it.

“Bucky, that’s disgusting.” You hiss, frowning at him. “I’m on my period.”

He lets out a low, breathy chuckle as he slowly and carefully begins to tug. “It’s just blood, momma. You think me of all people would be bothered by blood?” He asks softly.

You pause, considering your answer but in your silence he continues. “Besides, wasn’t that part of the vows we exchanged in that sweet little church before God? To have and to hold and to fuck whenever I want?”

“That was not in our vows and you know it.”

“Hm, they weren’t? We should consider renewing those.” He replies with a crooked smirk as he pulls your tampon free, tossing it over the couch and into the waste bin with precision.

“I gotta be honest, baby girl. If the good lord hadn’t intended for me to fuck you everytime my cock was hard, he wouldn’t have blessed you with such a perfect little pussy.”

“Bucky..” you warn, sitting upright as he rises off the couch.

He shushes you, his large hands moving to unbuckle his belt as your eyes settle on the tented crotch of his jeans.

“If you think-“ He mumbles, pulling the leather through the silver buckle and unbuttoning his jeans with his thick fingers. “That I’m not going to bury myself balls deep inside my wife any and every chance I get- you are sorely mistaken.”

OKAY, I’M GONNA GO FINISH THIS FIC NOW. 🥵

💋Sj

[blushweddinggowns]

Eddie guessed that it was his own fault for waiting the last second to get a new one. He thought that he’d be able to wait it out. He was on the edge of graduating from his apprenticeship at the shop, so, so close to being able to afford the apartment completely on his own. But then his boss had to go and make it clear that nothing was happening until the New Year, a solid three months away.

His paycheck to paycheck life style wasn’t gonna cut it for that long. And that's how we found himself desperate enough to post a Craig’s list ad. What did he think was going to happen? That he’d get the creme of the crop? No. The only applicants he’d had were a chronic cigarette smoker who couldn’t wait to light up until after the apartment tour, a middle-aged guy who immediately told him that his ferrets free-roaming around the house was a non-negotiable, and some dude who wore polo shirts and looked like he fell out of a highschool rom-com. 

He should have chosen the smoker. But no, he had to go with the eye-candy. Despite the fact that he knew Steve would never look twice his way, even with the low odds that he even liked men. 

But he couldn’t help it. 

Eddie had been a failure when it came to romance ever since he moved out of his uncle’s place. Twenty-four years of conservative small town bullshit, all culminating into a completely lack of ability when it came to getting laid. Three more completely dedicated to making something of himself out in the city. He hadn’t been prepared to ward-off the model with the puppy dog eyes and the sob story of his last place flooding. 

Though in his defense, it wasn’t just from his extremely horny mind. Steve seemed polite enough when they first met. He was surprisingly sweet for someone openly wearing Ralph Lauren. So when he said that he could move in immediately, Eddie was sold. He didn’t even think to question Steve paying his first month of rent in cash. He was just relieved the worry about getting kicked out was officially gone. 

The first week had been fine enough. Eddie met a few of his friends who were helping him move in. It was a gaggle of twenty-one year olds, oddly enough.

“I was their babysitter,” Steve had sighed when Eddie asked about it, his eyes fond, “They got a little too attached. Now I’m an underage uncle for life.”

It was cute, another point towards Eddie’s slight pining. But then, Steve went back to work. 

Eddie didn’t care that he worked a night shift. He could understand that, tip-based work was pretty lucrative. He was pretty sure Steve was a bartender or something considering the crazy hours. He could handle a few bumps in the night while he got situated.

What Eddie couldn’t handle was Steve’s multi-hour long, middle of the night routine. He’d get home at three a.m. 

And yeah, maybe Eddie hadn’t been totally upfront about the downsides of this place when he got Steve to sign the sublet. Despite the price, their walls were paper thin. The advertised “soundproofing” of the place had only applied to hearing the neighbors. You could hear everything in this place, from the front door to their insanely loud showerhead. A fact that he assumed Steve would catch up on without Eddie having to act like an RA. 

With him and Gareth having basically the same schedule, Eddie had forgotten just how loud things could be. But Steve quickly gave him a reminder. Without fail, he’d hop into the shower first thing, the sound of the water pounding against the ceramic more than enough to wake Eddie up. Not to mention the singing. The good quality of his voice did not make up for the fact that it was tortuous at night. 

But it didn’t stop there. No, then he’d go to his room and talk for hours. Eddie had no fucking idea what kind of freak was sharing a five a.m. time table, but it was killing him. Whoever it was knew how to rile Steve up like no other, his laughter so clear through out the night that Eddie couldn’t focus on anything else. It was a lot, it was intense, and Eddie was losing his fucking mind. He tried to find time to talk to him about it, be civil about the whole thing. But when Eddie woke up Steve was dead to the world. When Eddie got home from work, Steve was already gone for his own. 

That’s how he found himself here. Wide awake for the fourth night in a row while Steve’s voice streamed through the walls. Every passing second had his pathetic crush on the man dissolving more and more. The last bastion between Steve and Eddie telling him to fuck off. 

an excerpt from my soon to be exchange fic. Of course I'm an extension needing bitch 😩😩😩

[darlingsugu]

nanami/reader fic preview

cw: older man/younger woman, boss!nanami

“I’m going to hell.” 

His entire body was hot, the confines of his clothes nearly suffocating as the heat bloomed to his cheeks, tongue lolling out as a deep groan escaped his throat. There’s something intoxicating about the way he seems to crumble to his knees in response to your touch, his eyes heavy and glossy as he breathes heavily, lips shining with a mixture of his and your saliva. He was leaning back before he knew it, all caution to the wind as his mind fell onto a single track - you. His mind was screaming as his hands coast down the curves of your body, pulling you closer to his chest as the warning bells continue to ring in his head. 

“I’m going to be fired for this…” 

He can’t bring himself to care, however, when your nimble fingers are skirting down his chest and stopping at the top of his belt.

“To hell with it all.”

[amywritesthings]

Hotliners, you've been so good to me. Have a preview of the upcoming finale (ish) of PRESS FOUR FOR MORE OPTIONS, coming to you Thursday, July 25 🍻

[ae-azile]

Untitled Fadel/Style Fic Preview: Post 1x07

Style meant it when he said he deserved to die at Fadel’s hands. He never wanted any of this to happen. He could have told Fadel that he never personally spoke to the cop and didn't even know about Kant being coerced into becoming an informant or Fadel being a hitman until after they started dating. He could say that he simply agreed to seduce Fadel in exchange for a car.

Somehow, that sounds just as bad. And if he puts all the blame on Kant, that makes him more of a snitch. Style never even wanted to be a snitch.

“I really do love you,” Style says to him, keeping his eyes on the road, “Even when you point your gun at me, my heart flutters in my chest-”

“Shut up,” Fadel says, pressing the gun further into his side.

Style rolls his eyes at the order. As if Fadel would shoot him when he's the one in control of the car.

“I can't be quiet on car rides,” Style says, “It makes them go by too slowly. The music is great, but we already established that we have different tastes. Let's talk-”

“Style-”

“Fadel,” Style counters, “I’m bored. Let's talk.”

“I'm not going to talk to some fucking snitch.”

Style groans at that, “Whatever you tell me will die with me! You’ll make sure of that!”

“No.”

Apparently, Style will just have to deal with Fadel’s decision, so he focuses on the road until sunset. It's only when they are running on fumes that he pulls over.

“Did I say you could stop?” Fadel asks as Style pulls into the parking lot of a fuel station.

“I'm sorry,” Style says, hopping out, “I didn't realize your car runs on psychological, emotional, and sexual tension! You should have told me you were this environmentally friendly.”

“Get back in the car.”

“I'm serious. I'm proud of you,” Style says as he pulls his card out. He is a gentleman, after all. He is going to pay for everything on this impromptu trip, “Regular, right? Some people think they are pampering their car by getting a higher quality than they need. It's truly unnecessary. Please tell me you're not one of those people.”

Fadel says nothing. Maybe he is that kind of person and is just embarrassed. Style won't call his boyfriend out on it.

“I got you,” Style says with a grin, “You just relax!”

“Do not use your card.”

Style lets out a scoff, “I am a gentleman! I want to pay, I mean it-”

“So that your location can be tracked through your purchases?” Fadel asks suspiciously.

Oh. Style truly didn't think of that. This is another reason he loves Fadel. He's smart.

“Well, then how else am I supposed to take care of you?” Style asks, “I mean it, Fadel! I am a mechanic! Masculine and tough. A true man! It’s in my nature to take charge-”

“I have cash,” Fadel says, getting out as well, “Walk into the store. I am right behind you. Don’t think of doing anything stupid to try and get away from me.”

“That would be stupid because that's the last thing I want to do,” Style says, putting a hand on his hip. Despite this being the honest truth, Fadel looks unimpressed and continues to look that way until they pay in cash and go back to the car. Then, Fadel gets back in the passenger seat so that Style can take control as every higher being in existence intended. He presses Regular Unleaded, lifts the nozzle, and inserts it into the jeep. He then flicks the lever so it will automatically fill the tank and walks over and rests his arms on the rolled down window before smiling at Fadel adoringly. Because that's what he truly feels. Adoration and love, even now.

Maybe especially now.

“I really do love you,” Style says gently, “I'm sorry if my initially uninformed involvement in spying on you broke your heart and made you think otherwise. This is why I wanted you to tell me about your real career yourself! I wanted to help you out of whatever life you found yourself in! We could have run away together. Fled the country. I think Japan would have been good. I could work for Toyota there. You think they’d hire me?”

Fadel still says nothing. He's a man of such few words. Then again, Style likes that. If Fadel talked as much as he did, they would be interrupting each other all the time. He wishes Fadel would talk a little more though. Share things with him. Be vulnerable with him. Fadel might need a good cry. Once that thought enters his brain, Style knows it to be true. Maybe that should be his mission, to get Fadel to have a cathartic sob-fest where Style comforts him and tries his absolute best not to crack jokes.

“I think they would hire me,” Style continues, “Pa, too. I would need to bring him with us. He really likes you, you know! He likes you better than any other guy I’ve dated and he has happened to cross paths with. I mean…it's not hard. I’ve dated a couple of assholes. But he recognizes a good person when he sees one. He even told me he approved of you and wanted you around more often. He thinks you're a good influence and that you balance me out.”

In response, Fadel points the gun at Style’s face. Style smiles and kisses the tip of it sweetly. It's only then that Fadel jerks the gun back and looks at Style as if he has lost it.

He has lost it. For Fadel. This hiccup isn't going to get in the way of what he feels. He was afraid when he woke up by the pool, but now he has come to a decision. He's spending this trip with three goals in mind.

1. Find Kant - preferably not dead or seriously injured - and ensure he makes it home safe.

2. Find Bison and talk him down. He's pretty sure Bison is more dangerous than Fadel is. His prettiness and petite stature are both incredibly disarming and work in his favor. Style respects it.

3. Make it clear to Fadel that Style is unconditionally and irrevocably in love with him, like Bella was in love with Edward in Twilight. Their relationship probably isn't even as toxic as theirs. There is no creepy, Italian vampire council or ninety year age gap, although Fadel may currently thirst for his blood. But that doesn't matter. If Bella and Edward can overcome all those things and magically conceive a child, then Style and Fadel can too.

“Why are you just staring at me? Why did you kiss my gun? What is wrong with you?”

Style snaps out of his dreamy thoughts and ambitions as he meets Fadel’s glare.

“I was just thinking of us magically conceiving a baby.”

Fadel’s glare turns into a bewildered, slightly disturbed gawk. He's warming up to him again. Style is sure of it.

[dragonpyre]

Never done a fic preview before but HERE I GO. Fic in question being this one where Jason, upon being resurrected, believes himself to be a clone of the real Jason Todd (btw, totally @oifaaa's fault)

“I, uh.” Jason swallowed hard against the lump in his throat, heart beating wildly under his breastbone. Why did this have to be so hard? He’d never even met this man! Just had memories from a dead boy. He didn’t want to say what came next. He didn’t want to ruin that one glimmer of elatement that had blossomed in the man before him. But it wasn’t fair not to. To let him believe what stood before him was what he’d lost when it wasn’t. Jason was nothing more than a gross mockery of this family's grief. And they didn’t deserve that. Swallowing again, he forced the condemning words out his mouth. “I think someone stole his body,” he choked out. “And they used it to make a clone.” Alfred’s face had gone white as a sheet. “And how would you know this?” “Because I’m that clone.”