#had to try to keep things kind of organised in the post but MAN. I HAVE SO MANY FUCKING THOUGHTS ON THIS THING

[anotherdragon]

thinking about memories again.

The only sign that they ever existed is a book. A good amount of fans probably don't know who they are, they are never talked about, and almost every member of the server doesn't even know they exist.

This egg didn't have a life, and what little of existence they did have was miserable. They didn't have a name. They didn't have a family. They didn't get to live.

And what were their last words?

"Please know I was here. I was alive. I was somebody. I had hopes, I had ambitions, I had love that I was ready to give. I've accepted my fate. But I'm scared of being forgotten. This book gives me a chance to be remembered. Please don't forget me."

Their one wish was to not be forgotten. And they couldn't even get that.

[silaswritesthings]

What kind of name is ‘Hat guy’?

Summary: You’re stressing over exams and Hat guy offers his assistance. There’s small banter here and there.

Starring: Wanderer/Scaramouche/Hat guy (whatever you prefer)

Genre: I hate college (this should be a genre), fluff

Warnings: Edited ONCE (I have an exam on Thursday 🧍‍♀️)

Author’s note: I’m alive. I haven’t posted in ages and I just needed to write something so I sat down and wrote 800 words in two hours when I can’t finish a 2k word essay for school in two weeks… (The curse of creativity.) Another thing, if you wish ti send asks please do so! I’ve run out of creative juices and well that’s it. I won’t guarantee masterpieces because well… college and all, but i’ll try my best to answer all of them because my brain is drying up and I need inspiration! likes, comments, reblogs and new followers will always be appreciated!

Word count: Roughly 800 words

It’s not enough.

It’s never enough.

You leaned against the tree behind you, the wind flicking your research papers in every direction as you stared hopelessly at the grass.

It had been a month since you had started your recent semester and with a big exam coming up, at first, you were prepared for it mentally. How hard could it be? So many people have been able to keep up with the academia’s standards and you rarely hear people complain about being unable to keep up with their work but archons, this was hard…

“I truly am incapable.” You mumbled to yourself.

“You are.” A voice tuned in from right beside you. In a moment of panic, you glanced to the side only to come face to face with a familiar pair of feet.

What? There was nothing odd about being acquainted with Hat Guy’s feet- well, to be more specific, his shoes. Most people in your class had already been subjected to being under said shoes many times. The man in question described it to you as a showcase of his superiority.

In all honesty, his research papers were enough to make the sages sweat so what other show of superiority would he need beyond that?

You’ve never had the courage to ask. You’ve never had the courage to approach him about anything, which was odd considering how often you two spoke with each other. Every conversation begun with him. At times he’d prod and poke at you as a way of getting more than just affirmative phrases, such as ‘mhm’, ‘yes’ and ‘I agree’, from you. It was quite endearing.

That is a lie.

It was very endearing, but now was not the time to dwell on that.

The hat guy, you used to call him ‘Wanderer’ because you were sane unlike everyone else who could call him ‘hat guy’ without a glimmer of hesitation. What kind of name is ’Hat guy’ anyway? Despite this, you never failed to notice the way his gaze would soften whenever he was addressed by that name. Was he insane too? Was this insanity contagious? It seemed so, because whenever you used his odd name he would smile. It was barely there but it was not something you could miss.

The rustling of papers gave you the motivation to glance up at him, and would you look at that. He was watching you with bemusement, as if you tried to convince him that he was made out of cotton wool or something.

“Even a child knows not to allow their work to be blown away so carelessly by the wind.” He spoke as he organised your notes. The wind that caused your papers to struggle in his hold made his hair dance atop his head and over his forehead.

“Unfortunately that topic isn’t in my exam syllabus.”

He scoffed before taking a seat beside you and handing you your notes. Wordlessly, you took the papers and filed them away in your folder.

“It’s not very clear.”

You blinked in surprise before turning to look at Wanderer (You’d use that name just this once…) who had his gaze fixed on the cloud-filled sky. “What?”

“Your research design. It needs to be revised a bit, especially the part concerning your data analytics.” His eyes turned to you, leaving you thoughtless.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” You both looked ahead of you at the same time, silence settling between you as the wind blew around you, picking up leaves as it went by.

Hat guy sighed. “You’re much harder to talk to than me, and that’s saying a lot since I actively avoid people.”

“I’m not very good at starting conversations.”

“You’re not good at maintaining them either.”

“I’ve heard.”

Your gaze remained on the sky, it was grey. Bleak. Depressing.

Should cloudy days come with a trigger warning for academics?

During your internal struggle, Hat guy’s gaze had shifted to yours and you were so lost in your own world that he should have found it pathetic. Oh but he did, the problem was he wished your thoughts lingered on him instead.

He frowned as he gazed to the side and cleared his throat. This caught your attention but when you looked at him, his face was hidden from your view when he spoke. “I could help you with your work, if you’d like.”

Your eyes widened. “Why?”

The wind was relentless as it continued to blow, his hair dancing with the breeze as the corner of his lips shifted upwards a bit.

“I like to show off.”

You smiled. You were still upset about your shortcomings but having someone be there for you for this one moment made the weight on your shoulders drift away with the wind.

Why was the wind so persistent today anyways?

[theredofoctober]

MANNA- CHAPTER SIXTEEN: CHAMPAGNE

Dark!Hannibal Lecter x Reader x Dark!Will Graham AU fic

TW for eating disorders, noncon, abuse, Daddy kink, suicidal ideation

Read after the cut

-

“Hannibal’s hosting a soirée tonight,” you say to Will as you stand lining your eyes with a black pencil before your bedroom mirror. “Did you know about it?”

Will sits in a nearby chair, looking at you from behind his glasses. Having come fresh from a lecture he has not quite shaken off the mask with which he conducts public business, working through a measure of whiskey clutched in one restless hand with an eagerness to cut through to comfort again.

You think of method actors unable to ease out of an accent learned and feel a tail of ice switch your shoulder blades.

This man you'd once thought a victim struck down and made wary of society. Now you see in this slow adjustment of self that while this is not entirely untrue, Will dresses himself in shying gestures so as to keep the world at a purposeful length from him.

You wonder if his spectacles are fitted with prescription lenses, or if they’re formed of ordinary glass. Perhaps his Virginian hermitage is equally constructed, as much to discourage him from seeking dangerous connections as to ward unexpected company from his doorstep.

This man suspires for touch, for love; through each exchange you sense the pull of it, and the ground-heel stubbornness of his restraint.

“Hannibal’s been organising some kind of event for weeks,” Will says, abruptly. “He does this, now and then.”

“Aren’t you coming?” you ask, pausing in your work to glance at his reflection.

Will laughs shortly, the sound scoured rough with scorn.

“It’s not really my scene. Champagne and social climbers— I’d rather stay home with my dogs.”

You envision Will in a sea of wriggling animals, the iron fortification of his false self come down in open laughter, and you see something in this obscure pretender to like beyond superficial things.

“I wish you were coming,” you say, and again Will laughs aloud.

“Don’t kiss my ass.”

“I’m serious. I need you. Hannibal says he wants me to go downstairs for a couple of hours tonight.”

“And what did you say?” asks Will, watching you finish the adornment of cosmetics with the interest of having never before witnessed the process in motion.

“I said, ‘no thanks, Dad,'" you admit. "But here I am, getting ready to go anyway. I figured I’ve pissed Hannibal off too much lately to turn him down. Did he tell you what I did?”

"He didn’t go into the details. All he said was that you stepped out of line, and that he had to do something about it.”

He sets his whiskey glass on the floor, an act that would likely have your older jailer cringing in pernickety affront.

“You insist on butting heads with Hannibal,” Will continues, “even when you don’t like where you end up. Or maybe you do.”

You whirl round, brandishing an indignant hand in his direction.

“I do not!”

Will takes off his glasses, his gaze beneath both cynical and toying. You recall his fingers investigating your arousal post-spanking and look away again, itching beneath three tiers of lavender and ebony lace.

“I’m not trying to embarrass you,” says Will. “I’m trying to figure you out.”

“Yeah, well,” you retort. “I’ll bet you’ve done that already. If you can get inside the Lover’s head then mine shouldn’t be a problem.”

Moth like, Will’s eyelids flutter towards the window’s fading light.

“What’s wrong?” you ask. “Still haven’t cracked the case?”

“Not yet. The investigation into the factories and the vendors using them is going way too slowly to be viable. Jack thinks the dolls were purchased years ago, likely under a false name. We can’t rely on that to find the killer. He planned this more than a decade in advance.

“At this point he’s either waiting for the perfect chance to abduct his true target or he’s lingering to enjoy the thought of her being afraid. It could be both. He’s a cruel lover.”

Will blinks, and his brows close together in a frown.

“You’re changing the subject, Little One.”

You jolt to hear the moniker in full, and now with an accusatory edge.

Twitching, you say, “Yeah, I am. ‘Cause it’s embarrassing.”

“Hannibal doesn’t think so.”

Shoving your makeup bag aside you round on Will again, unimpressed. There is something of his old jealousy under the amusement, the stirring of a sleeping and cantankerous god. His attraction to you still does not change that he seethes to think of you and Hannibal alone together, of the nights he and his friend had once committed only to the other.

Will ultimately relishes that you were degraded, a consolation in his displeasure.

He brings his chair towards you, eager to chase the conversation further with his proximity.

“Hannibal knows it’s embarrassing,” you say. “That’s kind of the point. You’re both so smug about this.”

Will reaches out to pull you gently into his lap.

“Maybe just a little," he says, and you squirm against him, suppressing the silt of disgust in learning to win him this way, for wanting the affirmation of his desire upright against you.

Will adjusts you to straddle his thigh instead, a knowing participant in your game.

You turn on his knee, putting your arms about his neck to look into his face, close enough to see your silhouette in the rock pools of blown pupils.

“Will,” you say. “Do you think Hannibal loves me?”

Will starts, all the humour absenting itself from him at once.

“Do you want him to?” he asks, quite incredulous.

You dither over your answer, which is no longer as distinct as it once was. Hannibal’s adoration is a statement of lasting security, yet to be the darling of a man willing to orchestrate a killing in the name of therapy is a thought like venom in the blood; should you concede you too will die in all but physical form.

Aloud, you only say, “I could ask you the same thing, Daddy. What if Hannibal felt that way about you? Would you like it?”

Before Will can confirm, deny, or deflect with some pithy comment your bedroom door opens, and the moment is knocked through like a stoned pane of glass.

“Sorry to be abrupt,” says Hannibal, mildly. “Staff will be arriving soon to help prepare for my guests. If you’re not staying, Will, then you may wish to make yourself scarce.”

The younger man rises from his seat with a haste that surely does not go unnoticed by the other.

“Sure,” says Will. “I’ve got papers to grade, anyway. I’ll try and make the time to visit tomorrow.”

Your captors exchange glances, Hannibal with his usual, unshielded ardour, Will with a curiosity that, in other circumstances, might amuse you. Somehow, in all of this, he had not consciously entertained a belief in Hannibal’s attraction to him.

Now, through your question, he considers it, but says nothing, taking leave of you both with his opinion on the matter an enigma.

*

Like an enchantress at her oriel you observe as the workforce arrives, shaking rain off their umbrellas at the front door. Some hours later the vision is repeated with the expensive and largely beautiful attendees of Hannibal’s party, some glancing up at the house and nudging one another as they notice you above.

You feel a lurch of anxiety to think that you are expected to go among them, to smile with saccharine manners and pretend to them that you’re no more than a patient to the venerated Dr Lecter.

All this, surrounded by canapés and flowing drinks that will tease and taunt with scents and flavour— your stomach bellows in anticipation of it, for though you’ve eaten it is, as ever, not enough.

It seems a fickle thing to find yourself so oppressed while living with a man that has offered to help you maim and slaughter another, and yet between the horrors of illness and this it is satiation that you fear the most.

Still, you fear Hannibal also, this creature in his costume of human flesh and pleasantries.

That he has not spoken of Leland or Amy in two days only underpins the intelligence of his evil, a thing that he can fold away into himself just as he likes. You’ve continued your act as daughter-wife only in that to display your horror of him openly will mark you as not of his ilk but as prey, a delicacy procured from the forest.

Thus, with effort you brush the pounding of your heart and the agony of the cane under the rug of memory and watch the glittering people under a marquee of rain clouds until they’ve all entered, leaving the night empty again.

You listen with one cheek to the floorboards to the clink of glasses and droning conversation below, the instruments of hired musicians at their haunting work.

Surely you will not meld easily with such company as seethes beneath, even gowned as you are in grey silk and lace from a fashion house few can afford. Your mouth will open, and you will reveal yourself clumsy-tongued and unsuited to their guild.

The terror of it has quite gnawed you through by the time Hannibal ascends from the soirée to collect you.

“Are you ready to meet my guests, Little One?” he asks, taking your clammy hand with its nails bitten down to their ends.

“Not really,” you mumble. “Not sure I’m one of them.”

Hannibal lifts your arm to kiss your inner wrist where a vein strums with lurching adrenaline.

“You’re beginning to resemble Will in your attitudes,” he says, his voice a vibration on your skin. “But I disagree. My friends and acquaintances will find you as charming as I do.”

There is an implicit and unworded warning not to embarrass him in the compliment, a flash in the peat dark of his eyes. Gulping thickly, you fasten yourself to Hannibal’s side as you take the stairs, poised to wince under the observation of the many gathered below.

Hannibal’s house is made a palace by their decoration, men in crisp suits and women in forests of jewellery stepping from room to room, their chatter like another kind of music. Servers go about with trays of extravagant food and champagne, and in one corner a band plays a rendition of some famous classical piece whose name you don’t recall.

Overwhelmed, you glance back up the stairwell, ushered on by Hannibal’s hand upon your arm.

“I understand your reservations,” he murmurs. “It’s been a long time since you’ve been in the presence of so many people at once.”

Yet is not the quantity that perturbs you, but the agony of inevitable comparison. You feel like some vast and bloated airship amidst the slenderness of so many of Hannibal’s peers. Placing a hand across your stomach you attempt an awkward smile as you’re introduced to each guest the doctor approaches, thinking of the front door—surely locked, now, or guarded—through which you’d take flight, had you the chance.

A familiar voice anchors you amidst your desperate thoughts.

“Well, now, look who it is.”

Turning, you gasp with delight.

“It’s nice to see you again, Jack,” you say, going eagerly forth to shake his outstretched hand. “I like your suit.”

Jack grins, holding out the arms of his jacket in a playful gesture.

“Why, thank you. I’ll have to tell Bella you said so. She bought it for me a few years back.”

Hannibal subtly brings you closer to his side, keen to intercept in case, as before, you attempt to communicate your struggle to Agent Crawford.

“Bella has excellent taste,” he says. “In suits, and in her companions.”

“You know she does, Doctor,” says Jack, and turns to peer into the crowd. “Hold on a moment. I’ve just seen Chilton over there. I’ll be back.”

As he wades through the throng you gaze after him, yearning to give chase. He, of all men present, you trust entirely with your safety, myopic though he is to the evil around him.

Steering you in the other direction, Hannibal says, “Perhaps you’d like to introduce yourself to my guests independently. It’s important for you to develop confidence in your social abilities.”

You start violently at the suggestion. To be left alone at this event is a risk that shrieks of Hannibal's deiform arrogance; they know, these guests, of your madness, the sympathetic injury that may well twist you against your caregiver.

The staff, too, are likely prepared, told you’ll lie to them or feign hysterics so as to be led away from this place by any that would believe in your performance.

Should you betray your attacker you would find yourself amongst enemies, yet it does not cross your mind even to attempt it.

For the first time you find Hannibal an ally: he has always regarded your weight with a neutral disinterest that even your disorder cannot twist into derision. The women that eye you up and down, however, reinforce that you are a failing thing to be judged, and so you read into even the most innocuous look a malice.

“Can’t I stay with you?” you ask tremulously. “I barely know anyone here.”

A little smile graces Hannibal’s lips, and he leans in to speak softly at your ear.

“We mustn’t provoke any more speculation about us through unorthodox proximity. Miss Lounds is likely no longer alone in thinking us lovers. For now we must suggest that we are not.”

“But—"

“Hush,” says Hannibal. “Be a good girl and do this for me.”

You think acutely of his mouth upon your cunt earlier that morning, taking you fresh from the shower against the bathroom wall as you’d bitten your fist against weak and hopeless cries. He had not hurt you, not threatened, merely knelt and pushed your leg over his shoulder, relying on your startled fear to keep you pliant.

He’d made you come with sensation like the taste of sparks, a sudden, pulling burst around him. You’d taken it like a morsel from his fingertips; a gift from him, making things up to you after your whipping, so that you can never think him only cruel.

This pressure now upon you to be grown: it is not mean for meanness’ sake. He desires evidence that you are capable of bearing his secrets without lapsing into betrayal, for only then will you be worthy of his love.

“Okay,” you say, at last, and Hannibal lets you go off in your silver dress like a piece of loose smoke whipped away by the wind.

You watch him through the crowd—sleekly handsome, and effortlessly entertaining—in defeat. He has worked to make you dependent on him, but you are ashamed of the success with which he’s so quickly achieved that very goal.

A woman attempts to speak to you, a gallery owner of the eccentric, elderly type; a young man, a scholar, comes at the other side of you with a question you don’t quite hear. Bewildered, you utter what vague answers you can summon at a whim and excuse yourself, cupping a hand at your eyes to blinker yourself against a passing tray of confections.

The lights, the noise, the bodies that press about you like a rising flock of pigeons disturbed on some night street— overcome by panic, you find yourself up against the stupid urge to weep.

Another server edges by you with a battalion of golden champagne glasses on a teetering plate. Thinking of the warmth of Will’s Irish coffees you take a glass in hand and look at it, paused only by the immediate calculation of figures wrapped about your brain like a band.

Seventy calories on top of the four hundred from this morning, then the three hundred of what you ate of dinner, the one hundred and eighty in fresh juice—

Guilty as a murderer you sip the champagne to its end, ducking out of Hannibal’s view as you take a second measure from another member of his staff. The day is already ruined beyond salvaging, you reason; whatever calories you drink no longer count.

As with the whiskey you feel yourself warm, adrift from the cutting mouth of your perpetual nerves. The vast rooms soften, taking on the glazed appearance of a gala in a dream. By the time you sneak your fourth glass it is almost easy to return a hundred curious smiles, to answer shallow questions with equal shallowness.

“Yes, it’s a beautiful house. Yes, I’m doing much better now that I’m here. Yes, Dr Lecter is awfully kind. Oh, Will’s really a great guy once you get to know him.”

Gradually you see the guests accept you as they might a quaint exotic pet, certainly not their equal, but pleasant enough to understand their host’s affection for. That he, the saint they fawn over, has forced his mouth upon your soaking cunt that very morning makes you laugh now that you’re drunk enough.

Such idiots this man pulls about him, art curators, literary critics, the blood of old money, all equally duped as you never were, not once. These friends of his know only a character he plays, fanatics following a myth.

In this, at least, you are superior, the child Antichrist groomed by devilish fathers for a coronation in evil.

Caught between this grim lucidity and a certain gloating you stumble into a red-headed woman in a Verdigris gown like copper made lovely by deep water. Muttering an embarrassed apology you turn away, stayed only by her small hand at your elbow.

“Well, hi,” she says. “I didn’t think Hannibal would let you out for this. I heard he keeps you under lock and key. I’m Freddie Lounds, by the way.”

Stupid with drink, you attempt to gather yourself in the face of this revelation.

“I know you!” you cry. “I’ve read your stuff. Some of it, anyway. And yeah, I was surprised he let me come, too.”

Your eyes meet Freddie’s, searching for the same thing she hopes of yours: an understanding between you. The union of a shared opinion.

“I take it you’re not thrilled to be under his care,” she says in a lowered voice. “I have my own professional opinions about Hannibal and Will Graham, and I’m not the only one. That’s partly the reason I came. I had a hunch I’d find some answers here.”

In bilious regret of the champagne you list against a nearby wall for support.

“Answers? What do you mean?”

Freddie leans in conspiratorially, blocking you from Hannibal’s sight should he glance in your direction.

“Not long ago I received an anonymous email from someone claiming to know you,” says Freddie. “They were hoping to secure an interview to set the record straight regarding a recent article published on the Tattle Crime website. I never turn down potential information, so I said I’d do it, but they never responded.”

She pauses, alert to the change in your expression.

“Last night a young woman was abducted in the same way all of the Lover’s victims were taken. My research seems to point to her being an old school friend of yours. I was wondering if you’d heard anything about her disappearance.”

Horror bowls you down as though from the uppermost step of a spiral staircase.

“What... what happened?” you stammer. “Please, I need to know.”

Freddie's eyes—the clever blue of a Collie bitch—cup your face in their keen hold.

“The victim was abducted from her home after opening her door to someone at around 11pm,” she says. “There was a struggle— furniture was overturned, and police say it’s likely the kidnapper sustained some kind of injury, although no blood was found at the scene. I imagine Will Graham performed one of his infamous recreations to figure that out.”

The room seems to rotate around you like hell’s carousel, sickening, searing.

“The victim,” you say. “What was her name?”

You know before Freddie speaks her answer, have known it from the moment you’d placed your hand upon Hannibal’s telephone, as though fate itself by psychic puppetry had directed your hand.

“It’s Amy Glass,” says Freddie, and she makes a hunting gesture, as though searching for an invisible notepad. “So can you confirm that she’s a friend of yours?”

Shaking your head, you jerk away from the wall, swerving out from under Freddie’s arm as she reaches out to you, her face almost soft with concern. She calls you back to her, but you are already striding across the room to the beast in his mortal attire, deaf to all but him.

“Hannibal!” you shrill above the music. “Hannibal, I need to talk to you!”

People turn, startled and intrigued, anticipating a spectacle, the lunatic girl in full bloom.

Hannibal glances about, rapidly assessing the danger you threaten. An emotional scene could sully his reputation, an indelible stain on his house.

Addressing you by name, he says, “What’s wrong? Has someone upset you?”

“Yes,” you say, through gritted teeth. “You.”

Hannibal’s eyes shift, finally interpreting the length of rage and terrified abjection unreeling within you.

“Come with me, then,” he says, quickly. “Let’s discuss this upstairs.”

Your mouth opens, and you imagine instigating a scandal, screaming of the abuse and other foulness invoked upon you.

Then you think again of flesh and killing and nod your head coldly, allowing Hannibal to guide you to your bedroom with a murmured excuse to his guests.

Once alone, he sits you down on the bed, his tight jaw easing as he feels the violence with which you shake at his light touch.

“Tell me what happened,” he says. “Tell me everything.”

Your fists squeeze as one in your lap.

“Amy is missing. Freddie Lounds told me. What did you do to my friend? Where did you take her?”

Hannibal’s visage changes subtly, the humanity in it retreating to reveal that other self, the stag of putrid dreams.

“I didn’t take Amy,” he says, flatly. “I assume Freddie informed you of the details of her abduction. Amy injured her attacker, and I don’t bear the mark. You saw nothing upon me this morning.”

Indeed you had not; his nude body, knelt between your legs, had been as fresh parchment, white and clear, but still he is no innocent.

“You must have told the Lover about her,” you insist. “Left some sign for him somewhere. You did this. I know you did. You did this to punish me, or to see how I’d react. Well, congrats, Dad. This is it. I hate you.”

Your breath rips in and out of your lungs like the proboscis of some terrible drill, and as you lean into Hannibal’s face you see your own spittle jump the air in the force of your emotion.

“If you let her die I’ll starve myself,” you say. “I’ll go on hunger strike. You can do anything you want to me, I don’t care. I’ll do it. I’ll kill myself.”

“I won’t let you,” says Hannibal, calmly.

“I’ll find a way. I’ll make you regret what you did.”

He shifts back from you a fraction, and you comprehend in that subtle motion that he believes it.

“You care so strongly for this old friend, then,” he says, simply.

“Yes. You feel the same way about Will. If Amy gets hurt or dies because of me— I couldn’t handle it. I can’t. I can’t. You know what the Lover does to people. How could you send her there? How could you do this?”

Your voice wavers, threatening sobs, and you curse yourself for your fragility, the little girl you cannot help but be. Hannibal finds a handkerchief and touches it to your face, his previous compassion returning, and with dismay you accept that while your anger will not move him entreating him as your father will.

“If you ever want me to trust you and your way of living then bring her back, Daddy,” you whisper. “Please, Daddy. Please. Please.”

Hannibal's head turns aside, examining you with a renewed interest.

“You believe me to be such a God as to be capable of this.”

“Yes. You can do anything you want to. You can help her. I know you can. If you don’t you’ll ruin everything you want with me and Will. This is all I’ll think about when I see your face.”

Your jailer doesn’t answer, only reaches out to take your sweat-damp dress down from your shoulders. On a repulsed and foolish instinct you slap his hands from you.

“I can do it myself.”

Hannibal snatches hold of your wrists, and for a moment you see him consider violence, his eyes blackly wild, like Will’s, as though absorbing his lover’s approach.

“I’m sure you can,” he says, at last, and he lets your hands fall, unharmed, into your lap. “Please stay in your room until my guests leave tonight. I wouldn’t like you to upset them or yourself any further.”

“What about Amy?” you ask. “Are you going to find her?”

Without answering Hannibal turns to re-join the party, pausing in the doorway to impart his final direction.

“Please don’t mention what has transpired to Will. He doesn’t know that you and Amy are still so closely connected, and so it should remain. Obey me and you’ll receive no punishment for disturbing the festivities. The fault lies with me for allowing you to encounter Freddie Lounds while unattended, after all.”

You want to scream after him, tear at his carefully ironed shirt collar and rend from him an answer to your request. But he only leaves you alone behind your locked door with thoughts of Amy cut apart to fit the body of a doll. Defiled, as you've frequently been.

[clumsyraccoon]

OK, here it is...

Kusakabe Atsuya (JuJutsu Kaisen) x AFAB!reader

Reader is afab but I tried to keep anything else as gender neutral as possible, so description of body should be ambiguous. "pussy", "cunt" and "clit" used to describe genitalia. No pronouns used.

Adding details: reader is a foreigner sorcerer, mentions of previous make out session (I said it was self indulgent… >.>”), mentions of alcohol

Smut (MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, THANK YOU): fingering, vaginal sex, unprotected sex

Words: 2630

[I swear to the gods I don't know what (or who) possessed me while writing this O_O It's honestly my first time ever finishing a smut piece, so if you have comments and/or constructive criticisms, as always I will be more than welcome to hear them! ^^]

[Ah, yes, not beta read, minor edit just to not post a complete mess XD]

The now empty boxes of your take-out are set aside in a corner of the table, to make room for all the preparatory paperwork for the mission. Forms, applications, and all the paperwork required: you also had to learn all the bureaucratic minutiae in order to become a full-fledged sorcerer. You flanked several professional sorcerers since you arrived at Tokyo JuJutsu High, to better understand all the various processes and to see how every individual had their way of doing the work, and for the mission at hand it was Kusakabe-san turn.

After the end of class for that day, you both opted go to the home of one of the two: as much as JuJutsu High provided rooms and offices for their personnel, the both of you wanted somewhere more cosy and relaxed, as winter was fast approaching and being in the office when it was already so dark outside spoiled the mood of the man paired with you.

In that first year in Japan, you had the chance to meet a variety of exceptional and extravagant people that left you almost without breath sometimes, first above anyone else the person that scouted you: Gojo Satoru. But Kusakabe was somehow...different. He was indeed a powerful and skilled sorcerer, a Grade 1 nonetheless, but his demeanor was so in contrast with people like Gojo or Mei-Mei that he seemed almost...normal. And that was kind of a relief, especially for a foreigner that has been oblivious about the jujutsu society for most of their life. He was a good teacher and when he came to you, he used the same patience and tranquility in explaining things: just as he didn't treat any of his students as stupid (maybe apart from the occasional times when they drove him nuts), he never made you feel inferior, putting you at the same level of every other sorcerer and explaining things calmly and clearly.

“Now, we begin with filling the Prearranged Team Management Form.” his low voice takes you out of your own thoughts, bringing you back to the delightfully bureaucratic filled present. He slides a blank folder under your nose, pointing with his finger the protocol number. “It serves to organise who will be in the team and leave a track of which exact people will be at which exact location. Obviously 99% of the time it is filled out after the mission is over, due to the lack of advance notice...but I have to teach you properly, so here it is.”

As much as he hates missions, he is a very thorough individual. Every paper is neatly placed in front of you, a small semi-transparent differently coloured post-it at the corner of every folder, a way to categorise them depending on their function and who they should be delivered to in the office. You nod, trying to memorise number and use of said form, while Kusakabe lends you a pen. “Experience is the best teacher – he says, a small grin appearing on his lips – so I’ll let you do the honor” Another nod from you, while you put all the concentration you’re capable of into filling the form out. He snorts at your face, a smile tugging at he corners of his lips “Don’t worry, you’re not under exam.”

---

A couple of hours later and the atmosphere is far more relaxed, thanks to the majority of the papers being taken care of...and also to the couple of bottles of red wine you had brought from your country.

“There - you say, stretching and lying on the floor, since sitting on a chabudai for too long was something your body was still not that used to – should be the last one, right?” The wine in your system is not that much, you would not call yourself drunk right now, but it leaves a pleasant buzz throughout your whole body, your senses slightly enhanced by the alcohol. There’s also a pleasant warmth that radiates form you and, even if you’re wearing just a t-shirt and a pair of jeans, you feel it slowly increasing. Turning your head towards him, you take the chance to glance at Kusakabe while he’s still preoccupied with checking papers: your gaze start from the hand on the floor he’s putting his weight on, then slowly trails up his hairy forearm (when did he took of his suit jacket and rolled his sleeves up?!?), the slightly unbuttoned shirt, revealing just a hint of his also hairy chest…

“Yep, everything seems fine to me”

...his neck and jaw, idly moving whenever he turned his lollipop around in his mouth...(his neck and jaw that you explored oh so well in an half-drunk yet very aroused state after Ieiri’s birthday party...)

“Y/N?”

You snap out of your trance and meet his questioning gaze, the warmth inside of you making a sudden surge. But, somehow, you don’t feel embarrassed nor guilty. You never felt like that with him, always making you feel at ease, as if he was something solid, something certain that brings stability in the frenzy of life.

“Yes?”

“Are you drunk?”

A heartfelt laugh escapes your lips, while you pat the futon at your side, inviting him to join you on the floor. “No, just happy we finally finished all the boring stuff.” you answer, while he lies on his side near you, propped up on one elbow, hand supporting his head. You look up at him, trying to ignore the warmth that heavily radiates from his body as well.

“Thank you, Kusakabe-san” you murmur.

“Ah, I’ve already told you – he retorts, a small grimace on his features, while he takes the stick of his now finished lollipop out of his mouth – you can call me Atsuya.”

“Well, then... thank you, Atsuya.”

The way you say his given name is not even consciously intended, but it slips out of your lips nonetheless, taking down the raising heat by a couple degrees...but not in an unpleasant manner. Your own voice send a shiver down your spine, the way you said his name probably giving away way more than you had intended to, and you search his gaze, to see and assess how much damage you have done. His brown eyes are instantly locked into yours, a flick of hesitation already fleeting away to give space to...to… You don’t know how to describe what you see, you just feel the warmth of his body raising again and his already wide pupils taking over his irises completely, two dark pools you’re sure you’ll drown into, if you’re not careful. He doesn’t say anything, just exhales a tad too loudly than normal, while still not breaking eye-contact with you. His free hand slowly reaches for you and you don’t notice, still too enthralled by the soft, welcoming abyss of his eyes, until his fingertips brush against the exposed skin between your t-shirt and jeans, fingertips so hot they threaten to burn holes into your flesh, so hot they send another, more powerful this time, shiver up you spine. It’s your time now to exhale loudly, anticipation already making you squirm under his touch.

“Atsuya”

His name rolls out of your tongue another time, more shyly yet more pleading, a whisper that becomes a prayer on his ears and in his heart. How can he deny you, resist you anymore when you say his name oh so nicely? How can he find the strength to stop the both of you once again when you’re here, on his futon, looking up at him with that gaze, calling his name with that tone? How can he withdraw from your warmth? How can he suppress all that turmoil you cause in his heart every damn time he sees you?

He, simply, can’t.

So, finally, instead of fighting back what he now knows to be unbeatable, he surrender. He surrender himself to your smile that goes with your every “Good morning!”, he surrender himself to electricity that surges every time your hands brush by accident, he surrender himself to the optimism you sport every time you go on a mission together. He surrender himself to you, completely and undeniably.

The fingertips on your skin become a palm, sneaking under the hem of your t-shirt and gently caressing what’s underneath it. Your answer wants to be a soft gasp, but there’s no time for it to form before his lips descend on yours. The kiss is so sweet it is almost chaste, that first contact delivering all the feelings the both of you have tried to store away in the depths of your hearts, finally revealing what you have always been afraid to say. It feels liberating to finally let go, and you feel Kusakabe’s muscles relax in sync with yours, months of pining quickly dissolving from your bodies and souls.

One of your hand finds its way to his hair and gently tugs at it, with the result of making him part his lips and moan into your mouth, giving you the chance to deepen the kiss. The flavour of his lollipop floods your taste buds and you devour each other, almost like teenagers at their first shot at kissing, and your body already ask, no scream for so much more that you try to turn on your side to have a better position, but Kusakabe’s hand keeps you firmly in place. He pulls away just enough to look at you “Please, let me…” he murmurs against your lips. And in his tone there’s a plea that sink right into your heart and turns it into jelly. Replying with a nod you let yourself relax again on the futon, while his hand lifts your shirt all the way up, leaving your flushed chest exposed to him. He takes a moment to feel your erratic beating heart, palm pressed right in the middle of your chest, before resuming his exploration of your skin.

Despite the callousness of his hands, his touch is gentle, almost feather-like. Fingertips lightly brush against your skin, trailing around your nipples, but never touching them, down towards your navel, to your hips, up your sides. No haste nor hurry, but taking their damn time into exploring every inch of you, as if they were explorers into territory unknown to mankind up until now. They then skim just above the hem of your jeans, goosebumps now covering the entirety of your body, while his mouth descends to leave warm kisses on your chest. They are almost shy at first, sealed lips barely touching your skin, but as soon as your hand find its place in his hair again, they become more bold, tongue poking out to wet the path.

It takes a few minutes of kisses placed with utter adoration all over your exposed body, before Kusakabe muster the courage to latch on one of your nipples. And when he does, you start to sing. A moan finally fall freely from your parted lips, your body arching into his touch, craving him not only there, but everywhere on your burning body. Your free hand joins the other and entangles itself in his brown locks, instinctively squeezing every time you feel his teeth grazing against your sensitive flesh and receiving a pleased grunt from him in exchange.

There’s a trickle of saliva connecting your nipple to his tongue when he parts from you, and you look at it glimmering in the room’s light, almost enraptured by the vision, before your attention is diverted from it by the man’s hand. Slowly, he’s unbuttoning your jeans, his gaze fixated on you and, as you reciprocate his look, the thought that crosses your mind is that he’s insanely handsome. A blush covers the majority of his face and the tips of his ears, his hair is ruffled by all of your toying, and in his eyes you can see the real feeling he always nurtured for you.

Warm fingers slip past the waistband of your panties and push the clothes down enough your tights to leave your core exposed, the sudden chill air against you heated skin sending a shiver up your spine. Cupping his face with your hands, you kiss Kusakabe deeply, pulling him closer to you, while his fingers start to roam your tight like they previously did on your chest. Your focus shifts from his mouth to his neck (god how you missed it) and you unbutton his shirt, trying to spur him, but his touches are painstakingly slow, fingers too far away from where you wanted them most. Undaunted, you continue your attack, tongue tracing pathways of pleasure into his skin, teeth scarping and sinking, lips comforting and eliciting.

Circles are drawn on the canvas of your skin, smaller and smaller, until he finally reaches your cunt and you start to loose track of time, his fingers teasing your folds but never entering, caresses on your clit that never turns into that something more enough for you to finally cum. Squirming and whimpering through the sweet anguish he persists in doing, yet you hear the first signs of capitulations in his own grunts and moans.

Yet he persists.

Yet he persists.

Yet he persists.

Your breaths are hot and short against each other, the temperature of both your bodies so high now you might have a fever. Your face nuzzle in the crook of his neck, his ministration starting to make you see stars in your vision, while you desperately cling to his now exposed chest, hair soft under your touch.

“A-atsuya...p-pleeease…”

Deft fingers continue to caress your sex, eliciting a new series of moans and cries out of your mouth, his tongue trailing from your ear down your neck, leaving the skin burning in its wake. And you know that, if he continues to torture you like that, it’s no long before you come undone under him. So, with the last remnants of your will, the leg trapped in between his tries to grind against his hard, still clothed, cock, while one of your hand tries to get a hold of his forearm, in a futile attempt to slow him down or hurry him up, you’re not even sure of what you want to do anymore. You just now that you will not resist a second more.

As if he reads your mind, Kusakabe finally finally push a finger past your folds and inside your aching pussy, your lewd cry of pleasure making his dick throb in his pants. There’s no need for a second digit, as your orgasm hits you suddenly and violently, leaving you shaking so bad you cling to him for dear life.

You stay like that for a couple of minutes, but as soon as the shivers start to subside, you look up at him “Need you...inside...pl-please…” is all you manage to say in between your broken breaths. A soft kiss on your temple “Are you sure?”

Just a nod from you and he’s unbuckling his pants, letting his cock finally free. Impatient hands pull him closer and he’s already lined up to your entrance and ready, but he takes his time to smile down and then softly kiss you, before entering in one go in your wet hole. It’s your turn now to moan into his mouth, while he hooks your legs over his arms, a mating press the best way to deal with all the too many clothes you two still wear.

It doesn’t take long for the both of you to reach your peaks, pent-up as you are, moans and cries being swallowed into hungry kisses, bodies trembling in unison. And as your breath slowly come back to normal and you both descend from your high, the way Kusakabe embraces you tells you everything you wanted to hear from him.

[words-with-wren]

@chrumblr-whumblr day three: Carrying

Fandom: Endeavour. Four and a half years and I am BACK I missed these boys even though they break my heart <3 kinda bad but all of these are. Barely any editing OR even proof reading I'm ready 20 minutes late and posting from my phone woopsies

Word count: 2,170

__

It was raining. Morse hunched in his coat, squinting bitterly up at the water coming through the trees. The sun hadn’t even started lighting up the area, and the whole morning had an air of misery about it. 

“Morning, Matey.” Strange’s greeting was altogether far too cheerful for the early hour of the morning and Morse turned his glare onto the other man. Dimly, he found himself for the first time a little envious of the uniform Strange sported--the hat and coat looked altogether far more suited for the weather than Morse’s own clothing. 

Morse just nodded in response, risking a hand from the safety of his pocket to wipe wet hair out of his face. 

“You really think we’re going to find something in this?” Jakes joined the two of them, an unlit cigarette between his fingers, looking positively damp. He was holding a torch in his other hand, the light illuminating the falling rain in a narrow beam. Morse found some small vindication that the sargent looked about as miserable as he felt. 

His vindication disappeared a moment later when Jakes flashed the light of the torch directly into his eyes for a split second. Morse squinted abruptly, blinking at the momentary blindness. He decided he wasn’t in the mood for a fight and assumed that was an accident.

“If there is anything, we should start looking soon,” Morse muttered. He hunched his shoulders, trying to find some comfort in his soaking coat and staring at a single point while waiting for his eyes to readjust. “The rain’ll wash it away soon.”

“If it hasn’t already,” Jakes muttered. He put the unlit cigarette between his teeth. It sagged disappointingly, wet through. Deserved. 

“The doctor said it’d be a knife, ‘bout so large.” Strange held up his hands as he was speaking, indicating a length about five centimetres long. Morse nodded, turning his attention to the woods. 

The chances were low that the murder weapon was still in the woods where the body had been found, but DeBryn had said there had been some kind of struggle, and likely not all of the blood found splattered across the scene was the victim’s. 

It was possible the weapon was still lying somewhere in the woods. Morse was of the opinion that their efforts could be better spent chasing other leads, but orders were orders and now here he was, standing soaked in the rain. 

“Right then,” Jakes said, taking charge of the situation. A few other uniformed officers mingled around and it didn’t take long for a search to be organised, starting from where the body had been found that morning and steadily branching further out. 

Morse found himself trudging through the wet forest, mud on the ground sticking uncomfortably at his boots, sweeping his torchlight over the muddy ground. At least he’d thought to pick up some wellys before heading out--his feet were about the only part of him not soaked through. 

He scanned the ground as he went, hoping something would come up soon so they could all go and get warm and follow more useful branches of inquiry. The route he was following started drifting steadily downhill, and Morse had to withdraw his hand from his pocket to keep his balance, grabbing onto tree branches and trunks as he went, torch held tight in his other hand. 

The mud was slippery and he almost lost his balance more than once, grabbing onto a tree to catch himself. His hair was back in his eyes and he wiped it out of his face again with frustration. 

They wouldn’t even be able to get anything useful out of any evidence they found--a murder weapon would be one thing, but after this rain there was no way they’d be able to get any prints off it. This was all a useless waste of time. 

Something flashed in the light his torch cast and he paused, one hand resting on a nearby tree trunk. He aimed the beam of the torch towards whatever it was, making out something sliver dangling from the branch of a tree. He stepped forward and suddenly a sharp pain bust through his foot. 

He was on the ground before he realised what had happened, face pressed uncomfortably into cold mud. Pain flashed through his foot and he gasped, pushing himself up onto one hand. 

Great, now he was wet and muddy. Not to mention his foot was throbbing in a concerning way. He shifted to sit but had to gasp out in pain, vision flashing white as he moved his foot. 

He managed to catch himself before he fell back into the mud, but the world twisted and spun around him dizzyingly. HIs torch lay on the ground nearby, a beam of light illuminating the mud in an almost golden hue, sparkling dots of rain flashing through the light. 

A root was jutting out of the mud just beside his feet and he glared at it--clearly the culprit that he’d missed in the wet and mud. 

He managed to awkwardly shift into a sitting position and retrieve his torch, eyes watering with pain every time he moved his leg. Supporting himself with one hand, he glared at his foot as though that would make it stop hurting. 

He wasn’t going to be able to walk on that he realised a moment later. With a groan, he started digging in his pockets with one hand, finally withdrawing the whistle Jakes had given him before they left the station. 

He blew sharply on it, automatically blasting out three short bursts, three long, and another three short. Someone would be near enough to hear and come to his aid. While he waited, he turned his torchlight onto the silver thing, still caught in a tree. It looked like some kind of locket, sparkling in his torchlight, and he hoped that whatever picture was in it hadn’t been ruined by the rain. That could be an important clue. 

“Morse?” Strange’s voice called from the trees a few paces away, and Morse could make out the flash of his torchlight. 

“Over here,” he called. “Twisted my ankle.” His voice carried a note of bitterness as he spoke, trying not to think too hard about how this was going to take a few days to come right again. 

Strange appeared through the trees a moment later, still looking positively dry. Morse, sitting propped up against a tree, his leg stretched in front of him, covered in mud and rain, glared up at him.

“You alright, matey?” Strange asked. Morse scowled. 

“I will be. Just give me a hand up.” Strange moved towards him but Morse spoke again. “Wait, before you do.” He flashed his torch at the locket again. “I found that.” 

“Of course you did,” Strange said good naturedly. He followed Morse’s torch beam and carefully tugged the locket off the branch it was stuck on. Tucking it safely into a pocket for later inspection, he turned his attention to Morse, in the process flashing the torchlight into his eyes. 

He squinted, holding a hand up and Strange apologetically dropped the light. 

“Sorry Matey,” he said, clicking the torch off and slipping it into another pocket. That unform coat really did have a number of pockets. 

“You’re as bad as Jakes,” Morse grumbled. But it was noticeably lighter now, and the torches were beginning to not be needed. Morse kept his on regardless--he didn’t want Strange tripping on an invisible root and joining him on the ground. 

“Up you get then,” Strange said, holding out a hand. Morse grabbed it with his free one, but the moment he tried to pull himself up, he jostled his leg and let out a scream of pain. He sagged back, eyes squeezed shut against the flash and steady throbbing coming from his ankle. 

“I’m okay,” he said, waving away Strange’s anxious hovering. “Just let me catch my breath.” 

“I don’t think you can walk on that,” Strange said. Morse just groaned in response. At least his boot was doing a better job at keeping his ankle tight than his usual shoes. Though taking it off was going to be a nightmare. 

That was a later problem, now he had to figure out how to stand up so they could get out of this miserable forest and somewhere dry. 

“Everything alright?” Jakes appeared through the bushes, the morning light strong enough to illuminate his pale face. Morse didn’t have the energy to glare up at him, his foot was hurting too much and his irritation at being seen in such a state by the sargent a secondary matter right now. “No time to be sitting down on the job, Morse.” 

“He’s twisted his ankle,” Strange explained. Morse just nodded. 

“Touch luck,” Jakes said. “Best be getting you to Casualty then.” 

“I would if I could stand,” Morse muttered. He shut his eyes as another wave of pain flushed through his foot. 

“I’ll carry you back,” Strange offered. Morse opened his eyes again, his pride battling for a moment with the pain emanating from his foot. 

“Morse is a skinny blighter but I dunno if you can carry him yourself,” Jakes said, staring down at Morse with a critical eye. Then he flicked off his own torch and tucked it away--it was more than light enough to see by now--and moved to Morse’s side.

Before Morse could really process what was happening, he found himself wedged in between Jakes and Strange, one on either side of him. Both of them tucked an arm under him and their other behind his back and Morse found himself lifted between the two of them. He instinctively threw an arm over each of their necks to stop himself topping forward. 

“Easy goes now,” Jakes muttered. Morse gritted his teeth as their movements jostled his foot, determined not to show any more pain. 

It didn’t take long to get back to where the cars had packed on the edge of the forest. The rain had slowed to a steady drizzle, and Morse felt bone wearily exhausted. He was lowered to the ground and somehow managed to remain standing, leaning almost all of his weight on Strange and holding his foot up. Jakes ducked forward to open one of the cars.

“You finish up here,” he said to Strange. “I’ll get him to Casualty. And then home.” 

Both of them fixed Morse with a long stare at that, but Morse just nodded. He was too exhausted to protest, and right now he wanted nothing more than to sleep off the pain. 

They managed to manoeuvre him into the back seat of the car, where he could stretch his leg out over the seats and Morse only briefly blacked out for a second. 

“Oh, here,” Strange said, fishing out the locket he had tucked away safely. “I’ll see you back at the nick,” he added to Jakes. Jakes nodded from the driver’s seat, a lit cigarette alright between his lips now he was out of the rain. 

Jakes didn’t say anything as he pulled away from the forest, moving quickly along the road. Morse bit down a groan of pain as the movement of the car jostled his foot, but it faded to a bearable dull throbbing soon enough. 

(He kept catching Jakes glancing in the rear mirror. There wasn’t anyone behind them, so he didn’t know why almost every time he looked up he made eye contact through the small glass.) 

“What’s the locket?” Jakes asked, finally breaking the silence. Morse couldn’t help be a little grateful for the distraction. 

He pulled it out, examining it closely. It had initials on it--F.C. The letters seem familiar to him, but he couldn’t quite place it yet. Carefully, he pried it open. 

The image inside was of the victim--a young man named Joseph Ethans. 

“It’s got Ethans in it,” Morse reported. He caught Jakes’ eye in the mirror again. “Doesn’t seem like something he’d own though.” 

“A girlfriend’s?” Jakes asked. Morse frowned, biting down a hiss of pain as Jakes took a corner a little too sharply. 

“F.C.,” he mused. Jakes made a questioning noise. “The initials on the locket.” 

“That’s the girlfriend’s name, right?” Jakes said. “Felicity Clarke.” 

“What’s her locket doing out in the woods then?” Morse asked, closing it again and tucking it safely into a pocket. 

“Maybe he was going to give it to her?” 

“I think we may need to question her a little more closely,” Morse said quietly. “DeBryn did say the killing wounds were weaker than one would expect from a grown man.” 

“You think the girlfriend offed him?” Jakes asked. 

“Maybe--aah!” He said the last as Jakes skipped a curb. 

“Sorry,” Jakes said. “Almost there.” 

“We’d better be,” Morse muttered. He shut his eyes, feeling strangely satisfied despite the throbbing ankle. Maybe the morning hadn’t been a complete waste of time after all. 

The rain outside finally made way for a weak winter’s sun. 

[jedibinx]

Fic Masterlist - JediBinx 💜💚🖤

Here it is! The masterlist - I had no clue where to even start so I've organised them into Series and One-shots and linked each one with a short (very short!) summary of what it's about hope this helps! ^_^:

One-Shots:

When Darkness Calls, Who Will Answer? - vampire Jere with gender neutral reader. Creepy, strange and murdery.

Sweater Paws - Jere/Bojan - good old fashioned smutty smut smut.

It Started Out With A Kiss, How Did It End Up Like This? - Jere/Jukka post on-stage kiss.

Slender Wrists and Gentle Kissed - Jere/Security Man Veikko - Veikko has to comfort Jere after a traumatic incident.

The Will Of The Unconscious - Jere/Bojan - Bojan's POV, we find a struggling writer discovers the perfect inspiration... or did the writer create the inspiration?

Flash Fiction Picture Challenge - I take ten photos and create two sentence stories based on them

Just Once - I angsted up the onlyfans content. Because I could and I live to torture lol

Ask Me To Pose, I'll Be Your Doll - inspired by this lovely artwork. Nace/Jere fluff love.

Tell Me I'm A Good Boy - J/Jere smut. This is the fic that started it all with J.

Scratch The Itch - request for a friend - Kris/Nace smut

We Will Prevail - Bojan/Jere. Bojan surprises Jere for Valentine's day but not everything goes to plan and Bojan ends up playing the man card and being a stupid stupid head. Will he be able to save everything he ever wished for?

Parasocial Investigations - Kris/Jere. Kris is a social media influencer focusing on mental health and positive mindsets. Jere is alone, mentally unwell, and clings to Kris' videos and every interaction he has with him. When Jere convinces himself that Kris wants to come to stay, how will it turn out?

Wine, Dine and (Gory) Sexy Time - Tommy/Jere. Vampire gore and smut.

Save Me With Death - Bojan/Jere. Bojan is dying and stumbles across Jere, a starving vampire all but desperate for food. What will happen?

Daddy J and his Famalamadingdongs - my crack fic where Bojan joins Jere's religious cult where he's referred to as Daddy J.

Hello Darkness, My Old Friend - Tommy/Jere. Tommy is a voyeur and Jere is all too happy to help. Smut.

Laid Bare - Jere. Stripper AU. Angsty, sexy, dramatic and traumatic.

Perhana - Bojan/Jere. Even more traumatic. Death and sadness.

Multi-Chapter Stories (Non-Series):

Wake Up - Bojan/Jere - A psychological thriller where we see Bojan, an ex addict try and patch things up with Jere but all the while Jere is falling further and further into a set of diaries that he has found... but all is not as it seems. What will happen when one slowly starts to fall apart and the other desperately tries to keep them together? What happens when things aren't what they seem, or are they just a dream within a dream? Can we really trust our own senses to tell us the truth?

Love and Be Loved, Kill or Be Killed - Jere/OC Female - Mara is a busy GP living her life as best as she can spreading kindness wherever she goes. She can't help it; she's just nice. When her town is plagued by a spree of murders on local women, she becomes anxious and a little paranoia takes hold of her but she carries on her day to day routine as best as she can, refusing to allow fear take over her life. When her good friend, Jere, asks for help with his sick mother, kind, caring Mara... how could she refuse? Little does she know that there's a side to Jere that she hasn't yet seen, but she's read all about it in the papers... and she's about to see it first hand...

Skylar - Regular life AU. Skylar is eighteen and being let loose into the world after spending his entire life in foster care. Kris has been assigned to be his counsellor after social services recognising he needed some assistance.

(UNFINISHED) Till Death Us Do Love - Vampire AU. Jere/Damon - After a freak accident that rocked the world by creating mutated humans not unlike the vampires seen in the Hollywood movies, humans fight back and reluctantly live besides them. Hatred is rife between the two species (and even that term is a stretch as technically they are still humans, just mutated). Jere is a vampire, the same yet different from the others, fleeing from Finland with his brother Mikke. Damon is a human who just wants to live his life the way he wants to but is met with nothing but resistance. How will the world cope when two unsuspecting people's lives run into one another, creating a cataclysmic explosion of a celestial fate that will create a ripple effect that no-one will be able to stop?

(UNFINISHED) Let Go - regular life AU - Jere/J. Jere is a stressed out married man seeking professional services from a Dom sex worker by the name of J. J is an aloof sex worker/dancer who holds everyone at arms length in order to protect themself. He/Him during work, They/Them during personal life. What happens when both people reach a breaking point and come clashing together in a destiny meant for two? Will they be able to let go, grab hold, and trust?

Series:

Jere/Nace One Shots - Porn with Feelings and Plot - 6 one shots - set in real life AU.

Kinktober Universe - Jere/Nace regular life AU. 4 multi-chapter stories. Jere and Nace have a marriage on the rocks and have 31 days to save it. (the subsequent stories are prequels - Holiday where they first meet, university and the letters during university)

BoJere Fluffy Fluff Fluff - regular life AU where Bojan and Jere have both moved to the UK and meet. All fluff no smut super sweet and delicious. 2 multi-chapter parts.

Writing Requests - 30 one shots requested by my lovely tumblr friends! ^_^ Includes, smut, gore, fluff, comedy, drama, angst everything you could ask for. All different pairings, polycule and even fantasy in there too.

Soulmate AU snapshots - Bojan/Jere - Bojan is immortal and Jere keeps reincarnating, forcing Bojan to fall in love over and over again.

(UNFINISHED) Finding NetherRealm Series - Fantasy AU. Lexi is a doctorate student, on her way to becoming the next member of the Horrorlogical Society. All she has to do is complete her placement at the Zoo of the Otherworld and not get too attached to the creature she is meant to study. Easy, right? Käärijä has been captured, stuffed inside a wooden box. He's in pain, he's scared, he's been taken from his family and he doesn't know where he is. All he has to do is make himself as scary as possible, for as long as possible, and they'll leave him alone. Easy, right? If there is one thing that they will learn rather quickly is that nothing in life, no matter who or what or where, is easy.

[themculibrary]

Long Wandavision Fics Masterlist

An Auspice of Scarlet (ao3) - AnontheNullifier wanda/vision, background pepper/tony T, 143k

Summary: After another failed seance, Wanda Maximoff finds herself seeking asylum from an unknown millionaire and his reserved, but kind butler. As with most things in her life, it's when the semblance of normalcy and contentment begin to form that her past comes crashing in to upend everything she's worked hard to create. Will the blossom of love be enough to vanquish the demons of her past?

Creep (ao3) - proud_papaya M, 68k

Summary: "... there's so many of them." Wanda exhaled, looking out at the sea of people, but they weren't people. Their skin was the color of the earth and their irises looked like sewage water. There was gore smeared across some of them and their clothing was in tatters. And for a moment, just a moment, she thought she saw Cap's uniform covering one of them. Because they were the only ones left. Wanda and Vision. Surviving the end of the world... but no one thought the end of the world would look like this.

"Stay close to me."

"Always."

Flaneur (ao3) - Cyan_Rain wanda/vision, background darcy/jimmy T, 70k

Summary: Post-WandaVision Series Finale

He was Vision. He was a sentient weapon. He'd tried to kill the woman he loved.

She was the Scarlet Witch. She was cursed to destroy the world. She'd killed the man she loved. Twice.

They have some things to work out.

Give Me My Sin Again (ao3) - thelilacfield E, 121k

Summary: 'You know, it's too bad that you work for the organisation I want to see brought down in flames.'

'And why is that, Ms. Maximoff?'

'Red always was my favourite colour.'

A woman looking for something to make her feel human again. A man who never felt human seeking to keep his powerful position. Finding each other and finding that they have hearts capable of feeling.

i don't need anything other than you (ao3) - ghoultown T, 51k

Summary: “Come, step into the light.” Vision pulls her close, into the yellow light, holding her hands in his. “Tell me. Do I look the same to you today?”

She makes a face, “Of course you do.”

“No, please. Please, look closer.” He bends down slightly to assist in her search. “I’ve been looking in the mirror for ten minutes. There’s something here. Something extra or something missing, I cannot tell, but i-it’s something.”

Wanda’s disposition changes. “Vis, you sound… panicked.”

“Hm?” Vision blinks. “I can’t panic.”

_

Vision wakes up one morning to find his memories gone. He figures there must be a logical explanation. Until there can't be.

In the Absence of a Way of Life (ao3) - wisteriafic M, 66k

Summary: "The only thing preventing him from phasing through the walls and escaping this morass is the admonition with which Secretary Ross had left him two days ago: If you try anything, she dies. They all die."

After the airport fight in Civil War, Vision is arrested and sent to the Raft, along with the others. Once they've escaped, Wanda has company as she adjusts to a life on the run.

Late in the Day (ao3) - wisteriafic E, 59k

Summary: After the fall of Novi Grad, Wanda chooses to remain there to rebuild her homeland instead of becoming an Avenger. Over the years, she and Vision build separate lives for themselves, but they establish a long-distance friendship. As the tenth anniversary approaches, they get together for drinks, and they reconnect.

(Love's got the) World in Motion (ao3) - olsenbcttany E, 60k

Summary: Wanda Maximoff is the sister of the world famous Pietro Maximoff, goalkeeper who is set to see Sokovia win The UEFA European Football Championship. Victor Shade is the England player who ruined their chances. When the two meet, sparks fly.

Non-Volatile Memory (ao3) - patches365 M, 292k

Summary: Vision has been restored physically and mentally, but not emotionally. SWORD's tampering has left him nothing but a sentient computer with no personal attachment to the data stored within him. Wishing to make himself whole again, he seeks out Wakanda's premier scientist to help him emotionally reconnect with his memories, and thus with Wanda.

Nothing is Impossible (ao3) - Boopoopeedoo T, 62k

Summary: Two lives that were feared, and a love no one expected, lead to a miracle nobody ever thought possible. When Wanda made a home in the Avengers compound, she never could have imagined how much her world would change, or that The Vision would become the centre of it. She expected to fall in love with him even less.

The two find a way back to each other after the chaos of the Avenger's civil war. It is then that their love truly builds, and where they eventually create their miracle.

ScarletVision, eventual Infinity War fix-it

playing nice (ao3) - ghoultown E, 214k

Summary: “What’s your name?” she asks.

He opens the door wider in reply.

Wanda doesn’t move.

The man bends to root through a cupboard instead.

“I don’t have anything in,” he reaches into the shelves, half of him disappearing inside, “Not much to offer you in the way of hospitality.”

“Yeah,” she studies him, rubbing her fingers together. “Ghosts don’t drink, do they.”

A bottle of cheap liquor. He tosses it a bit in his hand, turning it, inspecting it, grinning at the label.

“Think I’m a ghost, do you?”

-

Following a sudden appearance of a strange red power, Wanda begins killing men to take the edge off. Her first kill in London doesn't go as she'd hoped.

Recordkeeping (ao3) - chaostragic E, 53k

Summary: Wanda has a lot of secrets.

Among them: Wanda was a spy once. Sort of. Also: Wanda is a widow and a murderer and legally not allowed to leave New Jersey.

When a one night stand lasts a few months too long, Wanda must confront her past. Can love overcome government conspiracy, criminal records, and unresolved trauma?

Run Away (ao3) - proud_papaya wanda/vision, bucky/natasha M, 71k

Summary: She was running away. Again. This time to another city, the biggest city in the world. Little did she know her next door neighbor would happen to change her life.

Synthesis (ao3) - psychologymajor226 N/R, 296k

Summary: This is a Wanda/Vision fic that alternates from the events in Wandavision to a lead-up of all past events until Infinity War, exclusively from Vision’s POV.

Take Me Away (ao3) - heartAttackoFtheMinD T, 146k

Summary: What events happened in between A.O.U and C.W that drove Wanda and Vision to try their luck as a couple after the Raft? Series of events growing their relationship, getting past the loss of a loved one, and discovering humanity with Wanda and Vision as they fall in love at the Avengers Compound.

The Age of Miracles (ao3) - thelilacfield T, 68k

Summary: "What is taking so long, Peterson? Get those prisoners to their cells now!"

"It's the witch, sir."

"Well, slap a pair of handcuffs on her and get her to her cell now!"

"We can't, sir, she's-"

"She's what? Wrecked the medical bay? Injured someone? That's what we got the collar for!"

"Sir, she's pregnant."

The Red Menace (ao3) - JustAnotherMarvelGirl M, 75k

Summary: Wanda is a fierce and ruthless Captain of the Scarlet Witch, the most feared ship in the Caribbean.

Vision is a Commodore of the British Royal Navy who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

When their two ships clash, will Vision live to see the light of another day?

Under Renovation (ao3) - gamerfic M, 60k

Summary: "It isn't safe for you to be here," says Vision, and he doesn't only mean the huge hole in the floor that yawns between them.

"I know that, too."

"Then why did you come back?"

Wanda hasn't turned her gaze from him since she entered the room. Behind it there's an echo of the same relentless, crushing pressure he felt that night she filled him with her power and brought him to his knees. He's not safe here either, in his way. "I came back for you," she says.

(Or: Vision and Wanda fix a building, fix their mistakes, and slowly fall in love.)

Wanda Enchanted (ao3) - percyjacksonfan9261 wanda/vision, steve/natasha G, 52k

Summary: When Wanda was a baby, her fairy godmother, Agatha, decided to give her the so called "gift" of obedience. By the time that Wanda becomes a teenager, sick of her step family bullying her, she decides to go on a quest to find out where she can find her fairy godmother and convince her to remove to "gift". Joining Wanda is one of her few friends, an elf who wants to be an inventor in a world that doesn't allow it, and a prince who's uncle just so happens to be plotting to kill him for a bid to take over the throne. When Wanda slowly starts falling for the prince and uncovers the plot of his assassination, she has to figure out what's more important in her life: following her heart or getting rid of her obedience once and for all.

Your Castle of Memories (ao3) - starlithumanity T, 112k

Summary: After the events of Age of Ultron, Wanda Maximoff faces the pain of her loss, and Vision tries to comprehend the intricacies of existence. They find comfort and a great deal of fascination in each other, as the new expanded Avengers team learns to work together. But they are about to face the greatest challenge to their friendship: the arrival of Civil War.

[pandorasword]

why am i like the only one rooting for chaeri and hongjoong 💀

can we get more chaejoong pretty please?

Chaeri as the 8th and youngest member of BTS.

CHAERI'S MASTERLIST

「 Hey! As I said in other posts, my goal was to get a deeper look into their relationship too so thanks for asking, I'm gonna use this as a chance to do that! Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy it ♡ 」

A look through Chaeri and Hoongjoong's relationship

დ The party

To Chaeri, that could be called the event of the year. The party she would never give up attending, no matter what the conditions or time of year. Every year, all (or most) idols born in '98 would meet to party, and she, born in the last but one week of December, barely missed it. Actually, one of the main hosts of the event was her. Being among so many co-workers, free from cameras and paparazzi made her feel excited and free. It was early 2022 when yet another reunion was organised in one of Seoul's most discreet and exclusive hotels, which would welcome them all night long. Although she loved the occasion like few others, she was very moody that year. Her relationship with Jungkook had been over for years now, and despite the constant back and forth between them, that period seemed to have really put a stop to the whole situation. She couldn't blame him for dating other girls, she was in no position to do so yet it made her feel terribly uncomfortable. When he and the rest of the maknae line asked her if they could go with her to the party, even though they weren't part of the required age group, she told them not to follow her because she had a date to attend there. Not that she really did, she just wanted to make her ex-boyfriend feel the same way she felt. She should have known that a couple of hours after the party started, Jungkook and Taehyung would still show up. Saying she was angry was an understatement. Had they come to check on her and her hypothetical date?

You could call it a sign of destiny that Hongjoong was just a few steps away from her then. Chaeri's brain didn't take long to process what she was going to do next: They wanted to keep an eye on her during her date? Well, they were going to watch her date then

"Pretend to be my date" "What?" "Pretend to be my date" "Sure, I can... I can do that. But why?" "Does it matter?"

The night, a summary

჻ Seonghwa shocked ჻ Hongjoong shocked ჻ Seonghwa deciding to leave them alone, earning a glare from his captain ჻ "I'm sorry to take you off guard, I hope you don't feel forced to do this" - "Oh no, not at all. It's a pleasure to help you" ჻ JOONG ALMOST BOWED ჻ "Don't bow, you're my man tonight" ჻ His heart missed several beats in response ჻ "Your man should get you something to drink, to be worthy of that title" - "I see we are on the same wave"

჻ Alcohol and sparkling cocktails made things less awkward

჻ They ended up on a small sofa in the corner talking about this and that, without Chaeri feeling the need to let members of her group look at her

჻ "When you came three years ago to congratulate us during MAMAs, I thought I was dreaming" "It's just a feeling that every celebrity who's been in this industry for a while makes you feel" "Your reputation precedes you but at then I didn't think 'Wow Chaeri from BTS is here to congratulate me' but rather 'This beautiful and talented girl is smiling at me as if we've known each other all our lives' That's… that's what I felt."

჻ Was he trying to flirt? Definitely. Was he doing it on purpose? Absolutely not.

჻ "Oh Lord, this is my favourite song. C'mon, let's dance"

჻ Hongjoong trying to politely decline

჻ "You are dancing in front of thousands every day and you feel anxious about dancing with me?" - "Ok… but let's dance this one only"

჻ They danced all night long

჻ "So… this fake date thing extends beyond tonight?" "You want to be my man for a few more nights?" "I would never back down from helping a girl out." "Ah that's it, all about kindness" "All about kindness"

჻ All about kindness my ass

დ How the fake dates became not fake at all

჻ "Are you flirting with me?" "Would that be a bad thing?" "No." "Then yes, I'm flirting with you" "So brave of you, Hongjoong. I didn't think you were so bold." "There's a lot about me you don't know yet" "Show me then"

჻ "It's hot when you talk back" "Really? Many men find it intimidating" "Not the right men for you" "And you would be the one?" "You wish, don't you?"

჻ "I am quite sure that to make this more realistic we have to work harder" "What do you want to do?" "Kiss you"

჻ “You need to stop kissing me like you mean it; I’m going to read into things wrong and end up breaking my own heart” "Stop pretending, then" "Do you want us to put an end to it?" "Or maybe a start"

დ Media exposure

დ The first time BTS react to Chaeri and Hongjoong as a couple

audio on! ⃕

დ Hongjoong's first appearance on an award show after his relationship with Chaeri was made public, in which he was showered with congratulations

დ Ateez talking about everyday life with Chaeri

დ Chaeri and Hongjoong interacting on social media

[theraccoonslair]

Working with you (NSFW)

Characters: Kusakabe Atsuya x AFAB!reader

Synopsis: As much as he hates missions, he is a very thorough individual. Every paper is neatly placed in front of you, a small semi-transparent differently coloured post-it at the corner of every folder, a way to categorise them depending on their function and who they should be delivered to in the office. You nod, trying to memorise number and use of said form, while Kusakabe lends you a pen. “Experience is the best teacher – he says, a small grin appearing on his lips – so I’ll let you do the honor”

Words: 2600⁓

Note: Reader is afab but I tried to keep anything else as gender neutral as possible, so description of body should be ambiguous. "pussy", "cunt" and "clit" used to describe genitalia. No pronouns used. Reader is a foreigner sorcerer, mentions of previous make out session, mentions of alcohol. This is a NSFW text, so please MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, THANK YOU.

The now empty boxes of your take-out are set aside in a corner of the table, to make room for all the preparatory paperwork for the mission. Forms, applications, and all the paperwork required: you also had to learn all the bureaucratic minutiae in order to become a full-fledged sorcerer. You flanked several professional sorcerers since you arrived at Tokyo JuJutsu High, to better understand all the various processes and to see how every individual had their way of doing the work, and for the mission at hand it was Kusakabe-san turn.

After the end of class for that day, you both opted go to the home of one of the two: as much as JuJutsu High provided rooms and offices for their personnel, the both of you wanted somewhere more cosy and relaxed, as winter was fast approaching and being in the office when it was already so dark outside spoiled the mood of the man paired with you.

In that first year in Japan, you had the chance to meet a variety of exceptional and extravagant people that left you almost without breath sometimes, first above anyone else the person that scouted you: Gojo Satoru. But Kusakabe was somehow...different. He was indeed a powerful and skilled sorcerer, a Grade 1 nonetheless, but his demeanor was so in contrast with people like Gojo or Mei-Mei that he seemed almost...normal. And that was kind of a relief, especially for a foreigner that has been oblivious about the jujutsu society for most of their life. He was a good teacher and when he came to you, he used the same patience and tranquility in explaining things: just as he didn't treat any of his students as stupid (maybe apart from the occasional times when they drove him nuts), he never made you feel inferior, putting you at the same level of every other sorcerer and explaining things calmly and clearly.

“Now, we begin with filling the Prearranged Team Management Form.” his low voice takes you out of your own thoughts, bringing you back to the delightfully bureaucratic filled present. He slides a blank folder under your nose, pointing with his finger the protocol number. “It serves to organise who will be in the team and leave a track of which exact people will be at which exact location. Obviously 99% of the time it is filled out after the mission is over, due to the lack of advance notice...but I have to teach you properly, so here it is.”

As much as he hates missions, he is a very thorough individual. Every paper is neatly placed in front of you, a small semi-transparent differently coloured post-it at the corner of every folder, a way to categorise them depending on their function and who they should be delivered to in the office. You nod, trying to memorise number and use of said form, while Kusakabe lends you a pen. “Experience is the best teacher – he says, a small grin appearing on his lips – so I’ll let you do the honor” Another nod from you, while you put all the concentration you’re capable of into filling the form out. He snorts at your face, a smile tugging at he corners of his lips “Don’t worry, you’re not under exam.”

---

A couple of hours later and the atmosphere is far more relaxed, thanks to the majority of the papers being taken care of...and also to the couple of bottles of red wine you had brought from your country.

“There - you say, stretching and lying on the floor, since sitting on a chabudai for too long was something your body was still not that used to – should be the last one, right?” The wine in your system is not that much, you would not call yourself drunk right now, but it leaves a pleasant buzz throughout your whole body, your senses slightly enhanced by the alcohol. There’s also a pleasant warmth that radiates form you and, even if you’re wearing just a t-shirt and a pair of jeans, you feel it slowly increasing. Turning your head towards him, you take the chance to glance at Kusakabe while he’s still preoccupied with checking papers: your gaze start from the hand on the floor he’s putting his weight on, then slowly trails up his hairy forearm (when did he took of his suit jacket and rolled his sleeves up?!?), the slightly unbuttoned shirt, revealing just a hint of his also hairy chest…

“Yep, everything seems fine to me”

...his neck and jaw, idly moving whenever he turned his lollipop around in his mouth...(his neck and jaw that you explored oh so well in an half-drunk yet very aroused state after Ieiri’s birthday party...)

“Y/N?”

You snap out of your trance and meet his questioning gaze, the warmth inside of you making a sudden surge. But, somehow, you don’t feel embarrassed nor guilty. You never felt like that with him, always making you feel at ease, as if he was something solid, something certain that brings stability in the frenzy of life.

“Yes?”

“Are you drunk?”

A heartfelt laugh escapes your lips, while you pat the futon at your side, inviting him to join you on the floor. “No, just happy we finally finished all the boring stuff.” you answer, while he lies on his side near you, propped up on one elbow, hand supporting his head. You look up at him, trying to ignore the warmth that heavily radiates from his body as well.

“Thank you, Kusakabe-san” you murmur.

“Ah, I’ve already told you – he retorts, a small grimace on his features, while he takes the stick of his now finished lollipop out of his mouth – you can call me Atsuya.”

“Well, then... thank you, Atsuya.”

The way you say his given name is not even consciously intended, but it slips out of your lips nonetheless, taking down the raising heat by a couple degrees...but not in an unpleasant manner. Your own voice send a shiver down your spine, the way you said his name probably giving away way more than you had intended to, and you search his gaze, to see and assess how much damage you have done. His brown eyes are instantly locked into yours, a flick of hesitation already fleeting away to give space to...to… You don’t know how to describe what you see, you just feel the warmth of his body raising again and his already wide pupils taking over his irises completely, two dark pools you’re sure you’ll drown into, if you’re not careful. He doesn’t say anything, just exhales a tad too loudly than normal, while still not breaking eye-contact with you. His free hand slowly reaches for you and you don’t notice, still too enthralled by the soft, welcoming abyss of his eyes, until his fingertips brush against the exposed skin between your t-shirt and jeans, fingertips so hot they threaten to burn holes into your flesh, so hot they send another, more powerful this time, shiver up you spine. It’s your time now to exhale loudly, anticipation already making you squirm under his touch.

“Atsuya”

His name rolls out of your tongue another time, more shyly yet more pleading, a whisper that becomes a prayer on his ears and in his heart. How can he deny you, resist you anymore when you say his name oh so nicely? How can he find the strength to stop the both of you once again when you’re here, on his futon, looking up at him with that gaze, calling his name with that tone? How can he withdraw from your warmth? How can he suppress all that turmoil you cause in his heart every damn time he sees you?

He, simply, can’t.

So, finally, instead of fighting back what he now knows to be unbeatable, he surrender. He surrender himself to your smile that goes with your every “Good morning!”, he surrender himself to electricity that surges every time your hands brush by accident, he surrender himself to the optimism you sport every time you go on a mission together. He surrender himself to you, completely and undeniably.

The fingertips on your skin become a palm, sneaking under the hem of your t-shirt and gently caressing what’s underneath it. Your answer wants to be a soft gasp, but there’s no time for it to form before his lips descend on yours. The kiss is so sweet it is almost chaste, that first contact delivering all the feelings the both of you have tried to store away in the depths of your hearts, finally revealing what you have always been afraid to say. It feels liberating to finally let go, and you feel Kusakabe’s muscles relax in sync with yours, months of pining quickly dissolving from your bodies and souls.

One of your hand finds its way to his hair and gently tugs at it, with the result of making him part his lips and moan into your mouth, giving you the chance to deepen the kiss. The flavour of his lollipop floods your taste buds and you devour each other, almost like teenagers at their first shot at kissing, and your body already ask, no scream for so much more that you try to turn on your side to have a better position, but Kusakabe’s hand keeps you firmly in place. He pulls away just enough to look at you “Please, let me…” he murmurs against your lips. And in his tone there’s a plea that sink right into your heart and turns it into jelly. Replying with a nod you let yourself relax again on the futon, while his hand lifts your shirt all the way up, leaving your flushed chest exposed to him. He takes a moment to feel your erratic beating heart, palm pressed right in the middle of your chest, before resuming his exploration of your skin.

Despite the callousness of his hands, his touch is gentle, almost feather-like. Fingertips lightly brush against your skin, trailing around your nipples, but never touching them, down towards your navel, to your hips, up your sides. No haste nor hurry, but taking their damn time into exploring every inch of you, as if they were explorers into territory unknown to mankind up until now. They then skim just above the hem of your jeans, goosebumps now covering the entirety of your body, while his mouth descends to leave warm kisses on your chest. They are almost shy at first, sealed lips barely touching your skin, but as soon as your hand find its place in his hair again, they become more bold, tongue poking out to wet the path.

It takes a few minutes of kisses placed with utter adoration all over your exposed body, before Kusakabe muster the courage to latch on one of your nipples. And when he does, you start to sing. A moan finally fall freely from your parted lips, your body arching into his touch, craving him not only there, but everywhere on your burning body. Your free hand joins the other and entangles itself in his brown locks, instinctively squeezing every time you feel his teeth grazing against your sensitive flesh and receiving a pleased grunt from him in exchange.

There’s a trickle of saliva connecting your nipple to his tongue when he parts from you, and you look at it glimmering in the room’s light, almost enraptured by the vision, before your attention is diverted from it by the man’s hand. Slowly, he’s unbuttoning your jeans, his gaze fixated on you and, as you reciprocate his look, the thought that crosses your mind is that he’s insanely handsome. A blush covers the majority of his face and the tips of his ears, his hair is ruffled by all of your toying, and in his eyes you can see the real feeling he always nurtured for you.

Warm fingers slip past the waistband of your panties and push the clothes down enough your tights to leave your core exposed, the sudden chill air against you heated skin sending a shiver up your spine. Cupping his face with your hands, you kiss Kusakabe deeply, pulling him closer to you, while his fingers start to roam your tight like they previously did on your chest. Your focus shifts from his mouth to his neck (god how you missed it) and you unbutton his shirt, trying to spur him, but his touches are painstakingly slow, fingers too far away from where you wanted them most. Undaunted, you continue your attack, tongue tracing pathways of pleasure into his skin, teeth scarping and sinking, lips comforting and eliciting.

Circles are drawn on the canvas of your skin, smaller and smaller, until he finally reaches your cunt and you start to loose track of time, his fingers teasing your folds but never entering, caresses on your clit that never turns into that something more enough for you to finally cum. Squirming and whimpering through the sweet anguish he persists in doing, yet you hear the first signs of capitulations in his own grunts and moans.

Yet he persists.

Yet he persists.

Yet he persists.

Your breaths are hot and short against each other, the temperature of both your bodies so high now you might have a fever. Your face nuzzle in the crook of his neck, his ministration starting to make you see stars in your vision, while you desperately cling to his now exposed chest, hair soft under your touch.

“A-atsuya...p-pleeease…”

Deft fingers continue to caress your sex, eliciting a new series of moans and cries out of your mouth, his tongue trailing from your ear down your neck, leaving the skin burning in its wake. And you know that, if he continues to torture you like that, it’s no long before you come undone under him. So, with the last remnants of your will, the leg trapped in between his tries to grind against his hard, still clothed, cock, while one of your hand tries to get a hold of his forearm, in a futile attempt to slow him down or hurry him up, you’re not even sure of what you want to do anymore. You just now that you will not resist a second more.

As if he reads your mind, Kusakabe finally finally push a finger past your folds and inside your aching pussy, your lewd cry of pleasure making his dick throb in his pants. There’s no need for a second digit, as your orgasm hits you suddenly and violently, leaving you shaking so bad you cling to him for dear life.

You stay like that for a couple of minutes, but as soon as the shivers start to subside, you look up at him “Need you...inside...pl-please…” is all you manage to say in between your broken breaths. A soft kiss on your temple “Are you sure?”

Just a nod from you and he’s unbuckling his pants, letting his cock finally free. Impatient hands pull him closer and he’s already lined up to your entrance and ready, but he takes his time to smile down and then softly kiss you, before entering in one go in your wet hole. It’s your turn now to moan into his mouth, while he hooks your legs over his arms, a mating press the best way to deal with all the too many clothes you two still wear.

It doesn’t take long for the both of you to reach your peaks, pent-up as you are, moans and cries being swallowed into hungry kisses, bodies trembling in unison. And as your breath slowly come back to normal and you both descend from your high, the way Kusakabe embraces you tells you everything you wanted to hear from him.

[ofmermaidstories]

Merms! Hope you’re feeling better! I adored your surrender au mashup drabble, which my brain randomly got me thinking, in the original surrender universe what the relationship between bakugo’s parents and weeds is like, I wonder if it would be important to bakugo for them to meet? How they would? Imagine the lil flower arrangement weeds would make if it was an organised meet up 🥺

i haven’t posted it yet, but there’s a throwaway line about weeds meeting the bakugous in the birthday!drabble im doing for the one-shot collection. they have their own little dinner with katsuki and weeds, for his birthday! 🥺 he hates every moment lmao, and keeps trying to shut down his mum’s questions. 💀 his dad is much sweeter though—he and weeds meet before this, accidentally, when he stops by katsuki’s apartment and runs into her! it’s what inspires the birthday dinner. 🥹

tbh i see katsuki’s parents as being fairly hands-off that first year weeds and katsuki are together—you know! relationships are funny! you have to let them settle! plus katsuki would be like a rabid chihuahua any time his mother or his dad like, ask about weeds or whatever. mitsuki would be sooo nosy tho—how on earth does anyone tolerate her son for so long???—and masaru would just be so pleased for his little boy. 🥹 like, that first time weeds and the family meet, weeds comes armed with this beautiful, big bouquet of flowers for mitsuki and then afterwards, when katsuki’s shepherd weeds out of the house (all the while evil eying his mother) mitsuki will flick one of the big, fat peonies and be like, “the kid seems sweet. how long do you think it’ll last?”

and masaru will just scratch the side of his nose under his glasses and think about a younger mitsuki, who literally would not take no for an answer from him—and a younger katsuki, who had the same laser-focus when it came to the things he wanted in his life. “i’m not sure,” he’ll say, placidly. “we’ll have to wait and see.”

as an answer it pleases mitsuki—i like to think she’s stubborn about acknowledging the similarities between her and her son. she’d want him to settle down and be normal (and safe) and give her grandbabies—but after nearly losing him so many times as a teenager, a child still, i think she’d just count herself lucky he has a future to live at all—no matter what it looks like, or who it’s with.

(“i can’t believe he’s even interested in human contact,” she complains to masaru the day after the birthday dinner. he’s ironing, nodding as he listens and she sets the wash basket down. “i was beginning to think our real baby got replaced by some kind of—piggybacking little demon, only we were stupid enough to dress it and raise it and set it loose in the real world—”

“piggybacking little demon or not,” masaru interrupts, fondly, “he’s still our boy. i’m glad he’s found someone—especially someone so nice.”

that makes his wife snort; almost exactly like their son used to, as an impatient teenager. “i hope those nice genes are strong enough to beat out his demon ones, then.”

masaru thinks ruefully of his own dark hair—and the way katsuki was almost an exact clone of his mother, down to their scowls. “we’ll have to see about that,” he says, wry.)

eventually tho, mitsuki figures out the name of the florist shop that weeds runs and oh, would you look at that—masaru just happens to be in town! in the same area! what a coincidence!! didn’t expect to run into katsuki’s girlfrend, here of all places, oh well better take some flowers back home for mitsuki haha! weeds would be delighted—masaru is a very gentle man, and when neither of them have their respective blondes there, needling the other, it’s easier to hold proper conversation. it wouldn’t be crazy often—once every few months, maybe, when masaru “accidentally” wanders into town—but i reckon eventually he and weeds would have a standing lunch date. 🥺 just a little check-in. weeds can get the family happenings/gossip from him, and he can get a true assessment of what’s going on his boy’s world. 🥺 they’d either eat together in the store or go to little cafés, bistros—talk over sandwiches or traditional bowls served by some tiny, tiny old grandmother with a shop cat that sits on the counter and a pile of magazines on the chair next to weeds. it’d be fun! weeds would really enjoy the time with another civilian who knows what it’s like to love a pro-hero, and worry for them. 🥺

(it’s all fun and games until katsuki figures it out. he sees it, actually, while on patrol; the pair of them walking back from lunch like old friends. he’s so mad LMAO. he told his stupid parents to butt out of things!!! masaru’s laughing at weeds impersonating a grumpy katsuki when there’s a growl from behind them—he’s lethally silent when he wants to be—and someone says, “something real funny, eh?”

weeds and masaru are fairly similar in temper, i think—so they’d be identically shame-faced, as katsuki bawls them out, right there on the street LMAO. told off by a pro hero. 😔 how embarrassing.)

[karliahs]

1 & 10 & 22 !!

from the weird writer questions asks

ty anon!!!

What font do you write in? Do you actually care or is that just the default setting?

i have never once changed the font from whatever the default is, so currently i write in (checks google docs) arial

i do always think that i should try the comic sans trick next time i am stuck. and then never remember that exists when i am actually stuck

10. Has a piece of writing ever “haunted” you? Has your own writing haunted you? What does that mean to you?

oh man. all the time.

for other people's writing: my primary hauntings are sadie by courtney summers and idaho by emily ruskovich. i kind of don't want to even say anymore bc i think everyone should read those books while knowing as little as possible about them (minus content warnings bc there are some extremely heavy ones). if you're not gonna read them: the fates of some characters are left ambiguous in both, and both absolutely haunt me. i think about them all the time

i am definitely haunted by other people's fics also. scenes/lines will become part of how i think about that character and will play on repeat when i am walking around listening to music having my character thoughts

with my own writing: also big yes!! some fics haunt me as i am writing them. sometimes scenes are so vivid it feels like they are writing themselves inside my head. ten of swords felt so much like a haunting. i was mentally writing it as i was falling asleep and then i woke up in the middle of the night and it truly just carried on as though nothing had happened.

things i've written can also haunt me after they are written. i reread my own fics a lot and sometimes i get kind of...stuck...on a particular work. there were weeks when i read the same fic like....10 times? at least? sometimes specific paragraphs even. there was a period where i just kept rereading this one bit of repeat:

Don’t tell him that you’re tired too – not of him, not from lack of sleep, just bone-deep tired of every good thing being so fragile and temporary. Tired of running on a wheel every day, every day, and knowing you can lose these kids anyway. Suspect that he’s noticed anyway, since he’s visibly trying to find a non-impertinent way to ask if you’re alright. Every year they’re kinder and more breakable.

i think it happens when there is something buried in a thing i've written that i don't fully understand yet. or don't understand why it's hitting me the way it is.

i like it. i'm in favour of being haunted

22. How organized are you with your writing? Describe to me your organization method, if it exists. What tools do you use? Notebooks? Binders? Apps? The Cloud?

ha. not organised at all. it's me and 50 google docs against the world. which is mostly fine because i don't write particularly long things, or have long projects to keep track of.

about the only organisational things i do are putting a . at the front of file names if that fic posted to help me mentally skip past it in the list, and putting the fandom in square brackets at the beginning...sometimes. very inconsistently. it's most useful for fandoms where i'm not currently writing for them, so again it's helpful to mentally skip over those

it's funny bc i worked admin for a long time so one of my like work skills is organisation, and i think that makes me less inclined to do that with hobby stuff. being organised is for when i am being paid to do it

[wetcatspellcaster]

2, 7 and 29 for rose :0

Hi lovely, thank you for the ask!

2 and 7 were replied to in a previous post, apologies to the scrollers for the copy and paste, just for the ease of the person asking!

2. What relationship did your Tav have with their family/guardian(s) growing up? Has that changed with age?

So Rosalie is your stereotypical filthy only child lmao. She had a very good relationship with her parents (and also her aunt/aunt's children, as they all live on the same road in the same town!), although she is closer with her mother than her father because it's a pretty matriarchal family (it's the mother's line that's all based in the same place!). They paid to help her study magic in after school lessons the same way a middle class parent might pay for violin, etc.

This has changed with age - as of the game timeline she had not been home in two years due to the agoraphobia she is hiding from her family. She tends to write home regularly (lol she hasn't written yet in the adventure so that's a concern) but when her parents try to organise dates to come visit or for her to come home she invents extensive excuses to do with work, and then sometimes literally books extra work when her parents push her on it. As a result, they have grown increasingly distant.

7. What circumstances led to your Tav becoming their class/subclass?

Divination wizard - honestly, Rosalie isn't a Gale, she isn't a child prodigy or anything. I imagine her as a very intelligent girl who's parents decided to keep in school when she was shown to be good at it in the hope of bettering her. She was essentially put into a 'gifted and talented' programme, and I imagine that in the D&D world a 'gifted and talented' programme probably involves some taster lessons/aptitude tests in magic. Rosalie enjoyed learning magic so it became her hobby, and it opened up opportunities for her to study a 'mundane' subject but at a magical university - she essentially did a History and Classical Languages programme, which is how she got into translation, but at a magical university like Blackstaff so there was a lot of minors in magic she could take and her classes in non-magical subjects were still considered magic specialisms: essentially doing history of magic rather than just straight history.

Not to build my OC's CV (lol) but it was only in her master's that Rose probably started thinking of her self as a 'wizard' rather than 'a scholar who does magic', as her translations became about very high level spells - even though she couldn't cast them herself, she understood them on a level that a hobbyist wouldn't. This is when she became a wizard, and joined the Watchful Order with the plan to become a wizard (kind of like a graduate programme or law conversion lmfao). But she starts the game at level 1 bc her agoraphobia prevented her pursuing that at all, and she became a scribe and studier of spells rather than a caster of spells.

29. What advice would you give your Tav?

LMFAO. What advice *wouldn't* I give this woman???

I guess, after hitting her over the head repeatedly being like "communicate! your! feelings! to! the! people! that! matter! to! you!" you! dumb! fucking! wizard!"...

...I would sit her down and say: "Depression lies to you. It twists your view of the world to suit the narrative that allows it to survive and live on in your forever, like a parasite. Depression looks for any evidence to sustain itself because it doesn't care about your survival, only its own. Don't trust anything it tells you: don't think the bad things about you are intrinsic but the good things are fleeting, don't hate yourself just for the sake of hating yourself, and know that even the most inescapable moment will eventually pass."

(and then I'd be like, "also, tell the vampire man you like him, in literally every timeline this is your fucking downfall, i stg.")

30 questions for your Tav!

[beardedmrbean]

In Dhaka, students are on the streets directing traffic and keeping things running as police stage a strike following the popular uprising that toppled prime minister Sheikh Hasina.

The police, normally highly visible, are nowhere to be seen on the usually loud and congested streets of the Bangladeshi capital.

It seems that only students and some paramilitary forces are trying to maintain law and order, after weeks of unrest in which hundreds have been killed. An interim government is promised, but has yet to take office.

Police now fear for their safety after the deadly crackdown that caused so much anger. It failed to quell anti-government protests that had begun over civil service job quotas last month.

Things are calmer two days after Ms Hasina escaped to India, but there are continuing reports of sporadic looting and violence during the power vacuum.

Many Bangladeshis, particularly the young, hope the country is at a turning point.

“I want freedom of expression. I want a corruption-free country. I want people to have the right to protest,” Noorjahan Mily, 21, an Open University student, told the BBC.

“I am uncertain about where the country is heading, because the government has changed. But whether the discrimination will remain or not, I will only be happy when their demands are met.”

The country is now trying to come to terms with the shock of what has just happened, now that power has been prised from the hands of the country's long-time ruler.

More than 400 people were killed in the recent unrest, most of them civilians shot by security forces, but also a number of police. It’s the bloodiest episode since the war that brought the country independence in 1971.

At the airport, a worker handed me my bags, telling me the situation is very bad and the government used too much force.

“Many kids – as young as six, seven and eight – were killed,” he said.

Outside the airport, students wearing orange hi-vis vests were directing traffic.

“There’s no police here, only students,” the driver said. “There is no government, students are doing 100% security.”

He agreed with the students, saying they had done a good thing.

As we drove on, a group of students were putting out plastic cones to control the flow of vehicles.

“I’m here to protect my brothers and help with the traffic. From the very beginning, I participated in the quota movement that turned into a massive movement,” Julkernayeem Rahat, a business administration student at University of Asia Pacific, told the BBC.

“We are happy we’ve removed the autocratic government. We have gained our freedom and our sovereignty.”

He was confident that the man named as interim leader, Nobel Laureate Muhammed Yunus, will be able to form a government after a few months "with the help of students, lawyers, general people”.

“Bangladesh’s future is in the hands of the student leaders. God willing, things will be good,” said the 22-year-old.

Mahamudul Hassan, 21, is studying on the same course.

“I want democracy so that people of all walks of life can enjoy equal opportunities, equal rights.” He’s hoping for “a leader who can make those things happen”.

Mr Yunus was appointed to the post late on Tuesday by Bangladesh's president, meeting a key demand of student protesters, who said they would not accept an army-led government. He is now heading back from having surgery in France and could be sworn in on Thursday.

"I'm looking forward to going back home and see what's happening and how we can organise ourselves to get out of the trouble we're in," he told reporters on Wednesday at Paris Charles de Gaulle airport, where he was due to fly to Dhaka.

Following reports of looting and revenge attacks on supporters of Sheikh Hasina, he has urged people to refrain from all kinds of violence, warning that if they did not, they risked everything being destroyed.

In an address to the nation on Wednesday, the army chief said he was certain Mr Yunus "will be able to take us through a beautiful democratic process and that we will benefit from this".

How things turn out is still to be determined – but as far as traffic management goes, the students seem to be doing a good job.

The BBC found it flowing much better than when we visited in January for controversial elections, boycotted by the main opposition, that handed Sheikh Hasina’s Awami League a fourth term in power.

It almost seemed like business as usual when we saw a group of men pulling large metal rods for a construction project.

“The traffic system is better now. The students are managing well. It’s better than when the police were here,” said Mohammed Shwapan, who has been a Dhaka driver for 24 years. “Today is busier than yesterday.”

He supports the choice of interim leader.

“As Mr Yunus is well known internationally, he can mitigate any potential economic collapse.

“I am worried about the international debt, how will Bangladesh be able to manage payments. That's why I think he can do a good job.”

The challenges ahead are enormous, and not just economic. There are many wounds to heal after Sheikh Hasina’s 15 years in power ended on Monday.

Her government is credited with economic reforms that have improved the standard of living for many in Bangladesh. But she was also accused of serious human rights abuses, including numerous extra-judicial killings and forced disappearances.

Many people have stories to tell of what their families went through.

On the plane to Dhaka, I managed to close my eyes for a few minutes. When I opened them, I found a handwritten note on an airsick bag in the back pocket of the seat in front.

On it, someone had written that his father was killed by Sheikh Hasina and his brother abducted. He had been in self-imposed exile for the last eight years for the safety of his wife and children.

Now he is coming back to what he calls “a free country”, to visit his father’s grave, the note said.

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

A new servant desperately struggles to understand what exactly Merlin is:

A cryptid? Arthur's boyfriend? Simply a dude? The court jester? Something else entirely? Who knows, certainly not the new guy.

The first time the new kitchen-hand, Tristan, saw The King’s dark-haired servant sprinting down the corridor, he couldn’t tell if the man was laughing or crying.

He was fast, faster than Tristan thought possible for someone whose arms were so full of laundry, but he politely steps out of the way, coming to the conclusion that he must’ve been late for something. At least... he did think that, until he turns the next corner to see three of The king’s most trusted knights peering out of windows and into random doors. Tristan freezes in the corridor, he’d heard that servants were treated extremely well here, but he’d only been employed for a few days and he didn’t want to risk anything by pushing past or addressing his betters.

One of the knights, Sir Leon, his brain helpfully supplies, spots him stood there, and his annoyed frown quickly morphs into a friendly smile:

“Pardon me, sorry, I don’t suppose you’ve seen Merlin around anywhere, have you?”

Tristan’s eyes go wide and the grip he has on his tray tightens, but he forces himself to take a breath and answer, trying his best to keep his voice even:

“Merlin is... The King’s manservant? Tall, with dark hair?”

Another knight pushes forward, he looks to be the oldest, with dark hair falling in an almost deliberately tousled way around his bearded jawline. His charming grin seems just a little too wide to be genuine, but Tristan isn’t quite sure if that’s because he’s about to take pleasure in punishing someone, or if he’s just being polite to a stranger:

“Yeah, yeah that’s him, seen him? Arsehole turned our shirts pink in the wash, and something tells me it was deliberate.”

Tristan gulps at the accusation and he takes a shaky step back, but before he can even think of defending the stranger that he now thinks must’ve been crying, the last of the three knights, a giant, if Tristan believed in such things, steps forward:

“Don’t worry, we won’t beat him too much.” 

He says it with a grin and a quirk of his eyebrows, but once again the kitchen-hand can’t tell if it was cruel or genuine, if he was being sarcastic or not.

“Uh... yeah, he turned left at the end of this corridor, but I didn’t see where he went after that, I apologise.”

Sir Leon waves away his apology with a smile, looking to the long-haired knight with a raised eyebrow:

“The stables?”

The man grins widely, nodding his agreement as he turns his grin to the giant. Sir Leon offers Tristan another soft smile, murmuring his thanks before moving past him, elbowing the other two to prompt them in to thanking him as well. The three of them march down the corridor with almost vindictive smiles on their faces, and Tristan prepares himself to see a vacancy note, or possibly a funeral invite, posted on the notice board by the next morning.

When he passes a window that evening to see the King’s manservant being carried on the giant’s shoulders as five other knights pelt them with gloves, a grin on every face, he decides that... well... it’s probably best to just not to ask.

~

The next time he sees Merlin, a few days later, The King is also there.

This is the first time Tristan has been in Arthur Pendragon’s presence, and though the other servant’s all rave on about how awkwardly kind he is, he’s a bundle of nerves. Not even Cook’s stories about how often she whacks The King’s knuckles with a wooden spoon when she catches him about to pilfer something stops Tristan’s heart from racing. 

The King was overseeing a few of the servants decorate the main hall for a feast, and whilst Tristan is certain that that’s not something The King normally does, he doesn’t question it, just thinks that maybe the other servants had been telling the truth, and he was a genuinely nice, but normal man. 

Merlin stands at his side, and though Tristan can’t hear their conversation, the two of them are clearly bickering over something. The servant can’t help his curiosity, wanting desperately to move closer to find out what sort of things The King allows his servant to bicker with him about; luckily, the table right next to them has yet to be laid, so he moves towards it quickly. He doesn’t even glance at them, terrified of being caught out, but perhaps Merlin surviving the knights non-wrath the other day is encouraging him, and his steps don’t falter. Their words come in to focus, and he has to stop the confused, and slightly horrified, frown from spreading across his face:

“Arthur, I swear to the Gods, if you make me wear that hat again, I’ll piss in your wine and serve it to you in front of a crowd.”

The King scoffs just as Tristan shakily begins laying down the cutlery:

“That’s treason, Merlin.”

“Do I look like I care? Not only will I piss in your wine, I will not hesitate to push you over a balcony at the first opportunity. This hall is high up and it’s a long way down to the gardens. He drank toxic wine and turned loopy and tipped himself off a balcony and went splat! That’s what people will say. I’m not wearing the Godamn hat.”

Tristan has to focus extra carefully to stop himself from gasping; Merlin just threatened to kill The King... that’s got to be a death sentence. Pissing off some knights that he’s obviously friendly with is one thing, but threatening to kill The-

“Ha ha. Very funny. If you can’t tell, Merlin, I’m being sarcastic, I know you struggle with complex concepts like that.”

Merlin just rolls his eyes, crossing his arms as he says with no hesitation:

“My mind is more than capable of coping, My Lord, it’s your belt I worry about being able to cope nowadays.”

Tristan bites his tongue to stop himself from yelping and turns away so neither of them can see his horrified face. The King just makes an outraged noise in the back of his throat, and Tristan can hear Merlin snort in laughter at whatever expression Arthur was wearing to match such a noise:

“Go to the stocks. I want you there for three hours.”

Tristan lets out a confused breath; Merlin threatens to kill The King, and gets playful sarcasm, but he implies The King might be a tad overweight, and gets sent to the stocks for three hours? How is that-

“Yeah... no. Not happening. The feast starts in less than two hours and I still have to help Guinevere organise some stuff in the courtyard, do Gaius’ rounds for him, then put an extra hole in your belt and help you get dressed because, despite being a grown man, you’re still an idiot who’s incapable of putting clothes on in any sort of decent manner.”

Tristan finds himself relaxing a little. This seems to be the norm for them, but surely... surely The King had a line somewhere, and a servant just flat out refusing to be disciplined must be where it lies?

Arthur just scoffs, and Tristan angles his head in such a way that he can see him roll his eyes:

“Fuck off.”

Merlin grins, seeming to cast a suspicious gaze over the room to make sure no one was watching and somehow completely missing Tristan stood just there, before saying quietly:

“You love me really, you prat.”

With that, Merlin reaches up to yank at a lock of The King’s hair before hurrying off in the direction of the courtyard before Arthur can react. The King jumps slightly, clearly caught by surprise as an annoyed flush rises on his face, but Tristan just frowns in confusion when his shock gives way to a softly amused smile.

Huh.

~

The next few times Tristan saw Merlin made him fear for the servant’s safety. He was being taken on hunts by The King and his knights, that’s meant to be for squires, to learn the ropes and gain experience in tracking and riding. 

He supposes it isn’t entirely unheard of for a servant to follow their master on a hunt, but with the way Merlin complains without pause, and The King in turn complains about his complaining, he thinks it would better for everyone if Merlin just... didn’t go. When he brings it up to another servant, a lovely woman named Guinevere who had helped him get unlost at least three times in his first week, she just laughs and smiles at him pityingly:

“I wouldn’t worry, those two have been like that forever, they’re practically inseparable.”

Tristan responds with a rather intelligent sounding:

“...What?”

Gwen laughs softly again, shaking her head and patting his shoulder consolingly:

“You’ll get used to it, they’re just... like that.”

She gives him one more smile before turning to wave the boys out of the gates and walking back to the castle as if this were the most normal thing in the world. Tristan supposes that it probably is.

The next time Tristan sees Merlin leave the city gates with the knights, Sir Elyan, Sir Mordred, and Sir Lancelot this time, it’s distinctly worse. Because he’d caught sight of the patrol rota last time he ran food down to the training ground, and he was certain that those three had a city patrol right about now.

Before he even has time to gape in shock, he hears Merlin’s pleading voice as he trails Sir Elyan like a lost puppy:

“Please, El, I promise to stay out of the way, I will do anything, but I swear to the Gods if I have to spend one more minute around that prat, I’ll hurl myself from the battlements.”

Swearing to the Gods and threating to hurl various people, including himself, from significant heights seems to be some sort of theme for The King’s manservant. Before Tristan can consider the implications of that, Sir Elyan turns to Merlin with a wide, teasing grin on his face:

“You know, I would’ve let you tag along for free, Merlin, but now that you’ve promised me something I feel the need to take advantage.”

Tristan tenses at that, a shot of ice spiking down his spine. He has keen eyes and sharp ears, he knows that Sir Elyan is the lovely Gwen’s brother, Sir Mordred seems to have an... odd worship for the servant, and he’s definitely picked up on the close bond between Merlin and Sir Lancelot, but is this where Camelot’s image comes crashing down in Tristan’s head? He knew that it was better here for servant’s than other Kingdoms, but there are always people who’ll take advantage of their position, no matter where you are. Merlin’s shoulders just drop and he asks in a sulking voice:

“What do you want?”

Tristan grits his teeth, moving his gaze so no one would catch him glaring at the knight as he tries to figure out a way to help, a way to get this virtual stranger out of being... abused, in such a manner. If he’d carried on glaring, he would’ve noticed Elyan’s soft smile and amused raised eyebrow:

“Next time you gather herbs for Gaius, bring back some more of those flowers that you got for Gwen. She said they added vibrancy to the house, whatever that means, but they make her happy, so...-”

Merlin just giggles and nods and Tristan relaxes, looking back to them with a confused smile on his face. That was... actually kind of sweet, he can definitely see the resemblance between the knight and his sister:

“-AND I want whatever Arthur’s having for dinner tonight, his food always looks way nicer than ours.”

Merlin lets out a faux annoyed groan, but then rolls his eyes and grins, nodding:

“Consider it done. Can we go now? I really don’t want to risk him seeing me and giving me some stupid chore to do.”

Elyan laughs and nods, and the four of them begin making their way out of the courtyard and into the city. Sir Lancelot finally joins the conversation, clearly amused as he says:

“You know it’s literally your job to do chores, right?”

Merlin turns to glare at him as Sir Mordred and Sir Elyan laugh, and Tristan only just hears his reply as the castle gates shut behind them:

“Fuck off.”

Tristan decides it would be pointless to bring this up to anyone again, he figures he’ll probably just get the same answer as last time.

~

The next confusing incident happens only a few days later. But Tristan supposes that at this point... it really shouldn’t be confusing. Gwen was right, he did just... get used to it.

He heard the steps pounding down the corridor before he saw him, but they were coming fast and hard, so he presses himself against the wall, holding the tray to his side to protect it as best he could as Merlin comes skidding round the corner. 

He stops just long enough for Tristan to calm himself by spying the wide grin on his face, but he’s quickly sprinting down the hall again, laughing as he waves whatever it is he’s got clutched in his hands. The second set of loud, rapid footsteps stops Tristan from stepping away from the wall quite yet. Just a moment later, Sir Gwaine follows Merlin’s skidded path around the corner, though the heavier man overshoots slightly and he runs into the wall opposite Tristan with a crash and a deep groan.

The rebellious knight gives a wide-eyed Tristan an awkward nod before pushing himself off the wall and following Merlin’s blazing trail, screaming down the corridor:

“I warned you Merlin!! Don’t come between a man and his ale, now give that back you bastard!”

Tristan hears Merlin’s laughter grow louder, even from the two corridors away that the other servant had managed to race to.

He shrugs to himself, waiting for a moment to see if anyone else was going to come barrelling around the corner before sighing, and continuing his journey up to the visiting Lord’s chambers.

It was unusual, he thought, how quickly he’d come to terms with the fact that a servant was sassing The King and pranking the knights and inviting himself on various hunts and patrols that he really had no business on. Unusual indeed.

~

He’d learnt to ignore it. Or at least brush it off.

In the two weeks since Merlin had (presumably) stolen Sir Gwaine’s skin of ale, he’d seen the servant call The King a long list of imaginative insults (what the hell is a dollop head?), walk around with Sir Leon’s cloak on because he was a little chilly, accuse someone of treason (and somehow been right about it), and threaten to kill at least seven people; including, but not limited to: The King himself, The King’s already dead father, some stuck up Noble (though that was under his breath, Tristan just happened to be stood next to him), and Sir Percival.

And Gwen was... absolutely right. He's just... like that. He's Merlin, and that’s what Merlin does.

So when he turns a corner in a rarely used to corridor to see him pressing The King against a wall, snogging the life out of him, Tristan simply turns around and walks back the other way. Both of them look fairly happy with the arrangement, and they’d probably chosen this corridor for the exact same reason Tristan had: it was out of everyone’s way, and was unlikely to be inhabited.

He thinks it’s odd, how... un-odd he finds it. He absent-mindedly thinks that, with the way they acted around each other, he really should’ve seen this coming. A sudden thought occurs to him, and he ducks into a storage cupboard, laying his tray down carefully as he rummages through the boxes. He lets out a quiet “Yay” when he finds what he’s looking for, carefully picking up his tray with only one hand and nudging the door open again with his hip. 

He walks back towards the corner he had just turned (and turned again) making a conscious effort to keep his steps quiet; he places the danger sign, usually used where walls had collapsed or windows had been smashed, in the middle of the corridor, a clear indication of “Do Not Enter”.

He nods smugly at his quick thinking and easy handy work before mentally planning the quickest route to the kitchens and following it hurriedly.

He casually wonders if he has time to circle around to the other end of the corridor so he could put another sign down before Cook gets angry at him for being late. Probably not. At least, not before they... finish up and move on. Hmm. He suddenly panics about the thought of them seeing the sign and knowing that someone had spotted them but... well. Hopefully they would just appreciate it and move on.

Yet again, he decides not to bring this up to anyone. He may or may not have overheard a few of the knights making some sort of bet, and he may or may not want to watch on with amusement as they fail to realise that all of them have already lost.

Tristan smiles to himself; working here had turned out to be rather entertaining, in the end.

~

THE END

I know it’s short, but I really didn’t know what else to add without it sounding like I was just repeating myself over and over😅

I hope y’all enjoyed it!!

[the-travelling-witch]

Online class shenanigans

summary: what´s it like to have online classes with them

pairings: sakusa x gn!reader; kenma x gn!reader; osamu x gn!reader (feat. Atsumu)

warnings: none!

a/n: i´m sorry again about posting so late, i got held up after i got home :( also, f/n stands for "friend´s name" and c/n for "classmate´s name"

haikyuu masterlist

SAKUSA

Mr. “I`ll make sure you pay attention”

If you´re in the same room he´ll glare at you when he notices you goofing off during class

If not he´ll text you

Which almost always backfires bc how can he ignore you when you try talking to him?

Now he isn´t paying attention either

But he still has all the notes at the end of the lesson???

What is this sorcery? I´m taking notes during the lecture and I´m still missing half of it,, college man

Won´t give you his notes but talks you through the parts you don´t understand so you can solve the problems on your own (and does a better job than the teacher)

Always checks on you to make sure you´re actually doing your assignments

Will bring you coffee, tea or any other beverage of your choice when he´s not in a meeting

If you´re dating long enough and he´s more comfortable with showing his affection he will leave little notes around your desk area to remind you to eat, stay hydrated and that you can push through your classes

With this boy around you´re not missing any of your deadlines

You sighed as you closed the zoom call, your brain had pulled another blank on today´s lesson. But honestly how could you understand anything when your teacher was rushing the curriculum like some kind of olympic athlete. Just yesterday night you finally thought you understood last week´s topic when he came in and had to utterly destroy your carefully build card house of lies.

The tone of an incoming discord call saved you from an inevitably incoming panic attack. It was Sakusa Kiyoomi, your boyfriend, who at this point was the only thing holding you together. You greet him with a soft “hi” before your voice could betray you.

“Love, are you alright? I couldn´t help but notice that you looked a little out of it during class.” There was genuine concern in his voice and a hint of pink dusting his cheeks. It had taken a little while for him to call you by a pet name and evidently it still flustered him but he was growing more comfortable each day.

“I´m fine, Omi. It´s just that I can´t fail this class but Mr. Johnson is moving through the material so fast that I can´t keep up and what will my parents do, I never failed a class before…” And just like that you were venting all your problems to Sakusa who was patiently listening. It felt good to get everything you had bottled up off your chest, even though you were tearing up and your voice broke off every so often. Once you were done, you looked back at your boyfriend who had his brows slightly furrowed and gave you a sympathetic look.

“I´m so sorry, darling, I didn´t know you were feeling this way.” When you assured him that you were fine- “just a little stressed, is all”- he held up his hand and broke you off “No, it´s not `fine´. You shouldn´t struggle on your own. Why don´t you come over? I could help you through the material, if you want that is.”

You gaped at him and confirmed that he really meant it. You were in a pandemic after all.

“Of course. If it´s you it´s always okay.” Okay, your heart shouldn´t beat this fast.

After you safely arrived at his house and greeted his mom you vividly remember the first time you came over, she nearly combusted out of joy, you followed him to his room and plopped down in front of his neatly organised desk.

“Here, I made some tea. So, what part are you stuck at?”

A couple of hours later, Sakusa had somehow managed to explain everything to you so easily that there was no way you couldn´t have understood it. And while he never just gave you the solutions, his explanations made the answers basically fall into your lap.

When he was convinced that you really got the hang of it, he declared this session for finished and you slumped into the chair. Your brain was positively fried.

“Do you maybe want to stay over a little longer? We could continue that show you like so much”, your boyfriend suggested sheepishly. Now there was a rather obvious blush creeping up his neck. You swear, this boy was too cute for his own good.

Both of you got comfy on his bed, laptop propped up in front of you but you realised that you probably wouldn´t make it too far into the episode. All this worrying had worn you out and you could already feel your eyelids drooping. The last thing you remembered before you inevitably fell asleep was Sakusa drawing you in closer and placing a chaste kiss to the top of your head.

“Rest well, my love. You deserve it.”

KENMA

If you think Kenma isn´t using this as an opportunity to game then you´re wrong

What did you expect honestly?

Boy has already tried to sneak his switch into his normal classes

The difference now is that he´s roping you into his shenanigans as well

Whether it´s playing games on iMessage or rearranging your shared island on animal crossing

You bet Kenma is (successfully) trying to redirect your attention to him and his games

If you still focus on your class somehow, he will pout about it (he knows exactly what it takes for you to break)

If you share classes, he will convince you to come over because he likes having you close

I hope you have friends who´ll sent you their notes, considering you won´t be taking any

You´ll go through the materials together afterwards, you don´t want to fail after all

You were hanging onto your teacher´s every word. I mean, who wouldn´t during math class, after all, what was more interesting than… what was the topic of today´s lesson anyway? Yeah, who were you kidding, you didn´t have a clue what was going on. Just then your phone lit up, providing some much-needed distraction.

Kenma: We need another beach chair

Your friends would probably relate your confused reaction back to the lecture, which, you know, fair point. Another chime from your phone.

Kenma: And we should remodel our house

House? Remodel? Our? Sure, you were dating but only for a few months yet and you were certainly too young to be living together although you come over so often you might actually be

Kenma: Also tom nook is selling that piano you wanted

Finally, everything clicked into place. A few weeks ago, the new Animal Crossing game came out and naturally your cute boyfriend suggested sharing an island, which you instantly agreed to.

You: Please buy it!! also it´s timmy and tommy selling it :(

You: I´ll join you once class is over

You turned back to your laptop only to stare in horror as the entire screen was filled with formulas and Greek letters and… yeah, no, not today.

Kenma: Yeah whatever

Kenma: You could just play now, class is boring anyway

And who were you to argue with that? With Kenma around you´ve gotten pretty good at sneakily playing just about every co-op game he threw at you. And although you feel slightly guilty about it and you´ve been very, very close to being caught more than a few times already, you´ve got to admit that this whole homeschooling thing was a lot more fun this way.

Kenma: You should come over later

Kenma: It´s easier to plan the interior design in person

You actually giggle at his text. Seriously, Kenma could be so cute sometimes most times, still you couldn´t help but tease him just a little.

You: Sure babe, that´s the only reason

You: Anyway, see you later <3

Kenma: <3

f/n: did you understand class?? you looked like you had some kind of epiphany about linear equation systems

OSAMU

The guy that steals everyone´s attention, not just yours

Either fighting with Atsumu which is just as funny when they´re muted, lord knows how the house is still standing with these two cooped up inside

Or just looking gorgeous

If you´re not taking the same class and he appears in your camera you can see your classmates´ attention wavering teach obviously isn´t as interesting as him

Will bring you snacks

He uses quarantine to experiment around in the kitchen and you’re his #1 taste taster if he manages to save the food from his twin

Texts you during classes to see your reaction on the screen when you´re trying to suppress your smile so the teacher won´t notice most of the time you fail though

Roasts your teachers with you when they give you a shit ton of work

Will give you his notes without hesitation his brother feels betrayed because he normally has to fight him for it

Makes homeschooling a lot more bearable, his presence alone is already really comforting <3

You´d been staying at your boyfriend´s house for a couple of days, the current situation didn´t allow for much else anyway. And while it was more chaotic than ever, with Atsumu und Osamu not being able to practice as much and therefore channelling all their pent-up energy into annoying each other, it was nice to get a sense of normality.

Also, having your supporting boyfriend around has definitely helped you with holding onto your sanity. The number of times you wanted to faceplant your desk because of the sheer workload had decreased, much to your remaining brain cells´ joy. However, there was another rather amusing side effect to being around Osamu this much.

You were currently sitting in front of your laptop, coffee on the side and bundled up in one of his hoodies as you were listening to your teacher, taking notes here and there. Then, the door to your room -well, actually Osamu´s room- opened slightly to reveal your amazing boyfriend holding a plate of freshly made onigiri. He´d been trying around a lot more ever since quarantine started probably to stop himself from murdering his twin and your stomach has never been happier.

He quietly walked over to where you sat, put the plate down and gave you a quick peck to the top of your head, asking if you needed anything else.

“Made these ´specially for ya, sweetheart. A think ya will really like the new flavours”, he whispered even though your mic was muted.

“Of course I´ll do, you made them after all.” You sent him a soft smile over your shoulder. “Thanks, ´samu.”

He replied with a quiet “Anything for ya, sweetheart” before he left the room. And then it started. Your phone went crazy with all the messages that came in. Sure, you had seen your classmates´ eyes widen when your boyfriend stepped into the view of your camera but this was hilarious on a different level.

(c1/n): excuse me, who was that???

(c2/n): (y/n) is your boyfriend single?

(c3/n): omg he brought them food

The pandemic really made you realise just how lucky you´ve been to call Osamu yours. Not just because he brought you delicious food or because watching him squabble with his brother was free entertainment but because when everything felt like too much, he would be there to help you calm down. He always reassured you that your feelings were valid and he would either listen to you rant about whatever or try to cheer you up.

“My history teacher is such an ass, ´samu. Can you believe that he only gave us two days to finish that essay? Two days! Like yeah, I don´t have anything else to do”, you complain, snuggling deeper into the comfort his broad chest provided. In return, he tightened his hold on you and started tracing circles onto your lower back, his palm warm against your skin.

“Well, A think two days are quite generous, considering he might not make it to the due date. When A saw him during yer class A thought he must´ve witnessed everything himself."

You snort at that. No matter how tough your day was or how stressed you were, something about just being near Osamu seemed to make your world a bit brighter. Frankly, you had no idea how he did it but you certainly appreciated it. You thought to yourself that with him by your side, you could do anything; and you know, it might actually be true.

[shurisneakers]

harmless (x)

Summary: Bucky volunteers to go stop a small time villain, but nothing can prepare him for what exactly he has to deal with. (Bucky x villain!reader, drabble series)

Warnings: cursing, frustrated bucky, dramatic reader, anxiety, smidge of angst, mentions of violence

Word count: 7.8k (i went overboard. clearly.)

A/N: as well all know, i am a humanities student writing science geeks. if any of this sounds unrealistic or nonsensical, it’s because it is and i am honestly too exhausted to research data privacy and AI so here’s my take on how STEM should work i.e. the power of friendship  <3 major shoutout to @iamlittlesparkler for the idea for this chapter!

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous Part  || Series Masterlist

“As you know, we have a busy week ahead of us.” 

Coffees line the conference room table, pens click against the stacks of paper that settle in front of various agents and the smell of deodorant mixed with post-training sweat lingers at the back of the room like a disgusting witch concoction. 

“The annual parade is coming up and since there are a few security threats, SHIELD has been asked to step in. Therefore, all of you will be working security this week, possibly even at the parade.” Murmurs broke out in the room the minute this was said; mostly from first year field agents who were way too excited to have earpieces and fingerless gloves. 

Bucky, on the other hand, doesn’t think much of it. They’ve dealt with threats before, most were declared empty the minute it got out that SHIELD or the Avengers were involved. It’s the 12th one that year. 

“That’s only if we don’t catch it first,” Steve continued. “Our first priority is precaution. The tech and analytics teams are working on it. However, if you see anything suspicious, bring it up with Director Fury. He’s going to be around to make sure we’re not overlooking anything. Do you have any questions?”

More whispers erupted at the mention of Fury’s name. Wait till they realise he lives up to his name when they accidentally manage to set him off just by existing incorrectly.

Bucky smirks at the thought.

“You can leave then.” Steve straightens up as chairs shuffle against the carpeted floor, over twenty people leaving the room.

“And remember, if you see an eagle today, be sure to stand there and thank it on behalf of Steve for its service. Freedom! Liberty! And whatever else,” Tony calls out from the corner of the room, earning a sigh from the captain. Others only snicker as they close the door behind them.

“Thanks.” Steve stares at him stone faced, bemused at the symbolism that had been bestowed upon him.

“Gotta keep the patriotism high.” The only ones that remain are the official team. Bucky thinks that he should have left with the other agents but apparently, it was rude and not a good show of team spirit.

“How serious is this threat anyway?” Clint has his head face down on the table, hand holding his to-go coffee cup so it doesn’t fall over. 

“We’re not sure.” Steve finally takes a seat on the chair in front of him. “It’s the biggest event we’ve had this year, wouldn’t put it past them.”

“If it’s those Welsh kids again, I’m gonna punch a hole through their house this time,” Clint warns, voice muffled through the furniture. 

“It’s not them, we checked.” Nat had her leg up on the armrest of Clint’s chair. “Tech team’s been working overtime to figure it out.”

“You have anything that could help?” Sam sends a nod towards Tony.

“I got a few things but it’d take a while to put it together.” 

“Didn’t you learn quantum physics in a night?” Wanda’s picking apart a cookie into pieces, chewing slowly.

“Thermodynamic astrophysics,” he corrects her. “Quantum science took lesser.”

Bucky scoffs slightly at the brag, eyes still trained on the table in front of him. Maybe if he made no noise, they would forget he’s here.

“Yeah, so this should be a piece’a cake.”  

“If your cake was somehow made out of a highly specified tracker that somehow doesn’t violate the data privacy of the entire world while analysing millions of terabytes worth of information, then yeah. A piece of it.”

“What he means to say-” Bruce interjects, “-is that we’re trying. It’s just taking longer than usual.”

“Well, the parade’s this Sunday. Think it’ll be done by then?”

“Hey FRIDAY,” Tony crosses his arm over his chest. “How many hours have I slept this week?”

“Three and a half, boss.”

“How much more will I be getting?”

“From previous experience, about six.”

“Yeah, we can get it done.” Tony looks back at Steve. 

“Ask someone on the tech team to help you out.” Everyone was well aware of Tony’s bad coping mechanisms and how futile it was to get him to change his mind about it, but they still tried.

“They’re too busy.” Bruce pressed his lips into a straight line. 

Bucky tunes out at this point. If he could help, he would have reluctantly chimed in by now, but he couldn’t. 

“So what now?” Sam rips Clint’s doughnut into two, keeping one half for himself while leaving the other to the latter who still hadn’t lifted his head up from the table.

“I actually asked Fury if I could call in an external to come help,” Tony pipes up. 

“And he agreed?” Nat raised an eyebrow.

“After he realised I wasn’t going to leave his office until he said yes.” He pulled out his phone, rapidly typing out a message before hitting send. “It didn’t take too long.”

“Do we know this person?” Steve asks a little suspiciously.

“Well-” Bruce sneaks a glance at the broody man on the chair, “-kinda.”

Everyone can tell Bucky isn’t paying attention by the way he’s glaring holes into the plant. He doesn’t mean to, it just so happens that it looks like he wants to kill it. Nobody tends to bother him during meetings, knowing well and fully that he did not care.

“You’re about to.” Tony jumps up, making his way to the door to pull it open.

Bucky perks up. An open door means they can leave, right? He can go watch The Bachelor? He’s not sure what everyone was talking about, but if the meeting was over he could go ask Wanda who was always kind enough to help.

“Our newest recruit,” the billionaire announces, quickly adding the next part, “on a trial basis.” 

Bucky looks at the door.

His jaw drops open.

“No,” he says loudly, posture immediately stiff as a plank. 

“Hello to you too, Barnes.” You roll your eyes before sending a small wave to everyone else. “Hey everyone.”

“What are you doing here?” He looks like he’s seething. 

“Don’t tell me you forgot about our date.” You cross your arms over your chest in defiance. “You told me 3 o’clock, you player.”

“What is she doing here?” He whips to Steve for an answer.

“Hey Y/N,” Sam greets with a smile on his face before Steve can reply.

“Sam Wilson, good to see you again.” You grin.

“Right back at ya, sugar.” 

Wanda looks amused, Clint finally lifts his head off the table at the mention of your name while Nat takes her feet off his armrest, and Steve’s body relaxes when he realises what’s going on. 

“Okay.” Tony claps his hand. Bucky shoots daggers at him. “As you all know, this is Y/N. She’s going to working with us this week.”

“This is ridi- how did you even find out about her?”

“Aside from the fact that she’s all you talk about?” Clint snorts. Bucky shifts his glare to him. It was bullshit and an exaggeration and Clint was going to get a shoe up his ass very soon.

Your grin only grows bigger.

“We saw one of the repulsors she made some time ago,” Bruce answers his question like the sane person that he is. “Tony’s had her in mind for a while.”

“Repulsors? How on ear-” Bucky connects two and two together before turning to Sam. “You. You got her this job.”

“Sam’s my best wingman.” You send him a small heart made from your hands. Whether the pun was intentional or not, no one would know.

“Don’t look at me, I had nothing to do with this idea.” Sam raised his hands to brush off the blame.

“You’re a villain,” he points out loudly.

“I’m a saint.” You raise your hand to your heart in mock offence. “I have done nothing wrong in my life, ever.”

“Listen, Robocop,” Tony interrupts your conversation, bringing the attention back to him, “I cleared it with Fury. He’s the boss here.”

“Fury doesn’t know-”

“What don’t I know?” The atmosphere of the room changes the minute he saunters in. 

With an eyepatch on his face, gaze sharp and a long black coat, Nick Fury puts Bucky’s dark outfits to shame. Not like he was competing. 

Bucky doesn’t continue his sentence. Nick’s imposing presence loomed at the doorway, putting a stop to the ridiculous arguments that were beginning to boil. Instead, he looks at you, only to find your attention trained on the man of the hour.

“Nicholas,” you half cheer from where you had shifted to in the middle of all the commotion. 

Nicholas?

Nicholas?

No one had ever called him Nicholas. 

“Y/L/N,” Nick addresses in return. “Been a while.”

“You haven’t come to the lair in months, Nick.” You pout at him. “I even sent you an invite.”

Bucky furrows his eyebrows. Since when are you on such good terms with Fury? Since when was anyone on good terms with Fury?

“It must have gotten lost in the mail,” he fires back, “Or maybe it’s because I just happen to be the busiest man in the damn country. Take your pick.”

You roll your eyes, muttering something under your breath, but the good natured smile on your face shows that you didn’t take any of his passive- or straight up- aggressiveness to heart. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realise I was interrupting your little tea time.” He looks around the rest of the room with an edge in his voice. “Don’t you all have work to do?”

“We do,” Tony interrupts, holding up his hand before pointing to Bruce and you. “Everyone else just sorta sits around and looks pretty.”

“I’m gonna go talk to the organisers, see what spots are most vulnerable.” Steve stands up. “You coming?”

“Yep,” Sam responds, flicking Clint’s shoulder to drag him along. “Come on, man. When was the last time you took a shower?”

“I’ll go see what the kids are up to in training. They’re probably flying off the handle right now.” Natasha brushes off crumbs from her lap. “Barnes, you in?”

Bucky silently shakes his head, eyes focused on you as you introduce yourself to every Avenger who walks out of the room, sharing a small fist bump with Sam.

“I’ll do it,” Wanda volunteers instead, finally leaving behind only the Science Bros, you and Bucky in the room with Fury. 

“I’ll give you a tour of the lab.” Tony beckons and you nod, following him. “New eyepatch, Fury? Prada, I assume?”

“Stark,” Nick says curtly. 

Bucky stares after you, arms still folded across his chest.

“Any problem, Sergeant?” 

Other than the fact that his arch nemesis was now working with his friends, no, not really. But that did seem like a pretty big one.

“No,” Bucky mumbles instead, getting up from his place finally.

Apparently, no one else was worried about the possibly lethal combination of you and Stark, even with Banner there to dilute it. 

Fine.

Guess he just has to observe you the whole week.

Well, half a week. It was Wednesday. 

He observes inconspicuously over the rim of his coffee cup. He has a newspaper spread in front of him at Bruce’s table. 

It’s not suspicious. He’s been there multiple times to sit in silence with the scientist who occasionally tinkers with something while engaging Bucky in tidbits of conversation. He finds it calming, refreshing even

Today he has an agenda. Everyone knows about it too. 

“You know he’s staring at you, right?” Bruce looks up briefly from the giant blueprint laid in front of the group. 

Tony had been dragged away to get a proper meal into him after he stayed up for 36 hours straight with caffeine keeping his system running. 

“He has a tendency to do that.” You’re looking over the plan the three of you had come up with the day before. There were certain changes to be made in terms of efficiency. “Turns out if you annoy him, he stares harder.”

“We’ve heard about the inventions. Inators, he calls them?”

“Yeah,” you point out something on the sheet, drawing a circle around it to come back to later, “only good things I hope?”

“He doesn’t really talk much.” Bruce writes down a small comment against your arrow mark. “But if he hated them, he’d have a lot to say. So I’d take it as a compliment.”

“Would it annoy him if I did?”

“Probably.”

“I’ll take it as a compliment, then. Pass me the ruler?” You draw a line connecting two pieces. 

Bucky’s ability to lip read is excellent but he refuses to do it, for privacy purposes. He knew that SHIELD had pulled some strings and had another teacher substituting for your classes the whole week since your other option was to come only after school hours. Anything else about this plan was murky.

“You gonna sit there all day?” Tony looks over his shoulder, following his line of sight.

“I’ve done it before.” He continues to look over the newspaper at you with your finger extended at something on the blueprint as you explained something to Bruce.

“You look like- how do I say this nicely.” He wasn’t going to. “A fuckin’ stalker.”

“I’m supposed to stop her from doing anything evil.”

“Sure.” Tony snorts. “That’s what this is. Should I get you a fedora and sunglasses while we’re at it?”

Of course Stark wouldn’t care; he brought you into this project. It was pretty much impossible to get him to agree with Bucky.

Bucky just narrows his eyes and continues his observation. 

The menu of the cafeteria keeps changing. They like to keep things interesting.

Every time they do, Bucky spends too long staring at the menu, trying to figure out what exactly is familiar enough to order. Vietnamese week had him eating pho the entire duration it stayed.

“You plannin’ on eating anytime this century, sarge?” He recognises your voice immediately. 

He knows what time your break is and he knows that you generally eat lunch in the cafeteria with the science team. Generally, the three of you pour over solutions and debate points all through the meal, and he spends the time getting acquainted with his new, lowkey Instagram account. 

He blocks the Bucky Barnes hashtag the minute he gets an account again. God save his eyes from people asking him to break their back like a glow-stick. However, one afternoon of accidentally watching three cat videos has led to his entire explore page being taken over by them and he’s been trying for three days to get it to stop. 

“Just trying to-” he tilts his head. “-understand what I’m reading.”

“Not a big fan of Greek food?” You join him in looking at the menu. 

“Never really had the chance to try.” Tony and Bruce don’t seem to be in the room, probably pushing aside their meal to work on it as they’ve often done.

“Ah.” You already had your order in mind but you wait there. 

Two minutes later he’s still staring at the menu. He can feel your presence next to him, unmoving. It unnerves him.

“Why are you still standing here?” He cranes his neck to look at you.

“I’m just seeing how long it takes for you to order.” You shrug. “So far it’s been five minutes and forty six seconds. Forty eight now.”

“Go away.” The concept of someone standing beside him, waiting for him to do something reminded him far too much of him trying to bag his stuff at the grocery counter rapidly while other customers waited to pay. 

“Six minutes and thirty seconds. This is just sad now.”

“Your face is sad.” It was pathetic that he had now resorted to this.

It earned a laugh from you. 

As entertaining as it was to be able to get on his nerves by just standing silently next to him, you finally ask, “Do you want a recommendation?” 

He eyes you wearily. “You gonna give me food poisoning?” 

“Not today, no.” You shake your head slightly. “Maybe tomorrow.”

He stares a little longer. You remain unshaken in your offer.

“Fine.” He sighs, stepping aside. 

You tell him that since it’s his first time, you’d get him something basic. He thought it made sense. 

He argued with you when you ended up paying for the both of you, only shutting up when you told him he’s holding up the line and that he could pay you back later. It doesn’t stop his incessant mumble complaining. 

He ends up with gyros at his table and you sitting opposite him with your meal. He asks where the Science Bros are. You tell him it’s Science Hoes now, as christened by Tony, and that they’re in the lab.

“So?” You look at him eagerly.

“What?”

“How is it?” you urge, nodding at him.

He takes a cautious bite, really taking his time with it to annoy your impatient ass. 

“Well?” You raise your eyebrow at him.

“It’s-” he pauses, looking down at his food. “-good.”

“Aha.” You lean back victoriously. “Knew it.”

He likes it. He also knows that this is probably going to be the only thing he orders for the next week unless you had planned otherwise. 

“You’re not eating?” He gestures to your untouched tray.

“Taking it up to the lab. Got a few things to work on and we’re already behind.” You gather up your stuff and get up.

“Uh-” he pauses from practically inhaling the entire thing. He was already halfway done with it. “-thanks.”

“No problem. You wink at him. “Try figuring out what’s wrong with it.” 

You turn on your heel to leave, taking your order with you. He can see your shoulders bobbing with silent laughter. 

He stares down at his plate, swallowing slowly. 

He pokes at it with a fork, lifting up the leftovers to check if there’s anything underneath. Nothing. 

He checks to see if his limbs are still intact or his face was a different colour. Nope.

His stomach twists in worry about what’s going to happen. He still has a bit left but he pushes the tray aside.

The rest of the day he spends supervising you has you occasionally catching his eye, only to laugh. It only freaks him out more.

It takes eight hours of waiting and self induced tests later to realise there was nothing wrong with it. You were just playing with him.

He’s surprised to find you in the rec room when he strolls in with Sam, given that you haven’t taken a break all day.

You don’t share the same surprise... almost like you expected him.

“How long have you been waiting for me?” he immediately asks.

"I wasn’t here for you.” You raise an eyebrow at him. “Heard that Wilson was makin’ an appearance here soon so I stopped by to get a good look at him."

"Take a picture, it'll last longer.” Sam laughs, inserting a dollar into the machine and punching in the code for what he wanted.

"Gladly. Strike a pose, would you?" You grin, raising your phone.

“Maybe when I’m not covered in sweat.” Sam counter offers and you accept with a thumbs up.

“You going to the parade, Sam?” You toy with the can in your hands.

“I’ll be working security, so probably.”

“Sarge?” You take a swig of your drink.

“Huh?” He snaps back into the conversation, putting a stop to the mental list of reasons he was making of why you could be here at the same time as him. He knew your schedule, it wouldn’t be very hard for you to figure out his.

“You coming to the parade on Sunday?” you ask again.

“I guess.”

You wince.

“What?” he asks instantly, curiosity making him a lot sloppier than usual.

“It’s just- you wear so much black.” You gesture to his current getup to prove your point. ”I feel like all the bright colours would vaporise you if you looked at them.”

He doesn’t look amused.

“You know, like Prince Philip.”

“I think I’ll be fine.” He gives you a sarcastic smile.

“You comin’ Buck?” Sam laughs, unwrapping the bar he bought from the machine.

“You go ahead, I’ll catch up,” Bucky says offhandedly, still glaring at you innocently drinking your soda.

Sam chews absentmindedly on his protein bar as he walks out, amused at the situation Bucky pulled himself into.

“What’d you do?” Bucky asks, studying your body language.

“I bought a soda.” You lift the can to prove your point. “And now I’m drinking it.”

“Why are you waiting for me?”

“I thought I’d return the favour,” you point out. “I’m supervising you.”

“Don’t.” He walks to the vending machine, pulling out his wallet for some loose change. There was a Snickers bar he had been craving since morning that he bought every alternate day. Small joys.

“Why? I have the time.” You take a sip, setting it down with a clang.

“You’re only here for this week.” Bucky counted the coins he had. He’d use a dollar but he was trying to get rid of the jingling in his pocket that made him sound like a fucking clown when he walked.

“Actually,” you begin innocuously, “Tony offered me a full-time position.”

Bucky’s movements stop, hunched over the money in his palm.

“What?”

“Yeah.” You nod seriously. “A full nine-to-five as a researcher here.”

“And you’re taking it.” He shakes himself out of the minor shock to assess the damage.

“I don’t know. I got a lot of things to consider.” The chair scrapes against the tiled floor as you stand up. “But maybe you should get used to seeing me a lot more around here.”

He punches in the code for his Snickers. The row whirs forward slowly.

“See you at the lab.” He hears you discard the empty can in the trash before exiting.

He waits patiently for his bar to drop while his mind internally screams about the consequences of having you work here. You wouldn’t be evil anymore. Unless you were here to steal secrets from the Tower. On the pro side, his weekend would be free again. On the con side, his weekend would be free again.

His bar stops right at the edge of the row. He waits for it to fall over. It doesn’t.

He shakes the machine, suppressing the primal urge to beat the shit out of it when the damn bar refuses to fall.

He punches in a few random buttons hoping that at least it would give his money back.

The little monitor instead flashes a new message across the screen.

‘Have a good day, sarge <3’

Motherfucker.

Captain America looks less daunting up close, you realise. But he is still a very large man with very large shoulders. You know at least four people who would like to scale him like a tree, not that you’d ever tell him.

“Hey, Y/N.” He sends you a small smile when you walk into the room for a mid-week update. A clipboard in your hand, report attached and a few stationery items in case some points needed to be noted done, you look professional and ready.

“Afternoon, Captain.” Tony saves a seat for you and Bruce beside him since you’re on the same project. You almost miss the fact that Bucky isn’t in the room.

He walks in a few minutes late; tall, dark and brooding, immediately bringing the excitement in the room down by 40% by just existing. 

Bucky surveys the room before catching your eye. He picks up his chair with ease and drags it over to where you are, sitting right beside you, ignoring the small cry of protest from an agent whose view he now obstructed. Everyone else just silently shifted over.

“Clingy much?” you whisper at him, eyes still trained on Steve who had waited till everyone was seated to continue.

“I’m supposed t’be keeping an eye on you,” he rebuffs in a hush.

“Well, you’re late. What if I went rogue, huh?”

“Therapy ran overtime,” he mumbles.

“Oh.” You blink. “How was it?”

“Same old.”

“You good?”

He refrains from answering when Steve starts addressing the room but yes, he was fine. He sends you a nod to confirm. 

“This is just a usual checking in. We’ve received all your reports, but just to keep everyone on the same page-”

Bucky logs out mentally. He knows what his job is, he’ll probably lead a division of the security team or join the mission to neutralise the threat in case they find it first. Either way, he’ll figure it out without having to listen to an intern nervously stammer their way through their team’s report. 

On the other hand, you’re not listening either. You were until you saw Bucky’s eyes glaze over while glowering at the window, assuming that he had stopped paying attention when his gaze doesn’t shift.

You should be listening. You’re new here and you should know what’s going on because any bits of detail are crucial to the working of your system. 

Instead, you rip out a sticky note and discreetly place it on the back of Bucky’s metal arm. He doesn’t notice.

You bite your lip to stop yourself from smiling. More post-its from your pile of stationery make their way onto the vibranium, shades of pink, purple, green and yellow decorating his arm like a bulletin board. 

You’re about to contemplate sticking one on his shoulder blade when he whips around to look at you. You freeze, hand in the air with a sticky note. He looks down at his arm, a scoff escaping him in disbelief. 

“Are you serious?” He twists his arm to check the extent of how far you’ve gone. “What are you, six?”

“How’d it take you so long to notice?” You watch as he tugs them off one by one, counting to see how many you had managed to get on there.

“It’s impossible not to zone out in these shitty meetings,” he mumbles, pulling off the last one, crumpling all of them into a ball to throw at you. You skilfully avoid them. 

“Don’t you feel pressure or heat or anything here?” You poke at his metal arm.

“No.” He clenches and releases the fist. “It can block bullets though.”

You snort. “Bet that’s a popular line in bed.”

He rolls his eyes. “I mean, it helps that I can’t feel anything. Sometimes,” he adds the last part as an afterthought. 

“Like when you’re blocking bullets.”

“Especially then.” He nods. 

“Would you ever want to?” you ask casually. “Like if you got the choice, would you prefer having feeling in that arm?”

“I don’t know.” He’s thought about it, but it doesn’t seem feasible in his line of work. He’d like it, though, to feel sand slipping through his fingers and the comforter under his palm. “Maybe when I’m retired.”

“Aren’t you well past that age?”

“Shut up.” He rolls his eyes. “And pay attention. You’re next.”

“So you are listening.” True to his word, Steve asks about what’s going on with your team. “Traitor.” 

Tony shoots off about how you only had to test it out on a small batch first to see if you could acquire the targeted data without compromising anything else. You chime in about a few specifics, and Bruce more or less just confirms what you both are saying, only stopping to let them know that you’d be finished in a day or two.

Steve nods, moving on to the next committee.

“Did I get a good grade?” you whisper when you lean back again.

“B minus at best.” 

“Fuck you, dude. I was great,” you protested. “It’s definitely worth a gold sticker.”

Someone shushes you sharply. You apologise quietly, whacking Bucky’s metal arm when you see a dumb smirk on his face. 

He narrows his eyes at you. 

You try sticking another post-it on him.

You’re only here for a week. That’s what he’s been told. Over six times, actually, after which he’s been told to go away the next time he asked.

No one’s brought up the job offer so he asks Tony if it was true and all he gets is a dismissive ‘yeah, whatever’. Besides, you haven’t told him if you accepted or denied it yet so isn’t sure if this entire thing is set in stone, per se.

So then why do you have a giant box of your belongings that you’re lugging around the lab, looking to set down?

And why does Tony allow you a table right in the centre of the lab for everyone to see as soon as they walk in?

There are a gazillion trinkets, picture frames and obnoxiously bright stationery that stands out against the dull minimalism of the lab.

“Every single one of these is a fire hazard,” he reports, standing over your desk.

You give him a side glance before reaching over to the side of your desk, pulling up a fire extinguisher and setting it on the table in front of him. “I came prepared, bitch boy.”

He doesn’t dignify that with a response. He chooses to look at what exactly you’ve brought with you because it’s a lot.

There are small cards with ‘thank you!’ sprawled on them in uneven lettering, bits and pieces of paper with small cartoons on them, little clay models and other miniature trophies with ‘you’re the best!’ under it.

“Your students gave you these?” He can’t remember the last time he gave his teacher anything other than a headache.

“Sometimes they learn or communicate better when they have something to keep their hands busy.” There’s a certain fondness in your voice that he isn’t used to hearing. “I end up with a lot of doodles and craft.”

“’s nice of them.” He can tell that this means a lot to you. He hasn’t seen it before.

He thinks the little decorations are adorable and maybe he’d keep another fire extinguisher on hand, just in case. 

Until you start pulling out a set of framed photos and his smile drops.

Several collages of Bucky in flower crowns, him with terribly edited backgrounds of beaches and mountains, a photo of him laughing with ‘Live, Laugh, Love’ next to it in an italicised font.

“What the fuck,” he states, grabbing one of them.

You stifle a laugh, pulling out several more to place along your table.

“Where did you fucking get these?” He starts pulling them off the table one by one.

“I don’t think you know how much the internet is obsessed with you.” You set an especially large one of him in a Hello Kitty bowtie right in the centre. He doesn’t miss the star shaped frame you chose for this.

“What is wrong with you?” He swipes that up immediately, looking for a place to discard, possibly burn these pictures. “Why do you even have these?”

“It’s imperative that people know we’re friends.” You bite your lip, bringing out the last thing to annoy him.

“What is that?” A teddy bear with a blue jacket and a grey felt arm stared into his soul.

“A Bucky bear.” Don’t laugh, don’t laugh, don’t laugh. “Limited edition.”

He snatches it along with the fifteen other picture frames, thinly veiled distress and mostly disgust on his face.

“I hate you.”

“But I love you.” You lift the small heart shaped locket you hung on one of the pictures of your class.

You use both your hands to click it open for him, watching his face morph into one of disbelief.

Bucky my beloved, it read on the right with a small picture of him on the left looking intensely disgruntled. He doesn’t bother asking where you found that specific picture of him outside a Burger King at 3am.

He doesn’t even make an effort to take it away this time. He knows that you’ll simply bring up more and more until you drove him crazy.

“You still have to see the Avengers calendar.” You reach for the inside. “I changed all the pictures to you, it looks great-”

He turns around and leaves before you get a chance to flip open the pages.

He wanders around, looking for the best disposal area he can find. He knows there’s a giant fireplace in the common room in the Tower, and for that, he’d have to go up a couple of floors.

He steps into the elevator, chin pressing down on the several picture frames in his hands to prevent them from falling over.

No one sees him carrying a couple of fan edited pictures and merchandise of him. Which was good.

Unfortunately, the doors ding open on the next floor and his best friend steps on with possibly the worst timing ever.

“Buck?” Steve sounds confused. He should be, considering the sight.

Bucky shimmies slightly to get a better grip on his belongings. “Steven.”

Steve glances at what he’s holding.

“Is this,” Steve pauses, trying to frame his words correctly to sound as supportive as possible, “a therapy thing?”

“No.”

Steve waits for a further explanation.

“It’s Y/N’s,” he elucidates. Steve’s eyebrows furrow.

“Why are there so many pictures of you?” He looks at the content in his hands a little closer. “And a bear.”

“She’s evil. And I hate her.”

“Alright.” It doesn’t answer his question but his friend looks irked enough.

The elevator dings to the common room floor.

Bucky turns on his heel to head toward the place to set all the pictures on fire. He saves the picture frames to give back to you though, he’s sure those cost money. But he makes sure every last square inch of the picture with several hearts around his portrait burns to ash.

Bucky knows that by the time Saturday afternoon rolls around, the three of you would have been working for thirty hours straight, scrambling to get the last minute details done.

You’re still at it but he can tell through the adrenaline of the upcoming deadline that you’re exhausted. 

Now he’s grouchy but he’s not an asshole. He’s already done two coffee runs for the team and brought you food when you didn’t show up for lunch. He mumbles something and dismisses it when you call out a ‘thank you’ his way. He considers it a debt repaid for the gyros.

He’s still keeping an eye on you but along with an emergency box of doughnuts for any sugar rushes that may be needed and bottles of water that he occasionally leaves at the corner of the table for you three to subconsciously keep yourself hydrated. 

“Are you sure we checked it?”

“Yes.” Bruce nods.

“Double checked it?”

“Yes.”

“Triple checked it.”

“Yes.” 

You look satisfied enough to move on to the next item. “Pass me the welding torch for a second.”

Bucky has a book in front of him that he hasn’t moved beyond the second page of. He’s more interested in seeing who collapses from burnout first. He has the infirmary on speed dial. 

After another hour or so Tony holds up a silver tablet, roughly the same size as a smartphone, examining it from all sides.

“That’s it,” he states. “The final product.”

You exhale lightly.

“We should name it.” You have your hands on your hips, looking down at it in wonder. Maybe the zero hours of sleep was finally kicking in because you couldn’t believe you were finally done. 

“You got any suggestions?” Tony asks. 

To be frank, no, you didn’t.

“No.”

“Okay, we’ll do that later.” Tony sets it down, not sounding too disappointed. “F.R.I.D.A.Y, tell the team to get down here, please.”

“Yes, boss.”

Bucky jumps off his chair to join you in the lab, leaving the book behind. 

It only takes a few moments for the others to join. Fury and Steve walk in together, already engaged in conversation.

“Greetings.” You clap your hands together. “We did it. We think.”

“We think?” Nick raises an eyebrow.

“We know,” Bruce clarifies quickly, stepping in. “We’re positive it works. We tested it out.”

Tony pulls up the holograph of F.R.I.D.AY’s system, sliding the tablet to the middle of the table.

“Is it secured under FRIDAY’s core?”

“Locked and loaded.” Tony hits the table lightly to signify that it was safe.

“I think we’re ready,” Bruce confirms.

“We better be, or else half the country is suddenly going to lose their internet connection,” you say under your breath.

“What?” Bucky’s eyebrows knit together.

“Nothing,” you beamed, “Okay F.R.I.D.A.Y., run sequence, global parameter.”

“Running sequence,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. parrots. 

There was no going back now. 

From what Bucky can see, Tony looks fairly confident but you have your bottom lip caged between your teeth, chewing on it nervously. 

There are several hundreds of photographs popping up and disappearing within a minute. Everything looks like it’s going according to plan.

The giant holograph of the AI dims. Your face drops when F.R.I.D.A.Y. seems to sputter to a halt. 

No one breathes.

In the midst of the tension, Clint mutters if they should play some background music. It’s followed by a swift ‘ow’ when Natasha flicks him in the shoulder.

You could hear a pin drop.

It suddenly picks back up again, running faster than the last time and the sigh everyone collectively heaves is almost comical.

It runs for a few seconds more before a list of names suddenly pop up accompanied by a series of photographs and geo locations.

“Sequence complete. Six names detected, zero encroachment on public or private databases,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. broadcasted. “Location determined to be Holland. Exact coordinates are computed into the quinjet.”

You let out a small cheer, looping your arm around Bruce, squeezing him in a half hug. He has a smile on his face, dropping his head as he laughs slightly. 

“How dangerous are they?” Tony, however, continues to ask.

“A few prior convictions and a series of similar threats. Danger level determined to be at approximately five out of ten.” 

“That’s not bad,” Steve commented. “Looks like we don’t need the full team there.”

“Romanoff, Barton, Wilson, Rogers can go ahead and take care of that,” Nick finally spoke up. “Everyone else is working security tomorrow, just in case anyone else decides that terrorism is on their fuckin’ to-do list for the day.”

“Buck, assemble a team and go over strategy for tomorrow,” Steve adds on. “Everyone else go suit up, wheels up in thirty minutes.” 

“Fuckin’ Holland,” Sam scoffs, shaking his head. “Of all the places.” 

“What do you have against Holland?” Nat asks as they leave together.

“Just don’t like ‘em.” Their voices grow faint the further they get.

“Hey.” A small greeting from behind you has you turning around.

Wanda stands in front of you and you have to ignore the fact that the most powerful being on Earth is talking to you. 

“Hey,” you say back.

“I just wanted to say congratulations. You did a great job.” Bits and pieces of her accent poked out. She didn’t seem like she was putting in the effort to cover it up as opposed to the press interviews you had heard a few years ago. 

“Thank you.” You smile. “T’was a team effort.”

“Well, we owe you one anyway,” Steve joins the conversation, leaving aside Tony who was still talking to Bruce.

“I wish I was humble enough to turn it down but I’m not.” You laugh. “It’s nice to have an arsenal of superheroes at my disposal.”

Steve looks like he’s going to respond but his attention is drawn towards F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s announcement that the quinjet was ready to go. He shoots you an apologetic look but you sign for him to go on, you’d meet with him later.

You watch as he claps Tony on the back, telling him to go get some sleep and something with more nutritional value than a pizza pocket in him, nodding at Bruce before taking leave. 

“Y/L/N,” Nick stands beside you, looking ahead at the conversations being had as Steve tugs Clint along with him.

“Nicky,” you tease.

“I know at least seven underground prisons I can put you in if anyone hears you calling me that,” he says stoically. 

“We all know you won’t get rid of me.” You shake your head. “Who’s gonna send you a Christmas card then, huh?”

He simply shakes his head, jutting his hand out and offering a handshake. “Not sure anyone here could handle another day of a highly caffeinated, sleep-deprived Stark.”

“Just say ‘thanks’, Nick, geez.” You roll your eyes. 

Bucky watches the entire interaction unfurl; only the body language, not employing the lip-reading ability. 

“You’re welcome.” You let go of his hand, a devilish look on your face. “You know what I want in return.”

Nick gives you a long, hard stare that could probably melt through Steve’s shield before turning around to leave. 

But Bucky doesn’t miss the subtle high-five he gives you while walking out, unbeknownst to anyone else, bringing the biggest grin to your face.

He makes it a point to ask you what the fuck kind of leverage you have over the man for him to play favourites with you. 

You finally collapse at your desk, letting out a loud exhale. You clench your eyes shut, your body finally melting into your chair. You look exhausted.

He’s not sure how to help. You don’t seem like you have the energy to tell him.

Bucky leaves a doughnut and water bottle on the table in front of you before shuffling out of the room quietly. 

He’s certain that he’s spent far too long in Bruce’s lab this week. He liked the man as much as the next guy, but he probably wouldn’t come down there for the foreseeable future. 

You’re at your assigned desk, reading light illuminating the space. Thankfully you’ve cleared up most of your stuff from the table, leaving no more liabilities to fall over in case he walked into the desk. 

“So you’re done for the week.” His voice surprises you. You were scrolling through your phone, slightly hunched over.

“It appears so.” You put your phone down, swivelling the chair to look at him. 

“How’d it go?” He leans against your table, making sure he isn’t using his full weight.

“Well, I slept for fifteen hours straight, so...” you leave him to connect the dots. He’s done the same several times.

“You’re probably gonna need more,” he says, mostly from his own experience, “I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

“Actually-” you reach beside your table and lug your gigantic box of belongings onto the table with a loud thud, “-you won’t.”

He looks at the box that was nearly overflowing with its contents, the majority of the space being taken up by empty picture frames. “I thought you said Tony offered you a job.” 

“He did,” you confirm. “I didn’t accept.”

“Why?” He watches you shift through a few things, adjusting it so that it wouldn’t fall over.

“This whole thing- it’s cool and all, but it’s not what I want to do.” You shrug. “I like teaching. I miss my class.”

He gaze lands on one of the thank you notes sticking out from the corner of the box. “Ah.”

“Back to school from tomorrow.”

“And evil on the weekends?” he prods, dropping a pen into the heap of stationery. 

“Obviously.” You give him a lopsided smile. “Where else am I gonna use all this brilliance?”

You point to your head. He lets out a small exhale in the form of a laugh.

“Speaking of-” You look like you just remembered something.  

You rummage through your backpack and pull out a small container, handing it to him.

“What’s this?” He turns it over, looking for any hidden clues. “Are you proposing again, because I’ve said no-”

“I’m not proposing,” you interrupt, “yet.”

He gives you a deadpan look.

“Open it,” you urge, and he complies.

Two small squares sit side-by-side. They’re slick black, barely bigger than the face of a dice.

“You put one of them here-” You tap on his bicep “-and the other here.” You tap his shoulder, a few inches below his clavicle.

“What does it do?” He thinks it’s like Nat’s little taser things, a nifty little tool that he could use on missions.

“It, uh-” you hesitate “-it allows you to feel sensation in your metal arm. Heat, pressure, texture.”

His breath hitches in his throat. He doesn’t mean for it to happen, it just does.

“You said that sometimes you’re glad you couldn’t because of the bullets and stuff. They’re detachable, so just take them off when you go on missions and wherever it is you Spandex ambassadors go.” You scoff slightly. 

He can’t remember the last time he felt something soft with that arm or used it for something that wasn’t directly related to his job.  

“I’m not messing with what the Wakandans gave you. It’s the most advanced piece of tech out there.” You shrug. “But if you ever want to feel it when someone attaches sticky notes to your arm, this could work. Just thought it’d be nice to have an option.”

He can’t decipher what he’s feeling right now. He looks up at you, only to catch you eyeing him cautiously, assessing his reaction. When you notice he’s looking at you, a nervous smile makes its way onto your face. 

His stomach does a flip. 

“Thank you,” he says quietly. 

“Don’t mention it.” You sound a little relieved, picking up the box that he’s pretty sure weighed a ton what with all his memorabilia in it. “See you next week.”

He doesn’t know how to explain what it means to him. 

Instead, he shoves his hands into his pockets. “What are you doing later?”

“Nothing.” You pause. “Why?”

“Are you gonna watch the parade?” 

“Yeah, probably.” You shift your weight to your other leg to compensate for the box.

“Want some company?”

“Aren’t you heading a security division?” You have to consciously hide the bewilderment from your voice. 

“Yeah. The place I’m stationed just so happens to have a good look into the street,” he explains, toying with the bracelet on his wrist. “Can’t really promise that I’ll be paying attention to it or that I’d even be there the whole time but for the most part...” he trails off. 

“Uh-” You force yourself to shove aside your surprise at his determination, “yeah, sure. That’d be cool.”

He nods. “Okay. See you there.” 

“See you,” you murmur as you walk to the elevator. 

He opens the tiny container to look at the small chips. They’re still there, silently like they don’t change his world just by existing. 

Gosh.

Next part