this was a quick one a little over an hour i guess

the spy au that @philosophium ordered !!


Andrew slips through a slit in the crowd, brushing through the sleek trains of expensive gowns, rich wool suits jackets catching on his own. He’s on his second flute of champagne, and the tartness keeps him focused. His attention is on the flavour and the rim of the glass and the warp of faces through it. His earpiece crackles and whispers.

He can see his mark on the opposite side of the room, surrounded by servers and liars and pretty things. One of them is all three, Andrew can tell: a waiter’s vest, a seam of over-applied foundation, and bright blue eyes.

He’s distracting, flighty, a rubber band pulled all the way back. He looks like the memory of a case file, and a name occurs to Andrew one second before Kevin hisses it into his ear.

“It’s fuckin’ Charlie Pilot. Don’t engage, Minyard, we’re not here for him.”

Andrew doesn’t make any effort to reply, just takes another pull of champagne. He’s not really watching the troupes of entertainers or the clockwork security or the velvet and silk blooming under bowing chandeliers. He’s not even watching the man he’s either going to rob or kill, who’s laughing and weedy, red in the face from the alcohol. He’s stuck on Pilot –  next to his target, holding a heavily stocked tray of appetizers, his expression pleasant and empty.

He’ll be an irritant to what should be a straightforward plan, if he keeps hovering. Andrew takes a loaded step forward and the voice in his ear complains.

“Don’t even think about moving in until Pilot leaves. He’s probably doing reconnaissance for Matt. I bet he doesn’t even know about the file.”

Andrew watches Pilot’s face tick, the way he blinks like he’s on a timer, the way he’s worrying the inside of his cheek with his teeth.

“I bet he does,” Andrew murmurs, and he drains the last of the champagne. He plucks his tie pin away from the fabric and drops it in the empty glass, leaving it on a passing tray.

“What— what the fuck Minyard, we’ve lost visuals. Do you hear me? Andrew? Andrew?”

Andrew weaves through the rest of the golden crowd, ignoring the buzz of Kevin’s reprimands in his ear. He finds a new spot on the outskirts of the crowd where Pilot has installed himself.

“Do you know how fucking expensive those cameras are? You’re such a piece of shit operative,” Kevin says. “When you inevitably come back without the intelligence and without our equipment, it’s costing us to keep you around, do you realize that?”

Andrew’s more focused on the way Pilot’s shoulders are turning to face him, the slim line of his tailored pants, that eyelash-thick smudge of un-blended make up.

“Shrimp?” Pilot offers, swaying the tray in his direction.

“No,” Andrew says, but he stays uncomfortably near, feeling along the edges of his boundaries without finding any seams. Pilot’s composure is still and reserved as a frost-ravaged garden.

“Have a good evening then,” Pilot says graciously, turning back towards the host that Andrew should be sizing up but hasn’t even looked at. He glances at him for a sliver of a moment, finds himself uninterested, and looks back at Pilot.

Andrew catches him suddenly by the arm, but relaxes his grip just as quickly, caught off guard by his own impulsivity. His own disguise is just an invitation and sun bleached hair; he isn’t playing a character like Pilot is. He’s neutral for a living, but Pilot is a new weight on his scale, unbalancing him so that he can’t quite settle at zero.

When their eyes meet, the polite, curious waiter snips out of existence. Charlie Pilot stares at Andrew, with eyes like the bluest part of a fire.

“There’s a conflict of interest,” he tells Andrew calmly. “And your interest will lose.”

“I’m not interested in anything,” Andrew says broadly.

“Hm,” Pilot says, unconvinced. “You’re lying.”

“I don’t lie,” Andrew says. He’s always saying it; it’s a novelty that employers enjoy and enemies challenge, amused.

Pilot raises his jaw, mouth twitching. “No, you wouldn’t, would you.” His eyes flicker to the side of Andrew’s face, where Kevin is breathing furiously through his earpiece, then down to the grip he still has on his forearm. He lowers his tray down until the rough edge is pressed to the root of Andrew’s hand threateningly. “You’ll want to let me go, Andrew, or you’re going to end up needing a longer armband.”

Andrew feels genuine surprise squeeze his fingers around Pilot’s wrist. He hadn’t noticed the black fabric extending a whiff beyond his crisp white sleeve. He lets go, and Pilot tucks his shoulders back, satisfied. His hair is too dark to match his freckles, Andrew notes quietly. It is, perhaps, what the make up was meant to cover up.

“You are not going to win, Charlie,” Andrew says. “We’re the more capable team.”

Pilot smiles indulgently. “‘Charlie’,” he repeats, mouth curling around the name. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been Charlie Pilot.” He jostles his tray from one hand to another, and loosens his collar with his freed hand. “And I don’t think you understand how much farther ahead we are than you. If you’re looking for information, we already have it. If you’re trying to find the connections this place has to the Yakuza, we’re the ones undoing them.”

“Who’s we? I don’t remember seeing anything about loyalty in your case file. You’re just a runner.”

Pilot looks briefly bothered by this, and he juts his chin again. “I’m loyal to whoever’s doing the work that needs to be done.”

“That doesn’t answer my question. Who are you?”

He looks down, at Andrew’s empty hands, at the hip where he’s hiding his gun. His expression is warped and sad when he looks up, like the real filling in his strange costume is finally oozing out.

“You can call me Neil,” he says, and drops the whole tray of food so that it clatters and rolls into the host’s feet. There are gasps and yelps, partygoers dodging and stooping to catch the runaway platter. Andrew looks impulsively down to track its progress, and when he looks sharply back up into the knot of activity, Neil is gone. Of course he is.

He doesn’t have time to think about where he might have disappeared to, just steps neatly into the opportunity that’s been afforded to him. He uses the distraction as a doorway directly into the offices behind the coddled host.

Kevin is asking repeatedly for updates, and Andrew fishes the earpiece out and tucks it into his breast pocket. He likes to be alone for this part, when the most important door closes behind him and everything makes as much sense as a ticking clock.

He keeps thinking of Neil’s reaction to ‘runner’, of the vulnerability trussed up in his persona. He finds himself sick to his stomach wanting to know what his real hair colour is.

He tries every door in the polished row of them, finding all of them locked. He picks the lock on the door farthest from the burble of the ballroom behind him, and cracks into what looks like a room built for business arrangements and drinking. There’s a snifter next to a half dozen tumblers on a cart along the wall, and extensive cabinets under the desk.

He feels his way along the underside of the desk, and opens each drawer, idealistically left unlocked and unprotected. He finds useless information and shady information and heaps of anonymous, unlabeled tapes.

He finds the safe in the floor, facing up patiently under a wingback chair and a panel of floorboard. He stoops so that he’s face to face with it, shrugs his jacket off like a dead skin onto the floor, and puts the heart of a stethoscope to the face of the safe.

He’s sweating, spread out surreptitiously on the floor, but the safe is flimsy. It cracks in under an hour, the party wilting two rooms over, pressure taking him by the hair. Andrew flicks the door open impatiently, unwinding the stethoscope from around his neck.

It’s filled top to bottom with paper, and he reaches for the first file, carding his fingers through the spill of sheets.

Got you, it says. Over and over again, in unassuming little typescript. And on the next page, got you.

Andrew’s fingers flex. The next file is the same, and the next. A million taunting, twirling repetitions: got you. Got this. Got here first.

The safe was already cracked. The list of names was already stolen. Neil’s face winks and swarms when he closes his eyes, furious. If you’re looking for information, we already have it.

He roots around for the bud in his pocket and pops it back into his ear. He leans back, splayed away from the spill from the safe, the stacks of failure. He enunciates clearly into the microphone sewn into his collar.

“We have to find Neil.”

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The Kissing Booth

A SnowBaz fanfiction


Simon

Once a year, usually in the spring, Watford stages a carnival for the students.  It’s usually quite humble, mainly consisting of booths selling small magic trinkets, or snacks like cotton candy, sweets and other classic carnival fare.  There’s always the tiny petting zoo over near the Cloisters, and some years Watford even scrapes enough together to bring in a carousel.  Most of the booths are run by student volunteers, and though everything is by donation, all proceeds go to whichever charity the student body has voted on.

           I go every year, mostly for the caramel apples and sweet cider, but this is the first year I’ve been behind the scenes of the carnival and helped at a booth.

           In truth, I didn’t even sign up for it, but Agatha hadn’t had a break all day and needed some cotton candy of her own.

           I should have told her to find Penny, or Trixie or even Minty.  Anyone but me.

           It doesn’t take long for the word to spread that Simon Snow has taken over the Kissing Booth, and mortifyingly the line has doubled in length.  Mostly first or second-year girls, blushing and stammering or swaggering up to the counter with a pronounced sway in their step, with the odd boy interspersed through the line.

           It’s not the worst thing that’s ever happened to me – that honour goes to the time in second year that Baz stumbled upon a spell that made my clothes slowly dissipate, garment by garment, in the middle of the dining hall – and after the first two or three quick, cold kisses I start to calm down, but I’m counting the minutes until Agatha comes back.  How she endured hours of this, I cannot comprehend.  That’s just Agatha, I guess.

           A redhead drops her donation into the tin and her eyes flit around, meeting me for only a split second at a time, her cheeks aflame.  I try to look as non-threatening as I can and lean forward enough that she can close the rest of the space.  She darts in with a kiss that’s no more than a peck before running over to a giggling pair of who must be her friends, a triumphant grin on her face. She must have been dared.  Poor girl.  I hope I wasn’t her first.

           “Well, well, well.”

           My stomach lurches at the cold drawl I know only too well.

           “What are you doing here, Baz?” I say in as civilized a tone as I can manage.

           He stands there with his arms crossed over his chest, his mouth in a twist that’s a bit too amused to be a sneer.  “When I heard that the Chosen One had taken over the Snogging Booth, I simply had to see it for myself.”

           “Well, now you’ve seen it, so now you can go.”

           “Saving the World of Mages one kiss at a time,” Baz murmurs with a chuckle.  “Not exactly what I was envisioning.”

           “I’m only covering for Agatha,” I retort, “she’ll be back in five minutes if you’re wanting her services.”

           He scoffs.  “I’d rather not snog your girlfriend, thank you very much.”

           “She’s not my – forget it,” I shake my head.  I’ve told him at least a dozen times, but it never stops him.

           “She must have been really desperate for a break to put you in charge,” Baz drawls on, his voice smooth like honey but with too much of a bite to be sweet.  “You’d think she’d at least pick someone attractive for the Kissing Booth.”

           It stings, but I don’t flinch.  “What, someone like you?” I spit back too fast.

           His eyebrows shoot up in delighted surprise as I realize my mistake.  “You flatter me, Snow,” he purrs, and I feel my cheeks heat up, but I furrow my brow tighter and hope it passes for anger.

           “Is there a reason you’re still here?” I growl as the burning spreads from my cheeks to my ears.  

           “As a matter of fact, there is,” Baz says, and his gray eyes look cool enough to staunch the flames at the tips of my ears, but the more I glare into them the more the fire rages.  “I’m here to torment you.”

           “Great, well you’ve done that.”

           “I wanted to see what you’d do.”  He leans on the edge of the counter, bringing his face far too close to mine for comfort. “What would the Mage’s Heir do if his nemesis showed up at the Kissing Booth?”

           “You can torment me any time,” I shoot back, “you’re holding up the line.”

           “Oh, yes, well,” he feigns conern, “I wouldn’t want to keep anyone from their kiss.”

           “Then go away.”

           His eyes narrow and he pretends to think.  “Mmm, no.  I don’t think so.”

           “Baz, I’m warning you.”

           “Terrifying,” he drones, “but this is too much fun.  Besides,” his eyebrow flickers up, “don’t you owe me a kiss?”

           I flash him a smirk of my own.  “Aw, Baz. If you were so desperate for a kiss, you could’ve just asked.”

           Baz, to his credit, doesn’t bat an eye.  “You think of that comeback yourself?”

           “There’s a fee, you know,” I ignore him, barely having to raise my voice above a murmur for him to hear me, he’s so close.  “You haven’t paid the fee, so I don’t owe you anything.”

           He doesn’t drop his eyes from mine, and the cool gray takes on the spark of a challenge.  Out of my periphery I see him reach into his pocket, and there’s the clatter of coins dropping into the tin.

           I should punch him.

           I should spit in his face.

           I wanted to see what you’d do.

           I take him by the lapels and crush his mouth under mine.

           He makes a muffled sound of shock.  To be fair, so do I, but mine is more angry than it is surprised.  I kiss him hard and rough, and it’s a bit of a juxtaposition because his mouth is oddly soft.  A face like his, you’d expect his lips to be made of marble, cold and unmoving, but he’s the farthest thing from unmoving.  I can’t tell if he’s struggling or if he’s kissing me back but his lips are so, so soft and I want to bruise them, mark them, bite them…

           I only stop when a series of wolf whistles reminds me that there are at least ten people watching us.

           Trying to salvage the illusion of control, I break away harshly, still gripping him by his collar.  The cocky smirk has dropped from his smooth features and now his face mirrors mine, a matching scowl, like I’ve crossed a dangerous line.  I probably have.

           “Was that what you wanted?” I growl.

           He doesn’t answer, just holds my gaze another few seconds before pushing back from the table, his lapels slipping out of my hands, and stalking away.

*** 

I don’t see Baz at the carnival after that, and I stay as long as the booths are open, perusing the same counters and feigning interest even after having looked through their contents three times.  I keep Penny company where she mans the popcorn booth, drizzling caramel over every few cartons, and I even get bored enough to hang around Agatha back at the Kissing Booth for a little while, until one too many patrons have asked if I’m available for service.  When she and Penny are freed we pet the goats at the petting zoo, the ones that Ebb has graciously volunteered for the event, and take a few spins on the carousel.  Only once the light has begun to fade and the signs are being lowered from their booths do the three of us part ways.  Even then, I offer to help Ebb get her goats back safely.

           Basically, I’m doing anything I can to put off going back to the room, but eventually I can’t avoid it any longer.  I’ve wandered the grounds enough times that the sun has properly disappeared behind the distant hills and I can barely see the ground in front of me. Even then I’m tempted to consider crazy alternatives like spending the night at Ebb’s place, but I’m pretty sure that would be against school rules anyway, and besides, I’ll have to face Baz eventually.  There’s no undoing what’s happened.

           When I finally trudge back into the room, he’s staring out the window at the moat, presumably trying to intimidate the merwolves, but he turns at the sound of the door.  His expression, though I don’t see it for long before I look away, is hard to read. Wide eyes and a furrowed brow, like he’s still mad at me for my stunt earlier, but there’s a bit of a questioning edge there, too.  Almost a where were you edge.

           Normally I have to start any type of conversation, but tonight he wastes no time. “What the hell was that, Snow?”

           There’s no question as to what he’s referring, and I can’t help but get angry again.  “Me? You’re the one who had to start something!”

           “Well, you didn’t have to react so drastically,” he mutters, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall by the window, the moonlight casting its glow on his skin and making him even paler than usual, almost transparent.  I half expect fangs to slide out from his lips for no reason and complete the picture.

           His soft, soft lips.

           “You were egging me on,” I seethe, the memory igniting the rage that I’d felt in the fractured moment before kissing him, “it’s your fault anything happened.”

           “Proud little hero,” Baz says with the slightest smirk, “can’t back down from a challenge.”

           “You know I can’t, not in front of people.”

           “Wouldn’t want them to think the Heir is a coward.”

           I feel like a balloon in me is swelling and deflating at once.  “But that’s just it, Baz,” I insist, anger momentarily aside.  “If they think I’m afraid, what reason do they have to hope?”

           He doesn’t answer right away, and for a second I think maybe he understands. I want so badly for him to understand.

           “No reason,” Baz eventually says, turning to look out the window again, “not with someone like you as the Chosen One.”

           I want to groan, to kick something, to shake him by the shoulders and make him look me in the eye and for once not fight me.  Have we ever in our lives made eye contact without there being some challenge between us?

           “Why did you have to get in that line?” I shake my head.  “There are so many other ways of tormenting me, lower-stakes ways.”

           “To be fair, I’ve already exhausted most of those,” Baz murmurs with a little shrug of his shoulders.

           “When have you ever been fair?”

           “Touché.”

           I’m tired of standing here at the door, so I kick off my shoes and sit down on my bed, trying not to think about how much closer I am to him now, still at the window, looking as vampiric as ever.  His gray eyes are positively silver in the moonlight, and the black of his hair looks silkier than ever, as if it’s soaking the rays directly into him. He almost glows.  I have to laugh a little, because more than once Baz has mockingly compared me, with my bronze curls and sky-blue eyes, to the sun, but he himself wears a halo of night.  If I am the sun, then Baz is most certainly the moon.  Distant, cold, mysterious, almost too pristine to touch.

           His gaze returns to me suddenly.  He raises an eyebrow in a wordless inquiry, and I realize I’ve been staring.

           “What exactly was it you expected me to do?”

           “At what point, Snow?” he gives a humourless laugh.  “You had more than one opportunity to react.”

           “When you paid the fee.”

           His tiny smile disappears.  “It doesn’t matter.”

           “It does.”

           “Drop it, Snow,” he says, the hardness returning to his eyes, and I know I’ve cornered him.  Drop it is Baz’s way of betraying himself, of saying there’s something that he doesn’t want to tell.

           “Was I supposed to kiss you?” I ask.  For some reason I have to know.

           “No.”

           “Then what?”

           “I don’t know, Snow, punch me.  Push me. Beat me to the ground.  Something.”

           My brow furrows in confusion.  “Wait. You wanted me to hit you?”

           He shrugs, more with his head than his shoulder.  “One of us has to get hurt, right?”

           I rise to my feet, and I’m face-to-face with him again, only his eyes are different this time.  Whereas at the booth he had betrayed no hint of doubt at our closeness, now there’s a flicker of something in the silver, something that feels a lot like the way my heart is racing in my chest, and it dawns on me.  He was putting on a show at the carnival, acting like nothing I could do would get to him, just as I had been.

           If they think I’m afraid, what reason do they have to hope?

           One of us has to get hurt, right?

           And suddenly it makes sense.

           There’s only a few inches between us, so it feels almost natural when I lean in and press the gentlest of kisses to his lips.

           He doesn’t kiss me back this time, but he doesn’t move away either.  “What was that for?” he asks when I draw back a second later.

           “You act like we’re so different,” I say wonderingly, “but we’re the same.”

           “How?”

           “What do you think we’d be if we didn’t have to fight each other?”

           I don’t miss the split second of longing in his eyes.  “Keep dreaming, Snow.”

           “Because I bet it would involve a lot more of this.”  I bring a hand up to his neck, my fingers instantly lost in the wavy tips of his hair and it’s exactly as soft as it looks bathed in moonlight.

           Baz closes his eyes like he has to collect himself.  “You’re the hero.  I’m the villain.  What more do I have to say?”

           “Fuck that,” I chuckle, “we both know that’s not true.  You’re a boy, and I’m a boy.  That’s all.”

           “Tell that to the rest of the world.”

           “I don’t care about the rest of the world,” I shake my head adamantly, “I want to know what you think.”    

           “About what?”

           “If there was no act, no reputation, no role to play,” I murmur, “if we were just two boys, what would you do?”

           Baz returns my gaze a moment, searching my eyes.    

           Then his lashes close and he’s kissing me, and my eyes drift shut again like I’m sighing in relief.

           I let my fingers tangle higher up in his hair while my other hand grips the front of his shirt like earlier, only without the anger of the afternoon.  He angles his head further and guides the kiss deeper, his hands gently gripping my waist and pulling me closer.  I melt against him, my mouth moving with his, my head swimming with his citrusy scent, and I can’t hold back the moan that escapes my throat when he takes my bottom lip between his teeth in a gentle tug. Suddenly I’m floating, weightless, and Baz gives a muffled sound of surprise when I press back a little harder.

           When we finally break apart, both of us gasping and dizzy, I immediately want more, want to line his neck with my mouth, want to feel his breath hitch when I reach the base of his throat, want to hear my name in his sigh.  Would he sigh Snow or Simon?  I want to know.

           “Please,” I whisper, dotting a kiss to the corner of his mouth, “can’t we just be two boys?”

           When I meet his eyes, they’re full of more longing than ever.

           In response, he kisses a soft, slow triangle pattern on my cheek, and I recognize the pattern of the three moles by my eye, and I can’t help but smile.

“We can try.”

Suga Daddy: Part 7

Suga Daddy: Part 7

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Words: 9.6k

Genre: Smut, angst, dirty talk, dom!Yoongi

There is another gif in the story that describes the moment I was portraying. Ignore Namjoon’s name on it, lol. Anyway, enjoy :) 

Parts:  one | two | three | four | five | six 

You had never been more excited to get out of dance practice. Yugyeom had been making fun of you the entire time because you were so out of it. You were trying to hide that from Jane because you were slightly messing up. “Shut up,” you pushed Yugyeom with a laugh, “Some of us are trying to focus.”

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givenchy & gold, part i (m.)

;pairing — jungkook/reader

;warnings — sex | implied exhibitionism | mild dom/sub tones | if u’ve got a praise kink then ur gonna love this | mentions of daddy kinks | instances of spanking 

;summary — you’re the supervisor of the clothing department with a lot of useless lingerie knowledge, jungkook is the jewelry department’s defiant hot boy who flirts in wristwatch brands. basically an upscale retail au, but with lots of implied under-the-counter sex. and when an opportunity presents itself to fuck each other in the boss’s office after hours, you’re both too hot for each other to say no.

;word count — 20k im so sorry

part i | part ii

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Make fun of my kid? I'll get you back somehow.

So I am not sure if this belongs in @prorevenge, sense it wasn’t planned on my part. It kind of just fell in my lap. Feels more than petty, so here I am.

For a bit of background: My next door neighbor is/was a college student. She lives with our actual neighbor, her boyfriend. Typical crazy college kid. Weekend parties, drinking on her patio all hours of the night, and weird hours. You know the drill. I figured she was trying to experience college life, so why not? You do you lady!

Anyways one summer night last year she was sitting out on her back patio with her girlfriends doing their drunk thing. I am out wrapping up on some stuff with my toddler daughter. She at the time had a medical thing going on that caused her to walk a little weird. Nothing life altering and something that would heal with time. She did have a weeble waddle to her, especially when running. Sometimes she would fall right over. She was out running around with the dog and the ladies next door were waving and telling her how cute she was. All good.

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Skewered

Summary: You’re a doctor for the avengers and when Bucky comes in with a hunk of metal in his side you find that it’s not his injury that’s making you sweat.

Warnings: Description of wounds/blood, Bucky being shameless

Note: I’m overwhelmed by the feedback I got on my last fic! You guys are great! So for my second fic I though I’d try out Bucky, again I’d love any constructive comments/criticism.


“Incoming! Incoming!” Odette, the surgical tech assigned to you rushes into the room.

“How many?” you ask, looking up from the table where you’ve laid out your tools.The tech flushes. You sigh. “What type of injuries?” 

“Uh-hm..” the tech stutters. You turn around so you can hide your eye roll. “Dr.Cho’s been called in..” Odette says. 

“Thank you, Odette” You say and head to the sink to scrub your hands again. You are a top scientist working for Fury, and besides having your degree in engineering you’re an MD who specializes in general surgery. So whenever the reinstated avengers go on mission you’re put on call, which basically consists of you waiting in the med bay in case anyone needs to be treated. Usually the injuries are minor, the team are unparalleled in what they do, and you just end up patching up deep scrapes or bullet grazes. Because of this and the fact you have daily work at the Avenger’s compound you’ve become very friendly with the team.

Your palms start to sweat. Today’s mission was supposed to be high risk and it’s a bad sign that Helen’s been called in. With you and one other doctor on call her and her technology are only called in for severe injuries. The door opens and a battered looking Steve supporting an even more battered looking Bucky walks in. Steve helps Bucky sit on the examination table.

“Any more injured?” You ask, pulling on gloves.

“Scrapes all around, except for Sam. He’s badly burned.” Steve blows air out of his mouth. You look at him, his brow is creased in worry. 

“How badly?” You look at Bucky, he has a chunk of what seems to be jagged metal in his side, about two inches thick, protruding several inches from his gear. It seems to be a simple extraction job.

“Badly. But Park’s seeing to him”  Samuel Park is the other doctor in the compound “Dr.Cho’s supposed to put him in the new Cradle.I hope she gets here soon.”

You walk to the table and pick up scissors and a knife. “Odette, You should go assist Dr.Park.” the tech nods, and scurries out the door. Steve goes to follow but looks back at Bucky.

“He’ll be fine, go,” You say, and with that Steve leaves.


You look at Bucky. His eyes are already trained on you. It reminds you of the time Steve came in for stitches. His forearm had been split open. Bucky leaned against the wall in the corner of the room, he remained silent but his eyes followed your every move. Even when you looked at him he didn’t break his gaze. You assumed he was just being protective over his best friend. Bucky hasn’t said more than two words to you in the time that you’ve known him. Even after he started opening up and joking around with the team he remained oddly silent around you. You assumed you annoyed him. He had no problem talking with the others and even flirting with the research techs. 

You step up to him and start cutting away his gear. ‘Oops probably should have asked before I started cutting off his clothes’.Heat flushes down your neck and you stop your actions.

“Sorry, do you mind  if I cut away your gear?” 

“ ‘S fine” he says, voice low. You look up and you swear there’s a hint of smile on his face. You nod and continue. He smells of something metallic mixed with blood and sweat and a hint of….cologne…? As you cut away more of his gear you catch more of it. You try not to think about it. He’s handsome, the type of handsome that makes people do a double take. You try to ignore the broadness of his shoulders as his gear falls away, leaving him in a damp wife-beater. 

“Ain’t even the first date and you’re already tryna get me outta my clothes.” He rasps, startling you. You stutter and stammer, before deciding not to respond.

“Okay,” you say, taking a breath. “I’m just going to  take a look at this” You step in between his legs and inspect the metal shard. It looks worse than what you first thought it was. The shard is about the size of your hand and sticks out right below his rib cage, there’s a possibility that it might have hit some organs. There’s no exit point. Your heart rate goes up. Can a super soldier die if his major organs fail before his body can repair them? 

You wheel over your table of tools. You wish you hadn’t sent away Odette.

“Can you lay down for me?,” You ask.

“Of course sugar.” He says, piercing you with his stare.

You take a deep breath, feeling flustered. Did this man want to die on the operating table?

You cut away his undershirt and prepare some local anesthesia.

“I’m going to try to numb the area, but I don’t know how well this will work. I’m sorry I don’t have anything else on hand.” You don’t even know if anesthesia would work on him.

“ ‘S alright, darling I’ve been through worse,” He says giving you a small smile. You feel your face fall as you think about how true his statement is. You numb him and take a deep breath.You move to start extracting the shard when his hand shoots out and grabs yours. You stop yourself from jumping.

“You know there is something that would make me feel better.” Bucky says, voice gravelly.

“Of course, what is it?” You place your tools back on the table. ‘Maybe a special painkiller?’ you think.

“A kiss,” Bucky’s face stretches into a wide smirk.

You splutter “James…!”

“Bucky.” he supplies, smirk not leaving his face.

“Bucky….I uh….I don’t think that would be necessary for minimizing your pain.”

Oh I beg to differ darlin’“ He says.

You clear your throat and start to grab your tools again. Bucky says your name, pleadingly.

“Come on, ya really gonna deny a dyin’ man his final wish.” You roll your eyes at his dramatic tone. You fix him with your gaze.

 “You’re not gonna die Bucky.” 

“Here I am,bleeding out on your table, and all I’m askin’ for is one little kiss. Just one little kiss, from the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” He looks at you from the corner of his eye “….before she slices me open.”

You sigh. One thing you know about Bucky Barnes is that he’s stubborn as a bull. Before you can talk yourself out of it, you lean over and press a kiss to his cheek, his stubble prickling you in a not unpleasant way.

For a moment Bucky just looks at you, it seems like he’s crawling underneath your skin with that stare. Then he groans “Really sugar? Ya gonna try and cheat a man with a chunk of metal in his side?”

“I-I, uh” You stammer

“You really are heartless.” He sighs dramatically, closing his eyes.

You war with yourself for a split second, before leaning down and pressing a quick kiss to his lips. As you start to pull away Bucky’s hand comes up and stops you, and he deepens the kiss. His lips are surprisingly soft, his stubble scratches your face deliciously. Remembering the fact that he has a piece of metal in his side, you slowly withdraw. Bucky tugs on your lip with his teeth as you do so, which makes you have to turn around in order to regain your composure. When you turn back around, Bucky’s face is split in an ear to ear grin.

“Alright beautiful, cut me open, I can now die a happy man.”

You swallow, “Shut up James,” you snap, hating how your voice shakes. You pick up your tools and start to remove the metal. It comes out surprisingly smoothly, except for the last few inches. As you pull them free, Bucky starts to bleed. Way too much. The end of the shard is jagged. You try to contain the blood. But there’s just so much, you call for assistance and try to repair the damage.

By the time you finish you’re covered in blood. “Bucky, Bucky can you hear me?” You say, stepping close and touching his face, he looks drawn, pale.

“His pulse is faint. But it’s there.” Odette says. You jump, you forgot she had come in.

“Alright,” you sigh, blowing hair back from your forehead. “Guess we’ll wait.”


Bucky’s moved to a different hospital bed in another one of the rooms, and fitted with IVs. Steve understandably freaks out, with two close friends gravely injured within 24 hours it’s no wonder. Sam’s healed now, resting. You tell Steve to do the same and sit in a chair in Bucky’s room. The others wander in and out of the room.You know with his regenerative properties he’ll recover, but when six hours pass you can’t help but worry. ‘Why hasn’t he woken up by now?’ .


You blink your eyes open as a sliver of sunlight passes across your face. You squint, looking at the clock on the wall: 7 am. Damn. You finished patching Bucky up at about 4 pm last night. You had fallen asleep in his room. ‘I’m terrible at keeping watch’ you scold yourself. ‘What if he had worsened during the night?’ You look over at Bucky, only to find him watching you. You jump.

“Man you need to stop doing that.” Your voice is thick with sleep. You lick your dry lips, feeling self conscious. Standing you hear your joints cracking as you walk over.

“How can I help it when you’re always lookin’ so gorgeous?” He smirks.

“Shut up,” You say, pulling back the covers and inspecting his wound. It looks nearly healed. “How do you feel?” you murmur.

“Alright,” He says wincing slightly as you put pressure on his wound. He sits up, and you try to ignore the way the muscles in his chest and stomach flex. “I’d feel better if you’d let me buy you dinner, though” He looks up at you through his lashes. You click your tongue.

“You really are shameless,”

“Come on, it’s the least I can do after bleedin’ all over ya.” You look down at yourself, your scrubs are crusted in dried blood. You start replacing the dressing on his wound.

“You say that to all the girls who stitch you up?” You quip, avoiding his gaze.

“Nope. But then again I don’t spend six months building up the courage to ask those girls out either.” You look at him for a long while,saying nothing, and notice how red starts to tinge his ears and creep up his neck.

“Alright,” You answer finally giving him a smirk of your own.

Bucky lets out a huge breath, and chuckles  “Damn sugar, you really know how to make a man sweat, don’t ya?”


Tags : @stephie-senpai

A Lesson in Love (The Discovery)

Summary: (College!AU) In which you’re assigned to write a story about romance, a subject you know nothing about, and Bucky, a hopeless romantic, offers you his assistance.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 3,298

A/N: The tag list for this story is officially CLOSED.

“A Lesson in Love” Masterlist + Soundtrack

@avengerstories - Thank you for putting up with me for almost a month and listening to me constantly complain about not being able to get this part written. I adore you. Always.

Originally posted by softtroublemaker

“Bucky wants to talk to you.”

You know that the earth never stops moving; it’s constantly in motion. Constantly making its trip around the sun. But the moment Steve says Bucky’s name, you swear that everything comes to a standstill. It’s the only way to explain how everything around you becomes muted. How you’re seeing Steve as if he were standing on the opposing side of a tunnel and how the pressure of Sam’s arm on your shoulder vanishes.

Over the past twenty-two days, you’ve convinced yourself that the story of you and Bucky was not meant to be. In your mind, he left and closed the door on the potential of there ever being an ending where you and him were together.

Keep reading

Golden Boy

Pairings: Chris Evans x Reader

Word Count: 2165

Warnings: Smut - NSFW

Summary: After playfully sending suggestive pictures to Chris right before he presents at the Oscars you realize that you are in for the night of your life.

Author’s Notes: This wasn’t planned. I had no idea Chris was going to wear a velvet bowtie to the Oscars. I’m basically CEvans Trash. I literally just wrote this – instead of watching the freaking Oscars – so if there are any ridiculous grammar errors – please forgive me… I am tired and hormonal. This is probably trash, ha!

I tagged those of you that liked my initial post asking about this (along with some others). Soo yeah…..

Originally posted by sensualkisses

You hummed to yourself absentmindedly as you applied the rest of your makeup. Chris had promised his mom that he would take her to the Oscars this year, and you had agreed that it was a good idea. After the show was over you were to meet up with him to go to the after parties – which, let’s face it, were always the best part of the night. As you rapped your knuckles lightly on the bathroom countertop your phone dinged – alerting you to an incoming message. You reached for it as you finished putting on your lipstick. Of course it was from Chris.

“Miss you beautiful. Can’t wait to show you off to everyone.” You couldn’t help but smile at this. Of course he would send you something sweet. He had panicked that you would be upset about not going with him to the show, but you had assured him over and over that it was fine.

You had watched him get ready earlier that afternoon – the sight of him in his fitted suit and velvet tie had left your panties soaked. While you had secretly hoped for a quickie before he left for the show you had reasoned with yourself that there wasn’t time. Even the thought of the way he looked caused the tingling between your legs to start again. You checked the time on your cellphone before smiling. If the show was running on time Chris would be presenting within the next five minutes – you turned towards the television playing in the hotel bedroom for confirmation that the scheduling had not gone askew. It hadn’t and you couldn’t help but think how perfect the timing was. You were still only wearing your lingerie – not willing to wear your beautiful dress in fear of getting makeup on it. You positioned your hand over your panties, suggestively touching yourself, and formed a pout before snapping a picture.

“Wishing you could give me a hand.” You texted as you sent the picture. You could tell by your notifications that he had immediately seen it and you couldn’t help but smirk to yourself as you sat your phone down and finished getting ready.


“Jesus Christ,” Chris muttered to himself as he opened your text.

“Everything okay?” Someone beside him asked.

“Oh yeah… yeah,” he nervously blundered as he secured his phone safely back into his pocket. He was due to go on national television any minute, and was now also secretly praying that he could quell his body’s response to your text long enough to present. He chuckled nervously to himself. He knew you had done it on purpose. He had told you when his presentation was, and who it was after so you wouldn’t miss it. “I swear to god, Y/N. You’re going to be the death of me,” he mumbled to himself as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Mr. Evans are you sure you’re okay?” A stagehand asked nervously.

“Never been better!” He announced a little too enthusiastically. Causing his co-presenter to jump beside me.

“Great… you are on in five….four…”

That was fine – he thought to himself – two could certainly play this game and payback was going to be a bitch.


You were nervous. After your text you had never received a response from Chris, but you were sure that he had saw it. Initially you had laughed during his presentation. He seemed maybe just a little flustered – most people wouldn’t have noticed, but most people hadn’t taken him to bed before either. As you exited the limousine you looked around nervously – nearly jumping out of your skin when a warm arm wrapped itself around your waist.

“Hey Babe,” he whispered into your ear – giving you a quick peck on the cheek. You looked up at him and he graced you with one his dazzling smiles. It was only when you really looked into his eyes that you realized he had definitely seen the picture, had certainly reacted to it, and the game was totally on. You swallowed hard – trying to bottle up your excitement as he smirked at you while you walked towards the entrance of the venue. “Just for the record,” he whispered – his beard tickling your ear – “I had to masturbate in the bathroom during the Academy Awards, because of you.” He gave your ass a quick slap which caused you to straighten up in surprise. You couldn’t help but smirk back at him – this was certainly going to be a night to remember.


“Sebby!” Chris shouted as he waived Sebastian over to your table. Sebastian said his hellos before taking a seat between Jeremy and Chris.

“What was up with you tonight?” Sebastian asked with a smirk. His eyes seemed to twinkle with humor as he offered you a wink.

“What do you mean?” Chris asked as he tried his hardest to keep a straight face – failing miserably.

“You seemed a little flustered is all,” Sebastian shrugged as he laughed. “Can’t imagine what would cause Chris to lose his cool,” he added to which Jeremy chuckled.

“I was a little distracted by something,” Chris added seriously as he turned his gaze to you. You knew the more his friends joked the more you were going to pay once you were alone with him.

You smiled shyly as you brought a glass of wine to your lips. “I guess you need to work on that babe,” you shrugged before turning your attention back to your conversation with Jeremy’s wife.


The following hours seemed uneventful – at least where Chris’s revenge was concerned. You gushed over celebrities like Emma Stone, as he politely introduced you – never taking his eyes off of you as you interacted with his friends. Everyone continued to drink – the alcohol seemed endless. Each time a bottle was finished at least two more arrived to replace it.

“Everyone should be dancing!” Sebastian declared as he rose from his chair.

“Oh come on man,” Chris muttered as he shook his head. His face was tinged pink from the amount of alcohol he had consumed. “I don’t know if I can even stand right now,” he laughed.

“Y/N?” Sebastian asked as he offered you his hand. You took it willingly looking over his shoulder to see Chris’s reaction. He was watching you like a hawk – good.

You left the table with Sebastian hand-in-hand. Out of all of Chris’s friends you liked Sebastian the best – probably because you had known him before you had ever met Chris. “You are going to have hell to pay,” Seb laughed as you danced against him.

“A girl can only hope,” you laughed as you smirked in Chris’s direction. He was already rising from his chair – his eyes trained only on you and his best friend.

“That didn’t take long,” Sebastian laughed as Chis meandered his way through the crowd. As he neared Sebastian shouted, “She’s all yours,” before laughing and walking back to the table where everyone else had stayed.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” Chris muttered into your ear as he pulled you roughly into him. He placed his hands on your hips –guiding them to grind into him as you felt his growing erection. “You kill me,” he muttered breathlessly against your neck. You could feel the wetness between your legs grow as he continued to harden against your contact. The feeling caused you to let out a soft moan. “Oh do you like that,” he whispered seductively into your ear.

“Yes,” you responded breathlessly. “Chris, I…” but he cut you off.

“Follow me,” he demanded as he took your hand, guiding you towards one of the many private bathrooms. Being a celebrity had its perks – at least you had a room to yourself.


You sighed as Chris looked the bathroom door behind him. You were ready. Ready for him to ravage every part of your body.

“Not so fast,” he chuckled as he pushed you gently onto the couch – you never quite understood the need for couches in bathrooms, but for once you were glad to have one. You pouted quietly as Steve took you in. “Now listen here baby girl – you’ve been torturing me all night. Sending me that naughty picture of you and grinding yourself up against my best friend. Now it’s my turn,” he muttered softly as he slowly removed his tie. “Give me your hands,” he commanded. You obeyed giving him your hands. He took them in his hands and tied the velvet material around them securely. He spun you on the couch – making you lay on it fully before raising your hands above your head. “These better not move, do you understand me?” He asked. You nodded as you whimpered your assent. You would do whatever he said if he would help the aching feeling between your legs.

He smirked as he worked your dress up to your waist – admiring a portion of the lingerie he had seen earlier in the picture. He slowly planted kisses up your leg causing you to squirm uncontrollably. More than anything you wanted to twist your fingers through his hair and you soon found your hands moving from their position. “What did I say?” he asked calmly as you placed your hands back above your head. “Good girl,” he hummed – kissing your wet core through your panties. “I think we can get rid of these,” he murmured against your skin as he worked your panties off. He gently circled his thumb around your sensitive clit causing you to buck your hips. “Mmm, my naughty girl. You’re so wet,” he remarked as he slid a finger inside of you causing you to moan out his name. “That’s right baby, you’re mine,” he said fiercely as he added another finger – pumping them in and out of you as you squirmed with pleasure. You could feel your walls tightening at his touch and your moans became louder. You didn’t care who heard you. “Not yet baby,” he whispered as he removed his fingers.

“What?” Your head snapped forward at this. He couldn’t just get you close and then stop. “Chris,” you whined as you tried to sit up. He pushed you back gently with a smile before moving his face between your legs. He smirked up at you before burying his face into you. As he lapped at your wetness you moaned his name louder causing him to suck on your sensitive clit. As you bucked your hips he slid a finger into you. His mouth and fingers were too much – causing you to cum all over his face. He lapped away your orgasm – causing more moans to fall from your mouth – before he broke away with a smirk. His beard was glistening with the remnants of your pleasure which immediately made you ready for round two.

“Stand up,” he demanded as he stood and offered you his hand. You placed your bound ones in his and he helped you to your feet. “I want you to bend over the sink,” he explained as he motioned over to the sink. You did as he commanded – your bound wrists stinging softly as the velvet bit into your soft flesh. You watched in the mirror as he removed himself from his pants – stroking himself a few times before approaching you from behind. He lifted your dress to your waist again before nudging your legs apart with his own. As he slid into you fully you groaned. He began to thrust into you as he held on to your hips tightly. “God – you are so tight,” he exclaimed as his thrusts began to become more disjointed. You groaned as your body reacted to his thrusts – you could feel your walls tightening again with the promise of a glorious orgasm. When he began palming your sensitive clit you came undone around him – your orgasm spurring his own. He stiffened as he filled you with himself. He sighed softly into your hair as he kissed the back of your neck affectionately before removing himself.

“So that’s what happens when I send you nudes when you’re at the Oscars?” you asked with a laugh as you sat shakily on the couch.

“I guess so,” he chuckled as he plopped down beside you – wrapping his arm around you and bringing your head to his shoulder.

“Well I guess I should do that more often,” you shrugged as you both laughed.

“Oh hell,” Chris sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“What is it?” you asked alarmed.

“Seb and I had a bet on who would have sex at an Oscars’ after party years ago. I never thought it would be me so I’ve given him hell for years about it,” he grimaced.

“Well I guess it’s time to pay up,” you chuckled as you both rose from the couch.

“It was worth every last fucking penny,” Chris responded as he pulled you into him – planting a soft kiss on your lips.


Tags: (I tagged those of you that liked my initial post asking about this along with a few others)

@writingblockswriters @kendallefire @marvelouslyloki @seargantbcky @sapphire1727 @dont-let-me-go-again @amrita31199 @kittthekat @3brosangel @yknott81 @samanthaneedsanap @dreamer1495 @frolicsomefawkes @totallygroovyllama @caffeineandlaserbeams @sebbys-girl @bless-my-demons @moonofhisheart @giggles2107 @summerbummer2001 @ninjayjumper @vidishajain @fan-guirl @ily-celebrities @harleyqueen7

our little family pt.6 | park jimin

Pairing: Father! Jimin + Reader

Genre: Fluff/Angst + parent au

Word Count: 6.1k

Summary: You were just a pre-school teacher, a simple dream that came true as you always adored children. But what you didn’t know, was how one child and her very special father would change you dream forever.

Parts: 1 2 3 4 5 6

AN: Ah…the final part. I just want to say thank you for all those who have read and stayed with me through this lovely journey of writing OLF and being super supportive of the story. I tried my absolute best to wrap it up in the nicest way possible (but just a tad disappointed with my writing :/ ) however again thank you so much and enjoy! 

You tied your messy hair up into a ponytail, attempting to get the small, distracting hairs out of your face as you started to take out things from the refrigerator to make Jieun and yourself some lunch.

Hearing small footsteps behind you and a voice call out your name, you turned around from the countertop to see Jieun standing in the middle of the kitchen, her hands rubbing her droopy eyes as she stared up at you, resembling that of a long, lost puppy.

A warm smile spread across your face as you exclaimed, “Hey, look at you, you’re up!” as you lifted the little girl into your arms and spun her around, eliciting small giggles from her mouth before setting her down on the kitchen countertop.

Your eyes glanced towards the time before looking back at Jieun, “Do you feel hungry? It’s almost lunch time.”

She nodded quickly, a big smile spreading across her face when she asked, “Can we eat cookies? I really liked your cookies last time!”

You giggled as you pinched her nose softly, “Uh-huh, you can’t eat cookies for lunch now, can you?! How about we make some macaroni and cheese and then we’ll bake cookies for snack time later? Does that sound like a good idea?”

Her eyes lit up at that as she grinned, “Mac and cheese?! That’s my favorite! Daddy makes it for me all the time.”

“Well then it’s up to you to pick who’s Mac and cheese you like better okay?” you teased, as she nodded happily before whispering to you, “I think you might win Ms. L/N. Daddy sometimes burns the cheese and it turns all black and gooey.”

You laughed at that before saying, “Well, I guess it’s time to teach him how to properly cook huh?”

“Or Ms.L/N could come live with us? Then you can cook delicious food for me and daddy!” Jieun exclaimed, an innocent smile on her face.

Keep reading

Writing is Hard, pt 9: Sexting

Summary: You send Dean some dirty pictures.

Read Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

Warning: Smut, taking pictures during sex

Word Count: 2600ish

A/N: This is all written with love for fan fic. I’m teasing, not putting it down in any way. Hope you enjoy! (Sorry, tag list is closed!) XOXO


You hold up the phone, then almost instantly put it down.

This is stupid.

No. This isn’t stupid. This will be hot. Just do it.

Keep reading

OVERCOME (M)

Originally posted by jeonify


GENRE: noona&youngerboy, smut

BACKGROUND: Jungkook’s first time had left him traumatized of having sex ever again. It had gone so far to the point that a rumor had even spread about him not being able to get hard-ons. You then decide to step in and prove the rumor wrong. What was supposed to be a simple test of theory leads to a night that you weren’t going to forget for the rest of your life.

AUTHORS NOTE: Omg I haven’t written something in so long. I’m so sorry this took me quite a while. This actually started as a drabble but I kind of got too into it and finished it into a full blown story. I’ll be working on the remaining requests sent to me before, soon I promise you guys, I’m just trying to come up with ideas! But I do hope you enjoy this, tell me what you think. 

Jeon, as forever, is a sinful little shit. 

If there are any errors, I am sorry about those! I did proof read but I know I still missed some. 


Your pen hangs off of your lips, fingers tapping lightly against the glass table as you study the boy in front of you. He has his face buried between the pages of his Physics book, eyes scanning through each paragraph in close precision, oblvious of your scrutiny. You slowly turn your logistics book shut, choosing to ignore your studies as the conversation you had with your brother during last night’s party flashes through your mind.

Keep reading

Wanna Bet? (M)

Rich Fuckboy!Jimin x Tutor!reader

PART II  |  PART III

Word Count: 2,782

Summary: Working as a private tutor at the most prestigious university in the region, you had to put up with a lot of bratty kids. Though none were as bad as Park Jimin. Just as your luck would have it, you’ve been assigned to be his full-time tutor for the year….great. After many failed attempts to get his grades up, Jimin comes up with a bet to raise his marks. What’s the worst that can happen, right?

A/N - This is my fic, just re-posting on my sideblog!


You were grateful for this job, you really were. Some days, it was just really hard to be grateful. You worked at the wealthiest, all boys university this side of the country. You’re a private tutor, working with a maximum of five students a year. Things have been going well for you, you’re known as the best tutor at the school, so parents are flocking to you to help their precious spoiled brats. Hey, at least the money is decent.

Your whole week, scratch that, year has gone downhill the moment you get a call from the Dean.

“Y/n? Yes, hello. We’re going to need you to take on a student full time at the start of the new school year. I know this is a lot, so the pay will be increased, and you won’t have to take any other students. You will be tutoring five days a week for this student. Can you do it?”

“Um, yes, I don’t see why not…” growing a little curious as to why the dean himself is contacting you, you ask, “who is the student, Sir?”

“Park Jimin.” Shit.

Keep reading

Identity Theft

Pairing: Jughead x Reader

Request: “63 and 67 separately jughead x reader please if its too much then could you just do 67 thank you”

Prompt:
#67 “Are you getting jealous?” - “You’re changing your outfit, now!”

Warnings: I think there’s more than one curse in this one? Also allusions to sex but no actual sex because I’m innocent

A/N: I didn’t want this to get sexual like it did but OOPS I guess I’m just really thirsty lately

Tag list: @1amluke, @betty-coopers-number-one-stan, @keepcalmandflywithtoothless, @lostinpercyseyes, @captainsuperfangirl

Keep reading

compliments part 2 - zach dempsey

requested: yes

word count: 2.216

warnings: none besides fluff i think

plot: zach decides to (nervously) confront you after finding out you’re the one slipping compliments in his bag

a/n: i Cannot believe a 2nd part was requested i cant believe you guys enjoyed the first part and sent me messages!! i wasn’t planning on writing this but here she is since y’all are cute as heck


Originally posted by veronicsalodge

Thursday night found Zach Dempsey sprawled on his bed.

A week worth of complimentary notes was at the foot of the bed. Some were folded, some all the way open but none of them were in their original, pristine state. They were crumpled, thing that probably happened whenever the boy stuffed them in his pockets.

Keep reading

Glitter Ball

I’ve been seeing some discussion in past few days about how unrealistic it is that Bitty doesn’t hang out with other queer kids at Samwell, which is a valid point, and it reminded me I had a fic languishing in my drafts folder that involved an expanded look at the LGBTQIA group on campus, so I figured maybe the time had come to post it. It’s more about Dex than Bitty, because I started it as a response to the “Dex is homophobic” discourse, so this is from a “Dex has never been straight, he just doesn’t think it’s any of your business” perspective.

(It’s the beginning of a longer fic called “I Abhor You/I Adore You” that’s kind of an exercise in filling in all the gaps between the Nurseydex tweets and fleshing out the non-hockey parts of Samwell, but who knows if I’ll ever finish it.)

~4.5k, pre-slash Nurseydex, mostly Dex POV, guest appearances by Bitty, Holster, and a few OCs from the LGBTQIA group. Location of the IT helpdesk across the hall from the resource center entirely stolen from my own tiny liberal arts school, “the little gay college in the middle of Iowa.”

Read it on AO3 (now with the second chapter as well).


First year, first semester

Dex got a job with the helpdesk almost as soon as he got to campus. This wasn’t exactly normal for an unknown, untested, untried, and undeclared first year student, but he had references from his high school job and there was a constant shortage of people who actually knew how to do anything with hardware. Which, of course, was the thing most of the professors actually needed help with. They weren’t actually receiving a lot of emergency Python coding calls; they needed someone who could “make the goddamn printer talk to the computer” without pissing anyone off by being too condescending.

He enjoyed it; compared to having to do the same thing in a retail environment, this was downright relaxing, and he at least had some confidence the people he was helping weren’t complete idiots. He could even leave behind a Post-It of step-by-step instructions of how to fix the problem themselves next time and have it be followed at least 50% of the time! Not to mention his work-study hours as a student athlete were actually capped and enforced so he wouldn’t work himself to death. So relaxing when compared to high school, when he’d had to juggle IT work, lobster fishing, hockey, and grades good enough to get some kind of scholarship.

Since he’d gotten to campus early to start pre-season practice with the hockey team, he’d been able to establish a work routine before adding in classes, which had been helpful. The CS classes at Samwell were certainly more demanding, but that was why he was here, wasn’t it? All in all, he was pretty satisfied with how things were shaping up. (Now if only his d-partner weren’t such an entitled brat…)

Once the other students got back to campus, it became clear the helpdesk office wasn’t the only thing housed in the weird little building at the edge of campus. He was just ending a shift when a girl stuck her head in the door. “Would it be possible to get some quick help from anybody? It’s just across the hall.”

“I can do it,” Dex said. “I was just about to leave anyway.”

“Thank you!” She led the way into what appeared to be an all-purpose meeting room. The door now had a handmade rainbow sign taped to it, proclaiming it the Stonewall Resource Center. “We’re having our first meeting of the year tonight, and of course the one person who remembers how to work the projector is on study abroad this semester.”

“No problem. You hooking it up to a laptop?”

“Yeah.”

Dex walked over to the AV podium at the front of the room and fished out the giant cluster of cables and dongles. “Hopefully one of these will work, but we have adapters in the office for just about anything. Bring it over.” A minute or so later, he had everything working.

“Thank you so much!”

“Sure. I mean, it’s my job anyway.”

“Do I need to file a ticket or something?”

“Eh, whatever.”

“Um, you’re welcome to stay for the meeting if you want…”

“What’s it for? I mean, I can guess, but your sign wasn’t even up when I came in at the beginning of my shift, so, you know.”

“Yeah, basically it’s just a beginning of the year informational meeting for students about LGBTQIA resources on campus and a way to get those of us who are returning students to get started organizing other events. So maybe not super interesting.”

“No, it sounds like good information to have. I’ll stick around.”

She smiled at him. “Great! I’m Sam.”

“Will. Or Dex. I answer to either.”

“Nice to meet you.”

***

“So do you think you’ll come back?” Sam asked after the meeting was over. Dex had stayed to help her turn off the projector and leave a sticky note with the steps written down. (He was thinking about getting a set custom-printed with “Helping You Help Yourself!” across the bottom, though he suspected his boss would find this too snarky.)

“Probably not. I mean, not to regular meetings or anything—you can totally ask me for help anytime! I’m just kind of… past the place where I need this kind of group? And I’ve got hockey practice and CS classes that are kind of the point of my being here, so they take priority, you know?”

“Sure thing.”

“But you know where to find me! Seriously, I’m always happy to help. It looks like a great group. But I know I can’t commit to anything.”

“Cool. I’ll see you around then, yeah? Oh, hey, if you have any time on Friday, you should come to the softball game. We’re gonna slay.”

Dex grinned and offered his fist for a bump of solidarity. “You’ll have to come to a hockey game once the season starts.”

“Definitely.”

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Sharing Is Caring (M)

Originally posted by sunshine-hobi

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader x Seokjin
Genre: lowkey pwp, um…this is literally filthy smut with my faves lol, oral, lowkey cum play, slight spanking, whole lotta dirty talk, explicit language (eg: cum slut, whore etc), slight thigh riding, dry humping, minor breathplay, minor gagging/choking, bondage, mentions of DP/anal, mxm themes, threesome, mutual masturbation, slight rimming, orgasm denial, Model!Reader, CEO!JinKook, Dom!JinKook
Word Count: 5.8k+ (holy crap…)
A/N: Okay this was supposed to be posted on the 1st, but I only finished editing and writing everything now ;-; yes this was my birthday present to myself lmao. Feedback is always appreciated! I really hope you enjoy because I literally died while writing it

  • Summary: “We love to share everything baby girl. Isn’t that right Jungkook?” The younger man nodded, the smirk not having left his ridiculously handsome face just yet. Jin pressed himself against you, fingers undoing the zipper of your skirt with ease as Jungkook helped the flimsy material slide off your legs, pooling on the floor. Jin slyly ran his fingers across the top of your already soaked panties. “Mind if we share your mouth tonight? You know what they say; sharing is caring.”

Jeon Jungkook. An young man who supported dark locks, cheeky smirks and quick fucks with his secretary, or rather, his secretaries when time allowed (which to his delight, was every morning and at every lunch break - unless he had meetings of course). As the owner of Jeon Magazine, a company that was entirely dedicated in making models look their absolute best and create monthly editions to sell in the shops meant Jungkook was practically living in money, but that also meant he was constantly under the spotlight, his every move being captured.

Every women he ended up sleeping with (which would be two of regular secretaries), would rave on about how good he was, how great his mouth was, how great his hips were when they were being pounded into the bedsheets at ghastly hours of the night, probably managing to wake up the neighbours next door, only managing to fuel Jungkook’s ego. If anyone threatened to tell the press, he wouldn’t hesitate to threaten them back - either that or he’d pay them a shit load of money so they could keep their mouth shut with something that wasn’t his cock.

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The Friendly Wager (Part 1)

Summary: AU. Reader and Bucky Barnes are neighbors and best friends. After yet another bad date, reader comes home to find Bucky with his typical weekend target. They decide to make a wager about dating, but is there more on the line than reader cares to admit?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word Count: 2,528

Warnings: language, fluff, sarcasm, bad date, implied sexual situations (no smut)

A/N: This is my submission for the lovely Kait’s ( @bionic-buckyb) 5k AU Challenge. Congrats on the followers, friend! My prompt was “Can you please come over so I don’t feel so alone?” I think this will have at least seven parts, so Kait, please feel free to disregard it till it’s completed :)

Part 1 - 2

Originally posted by talkinboutmyimagination

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Mother’s Day

REQUEST: Can you write like a super fluffy blurb where it’s mother’s day and Harry and your kids just wake you up with cuddles and kisses and (like your other one-shot My Love, My Life My Always) he shares a pic of you and your kids cuddling and laughing and its pure fluuuffffff


A few of you have also been asking for fluff recently, so here it is! Sending so much love to you all. x


“C’mon, bugs…nice an’ quiet now.”

“We know Daddy, yeh don’t have to keep remindin’ us,” your little boy explained, causing you to giggle quietly from your place in bed.

Usually you would be up and out of bed already, preparing breakfast with Harry before you needed to go wake your twins up for the day. But Harry had made a huge fuss the night before about you getting the chance to sleep in—however, your sleep schedule had been to synced to your children and your morning routine that you had been laying in bed awake for a half an hour now.

You closed your eyes and tried to stay as still as possible when you heard your bedroom door open slowly. Harry’s steps were paired with another set of quicker ones, and it took everything you had in you not to flip over and look at your loves.

“Daddy, can we wake her up now?” Your son whispered as quietly as he could manage, which was still pretty loud.

“Yes, go wake her, loves.”

You waited a few seconds, hyperaware of your breathing and whether or not it would be fast or slow enough.

Suddenly, you heard two pairs of little feet pattering against the floor as your babies ran into your bedroom.

“MUMMY!”

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Makin’ Magic Happen

Porn Star!Sam x Porn Star!Reader AU—So entirely NSFW

Originally posted by itsokaysammy

Summary: You get to work with Sammy Winchester for the first time, Mr. Big Cock Super Star
Pairing: Sam/Reader
Word Count: 5.9k
Warnings: Smut, unprotected sex, oral sex (both female and male receiving), kinda choking, hair pulling, spanking (like, only one little spank, but it’s a good one), come play. It’s filthy porn, y’all.
A/N: This is the prelude to a series I’m currently working on. So, get used to reading Sam as a porn star. And maybe—just maybe—some other spn characters as well. Guess you’ll have to wait ;)
update: some users have had trouble opening the fic on Tumblr, so here is the AO3 link if you find yourself unable to open it as well. Sorry for the inconvience!


You walk on set in your typical fashion—hair tied up in a messy bun, prescription glasses resting on the bridge of your nose, wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt with a grande latte with double espresso in your freshly manicured hand. Part of you dreads how long the day is going to be with shooting and scene preparation, while the other part buzzes with excitement.

“You ready for your scene today?” Penny, your agent, asks, face glowing with just as much excitement. You give her an enthusiastic smile and a quick nod. “Good,” she smiles back, hands coming up to grab at your shoulders, her deep green eyes catching yours. “Sammy’s the best in the business. I hear his cock’s insured for a million dollars.”

“That seems a bit drastic,” you murmur before finishing off your latte.

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“love" by jack zimmermann || a zimbits fic || 3.3k

“Come in.” Bitty thanks the lord for the legitimate reprieve from the essay he’s been painfully forcing himself through all afternoon.

Jack enters, looking happier than normal. Bitty sees why immediately, and the smile that came onto his face when he saw Jack slips right back into a frown. Jack’s holding another memory card.

“I’m got some new footage,” Jack says in confirmation of Bitty’s fears.

“Jack, you’ve got to stop giving me new material.”

Jack’s smile drops at Bitty’s harsh tone, and his eyebrows draw together in a way that would be adorable if not for the circumstance and the fact Bitty is the one to make them that way. “Why?”

“Coz, honey, it’s not gonna help.” Bitty’s too exhausted to bother being embarrassed that the endearment slipped out.

Jack opens his mouth lamely. He looks down at the memory card in his hand then back to Bitty with sad eyes.

“Sit down.” Bitty gestures to his bed, thankful that he made it earlier while procrastinating. He rubs his sore eyes as Jack perches on the bed, then sighs out.

“Your assessment is to create a two-minute video based on love, yes?”

Jack nods. Bitty rubs at his eyes again, thinking of how to be honest without being hurtful.

“You’re an amazing photographer, and it comes across.” Jack picks his head up, looking hopefully at Bitty. It breaks his heart to have to continue. “But there’s no story here. There’s no love. I mean, unless your story is that you really love your camera. I can’t… I’m sorry, I can’t help you make anything out of this.”

Bitty tries to make his voice gentle. Jack turns his head away from Bitty anyway, but not quick enough that Bitty can’t see the hurt.

Bitty’s happily been helping Jack with his AV assessment after Jack asked. He gets to spend time with Jack doing something that Jack loves. But now he owes it as a friend to tell Jack the truth, even if it makes them both sad.

“Sorry, Bits,” Jack mumbles, still not looking at him.

“It’s alright.” Bitty already feels a little guilty for springing it on Jack with no warning. He crosses his arms, then realises that may come across as defensive if Jack ever looks back at him, so rests them back on his knees. “Look, I don’t mean to be rude, I just want you to do well.”

Jack gives a brisk nod, but still avoids looking back at Bitty.

Bitty’s not sure what else he can do for Jack, so he simply waits.

Jack clears his throat after a moment and stands up. He looks at the memory card before putting it into a pocket.

“Thanks anyway. Sorry for interrupting your essay.”

“It’s alright,” Bitty repeats, but Jack’s already out the door.

Bitty slumps into his seat and stares at his closed door. He really didn’t mean to hurt Jack, but he didn’t think what he said would be that much of a shock either. Jack’s not ignorant to emotion, no-matter what the news articles sometimes say about him.

He swings his chair back round to stare at his essay, starting up on it again as a distraction.

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