metal support

whoa okay so how do you think that conversation went when RJ went back to their boys with newfound gender identity knowledge

because ten to one Stephen and Ollie and Johnny were like “oh my god WHAT IF I’M NOT A BOY WE HAVE TO TEST THIS” and they all spent days trying different pronouns to see if it Felt Right and poring over RJ’s zine and Having Revelations

Stephen DEFINITELY whipped out a dress and threw it on, like, immediately because “gendered clothing is a conspiracy I ALWAYS KNEW IT” and Johnny went around spreading the word that RJ’S PRONOUNS ARE THEY/THEM, IT’S A THING, LOOK IT UP KIDS, I’M BEING DISRUPTIVE FOR A GOOD CAUSE THIS TIME MISS BAXTER, and god help you if you forgot and misgendered RJ, Ollie would LOOM, they all fought so many kids that week

And eventually all three were like “sorry dude I think I’m still a boy” and RJ was like “obviously that is okay” and it took them all a little while to unlearn subconscious things 

BUT 

that’s how Johnny got his heart shirt! because he saw it in a store or something and for ½ a second was like “nope I’m not allowed to wear that it’s a girl shirt” and then he remembered “oh right clothing is arbitrarily constructed symbols and gender stereotypes are fascism and my friends will love me no matter what” and so he took the shirt

and Stephen sometimes still wears dresses

Druid Shiro Theory Part 2: Shiro’s Arm

Following on from this post about how Shiro is probably a part-Altean Druid who can do magic and make wormholes, let’s talk about Shiro’s arm for a sec. Specifically: why did Haggar give him the arm, and what is it intended to do?

First up… let’s talk about Haggar. She was the one who gave Shiro his Galra arm. We know she loves combining magic and technology, as evidenced by all the robeasts. Perhaps the most dramatic example is the Komar Experiment:

It’s got that weird black smoke surrounded by the purple glow (obviously magic) and the purple lines running across the metal supports (the technology element). Here’s another, wider view of the whole rig:

And now here’s Shiro’s arm, the first time it activates:

Pretty similar, right? And a moment later, he gets that black smoke and purple glow around the hand, right before he overpowers it and then hacks up a bunch of Galra sentries.

{TBH I just wanted an excuse to include this screenshot}

Of course, the revelation that Shiro’s arm is Galra magi-tech is a surprise to precisely no one at this point, but here’s the thing: the Komar Experiment was powered by a bunch of druids. The black smoke and purple glow all came from them. What’s powering Shiro’s arm?

Now, imagine for a minute that you’re Haggar. You find out one of your captive test subjects is part-Altean and has the dormant ability to do magic. You want to turn him into a powerful magical weapon: a Druid completely under your control, trained to fight and do magic. Do you (a) sit in his cell and spend hours walking him through Sorcery 101 until he learns to control his powers, or (b) fit him with some kind of device - say, a prosthetic arm - that activates his magic for him, against his will if necessary.

Option (b) is really more Haggar’s style, right? And the Komar Experiment is proof that Haggar has zero chill and will happily rip the quintessence out of an entire planet if she wants to, because she’s the real Chaotic Evil of this show.

Now let’s take a look at this picture. This is Shiro’s hand right before he brings the arm under his control:

This looks like Shiro is about to do some druid magic. He looks like he’s about to fling some purple lightening or some of that weird black smoke - but he doesn’t. Instead, he overpowers the arm, brings it under his control, and uses it as a weapon.

So here’s an idea: what if Shiro’s arm is a mechanism that forcibly activates his Druid abilities? It would be powered by his own magic, if that were the case. And the reason why it looks like Shiro’s about to do druid magic is because… well… he is. But it’s being forced out of him, and it’s painful and harmful (like forcing the crystals out of the Balmera is painful and harmful). And now that Shiro is free of Haggar’s influence and control, he reins it in and reduces the magic to a level that doesn’t physically hurt him.

What if every time Shiro activates his Galra arm, he’s actually doing magic?

I mean… that arm LOOKS pretty magical. It has multiple functions that Shiro can apparently activate at will, and it gets that cool purple glow every time he uses it, and it leaves a trail of purple light when he wields it as a weapon.

Does that purple glow remind you of anything?

That’s Allura, right before she throws a bunch of magic back at Haggar and the Druids.

Shiro obviously isn’t consciously doing magic - but I think he might be subconsciously doing it. Just enough to make the arm do whatever he needs it to do. After he uses the arm in the Pilot, Pidge asks him: “Where did you learn to fight with that?” and Shiro says: “No idea.” He clearly knows how to use the arm, and we see him use it multiple times, but he doesn’t remember learning how to use it. His {procedural memory} is intact, but his {episodic memory} is damaged. He’s just working on instinct, intuitively channelling quintessence into the arm to power it up and make it work for him.

We’ve seen Shiro’s Galra arm do multiple cool things throughout the series, and whenever we see it, we just assume it’s the arm that’s doing it. But what if it’s not? What if it’s Shiro? The arm is just a tool - like a magic wand - that helps him activate his Druid powers, but all the functions we see are actually Shiro doing a bunch of low-level magic without fully realising what he’s doing or how he’s doing it. We’ve been crediting the arm, when we should have been crediting Shiro and his ability to manipulate quintessence.

Shiro is a Druid, and he’s been doing magic right in front of us this whole time.

Kiss It Better

Originally posted by gliceria

Bucky x Reader

Inspired by the song Kiss It Better by Rihanna

Warnings: NSFW

You stared at the T.V. screen without seeing much of anything. Your brain ran through your fight with Bucky earlier in the evening, overanalyzing everything you said. Should you have phrased something differently? You didn’t want him to think you didn’t care about him.

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As You Wish (Bucky x Reader)

A/N: Hey guys!! Sorry for taking a while to post this so this is a slightly longer one haha. I’m sorry if it’s not that good but I haven’t written smut for quite some time sooooo yeah😅 Anyways, enjoy!!

Request: Oh yay perfect :) Then I dare to request a Little smutty imagine with hot ass Barnes where he’s always shy around you at the compound but then one day everyone is out on a Mission except you two. So you go to the living room in just a towel (cause you think you’re alone) but Bucky happens to be there having his breakfast. So as soon as he sees you, he can’t resist any longer and you both end up having sex? Then you just cuddle and decide to give your relationship a try :) I hope it’s fine :)

Warnings: smut, slight cursing


You sighed and laid back in your bed as you sent the team off for their mission. You didn’t follow along as you had finished a rather tiring mission a few days ago and the others didn’t want you to strain yourself so they made you sit out for this one.

Sitting up, you decided to go take a shower, maybe you’ll just head out to the mall or something, or maybe just get a cup of coffee. As you grabbed your hair tie you tied your hair up in a bun as you headed to the bathroom to freshen up. You went to the shared bathroom instead of your room’s one as the water was always cold there. You really need to remind Tony about it.

You closed the bathroom door and stripped off your clothes stepping into the shower, making sure the water was warm. Sighing in content at the water hit your skin. You looked down at your feet, feeling a bit lonely as you’ll probably would be spending today and tomorrow by yourself.

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Got This Sin in Her Brain [Jerome Valeska x Reader]

Author’s Note: I would greet y’all a Happy Valentine’s Day since this is a Valentine’s Day fic, but… it’s not Valentine’s Day anymore lol. I did start writing it the day of, to be fair, but it took a while since I haven’t written prose lately (more poetry, for class) and by the time I finished it was past 1! Hope this is okay. I was liking it when I first started but as I gradually got more tired I wasn’t sure if what I wrote was even good haha.

Word Count: 2,417

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The end after END

This is a really late birthday present for @fleet-of-fandom-ships @lonestorm and @wordsofawitheringwriter​ I wrote all this last night at midnight and it has no editing or anything so sorry for all the mistakes that are bound to be in there. Anyway, without further ad, the end after END. (beware angst)


Lucy browsed through the little market. She mentally checked off items that she needed as she put them in her her bag. One item after another, she did this every saturday, refilling the things she went through in a week. She nodded to the shop keeper, they both knew each other well enough. He even gave her a discount, every single time. Lucy wasn’t sure if it was because of her situation or if it was because of her still very present good looks.

Either way she was happy for the discount. She moved on to the next stand, than the next, and then to the final one. Once she had everything paid for and packed away in her bag she started walking home.

Down the street, across the canal she stopped. The building that stood before her was much more worn than when she first came to Magnolia. There were cracks in the paint, chips in the door, broken roof tiles, but it still stood. But this was not Lucy’s destination.

She patted the door frame, which she swore that it was only used by her and her landlady. None of her friends used it.

She continued on to her destination.

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Catastrophe

Prompt: Where you’re someone he’s supposed to be fighting and he knows you from his childhood?? and I’m not sure about the mutation but it somehow stops his?? And the reader and Peter are wrestling because he needs to capture you for Charles?? But the whole time the reader is making sexual innuendos and Peter finally can’t help but join in??

Requested By: anon

Editor: @fetus-twink-howell

A/N: Oh my God if this isn’t the best request ever… we may have gotten carried away. Also you can thank my editor for most of the dialogue lines because I am hopelessly awful at coming up with innuendos; Reader can sense and repress the powers of others

  You skid to a halt, balanced in the pitch darkness, listening to the silence. Your heart was pounding, your cheeks flushed from the adrenaline rush. You’d always loved this part, the thrill of the escape, of just barely evading capture, only to fool your pursuers into a trap of your own. You grinned, your hair falling wildly in your face as you focused on hearing. This particular hunt had been fun, though you hadn’t chosen it. You were the prey.

  It was new territory for you; though, perhaps, not as new as one might think. Playing the prey was fun, even if your predator didn’t know you were toying with them. Especially then. You hear it at that moment, the brief warning of feet slamming onto concrete before he appeared. A brief second was enough.

  You were moving through the darkness, your silent footsteps and fluid movements letting you slide further into the darkness before he could catch you. The entire area was saturated in your power, and that made it easy. With the cover of darkness, your silent movements, and your power, you could escape practically anyone. You were a wicked catastrophe of movement and skill, and no one could stop you; not yet at least.

  You listened carefully for his footsteps, trying to predict what he would do. You’d suppressed his powers, there would be no more blitz attacks, no more appearing from nowhere. No more speed. His footsteps echoed through the building, bouncing off the walls and filling your ears. This boy just couldn’t be quiet. A smirk crossed your face as a thought flashed through your head.

  He’s probably louder in bed.

  You shook your head, resisting the urge to laugh at your own thoughts. He was attractive, and you could use that to your advantage. You focused on the room, making sure your power was still blanketing it.

  As your eyes adjusted slightly to the darkness, you searched for the flashes of silver, listened for any movement. This boy believed he could catch the country’s top hunter. Whoever sent him must have either believed your reputation was overblown or their errand boy better. Both were wrong. Wrong and foolish.

  From your perch on one of the large, metal support beams you could see the outline of the room from the pale moonlight shining through the small windows. There you waited, watching, listening. Your strike would have to be quick, decisive, and without hesitation. You almost sighed. It was a pity; whoever this was, he had been fun to run from.

“Can you just come down here and cooperate?” The voice was exasperated, grating, but you recognized it. You knew who this was, which meant he knew you. You grinned.

“Only if you stop being such a tease, baby.” You purr, your voice seeming to come from everywhere at once as it echoed through the room. You grinned, knowing it would fluster him for a minute. He would be shocked by the turned tables; he was the flirtatious one, not you. Then again, you hadn’t seen him for ten years. People change. You, especially, had changed. “Do you even know who I am, Peter?”

  The shocked silence told you enough. It also provided the few seconds of distraction you needed to leap. The time of playing prey was over; now you were the predator, and he the prey. Within a fraction of a second, you’d landed, vaulting from his shoulders and landing with the effortlessness of a trained gymnast. The brief, sharp pressure of your weight caused him to stumble, giving you enough time to drop to a crouch and swing your foot, knocking him off of his feet. He groaned, sighing as he lay on the ground.

“Last time I saw you, you weren’t this skilled.” There’s no anger, no annoyance, just amusement. He clicks something on his wrist, and the bright light of a flashlight burns your eyes.

“People change. To be fair, you weren’t this sexy ten years ago. If I told you you had a beautiful body, would you hold it against me?”

  He blanched, his loss for words written all over his face. You grin, eyes glinting. You were, perhaps, too overconfident in this situation, but not under-cautious. You had not made it this far in this life by being arrogant. Confidence in your abilities mixed with caution and intelligence had gotten you this far, and it would certainly carry you to the end. Whenever that was.

  Peter recovered quickly, shaking his head at the tactic he presumed you had chosen to throw him off.

“No.” He launched himself in a leap much like that of a panther as it leaps for its prey, and even though your reflexes were fast, they were not fast enough. You’d almost made it but his grapple caught you in the shoulder, and down you tumbled, the two of you a tangled mess of limbs and fury and confusion. “I’m not some cheap whore,” he grinned wickedly at you, and you could see he was starting to give in to your sexual humor, “you could at least take me out to dinner first.”

“Less talk, more action,” you elbowed him in the stomach, whirling around behind him as he doubled over. “You’re awfully slow, Pretty Boy.”

“It’s only polite for the man to come second,” he said, turning just in time for you to elbow him in the jaw and send him sprawling. He groaned, standing up again.

“Such a gentleman.”

“I’m not gentle, sweetheart,” he said, tackling you to the ground, “in fact, I like it rough.” You grinned at the boy hovering above you.

“Kinky, Pretty Boy. I never pegged you for the rough type.” You tried to bring your knee up, but you weren’t in the proper position to get the hit you wanted. It didn’t go unnoticed.

“Eyes on the prize, sweetheart?” You rolled your eyes.

“In your dreams, maybe.” You grabbed his shoulders, wrapped your legs around his waist, and rolled, landing on top of Peter. “If you thought I was going to be submissive, you thought wrong.”

“I already told you I like it rough, baby.” He grinned, grabbing your wrists and vaulting forward, effectively pinning you under him. “And, clearly, so do you.” You narrowed your eyes. He looked too smug for your tastes. So you do what any decent assassin attempting to seduce their prey would do. You bit his neck

  The gasp you received - whether in surprise, pleasure, or both - sent smug gratification surging through you.

“So,” you purred in his ear, “you’re that kind of guy, hm?” He swore, and you leaned back, eyebrows raised. “Is that a yes?” His cheeks flushed and you grinned. You could use this. You shifted, using the distraction to gain the upper hand and pin him down, your knees resting on his chest. “You know,” you said, cocking your head to the side, “I’m not seeing why he sent you of all people. Did that fool really believe that because I knew you that I would come willingly?” You scoff, shaking your head.

“You just found one of my kinks… and you’re asking me about my mission?” He looked almost offended. You stared at his brown eyes for a moment.

“Well I assume you aren’t here for sex.”

“Not originally,” he muttered, and you rolled your eyes.

“Still just as horny, I see.”

“You started it, baby.”

“And now I’m going to finish it.” You’d been ignoring what you’d known was coming from the moment the first words had left your mouth, but there was no ignoring it anymore. You were an expertly trained, professional assassin… and you were still in love with your high school crush. No amount of ruthless training had taken that from you, although you almost wished it had.

  You hesitated. There would be no going back from this. The choice you made here would determine everything. If you kissed him, there would be no returning to your current life. But perhaps that wasn’t such a bad thing. If you killed him, there would be no redemption. No second chances. Your hesitation gave him just enough time to turn the tables once more, rolling to the side and shoving you off of him, sending you sprawling to the floor. You blinked as his head appeared above yours, a cocky grin plastered on his face.

“Looks to me like I’m finishing it, babe.”

“Shut up.”

“Or what? You’ll make me?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Do you want me to?”

“I’d like to see you try, princess.” You flashed a wicked grin, and something changed in his face. He knew he’d just fucked up. And he knew he didn’t stand a chance.

Fic: What You Need

Skank!Kurt/pocket!Blaine, inspired by this picture. ~1670 words, PG-13, fluff.

“Oh, goddammit,” Kurt said, staring down at the narrow yet surprisingly deep crack in the pavement below the bleachers. He had fumbled his lighter while pulling it out of his pants and dropped it, and from the looks of it, that lighter was going to be gone forever. “Great. Amazing. Just what I needed.”

He took a seat on the low concrete divider that helped support the metal seats, wondering what would be the fastest way to get his cigarette lit. Most of the Skanks were off in Columbus for what they were calling “Senior Ditch Day,” like they needed an excuse to ditch class, while the few that hadn’t gone were nowhere in sight. Kurt was mentally debating whether he should go buy a new lighter from the closest 7/11 or try to hunt down Quinn when a bright flash and a loud crack startled him from his thoughts.

“What the-”

“You need help?” A warm voice asked. Kurt whipped his head around trying to determine where it was coming from. “Down here!”

Kurt nearly fell off the wall and cracked his head open.

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un coup de main, si'l te plait.

A/n: because I wonder if that would be part of Ladybug’s job description and because this is a very personal topic.

TW: mentions of suicide and depression.

Beyond all the magic that’s come into her life after becoming Ladybug…beyond all the Akuma and the dangers and joys…this is perhaps the oddest and most important of her self-inflicted responsibilities.

The Eiffel Tower is beautiful and scintillating, a spot of hope and pride that shimmers gilded and golden in the night.

And it’s so tall. It used to be one of her favorite spots to sit and watch the city. But that was a short lived time of enjoyment, because this responsibility of hers has leached away any joy.

Or rather, she’d feel guilty if she got any joy out of staying here. She doesn’t tell Chat Noir about these patrols.

He always seems tired and somehow, she feels a more personal drive. Something wedged in the sadness and anxiety she’d long since learned how to hide well.

She’s so high up…and so is the lovely girl with red hair done up in two braids. The girl doesn’t seem to see her and it’s after hours. She shouldn’t be here.

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if you guys live in the St. Louis/House Springs Missouri area and like metal/metalcore

then you should check out a band called Unimagined. they sort of like The Funeral Portrait if you have ever hear of those guys. my friend’s boyfriend is the lead guitarist and they’re trying to get some recognization. they’ve recorded some stuff but it’s not quite done yet. they’re gonna be at Fubar St. Louis on June 10 and tickets range from $10-13 if you wanna go see them. they can use all the fans they can get. they have a facebook page too if you wanna check it out

Babyface. {DeanxReader]

Summary: You’re just a kid to Dean.



He restlessly waited in your chair, bouncing his leg repeatedly as you blended more burgundy eye-shadow around his crease. “Ya done yet kid?” He asks, popping his gum obnoxiously. 


“N-No sir.” You mutter, barely audible while you increased your blending pace, sensing his irritation.


“Christ, Kid. Drop the "sir” term, would ya? Makin’ me cringe over my age.“ He spits, slacking his jaw.


You refrain from tucking your lower lip between your teeth to avoid ruining your pink freshly coated lips. "Sorry Dean..” You mumble, gripping onto the blending brush to relieve nerves.


You had been an intern for Leslie whom was the lead make up artist for WWE and her glam squad for 3 months now. The relationship you had with the superstars was very mutual, a simple “hello” down the corridor and “thank you” when they left your chair was about the only conversation they ever got from you. You didn’t necessarily know how to strike up discussion with your fellow colleagues considering you didn’t know much about wrestling, let alone if you had common interests with any of them in light of the fact that you were 20 while majority of them were going on 30. 


Dean examined his faux black eye you had created for him. Nodding in approval, he hopped out of the chair.  "Love it kid, looks real realistic.“ Nothing more, nothing less, he discontinued his appearance from you and was eventually down the hallway rehearsing his promo. 


Kid. You always despised that pet name he gave you. It made you feel…juvenile. Which was the last term you wanted to be in Dean’s perspective. There was an instant attraction you had towards him when you first arrived to the backstage environment. However, to be with him would be comical when all he concludes of you is your youth. Dean is a man, and you were a girl. A naive, young girl in man’s work environment. Why would he ever go for someone 10 years to his senior when he was surrounded by women everyday? 


You shake the gullible thoughts from your head, shaming yourself for ever even putting it into your head that you and Dean could ever be linked. 


—–
To say Wrestlemania weekend was hectic would be an understatement. Not only was it the constant press you had to beautify the Diva’s for which included you nonstop hotel room hopping when they weren’t satisfied with their appearance. Nor was it arranging different tutorials for each individual superstar. It was everything and anything. 


So when the company decided to have an open bar at the hotel after the grandest stage of them all, you didn’t dare to refuse the offer. 


You sat with the rest of the glamour department to avoid getting carded from the bartenders. Which in your favor - worked - considering you were already on your 4th glass of coke and rum. 


Your tongue went numb, and the figures around you started to blur. You mentally cursed yourself for not eating before hand. However, that didn’t stop you from ordering yet another mixed drink. 



Half past 11:00 and making it to the elevator was quite the obstacle. You leaned against the metal doors for support as the lobby twirled around your drunken state. 


Without warning, the doors parted causing you to collapse straight through and into the arms of a muscular embrace. 


Whoa there..“ Dean sang, taking in your tipsy appearance while trying to balance you.


"I-I..” You begin, only to drop your head dramatically low. 


Chuckling, Dean closes the elevator shut and hoists his arms around you for support. “What’s ya room number kid?" 


You let out a dramatic sigh, putting all your weight against Dean. "I-I’m..I’m so-so..sorry. I’m so s-sorrry.” You slur.


Dean snickers, squeezing your hip while keeping you close to his side. “No need to apologize kid, I’ve been worse." 


The elevator chimes open, and unfortunately for you the shot of vodka you parched down 15 minutes ago is sneaking up. Your intoxicated frame wobbles out from the elevator nearly stumbling face first into the wall. Dean hisses, sympathizing your pain as he has surely been there and definitely done that. 


Knowing that there is absolutely no chance of you making it back to your room without falling, Dean scoops you up into his arms and carries you down the hallway. 


He sets you down while keeping a tight grip around your petite waist once you have reached your room. "You got any Advil kid? You’ll definitely need it in the morning.” He smirks. 


Kid. That damn word again. The word and the alcohol that you have consumed don’t mix well. “I-I-I’m no damn k-kiiid.” You whine harshly, breaking from his hold. “Kid that’s su-suuch an-an insult.” You spit, continuing on with your objection until the liquor begins to creep up your throat. 


Swatting your hand over your mouth, you bolt inside of your room and rush to the toilet. Hurling all the alcohol and jumbled confessions down into the bowl.
Your eyes begin to swell from the heaving sensation in your stomach as more of the liquor leaves your system and into the toilet. Dean’s hand startles you as he gathers your hair out of your face while the other reaches over to flush down the remains. 


You hang your head low in punishment coming to realization of how much of a fool you have made in front of him. You sniffle, feeling your eyelids go heavy and Dean’s touch slowly disappearing as you knock out for the night. 



The following morning left your body in a tender condition. Despite the amount of alcohol you had thrown up last night, the room still spun rapidly. Cautiously sliding out from the covers, you groan at the heavy throbbing that commences to your head. 


The fact that Dean had to practically babysit you last night was enough to give you a headache, let alone receiving one from your hangover. You peel out of your clothes from the night before and throw on a hoodie before exiting your hotel room. 

You fiddle with your thumbs as you took a long walk of shame down to Dean’s room. Is an apology even enough for him? Has he gossiped about how much of a drunk mess you were to the roster? Oh god, how is he ever going to look at you as someone mature? 


You sigh, thumping your head against his hotel door. Hissing at the strong throbbing that only increased your headache. 


Without warning, the door clicks open to project a shirtless Dean peering down at you, almost concerned. 


As if he didn’t make you nervous enough, his exposed muscles are  a mocking gesture. 


“I-I” You begin, already not helping your behavior from last night. 


Your eyes stare to his messy locks that fall against his forehead, trying your hardest not to drool over the perfection of his fit built. 


“How ya feelin’?” He questions, interrupting you from your bliss thoughts.
Clearing your throat, you pull on the sleeves of the hoodie to release nerves. 

“Fragile.” You mutter bluntly. 


He scoffs, leaning against the door frame. “Yeaaah, you’re a lightweight. Gotta learn to pace yourself." 


You only felt more adolescent as he referred to you as a "lightweight”. Sighing heavily, your mouth moves without realization of the words that ramble out. 

“I’m honestly so sorry about last night. That kind of behavior is not who reflects me as an individual. The fact that you had to nurse me is inconvenient considering you never get any free time, and I’m truthfully so sorry. If I said anything to you that was insulting or uncalled for, I can only plead that you’ll excuse those statements and move on from this situation. I can reassure you that you will never see me in that posture ever again." 


Your response leaves him an unexpected stance. It’s the most he’s ever heard you speak, considering you don’t hold conversations long enough to reach 2 sentences. He coughs awkwardly, feeling his heart soften at your sudden apology. 


"Listen, ki-” He pauses, correcting himself. “(Y/N).. it happens to everyone. I had to wheel Roman on a bellhop cart after the Hall Of Fame after party.” He chuckles as a giggle slips past your lips before he continues on. “If I had to take care of a 265 pound Samoan then surely, I can handle a pretty little lady that needs help getting back to her hotel room in one piece." 


You blush uncontrollably at his sincere reassurance, looking down at the carpeted surface. 


He leans over, pecking your cheek before shifting back inside his hotel room. "I’ll see ya around kid.” He winks, closing the door.


That word didn’t seem to bother you as much when it was followed by his lips to your cheek. You stand there momentarily before smiling, “See you around…”

I Don’t Want To Ruin You

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader
Warnings: SMUT 
Summary: Reader is a virgin and Bucky is wary of his arm with her. 
A/N: This was request from the beautiful @pocketmegan
“I don’t want to ruin you” (Bucky being slightly nervous about being the readers first cause she’s a virgin and its still soon after his winter soldier days. Like while he’s hiding out in Romania.)” I’m sorry it was late , I hope you like it lovely! - 
There’s one Russian phrase :моя любовь = My love
Word count : 1,751 (oops)

The first time you told him you whispered it. Your head hung low, ashamed of telling him. “I’m a virgin” your voice was soft and cautious, unsure of how he’d react. “Doll, look at me” Bucky ordered gently. When you didn’t move he tipped your chin up carefully with his finger.

“I don’t care if you’re a virgin, you tell me when you’re ready, I’ve got all the time in the world” Bucky said softly, his eyes trained on yours and you never felt more loved.

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