#Sight and Sound magazine | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

steddie-as-they-come · 6 months

Text

Steve's pinning his polaroids up on his wall when his new roommate walks in.

Steve's immediate thought is oh, I'm gonna hate this guy.

Shaggy hair, leather jacket, rings glinting off his fingers, electric guitar slung over his back. Hot as hell, but compared to Steve's polos and perfectly coiffed hair, they could not be more different.

The guy looks like he had the same thought. His shoulders slump as he takes in Steve's appearance.

A man comes in behind his roommate, toting a suitcase full of clothes. "Oh, are you Eddie's roommate?" he says to Steve, who shakes himself out of his thoughts.

"Yes, I am." he says politely. "I'm Steve Harrington."

The man sets down the suitcase. "Wayne Munson." he offers, shaking Steve's hand. "I'm Eddie's uncle."

He nudges Eddie forward, who lets out an almost inaudible groan. "Eddie." he says snippily, shaking Steve's hand.

This'll be a fun year, Steve thinks.

They don't talk. Steve didn't think he was going to be best friends with whoever he got saddled with, but he thought they could at least be civil to each other. Their room is split down the middle. Eddie's half is absolutely covered in posters and music and cutouts of magazines. Steve's is...almost as blank as his room back home.

He misses the shitheads.

No one can ever tell them that. They'll get even more insufferable.

Once or twice, when Steve comes back from a class, he'll catch Eddie peering at Steve's pictures, but he’ll jump away before Steve can call him out on it. It's awful. Steve misses Robin.

It takes him a horribly long amount of time to stop flinching awake at every little sound. He'd stored his nailbat under his bed, out of sight of Eddie, but every time someone yells in the hallway or shouts in the room next door, Steve startles awake, already grabbing his bat. Luckily, Eddie sleeps like the dead, because Steve's not sure he'd be able to explain the weapon without breaking his NDA.

It's three A.M., early November, when there's a knock on their door. Steve isn't asleep yet, so he stands and answers it.

Eight people pile in, talking in hushed whispers. They slam into him, knocking him over.

In the middle of the hug, Steve counts his kids. It's Dustin, nestled against his side, then Lucas, El, and Will under his arm, Max draped over his back, Erica leaning into his shoulder, and Mike on the very outskirts of the group. He pulls them all in tighter, and they all yelp and squawk at him.

"Let us go, Steve!" Erica says, annoyed.

"Nope." Steve says. "You came to find me at three in the morning, you can tolerate a hug."

"Shoo, move." another voice says, and all the kids part like the sea. Robin pushes her way through the group and hugs him tightly. "I don't know how you do it." she says to Steve. "Driving all these nerds around, it's exhausting."

He buries his face in her hair. "Missed you, Robbie." he mumbles.

She leans her head against his. "Missed you too, dingus."

Steve pulls back. "You got your license!"

"I did!" Robin jingles her keys happily.

Eddie sits up, and everyone in the room freezes. "Wha's happenin'?" he slurs sleepily. Then he registers all the people in the room. "Whoa, what the fuck?"

Steve stands up, brushing himself off. "I'm sorry, man, I didn't know they were coming." He shoots a glare at the group, who looks appropriately cowed. Minus Dustin. Steve can now see whose idea this was.

Eddie swings out of bed. "No, it's- wait, are these the kids from your polaroids?"

"Yeah," Steve says. "Dustin, Mike, Lucas, Will, El, Max, Erica, and this is my best friend Robin."

"Awww, you have polaroids of us?" Max teases over his shoulder. "That's sweet."

Steve reaches behind him and tussles her hair, shoving her gently. "Shut up, shithead."

"Your room is cool." Mike says. "Not Steve's side. But this part is cool!"

Steve glares at Mike, but Eddie grins big. "Thanks! I'm Eddie Munson." He shakes Mike's hand.

"Is that a DnD poster?" Will says. "That's amazing!"

"It certainly is!" Eddie says. "I used to DM back in high school. Played a bit too."

The nerdier section of the group reacts appropriately, oohing and ahhing, while Max and Erica just roll their eyes and nudge each other.

Steve hesitates. “I know these guys don’t really do anything on Saturday afternoons, and I think they’ve been wanting to start another campaign. Would you mind if they come up, maybe every weekend, and you can…” he doesn’t know enough about DnD “…run a game for them?”

Eddie looks amused. “You mean DM a campaign?”

“Yeah, that.” It’s an olive branch that Steve’s offering.

Eddie takes it. “Well, how can I turn that down? Sheepies of the Harrington flock, how would you like to join a new campaign?”

“I’ll keep the rest of you occupied,” Steve mutters as the guys (and El) start talking excitedly. “Max, Rob, you guys wanna find the closest arcade and set some new high scores?”

“Only one person will be setting high scores.” Max says, gesturing to herself, but she looks excited at the prospect.

Steve lets Eddie and the kids talk for a couple more minutes, then claps his hands. “Okay, it is three in the morning and I have a nine A.M. class tomorrow SO! I have enough blankets for all of you to sleep on the floor if Eddie doesn’t mind-“ Eddie shrugs. “Or Rob can drive you back home.”

Steve looks around and Robin is already in his bed, cuddled up like the blanket hog she is. “Okay, well, sleepover here it is then.”

He whisks out his ungodly amount of throw blankets (courtesy of Joyce’s knitting spree) and the kids get together in their usual movie-night-at-Steve’s cuddle position.

Will’s got his head on Mike’s shoulder, Lucas next to Mike, Max leaning on Lucas, El’s head in Max’s lap and her legs thrown over Dustin’s lap, and Erica with her back against Dustin’s shoulder. Sometimes Robin and Steve are wedged into the pile somewhere, but just as often they’re tangled up under six different blankets across the room, which is why Steve whispers “Scoot over, dumbass,” as he climbs into bed next to Robin.

Eddie watches them assume their positions with an expression of what could be awe on his face. “When I saw those pictures,” he whispered, “I thought they were like your siblings? Or maybe old pictures of your friends. I didn’t think you were a soccer mom.”

Steve glares at him, but unlike earlier in the year, there’s no heat behind it. “Hope you like coparenting then, because these guys need to be watched 24/7 or they’ll run off and start the apocalypse.”

Eddie laughs like it’s a joke. To him it is. He hops back into bed. “Goodnight, weird little family.”

The kids murmur a collective sleepy goodnight, and Steve shuts his eyes.

It’s the most relaxed he’s felt since he moved in.

part two!

#based on the running joke between me and my roommate that my robotics kids are gonna break into my dorm room #one of them just got his license and im now even more worried #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #college au #pre relationship

4K notes · View notes

rileyslibrary · 1 month

Text

The elderly lady who owns the convenience store in Simon’s neighbourhood needs help with a faulty fridge. You tag along with Simon and discover more about him than you ever expected.

A/N: Fluff. Cosy read.

———————————————————————

“It’s right there,” Simon says, pointing down the street. “Just need to take care of something quickly.”

You follow his outstretched arm to a convenience store nestled on the corner. Furrowing your brows, you glance back at the street you had just walked down, spotting Simon’s house. It’s very close, you think to yourself. Maybe a three-minute walk away.

That’s weird. You’ve taken that same road to and from Simon’s house many times, yet this is the first time you’ve noticed the store.

Turning your attention back, you look closer at your destination. No wonder you never paid much attention to it. The store seems old and rather inconspicuous, blending into its surroundings seamlessly. Everything is understated, from the building to its decor—if you could even call it that. To the left of the entrance, there’s a stand of old magazines, and on the right, a table with two chairs catches your eye. You glance up at the sign above the entrance.

“Mary Mart,” you read aloud.

“That’s right,” Simon confirms, opening the door and triggering a bell to jingle. “Mary should be inside.”

He holds the door open for you, yet his gaze remains fixed on something inside the store. You step in and follow his line of sight to a lady holding a newspaper up to her face. That must be Mary, you presume.

“You alright, Mary?” Simon asks softly.

Yup, that’s definitely her. The newspaper covers most of Mary’s petite frame as she sits behind the counter. She seems so absorbed by her reading that she didn’t hear you come in.

Simon sighs and shakes his head. He gently taps the back of the newspaper to get her attention. Mary lowers the paper to her nose, and her face lights up immediately at the sight of Simon.

“Didn’t see you there!” Mary shouts, lowering the newspaper to the counter. “You alright, my dear?”

“Yes, Mary,” he murmurs, “neither did you see nor hear us.”

“What?” Mary asks, letting go of the newspaper and cupping her ear.

Simon taps his own ear, indicating that Mary needs to adjust her earpiece. Mary’s eyes widen, and she quickly follows Simon’s lead, turning her earpiece on. She gives him a nod.

“Better now?” Simon asks.

“Much, much better,” Mary confirms, then turns to you with a broader smile. “And who do we have here?”

You politely nod, introducing yourself to Mary, but Simon interjects before you say much.

“So tell me, Mary,” He says, glancing towards the back of the store where the fridges are, “which one’s acting up?”

“Oh, I can’t remember, dear, but it’s hard to miss it,” Mary replies, sighing. “It’s the one with the towels underneath. Keeps dripping water.”

Simon nods, his gaze still focused on the fridges. He begins heading towards the back of the store, and you instinctively follow behind him.

“How lovely of you, Simon,” Mary’s voice sounds from behind you. “Bringing me some company while you take care of that fridge.”

You stop in your tracks, and Simon does, too. Point taken, Mary. You glance towards Simon, and he gives you a nod.

“She’s harmless,” he whispers, brushing your hair back. “And a pretty nice lady.”

“Don’t be long.” You whisper back. “We still need to go get some breakfast.”

Simon nods and continues to the back of the store. With a sigh, you return to the counter where Mary is and settle into a nearby chair.

“Anything newsworthy?” You ask.

“Nothing much, dear,” Mary replies, adjusting her newspaper. “The weather’s terrible, the economy’s getting worse, and people won’t stop killing each other.”

“Oh...” you murmur, “yeah, that’s bad.”

“Well, at least Boots has 20% off on all moisturizers,” she announces, slightly more enthusiastically than one might expect for moisturizers. She picks a pair of scissors from under the counter and starts snipping the voucher.

With Mary on a mission to get that 20% off of that newspaper, you take the opportunity to peek at Simon. He’s kneeling in front of the fridge at the back of the store, focused on the appliance. Occasionally, his brow slightly furrows as he inspects the faulty machine. Then he pauses, nods, and grabs tools or shifts his position to get a better look at it. You, on the other hand, have no idea what he’s doing, nor do you care. You are hungry and caffeine-deprived. You’re pretty sure Simon feels the same way.

Meanwhile, Mary has finished cutting through the voucher and returned to her reading. She often flips through the pages and snaps the newspaper to straighten it and remove wrinkles. Sometimes, she hums, acknowledging her current read. Other times, she clicks her tongue disapprovingly at whatever news she comes across.

And you? Well, you’re bored out of your mind, so you begin scanning the shelves and displays, taking in the assortment of merchandise neatly arranged throughout the store. Your eyes briefly pause on various items—a stack of magazines, a display of snacks, a row of household essentials—before finally settling on an old photograph hanging behind Mary.

In the photograph, a young man wearing a military uniform stands confidently. He appears to be in his late twenties and sports a well-kept moustache. Rather than looking straight ahead, his gaze seems to be directed right behind you. He looks confident. Strong. He feels present, even if he’s not here.

“Handsome, huh?” Mary asks, peering over her glasses before turning towards the picture behind her. “That’s my Walter right there.”

You clear your throat and nod. “Very handsome indeed,” you confirm. “Is he your husband?”

“Was,” Mary corrects with a wistful smile, her eyes drifting back to you. “My very first and last one.”

“Which war?” you ask, gesturing towards his uniform.

“You mean which war he served in or which war he died in?”

“Both,” you shrug.

“Served in too many,” she says proudly, lowering her gaze to her newspaper. “But the war my Walter lost had no guns or weapons.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

Mary looks up from her newspaper, meeting your eyes with a tilt of her head and a warm smile.

“Coffee?” she offers but doesn’t let you respond. She has already turned her back to you, brewing a fresh pot.

“No, thank you,” you reply. “We intend to grab some on our way to breakf-”

“I don’t think Simon will finish anytime soon, dear,” she interjects.

“Then yes, please,” you reply, then mouth a silent ‘shit’ to yourself so that Mary doesn’t hear you. You peek once more at the back of the store where Simon is.

“He’s handsome as well, isn’t he?” Mary states, with her back still turned towards you.

You blush at Mary’s observation and look down at the gum assortment in front of the counter. “Yes,” you agree, nodding with a smile. “Yes, he is.”

“Met at the base?” She asks, pouring you a cup of coffee.

“You know where we work?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“It takes one to know one, dear,” she says, turning towards you and handing you a cup of coffee. “Milk? Sugar?”

“No, thanks,” you reply. “So you also served in the military?”

Mary’s expression shifts, her face lighting up as she lifts her index finger.

“Serve!” she exclaims, “Silly me; I forgot to serve the biscuits!”

She retrieves a plate covered with tin foil from below the counter and uncovers it, pushing the platter towards you. You politely decline, thanking her for the offer. But Mary insists.

“I made them myself,” she tells you warmly.

“And I’m sure they taste lovely, but-”

“Take the biscuit,” Mary commands sternly, yet still smiling.

You look up at her, and without looking back at the plate, you take a biscuit. You don’t know which one you picked, what flavour it is, or if there are any allergens in it. Mary’s assertiveness is enough to make you pop it right into your mouth.

Her smile widens. “Good?” she asks.

The biscuit is indeed good. Very good. But even if it weren’t, you wouldn’t dare say otherwise—not only out of respect for Mary’s age but also because something tells you she might have more experience than the convenience store owner she portrays herself to be.

“They are amazing, Mary,” you reply and swallow.

“Simon likes those too,” she states proudly. “I often bring some over when I bake them.”

“So you live nearby?” You ask, swallowing another bite of the biscuit.

“I’m his landlord,” Mary reveals, nudging the plate of biscuits closer to you, “help yourself to another.”

You oblige and take another biscuit, and Mary continues once you take a bite.

“So,” she begins, blowing the steam off her coffee, “I’ve seen you plenty of times in my neighbourhood.”

“I, um,” you lift one shoulder and idly pick up a pack of chewing gum from the assortment in front of you. “I do come by often.”

“I know,” she replies, sipping her coffee. “You’ve been passing by my store a lot lately.”

You subtly turn your head towards Simon’s direction, letting your hair fall to the side of your face to conceal your blushing cheeks from Mary’s view. Yet she doesn’t seem to let go.

“He’s a good lad,” Mary states. Always there when neighbours need him, ready to lend a hand.”

“Indeed, he’s very good with his hands.” You reply.

“You know best, my dear,” Mary remarks, smirking.

“I meant with fixing things!” You say, widening your eyes. “He’s good with his hands when it comes to fixing things!”

Mary chuckles knowingly. “He’s also quite popular with the ladies—both the single and the taken ones,” she continues.

“Oh, is he now?” You respond in a high-pitched voice, narrowing your eyes. You turn your body towards Mary, placing the chewing gum package back in its original position.

“Yes,” she confirms, leaning over the counter. “Simon never rejects the attention, being such a good-looking lad, but at the same time, he never reciprocates.”

“How do you know he doesn’t reciprocate?”

“Oh, you’d be impressed what people say in front of an old lady who, allegedly, forgets to switch her earpiece on.” She says, winking at you.

“So, women flirt with him, huh?”

Mary throws her head back and chuckles, flicking her wrist at you. “Oh please, my dear,” she says in between chuckles, “I would have practically done the same if I was fifty years younger and Walter wasn’t around.”

“And he doesn’t flirt back?” You ask.

“No, not really, but he used to be friendly with them.” She explains, tilting her head toward you. “And then something changed.”

You shift in your seat and lean forward. “What?” You ask, intrigued. “What changed?”

Mary leans closer, sliding the biscuit platter toward you.

“Mary, I should probably lay off the biscuits,” you say. “We’re supposed to be heading out for breakfast, remember?”

“Make it a brunch, dear, or whatever you young people call it nowadays,” she replies. “Simon won’t be fixing the fridge anytime soon.”

“How do you know?” you ask. “You just said he’s great at fixing things.”

“Not when there’s nothing wrong with the fridge in the first place.”

“What do you mean?” You ask, furrowing your brows.

“I detached the defrost drain to simulate water leakage,” she explains. “It’s an easy fix, but you can oversee it quite easily, especially when the fridge is as old as I am.”

“You tinkered with the fridge on purpose?” you ask, eyes wide with surprise. “Why?”

“Oh please,” she sighs, rolling her eyes, “I had to bring you both here somehow.”

You glance at the cookie platter. Understanding that you won’t get any more information from Mary unless you indulge, you grab another cookie and pop it into your mouth. Mary, the ‘insert-biscuit-here-to-continue’ lady, takes the cue and continues.

“And then, as I was saying, you began to visit more often,” she explains, glancing over at Simon. “And his reaction to all the attention shifted.”

“You need to elaborate a little bit more, Mary,” you press. “How exactly did it change?”

“Girlfriend!” she exclaims in a hushed tone, widening her eyes at you. “He says he has a girlfriend!”

You widen your eyes, just like her, and point at yourself. She nods and points back at you.

“And then there’s the toothbrush,” she continues. “He bought two! A green one and a pink one.”

“He gave me a pink toothbrush when I stayed over for the first time!” you whisper. “Said he’d bought it ages ago and forgotten about it!”

“He bought a pink toothbrush as a spare for himself?” She asks, and her eyes narrow. “Nonsense! It wasn’t too long ago, and I have the receipts.”

“You keep receipts for these things, Mary?”

“No, silly,” she shakes her head. “It’s for tax purposes.”

“Right, so, I’m the girlfriend apparently,” you murmur, massaging your temples. “But why are you telling me all this?”

“Simon isn’t much of a talker, dear,” Mary explains, her tone softening. “Not to mention the horrors he’s been through. Sometimes, you might even misunderstand him because of it. But I’ve known him for a long time. He’s like family to me. Sometimes, when words fail him, I feel the need to speak on his behalf.”

“So you’re looking out for him,” you conclude, slowly nodding.

“Like the child I never had,” Mary confirms with a warm smile, pouring another cup of coffee. “And I can see how much he cares about you. But he’s not always good at expressing it. That’s why I thought I’d give you a little hint.”

“Thank you, Mary,” you say. “I appreciate you looking out for us.”

“It’s my pleasure,” she says, handing you the extra coffee. “Now, how about you go over there and tell Simon to take a break? You can use the chairs outside while I go and reattach the defrost drain to the fridge.”

“Sure thing,” you reply and grab the coffee. “I just have one more question.”

“Go ahead,” she says.

“If Simon asks me what we’ve been talking about, what should I tell him?”

“Tell him I was rambling about the weather, the economy, and the 20% voucher from Boots,” she suggests, winking. “You’re a smart girl; that’s why he picked you. I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”

———————————————————————

#simon ghost riley x f!reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x female reader #simon ghost riley x y/n #simon ghost riley fic #simon ghost riley fluff #simon ghost riley imagine #simon ghost riley fanfiction #simon ghost riley #simon riley x female reader #simon riley x f!reader #simon riley fluff #simon riley x y/n #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley #call of duty #cod ghost

2K notes · View notes

ellemj · 2 months

Text

Breathe: Part 1

Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Two-Part Fic

Summary: Bucky hates the way you take unnecessary risks in the field, the way you're so mesmerizing and yet so hard to work with, and he especially hates the way you get on your knees for him during a dangerous mission. Finding out how pretty you look on your knees is the last thing he needs.

Warnings: profanity, enemies to lovers type vibe, Bucky being a moody yet protective little shit, teasing, prelude to smut

Word Count: 5.3k

A/N: I've been thinking on this one for weeks, working on it slowly but kept getting stuck with the dialogue. Happy to say that I was inspired tonight and finished enough of it to post for you guys 🖤

The handgun tucked into the waistband of your jeans, the black backpack with a few extra magazines and various pieces of tactical gear, and the determined look in your eyes all tell Bucky one thing. He has a very limited window of time to convince you not to do this, to get you to think rationally and not get yourself killed. He watches in silence as you zip up the backpack and drop it on the floor by the front door of the safehouse. There are so many ways he could choose to go about this, but he has no idea which method is going to get you to sit your ass down and stay out of the line of fire that you’re so set on heading into.

You’re kneeling down lacing up your boots when you feel Bucky’s stare. You dare to glance across the living area, taking in the sight of him on the couch. He sits there with his feet spread on the floor and his elbows resting on his knees. His leather-gloved hands are clasped in front of him, hiding both flesh and vibranium from your gaze. The way he’s staring at you is enough to make you question your entire poorly thought-out plan, enough to make you want to kick your boots off and follow the stand-down order you received from SHIELD less than an hour ago.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” You ask, narrowing your eyes at him, trying to use some form of telepathy to get him to stop.

“Why are you so set on doing this?” He responds with a question of his own. He leans back now, resting his back against the couch cushions. His eyes never leave you.

“We’ve worked on this for months. If we stand down, if we don’t pull this off tonight, we won’t ever get another chance.” You remind him, rising to your feet and lifting your backpack up to sling it over one shoulder. Bucky’s quick to push himself off of the couch and cross the room, coming to stand a foot in front of you. He reaches for the backpack strap on your shoulder but you dodge his outstretched arm with ease. A look of annoyance spreads over his features and he ends up planting one hand on his hip while the other moves up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“So, what’s your plan then, huh? Go out there alone and get yourself killed because you don’t know how to follow orders?” Bucky’s tone displays every bit of exasperation he’s feeling. This is why he doesn’t like being in the field with you. You’re unpredictable and dangerous, you do things your own way no matter what anyone says. He can’t stand it.

“That sounds about right, are you not okay with that?” You’re turning on your heel and gripping the door handle as the words leave your mouth. You’ve only tugged it open an inch when Bucky steps close behind you and flattens a gloved palm against the surface of the door, forcing it shut once more. He’s so close that his chest is brushing against your backpack and you can smell the faintest hint of his cologne. Your resolve crumbles more and more with every second that he stands this close to you. If he keeps this up, you’ll give in and let the target slip through right through your fingers.

“I’m not letting you leave.” His tone indicates that he’s most definitely not bluffing. He keeps his hand against the door, his chest grazing your backpack, and his vibranium fist clenched at his side. You’re still, holding your breath, as your eyes follow Bucky’s right hand. He slides it slowly down the door until the material of his glove is gliding over the back of your hand that still holds the door handle. The touch feels so intimate, so intentional, and yet, it’s pissing you off more than anything. You don’t fight against him when he pulls your hand away from the handle, letting it fall down to your side. You watch as he turns the lock with a metallic click.

Bucky thinks he’s won, he thinks he’s convinced you to put this insane plan aside. You didn’t swat his hand away when he touched yours, you didn’t even stop him when he locked the door. He’s feeling the tiniest bit of relief when you turn around in the small space that he’s given you between his body and the wooden door. He stands there looking down at you, noting the stormy look in your eyes and the palpable tension in the air.

“I’m going.” His eyes dart down to your lips as you speak in a quieter voice than before. “You can physically try to stop me, or you can go with me.” When he meets your gaze again, he imagines himself physically stopping you. He’s so much stronger, he has every advantage. He knows that you know that. But you also know that he won’t hurt you, you know that when presented with those two options, he’s going to take the latter.

That’s how you end up parking the car down the street from a bustling, overcrowded bar. As you step out of the driver’s seat and shut the door, eyeing a few people stepping out of the bar a hundred feet ahead, you come to the conclusion that you need to change up your look to fit in here. You tug your hair out of its ponytail and run your fingers through it as you step up onto the curb. Bucky’s shutting the passenger side door when he sees you mussing up your hair and putting on a bit of lip gloss. He surveys the sidewalk ahead and notices the small group of people standing outside of the bar talking and laughing, then he looks back to you. It’s almost laughable to him that you think you have to change a damn thing about the way you look right now. You could be wearing a trash bag and missing your shoes and you’d still probably end up with a roster of men to choose from by the time you leave this place. The two of you fall into step next to each other, heading for the entrance slowly.

“What’s our cover?” He asks lowly as you near a few bystanders on the sidewalk. You think for a second, knowing that whatever cover you choose is going to have to be good enough to get you to the office upstairs for at least a few minutes. All you need is the right moment to slip up the back stairs and find any piece of evidence with the target’s new alias on it. Just a name, it’s all you need here tonight. “Coworkers having a drink after work?”

You notice the way a woman in the group of bystanders ahead seems to be mesmerized by the super soldier who walks beside you. Something about the way she stares, with her mouth practically watering at the sight of him, does something to you.

“Take off your gloves.” You whisper, moving a little closer to him so your clothed arm brushes against his with each step you take.

“What?”

“Just this one.” You bump his gloved flesh hand with the side of your own, indicating that it’s the glove you want off. He shoots you a slightly confused sideways glance, but strips the glove off and shoves it in the pocket of his leather jacket. When he feels your arm push against the back of his own, and then the sensation of your warm palm meeting his softly, his fingers intertwine with yours as if it’s instinct, as if it’s second nature for him. You no longer have to answer his question about your covers.

The woman who had previously been ogling Bucky quickly averts her eyes when she notices the way he’s holding your hand. But she notices more than you do. She notices more than just his fingers intertwined with yours. She notices the way he turns his head and looks down at you with a softened gaze, with a look that would never have given away the fact that you’re merely colleagues. She looked away because she knew she couldn’t compete with you in his eyes.

When you’re past the group of people and nearing the door to the bar, you drop Bucky’s hand as you step forward and reach for the door, pressing his chest against your back, he reaches around you and grabs the handle first. He leans in close to you as he slowly tugs the door open.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” He whispers the question against your ear, letting his breath fan along the side of your face. You can almost feel his lips grazing the shell of your ear and it sends a shiver down your spine. You only nod in response, which leads to him opening the door for you fully and following you inside the bar.

Twenty minutes later, you find yourself in a dimly lit corner of the bar with your back against a brick accent wall and a glass in your right hand. More notably, Bucky finds himself caging you against that brick wall, with his still-gloved vibranium hand resting on the wall beside your head while he leans down and ghosts his nose and lips along your jawline, creating an image for you both. An image that says we’re in our own little world. The strategy has done two helpful things thus far: it’s made a good number of people avert their gaze due to the obvious public display of affection and it’s made for damn certain that no one would question the two of you making your way to the upstairs office for an activity that involves less clothing.

Bucky can’t quite wrap his head around what’s happening right now. You’re letting him press his lips against the skin of your neck, letting him trace your jawline with the tip of his nose, hell, you’re even letting him drag his teeth over your earlobe like you wouldn’t stop him if he decided to bite down on it to see what kind of noise you might make. He doesn’t know why he’s getting so lost in the meaningless actions, but he thinks it has something to do with your intoxicating scent, or maybe it’s the way your breaths come in a little quicker and your chest rises a little more, brushing against his, every time his lips graze over the newfound sweet spot beneath your ear. He’s actually grateful when you slide your free hand into the hair at the back of his head and tug him away from your neck. If you’d let him keep going, it might’ve affected the long-standing disdain he feels toward you. It might have.

“I think we can make it upstairs and search the office.” You say, slightly breathless as you try to bring yourself back down to earth. You’re peering over Bucky’s shoulder at the scene of the bar, still full and busy. No one will think anything of the two of you heading down the hall toward the restroom. No one will even notice when you waltz right past the restrooms and enter the door to the back stairwell instead. You feel Bucky’s flesh hand wrap around your fingers on your glass. He takes it from your hand just as you’re looking up into his blue eyes. “Why are you looking at me like that?” It’s the second time you’ve asked him that question tonight. You watch him closely as he takes the last sip of your drink, as if he doesn’t give a shit that your mouth has already been on the rim of the glass.

“Do you really think these lowlifes won’t shoot us on the spot if they catch us kissing upstairs? They won’t even care if we’re there for the intel or not, they won’t wait to find out.”

“I didn’t say we’d kiss.” You retort, letting your hand fall away from the back of his head. You rest your right palm against his chest and lean in close to him, putting distance between your back and the brick wall. You don’t pay attention to the way Bucky’s chest stops rising beneath your hand as your lips come unbearably close to his own. “We’ll do whatever we need to to sell it, to get out of here alive if we get caught up there.”

Bucky watches as you give him a gentle shove and start heading away from him, down the hall leading to the restrooms and stairwell door. He thinks about grabbing you by your hair and pulling you back, telling you that this is dangerous and that there’s a reason this mission was sidelined earlier in the evening. As he sets the empty glass on a nearby table and starts following after you, his mind puts its own spin on the grabbing-you-by-your-hair idea. You’re passing by the restroom doors when he envisions a few other activities that would involve your hair wrapped around his fist. He has to shake his head to clear out the untoward thoughts, mentally kicking himself for stooping so low. Where is his head at tonight?

Bucky had to use a bit of brute force to get the stairwell door open, and then he took on the role of a look-out while you carefully picked the lock to the office door. You’re on opposite sides of the room now, each of you searching through various filing cabinets and paper trails. Bucky’s starting to feel like the two of you are taking too much of a risk, spending too much time up here while being unable to find even a crumb of evidence. It isn’t until you move around to a desk against the back wall that you notice a small lockbox shoved beneath the piece of furniture.

“Over here.” You whisper, pulling the small metal box out and setting it on top of the desk. Bucky’s next to you in an instant, inspecting the box as you fiddle with the lock. “I can probably get into it, just listen for anyone on the stairs.”

The lockbox contained exactly what you needed and a little more. Instead of finding one new alias, you found two. You found two brand new passports with different fake names, but both with passport photos matching your target. Bingo. Bucky’s standing behind you, looking over your shoulder at the two passports. He reaches around you and plucks them from your hands, quickly using his phone to snap a picture of each before dropping them back in the box. You’re putting the lockbox back into place beneath the desk when you hear the sound of distant voices and the bottom stairwell door handle rattling. This would be about the time that your target’s security team is figuring out Bucky jammed the stairwell door back into place, rather than shutting it normally. He rightfully assumed it would make it harder for anyone to follow the two of you up here. Harder, but obviously not impossible. You feel adrenaline surge through your veins as you turn to face Bucky head-on, your eyes widening as he searches your expression for any indication of your next move. We’ll do whatever we need to to sell it. It’s as if your earlier words are echoing in the space between the two of you. One more second of looking into each other’s eyes seals it. Bucky’s sure he knows what you’re thinking. It’s why he tugs his shirt up a couple of inches and starts undoing his belt with nimble hands. It’s why he pushes a few items away from the surface of the desk to clear it off for you.

It’s why he looks so confused when you drop down to your knees at his feet.

“What are you doing?” He asks gruffly, his eyes darting from the still-closed door and then back to you. When his gaze settles on you, on the way you’re holding the perfect position with your knees on the floor and your ass resting on your feet, he feels something brewing inside of him. He feels something building low in his stomach when you tilt your chin up and look at him through your lashes, like getting on your knees for him is something you’d do any damn day of the week.

Fuck.

“Get up.” The words rush out of his mouth in a harsh whisper. He needs you to get up. He needs you to get up and stop looking up at him like you want something. He can’t handle seeing you like this. It’s fucking ruining him. You don’t make a single move to listen to his command, you don’t have any intention of getting up from where you sit on your knees.

Then, he groans. Bucky groans. It’s a smooth, low, rumbling sound that slips past his parted lips. It slips past his lips because the way your eyes are locked on his is giving him the most sinful thoughts, the most sinful feeling. He scrunches his eyes closed but it’s too late, he feels blood rushing to his cock, the velocity of the turbulent bloodflow aided by the super soldier serum that runs through his veins. His cock is fully erect before the bottom stairwell door has even opened yet. When Bucky opens his eyes again and dares to look down at the irresistible sight in front of him, the sound of the bottom stairwell door being forced open spurs him into action. He needs you on your feet and bent over the damn desk so you can pretend you’re using the office to fuck. It’s why he slides his flesh hand around the back of your head and grips your hair, fully intending to pull you up and push you over the edge of the desk himself.

The softest whimper escapes you as he tugs on your hair. As if it’s second-nature for you, your hands move to grip his thighs at the sensation spreading across your scalp. Bucky freezes with his fingers mixed in the soft locks of your hair and his eyes focused as he stares down at you. You fucking whimpered.

——

This is one of the rare moments where Bucky’s thankful for his vibranium arm, rather than resentful of the stark reminder of his past. His metal digits are wrapped around the top of the steering wheel as he guides the car down the highway, skillfully weaving in and out of traffic to put distance between the two of you and the bar. Normally, he’d be driving with his dominant right hand, but he knows that if he was doing that, you’d notice the way his knuckles are white with tension. So, Bucky drives with his vibranium hand on the wheel and his flesh hand resting on his thigh.

You’re, for the most part, blissfully unaware of the affect that you had on Bucky in the bar, of the affect that you continue to have on him now. As you sit in the passenger seat analyzing the pictures that Bucky snapped of the forged passports, you don’t notice his tense posture or clenched jaw, you don’t notice the tent in the front of his pants or the frustrated look on his face. Truthfully, even if you noticed any of those things, you wouldn’t question many of them. Being tense and frustrated is a normal state for the man.

“I’m glad we got his aliases, even if I’ll probably be benched for it.” You say softly, as you lock your phone and drop it in your lap. Bucky shifts in the driver’s seat in an attempt to get a bit more comfortable while still concealing the bulge in his pants the best he can. He hopes you’ll be benched. You’re always so damn reckless, going against orders no matter who they come from and risking your safety just because you have no regard for your own life. A moment of charged silence goes by before you start to wonder why Bucky hasn’t even offered an annoyed sigh in response. “This might be the first time I’ve ever gotten the silent treatment after getting on my knees for a guy.”

This time you notice the ticking muscle along the side of Bucky’s jaw. As more blood rushes to his cock, he wishes you hadn’t brought it up again. He also wishes you hadn’t made him imagine you being on your knees for anyone else, because that just pisses him off.

“Why was that your go-to move?” He asks suddenly. You’re still at least half an hour away from the safehouse you left earlier, so you’re glad he’s decided not to stick with the silent treatment.

“What? Getting on my knees?” Bucky nods in response, but keeps his eyes trained on the dark, winding road ahead.

“It seemed like the right thing to do.” You mumble, crossing your arms over your chest. It’s not like Bucky had made any move besides unbuckling his belt. What was he expecting you to do? Another moment of silence goes by before you decide to ask him. “What were you thinking?”

“Not the same thing you were thinking.”

“Clearly.” You huff. You steep in annoyance for a minute before resigning to dropping the issue entirely. If he hadn’t wanted you on your knees, he could’ve said more than the simple get up that he muttered as you were mere seconds away from being caught.

“I was going to bend you over the desk.”

“And you were pissed about me getting on my knees?” You let out a laugh and tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “Hypocrite.”

“My plan was more believable.” He mutters lowly, guiding the car into the left lane to move around a slower vehicle up ahead.

“You don’t think a girl would get on her knees for a guy in a secluded area of some bar?” He doesn’t respond. It calls his confidence into question and suddenly you find yourself studying him from the passenger seat. With every passing second that he feels your gaze coasting over him, he prays you don’t let your eyes linger on his lap for too long. He has to know that there’s probably a plethora of women that would do exactly that for him. Does he really think it’s that unrealistic? “The girl we saw outside of the bar on the way in would’ve done that for you.”

“What girl?” Bucky has no idea who you’re talking about. The only girl he was focused on outside of the bar was the one telling him to take off his glove so she could feel the skin of his hand. You scoff and roll your eyes.

“How do you even survive in the field with such shitty observational skills?” Bucky’s growing tired of hearing your voice. He pushes the gas pedal down with a little more force, speeding around the car on the right. “She was staring at you.”

As Bucky shifts his focus away from the argument that’s brewing between the two of you to getting back to the safehouse as swiftly as possible, he finds himself thinking about one single moment from tonight. When he tangled his hand in your hair and pulled on it, and instead of a reaction of pain or frustration on your end, all he got was your hands on his thighs and a sound of need, of want. You liked it. You liked it and he can’t figure out why that moment is burned into his brain. He wars within himself, telling himself to let it go, to bask in the tense silence for the rest of the drive. Bucky bites down on his bottom lip as he replays the moment, as he replays the sound in his head over and over. Refusing to let himself speak on the moment is what leads to trouble. It’s what leads to Bucky letting a deep breath pass between his lips, exhaling slowly as he decides to take a calculated risk.

Bucky’s eyes never leave the road as his right hand moves from its resting place on his thigh and reaches over toward you. Not a single word leaves his lips as his vibranium hand remains locked on the steering wheel and his flesh hand slides between your head and the headrest. You’re frozen in the passenger seat, your eyes fluttering closed as his palm presses firmly against the back of your head. It feels as if his fingers are moving in slow motion when he curls them against your scalp, grabbing a fistful of your hair. Bucky’s thumb lightly circles over the side of your head, sending tingles all the way down to your toes. You don’t have a second to ask yourself what the fuck is happening, why his hand is in your hair for the second time tonight, why your body is letting it happen. You don’t have the ability to form a single coherent thought when his grip tightens and he tugs on your hair, forcing your head to tilt upward. You don’t even have the ability to stop your lips from parting, to stop the sharp inhale that fills the silence in the car.

Bucky’s satisfied. Though his cock is hard as hell, straining painfully against the zipper of his jeans, he’s satisfied. He lets go of your hair as quickly as he first took hold of it, letting his hand move back to rest on his thigh.

“My shitty observational skills picked up on how much you enjoyed having your hair pulled earlier.” Still, you have no words. You squeeze your thighs together as Bucky moves around yet another slow car taking up the right lane. You take a moment to look over at him, but he doesn’t turn to meet your gaze. Ever the safe and efficient driver, Bucky keeps his focus on the road ahead. His face looks emotionless, stoic. His body language though tense and brooding, doesn’t give off an air of uneasiness. It isn’t until your gaze coasts down that you notice the hard-on hidden in the shadows of his lap.

“You liked pulling my hair, didn’t you?” He doesn’t respond. “You liked seeing me on my knees so much that you couldn’t stand the fact that it was fake. That’s why you wanted me to get up.” You accuse, watching him carefully. You see the way his jaw clenches again and you know you’re getting somewhere with him.

“Watch it, you’re starting to sound a little full of yourself.” He warns. He can feel your eyes on the side of his face, studying him as he maintains his composure.

“Oh, I’m sorry. You’d rather see me full of you, right?”

Bucky doesn’t give any thought to his decision to take the next exit. It’s as if a dark haze clouded his judgment when you said what you said, when you made him think about you being full of him. The air between you is silent as he makes a right turn at the end of the off-ramp and steers the car into the mostly empty parking lot of a supermarket. With tensions rising, you take a deep breath and think about how this might be your last night in the field with the grumpy super soldier who’s always been so hellbent on doing the opposite of everything you would do. You should be almost relieved that you’re going to be benched for a while, that you won’t have to deal with his attitude and authoritative tendencies. So, why do you feel a bit sad about it? Why do you feel like you’re losing something?

Bucky parks the car but stays seated, staring straight ahead at the darkened supermarket entrance.

“I hate working with you.” He says suddenly. His expression is unreadable as you study the side of his face, as he continues staring ahead.

“I—”

“Let me finish.” He cuts you off. His tone alone is effective in shutting you up, and you press your lips together. Bucky runs a hand through his hair and lets out a sigh before turning to meet your gaze. His eyes flit down to your lips briefly, so briefly that you think you might’ve imagined it. He wants them, your lips. He wants them in so many ways. On his own, on his skin, on his cock. He has to remind himself to focus. “I hate working with you. You do stupid shit, you take big risks, you don’t like to listen to anyone but yourself.”

Bucky’s eyes roam down to the exposed skin of your neck. He wants to kiss you there again, to drag his tongue along the column of your throat and make you tense up.

“After tonight, once Fury finds out you went against direct orders, you aren’t going to be in the field for a while.”

Bucky lets his gaze travel further down, coming to focus on your hands that rest in your lap. Such small hands, he thinks. He liked the way your palm felt against his when your fingers were intertwined earlier tonight. He liked it a little too much.

“I’m going to be able to breathe knowing you’re not out there doing everything you can to get yourself killed.”

His words set off a burning sensation in your chest. You feel your cheeks heating up, turning a soft shade of pink, as he looks into your eyes once again.

“I can’t fucking breathe when you do stupid shit. Do you know what that’s like? Not being able to breathe?” He questions. You swear you see his black pupils darken impossibly more, dilating to hide more of his blue irises. You swallow hard before slowly, shaking your head. “I would’ve thought you’d know what that’s like, with the way you got on your knees earlier.”

He can’t keep looking at you, not when you’re being so fucking obedient, keeping your mouth shut and listening to him say his piece. Bucky closes his eyes and leans back in his seat, pressing his head against the head rest and tilting his face up slightly. It’s quiet for a moment, but instead of the tension dissipating after he’s said what he needed to say, after he got it off of his chest, the air seems to be growing thicker, more electrically charged. He hears the soft sound of your seatbelt unbuckling and sliding away from your lap and chest. He hears the flutter of a few strands of your hair being tucked carefully behind your ear on one side.

When your right palm ghosts over his thigh, right above his knee, he doesn’t move a muscle. You tread carefully, watching his lack of a reaction as you press your palm flat against the fabric of his jeans and start dragging your hand slowly up his lower thigh. He takes a deep breath, but keeps his head tilted upward and his eyes closed. When your hand reaches his upper thigh, your fingertips brush along the bulge straining beneath his seatbelt.

Bucky’s clenching his jaw as you pull your hand away from him and press the release button on his seatbelt. You guide it away from his chest before using that same hand to trail down the front of his shirt. By hooking one finger in the belt looped through the waistband of his jeans, you’ve chosen your fate for this moment.

Bucky’s eyes snap open and he looks at you with a mix of frustration and pure lust.

“Show me what it’s like.” Your voice comes out in a tantalizing whisper as you drag the tip of your index finger along the ridge of his belt, looking up at him through your lashes.

“What what’s like?” He narrows his eyes at you. Bucky knows exactly where you’re going with this, exactly what you’re going to say next. But he’ll be damned if he doesn’t get to hear the words fall from your lips.

“Not being able to breathe.”

NEXT PART

TAG LIST:

@sunnyhummingbee @gyokujyn @jenniferpendragon @siciliano13 @ordelixx @crist1216 @twlkdead @claireelizabeth85 @charmedbysarge @blackhawkfanatic @kentokaze @eecummingsandgoings @nyashonality @h2oaffirmations @sadeyes61 @aka-tua-braindump @immortalfangirl @valenftcrush @andrometda @sillysillygoose444

#bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x you #the winter soldier #winter soldier

2K notes · View notes

signedkoko · 3 months

Text

Signed with Love - Overlords & Sins

What is this? - A valentines gift to my lovely readers! Its valentines/love letters from your favourites 🖤

Series Parts Hazbin Cast - Here! Helluva Cast - Here!

Dear to the dearest,

You've always got me running myself sappy, but I'd like to offer my hand to you this valentines.

You know how popular Ozzie's is on Valentines, so how about a nice spot for brunch and then we pick a song to perform together tonight? Just you and I on stage, surrounded by people who wish they had what we do~

Eagerly awaiting your reply,

Prince of Lust, and yours forever;

Asmodeus

Heya lovely!

I'm so fucking excited to be spending valentines with you this year, and I don't say it enough so here it is in writing!

Normally I throw a party but I don't know, I kinda rocked with the galentines dinner you suggested, I'm thinking we invite some of our closest and have a hell of a good night, yeah?

You're the only party that matters,

Your Queenie Bee🐝

Mi vida,

I think it's about time we get away from work and the girls, how about we take valentines off?

I've always wanted to show you some of the places I used to frequent, since you always ask it only seems fair. I'm sure you'll adore the cuisine, I miss it dearly.

I'll help you get ready before we leave,

C. Carmine

Sup hottie!

How about we ditch my valentines show and leave it to the performers to take care of shit? I much rather be with ya anyways.

Anything you want, just tell me. I'll take care of everything from there babe.

Love ya more than you know,

MAMMON

Sweetest darling,

I reckon its about time I follow my own advice and pursue the one I love this valentines.

We can take a break from everything and go sight seeing! I don't get away from the town much, but everything you tell me sounds exquisite. We can go somewhere with a nice tune and I can really show you how I used to swing!

What do you say?

Your Rosie

Querida cariño,

Theres no reason for me to ask what I already know, and I don't want to hear another valentines joke about my name.

I know work has kept me busy babe, but this Valentines its just you and I. We can laze around all you want or you can drag me wherever, I'll make sure we get in.

Like a moth to a flame, eh?

Val.

Heya gorgeous,

Ive got two outfits in our sizes that could use a little test drive around town this valentines.

Already booked the photographer, so I hope you'll come model with me for my end february magazine, yeah? If you do a good job we can do dinner and drinks after, though you've never disappointed me, dolly!

You know I love you, always have & will

Velvette

Hope you're doing well, angel

You always joke that I can't write for shit so heres proof. In fact, I'm here to ask you to be my valentine.

I already know its a yes anyway, so how about I let you in on the itinerary? I got breakfast at the local spot booked with live music, an afternoon just the two of us, and for dinner I have our main reservation and a backup in case you don't like it.

Romantic or what?

Owner & CEO of VoxTek, Beloved valentine of you, Vox

Greetings,

Tis with great pleasure that thou is still by thine side after such an overwhelming year.

We must beg thou has considered indulging such an old soul in an evening of romance. Perhaps thou would dare to consider looking upon their bed, for there lays a gift.

Yours affectionately and forevermore,

Authors Note - Who are you expecting a letter from? Who will you accept? I'd love to know! Heres to another part of the valentine sseries 🖤

1K notes · View notes

lisamarie-vee · 6 months

Text

#vintage magazine #sight and sound #film #1970s #george segal #elliott gould #california split

24 notes · View notes

lyssahumana · 2 years

Text

#Sight & Sound #cinema #magazines #David Bowie

172 notes · View notes

ponderingmoonlight · 4 months

Text

JJK men with a small-chested reader

Pairings: Toji x reader; Gojo x reader; Choso x reader; Nanami x reader; Sukuna x reader; Geto x reader

Word Count: 4,5k

Warnings: this is LONG so get seated; reader gets confronted with hate regarding small boobs so if that's not for you don't read, also this implies JJK men are into small boobs so if that triggers you don't read, smut mentioned in Toji's & Nanami's part, abusive ex relationship in Nanami's part, Gojo is a dick in Geto's part and in general I feel like this one isn't that great so sorry for all my Geto lovers out there I'm tired

Click here for the big-chested version

Toji Fushiguro

You can’t help but let yourself fall into his rough touch, enjoy the sensation of his body pressed against yours. How you ended up here? You couldn’t care less. Is it pretty bad to be minutes away from getting laid by your enemy? Maybe, but you don’t give a damn.

Until his hand yanks towards your breasts.

“N-No. Stop”, you whimper, pushing against his broad shoulders to get him off you.

“C’mon, what’s wrong babe? Don’t ya enjoy yourself?”, he purrs against your ear.

Oh god, just the sound of his deep voice lets your mind wander to places where it hasn’t been for ages, makes you arche your body towards him like a needy teenager.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

But just when he’s about to stretch his hand towards your chest again, you lift yourself off the couch so suddenly that you almost fall over. No, you just can’t do this.

Automatically, you cross your arms in front of your chest, eyes gazing down at the nothingness you hold. Since you can remember, you’ve got picked on for having small boobs. Oh, how desperately you waited throughout whole puberty for them to finally grow, how much you secretly begged for those delicious female curves you’ve seen all over media and anime. But every time you look into the mirror, you are greeted by basically nothing. If a man like Toji would see you like this. God, if he only touches your breast and realizes that your décolleté comes from nothing but a push up bra…

It’s impossible for a man like him to find a woman like you attractive. Why were you even stupid enough to consider a one-night stand with him, when looks are the only thing that really counts? If he sees you’ve been lying into his face, that you don’t look like those girls on magazines…

Would he make fun of you? The disappointed look on his face as soon as he unclips your bra would be too much to handle alone.

“I can’t do this. Sorry”, you mumble, fingers frantically straighten your clothes.

Just forget about what happened today. Get home, take off your bra and stare at the ceiling. You don’t need a man to satisfy your needs anyway…right?

He grabs you by your waist so suddenly that you aren’t even able to react when his other hand unclips your bra and pulls up your shirt.

You fail to breathe, glossy eyes staring into his unbothered face in sheer disbelief. Did that man just expose your whole chest within the blink of a second?

“Why are you actin’ all shy, huh? Those are some nice tits”, he speaks out with a sly grin.

“I…”

You are lost at words, lost at thoughts, lost at sight. This man is walking sex himself. Damn, he could probably pull any girl on this planet. But no, he decided to get into your apartment and he just said that…Your breasts look good?

“Fuck, I’ve been waiting all day for that”, he signs.

His usual so rough fingers cup your breasts gently, swallow them whole with ease. Toji’s eyes are completely fixated on the sensation between his fingertips, how your warm flesh feels against his palms.

“I thought you…you aren’t into…small boobs”, you moan, closing your embarrassed eyes to shield yourself from his intense stare.

“I’m a man of culture”, he comments.

Oh, you can tell he’s grinning like he always does. Slowly but surely everything seems to fade away. All the dumb comments about your body, all the times you looked into the mirror and blankly stared at your flat chest. No, everything that counts now is that the force of a man standing in front of you clearly enjoys your sight, that your boobs alone are enough bring a grown man onto his knees, to make him whimper against your heated skin and the bulge in his pants grow with every second.

“Fuck, I need ya”, he hisses.

Toji pully your top over your head before you’re even able to think straight. There he stands, his hand unzipping his pants in slow motion while you gaze up at him panting like a dog.

“I’ll show you how much I’m into you, babe…”

Gojo Satoru

You look yourself up and down in the mirror, mind raising. It’s your third date with none other than the Satoru Gojo. The men who turns women’s heads on a regular basis, the men who invited you into the most exquisite restaurant of the city, the man who even sent you a dress for the occasion. A jaw-dropping gorgeous black dress with a delicate waterfall neckline, just the right fit for a man like him.

But not with your flat chest. The fabric seems to hang on your body like a potato sack, filled by nothing but thin air. And because of the cursed deep back, you aren’t even able to wear a push up bra underneath. Fuck, what are you supposed to do? The more you stare at yourself in the mirror, the worse it seems to fit. Satoru chose this dress only for you. There’s absolutely no way in hell you’ll wear something else, that you disappoint him like that. But do you have another option?

You let yourself fall onto your bed, eyes darting to your phone. Shit, you have only 10 more minutes left before he gets her. How are you supposed to fix this? Will Satoru be disappointed? You never wore tight or unflattering clothes around him before, always hid your smaller chest well behind casual sweatshirts or push up bras. But this…You aren’t able to hide anything in this.

Will be there in 5. Can’t wait to see you in that dress <3

Oh god, you feel like throwing up when reading his message. Everything went so well between the both of you, so unproblematic and genuinely fine. But are you even good enough for Satoru Gojo when he’s surrounded by so many beautiful women? Your hands wander up your stomach, come to a stand on your chest. No, you definitely can’t keep up with Mei Mei and the others. Will he lose interest in you after tonight? Will his facial expression drop the second he lays eyes on you in that dress?

Your palms get sweaty, mind overwhelmed by all those venomous thoughts.

“Fuck, don’t cry”, you hiss to yourself, angrily blinking into the mirror.

The doorbell rings.

Your heart drops.

Shit.

Didn’t he say 10 minutes?

Your feet carry you to your front door automatically, the tall frame of none other than Satoru clearly visible outside. No, why is he here? You didn’t have enough time to think about a solution, didn’t even try on that sticky bra you’ve bought a few months ago-

He rings again. There is no way of out this now. Like in slow motion, your shaky hand presses down the door handle, exposes yourself further and further to Satoru.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost, (y/n)”, Satoru comments jokingly.

Hot tears slowly but surely start to take your sight while you stand there like an idiot, covering your chest with your arms. This will be the moment Satoru realizes you aren’t playing in his league, that he can do so much better. What was he thinking anyway, starting to date a girl like you?

“You look absolutely hot in that dress. Oh my god…”, he breathes out.

“Don’t lie to me”, you mumble.

No, you can’t take it. With a swift motion you turn yourself away from his gaze, away from his presence.

“What? I would never lie to you! Hey, are you cryin’? (y/n), look at me.”

Gently, he cups your face with both of his hands, forces you to get lost in the blue ocean of his eyes.

“I’m not doing justice to the dress you’ve gifted me”, you breathe out.

Satoru has to blink a few times, mind trying to process what the hell you are talking about. The minute you opened the door earlier, he was lost. You looked exactly how he imagined, so well-fitted into that black dress, your curves so delicious that it takes all his strength to keep his composure.

“You’re the hottest girl I’ve ever seen and I’m serious about that. Why would you think something so ridiculous? Look at your-“

“I’m flat”, you finally snap.

“Flat?”, he repeats in disbelief.

“Flat like a pancake. Flat like a board. I…I have nothing!”, you blurt out.

Satoru can’t believe his ears, has to stare at you in sheer disbelief for a moment. Is this why you’re crying, why you’re crossing your arms in front of your chest like that? Because you think that…your breasts are too small?

“C’mon, you can’t be serious about that.”

He desperately waits for a reaction, for a cute little giggle coming out of your mouth and this being nothing but a prank. But instead, you just stand there in silence and hide yourself even more.

“Okay, let me get that straight: You.Look.Gorgeous. I can’t stop fucking looking at you, that dress fits you so well and when I saw that neckline for the first time…I’m only saying this before you force me to, okay? I’m thirsting over you like a teenager, (y/n)! And I adore every inch of your body, I adore the way your tits look.”

“Stop”, you mumble, his words making shivers run down your spine.

“I won’t stop until you say it.”

“Say what?”, you question, confusion written on your face.

“Repeat after me: I have nice tits.”

Is he serious? You drop your arms to the side, completely bamboozled by the Satoru Gojo in front of you.

“Let’s do it, (y/n)!”

“I have…nice tits”, you breathe out.

“I can’t hear you”, he shouts.

Gently, he grabs your shoulders and shakes you a little. What the hell is going on right now? His smile seems contagious, makes the corners of your mouth turn upwards just the slightest bit.

“I have small tits”, you giggle out.

“NO!”, he screams.

“I have nice tits!”

“I have nice tits”, you shout back.

“Yes, now…Can I touch them?”

“Let’s get going, okay?”, you mutter, head red like a tomato.

Choso Kamo

“What are you doing, (y/n)?”

A high shriek escapes your lips when you look at Choso standing in the door. Fuck, what the hell is this guy doing here while you tried on that bikini you’ve bought earlier?

“Oh, that looks good”, he comments and nods towards your chest.

God, you feel like fainting. Out of all people, why does it have to be Choso standing there? And why do you feel so damn insecure all of the sudden? It’s not a secret to anyone at Jujutsu High that you have a huge crush on Yuji’s bigger brother, that you can’t take your eyes off him. And while you feel pretty comfortable in your own skin, there is this one thing that makes you trip over and over again…

Your breasts.

You didn’t even notice until your female friends began to comment on the size of your boobs when you changed for sport lessons.

“You look like a child, (y/n)!”

“Omg, are you sure that’s normal?”

“You’re a board with nipples…”

“I’m so sorry for you, (y/n)! After all, all boys are into big tits these days! Well, at least you have a good character.”

And still, you didn’t even care that much. But now, with Choso Kamo standing in front of you while you wear nothing but a bikini top instead of your oversized uniform, you feel trapped.

��Well, thanks I guess”, you mumble, cheeks heating up in an instant.

He steps a little closer, eyes narrowed. Oh god, when is this finally over?

“Why are you looking so uncomfortable?”

“Well, maybe because I’m half naked-“

“I can tell it’s not because of that. Are you insecure?”

Fuck, this man reads you like an open book without mercy. For an incarnated curse, he’s way too emphatic.

“I wouldn’t say it like that but…I mean, look at me.”

“Is it because your breasts are smaller than those of the other female members of Jujutsu High? This doesn’t seem like an issue to me at all, (y/n). After all, breasts are mostly made of adipose tissue. Depending on your fat storage and how your body-“

“Oh god, please stop right now”, you interrupt him.

May the ground swallow you whole and keep you. How on earth did you get into a serious talk about your small chest with none other than Choso Kamo? And why does he know all those things about how women’s breast work?

“You seem to know quite a lot about women’s boobs. Did you study them or something?”

Why does your heart suddenly feel so heavy? It shouldn’t bother you that he talked about those things as if he looks at other women’s tits on a regular basis. But…You fell for him because he seemed like a guy who doesn’t care about those things. Were you mistaken about him?

“Not at all! But I overheard you talking to that other woman about the size of your breast and that you don’t feel comfortable about them, so I did research about this topic.”

Oh. Your heart stops beating for a second, your mind going blank. He did research because he overheard your conversation with Shoko?

“You did that…for me?”

“You’re important to me and I don’t want you to feel sad about something minor like this, (y/n).”

You stare at him like an idiot, still only covered only by a bikini top while all he does his holding your gaze in silence.

“What I want to say is that…You are absolutely beautiful. And so are your breasts-”

“Okay, this is getting a little out of hand. Would you mind if I…Change into something a little more modest?”, you interrupt him before you lose your composure completely.

“Of course!”

Choso doesn’t move. Instead, he just stands there like before and looks at you.

“Would you…Get out so I can change?”

“Oh…Yes, of course.”

Nanami Kento

You can’t help but stare at him through the dim moonlight, hands wrapped around his neck. Oh, he sure feels good pressed against your body so tenderly, his breath caressing your cheek ever so slightly. Kento and you have been together for a few months now, taking things slow since your last relationship was like a trip to hell and back. And even though you are fully aware of the fact that Kento would never treat you badly, you still need time for certain things.

And these certain things contain him seeing you naked. Just one glance into the mirror is hard to bear, especially when it comes to your small chest. You simply hate the way they look, how they ruin every single outfit, how they make you look like a child. No matter what gorgeous gown you’re wearing, you never feel like a woman, like someone worth to be looked at. But still, Kento caresses every curve of your still dressed body carefully.

“You look absolutely stunning in moonlight, darling”, he hushes against your ear.

You love this man with all your heart. How he treats you with way more kindness than a single human would ever deserve, how he makes you feel good about yourself without even knowing. Kento Nanami picks up the pieces of your past and puts you back together like a complicated puzzle. Slowly and steady, step by step.

A whimper escapes your lips, the sensation of his fingertips brushing against your covered skin simply drives you insane. Oh, how much you adore that man, how much you admire him for making you feel so alive. Suddenly his plain touch doesn’t feel like enough anymore. You need him even closer, want to feel him even better.

“Please, take this off”, you mumble against his lips.

Kento stops in his tracks for a second, eyes staring at you intensively in your dark bedroom.

“Are you sure? I told you I can wait”, he reminds you gently while pulling a strand of hair behind your ear.

Are you sure? You didn’t let a man touch you after your ex, after all those nasty things he said about your body. Especially your small chest.

“Don’t you wanna get these things…y’know, fixed or something?”

“Leave your shirt on or I’ll turn off the light, these things turn me off...”

You hate how his stupid comments still haunt you even after all those years, despite the fact that you’re laying in the arms of none other than the epitome of a gentleman. Until today, you never allowed your boyfriend to take off your shirt, to even take a single glance in the direction of your exposed chest. But today feels different. With his eyes filled with nothing but affection, you finally feel ready.

“I don’t want you to wait. Please, take off my shirt”, you whisper into the night.

“Tell me to stop when you feel uncomfortable.”

You nod slightly, too occupied by the way his hands carefully wander down to the hem of your shirt, eyes fixated on yours. Your heartbeat picks up in an instant. Out of excitement, out of fear? You glance into his gleaming orbs that are filled with nothing but love. No, you don’t have to fear this man. But still…Will he like what he sees?

“You know I don’t have…I don’t have nice boobs. They are quite small…”, you suddenly blurt out.

“(y/n), you are the love of my life, my precious girlfriend. Every fiber of your being is way more than ‘nice’. I adore every inch of your gorgeous body”, he replies so softly that you feel like tearing up.

As if in slow motion he pulls up your shirt, reveals inch by inch of your naked skin until he pulls the fabric over your head.

You take a deep breath, try to read his face in the dim light. Is he disgusted, does he even look at you? Maybe he’s regretting his decision, maybe he finds you just as ugly as your ex did-

“You are so beautiful, I can’t take my eyes off you”, he hushes.

Kento Nanami stops your train of thoughts before you get lost in yourself, quiets the stinging voice of your ex-boyfriend inside your head.

Kento thinks you’re beautiful. Kento’s hand caresses your naked skin, gently cups your breast while he never fails to gaze at you.

“I love you, (y/n). In fact, I am the one lucky to have you. Thank you for putting your trust and love in me.”

“You…I love you so much, Kento.”

You can’t contain yourself any longer. Without hesitation, you pull your boyfriend’s face even closer, press your desperate lips against his. What a treasure he is, lifting you up without even realizing how much his words heal your soul.

If a man like Kento Nanami is able to love your small breasts than maybe, just maybe, you’ll start doing that as well.

Ryomen Sukuna

“There’s no way in hell”, you press out, groaning in scorching pain.

“Do you have a death wish or are you just dumb, woman? You know you’ll die if you don’t take off that uniform, right?”, Sukuna remarks dryly.

“I would rather die than taking off my shirt in front of…you”, you hiss through gritted teeth.

Sukuna can’t help but stare at you in sheer disbelief. Surprisingly enough, he decided to save your ass instead of using his time more efficiently. And now you’re laying in front of him, a gaping hole inside your chest, he offered to save your life.

And you, dumbass of the century, refuse to get saved by none other than the king of curses himself.

“What the hell is wrong with you? Do you really wish to die so badly?”

“I…I don’t want to die!”, you blurt out.

Fuck, how did you get yourself into that situation? Bad enough that you’ve got hit by that curse right into your chest, even worse that the king of curses himself appeared and wants to help you. But the worst thing is that you need to take your shirt off.

It is ridiculous and you know it. This is not the time to be insecure about your small tits. No, this is absolutely not the time to even think about shit like that. But the sheer thought of Ryomen Sukuna seeing your flat chest alone makes you rather die than letting that happen. No, the last thing you want is him making fun of you.

“Then why are you acting like a child? Hold still. You strange human, I should kill you right on the spot. Good for you I still have use for someone this skilled. You impressed me earlier.”

Under normal conditions, you’d feel some kind of pride over his words. But with death whispering in your ear and the stinging fact that his hands begin to bottom up your shirt….

You freak out.

“GET YOURSELF AWAY FROM ME!”, you scream pathetically, hands fighting so poorly against his that he catches your flying fists mid-air.

“Stop beating me before I’m losing it, brat”, he barks at you.

Just one more button. One more button and you’ll be completely exposed to him. The king of curses, seeing your small boobs.

“DON’T LOOK AT MY BOOBS!”

“What?”

He can’t believe his ears. This can’t be the reason why you pull up this fight. No, there’s absolutely no way in hell you’re acting like this because you’re ashamed of him seeing your breasts.

“Please…Don’t look at my boobs…”

The king of curses just stares at you emotionless.

“Who do you think you are to tell me what to do, woman?”

His gaze wanders right down to your bloody chest. You are rather flat chested, but oh you look delicious. Too delicious to take his eyes off you, too delicious to think about saving you. He never hunted after women, was never interested in all those big-chested females with their neck-line hanging to the ground. But you…This looks pleasant.

“Delightful”, he finally speaks out.

Too late for you to hear before your hand smacks roughly into his face.

“I SAID DON’T LOOK!”

“I SAID YOU LOOK DELIGHTFUL YOU LITTLE BITCH!”

“YOU…You what?”

Geto Suguru

Geto can’t help but stare at you, how your hips swing from side to side, how you wear your cute summer dress so easily. Not only the scorching heat of this summer day, but your sight as well make him feel light-headed.

“Staring again, Suguru?”, his best friend teases him in an instant.

“How could I not stare at her. She looks gorgeous in that dress”, he replies, not able to take his eyes off you.

“But she has no tits.”

You wish you didn’t hear those words leaving Satoru’s mouth, wish you could just giggle like a little girl and let your heart beat out of your chest because Suguru said you look gorgeous. But the second the meaning of his saying hits you, you stop in your tracks.

The stinging fact that your breasts are smaller than those of any other women at Jujutsu High and all those popular girls was always hard to bear for you. But with Suguru by your side, with his words sweeter than honey, you slowly but surely began to feel comfortable in your own skin again. Instead of oversized shirts, you started to wear dresses from time to time, bought the one you’re wearing right now with a slight neckline.

All that, only for your confidence to get crushed by that single comment.

You can’t contain yourself anymore. Without even trying to pretend you didn’t hear his venomous words, you turn on your heel and sprint down in the direction of your dorm. How stupid it was to even consider that a man like Suguru would actually like you back. After all, Satoru is his best friend, it’s clear that you look nothing like the girls they usually hang out with. Maybe your small chest isn’t enough for him…

Tears take your sight completely as you run straight to your room.

“(y/n), wait!”

No, not him. Not right now. Your heart almost drops to the floor when you hear his footsteps close behind you. If Suguru tries to cheer you up right now, you might break down completely.

“Hey, please wait for me.”

Gently, he grabs your wrist and spins you around.

“Let go of me”, you hiss, yanking your arm away out of instinct.

You don’t want to get touched by him, to even see him. God, you were really stupid enough to think that this man with the most tender eyes you’ve ever seen would actually like you back.

“Satoru fucked up with that comment. Hey, look at me. I know he made these comments before and I know you’ve had a hard time because of those stupid comments at school. But I’m here to tell you that I love you just the way you are, (y/n) …God, I love you with all my heart, I love you wearing those dresses, I love the way you move, I love the way you look. And it might sound totally weird, but I love your boobs. I’m…I’m obsessed with you.”

You have to blink a few times, try to process what just happened. Within a few minutes, you’ve heard your crush complimenting you, his friend insulting you for having small breasts and now Suguru is standing in front of you again, confessing his love for you and…your boobs?

“You don’t have to say those things to make me feel better”, you try to brush him off.

“I’m saying this because I mean it, (y/n). And I’ll kick his ass for saying something so stupid about you. When it comes to women, Satoru and I are the opposite of each other”, he explains briefly.

Oh, you are fully aware of the fact that Satoru Gojo hunts after every woman with cups bigger than your head. But something about the way Suguru stands in front of you, how his eyes literally beg you to believe him…

“I have enough of people judging me for something I can’t change”, you warn him.

“I don’t want to change a single hair on your body, (y/n).”

Slowly but surely, your eyes stop to burn in agony, your heart stops to ache, your body wakes up from its trance.

“So…you’re into small chested girls? Why am I supposed to believe this?”

Without wasting another minute Suguru steps forward, engulfs your body. And with one last glance into your widen eyes, he presses his lips against you’re the way he always imagined it.

“Is this proof enough?”

Tags: @arehzhera @ploylulla @tzubaki @beatrexworld @dazaisdick @hellkaiserinphoenix @lauv4chuuya @shadowfoxey @starlightanyaaa @sindela @kayleegomez @sunshine7queen @magalimachete @gatitam @idontknow1123 @creative1writings@sanicsmut @mynahx3 @sad-darksoul @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix @chuyasthighs0 @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @froufrousnowman @tomiokathedepresso @gojosrealwife @coffeeluvr96 @mahi-tamashi @weebotaku21 @chaoticwinnercupcake @lees-chaotic-brain @risuola @sugurulefttesticle @wordskeeper @baku2345 @polarbvnny @ruixrei @bam-bam-bam-bame-blog @lavenderdrxp @localhehecat @alicerhr @kayleegomez @belovedvamp@wifenanami @chilichopsticks @dlwlrmas-world @oikawarz @darkstarlight82 @yukiotacon @satoreo

Gorgeous divider by @saradika 🤍

1K notes · View notes