#I would love to know where these are from.. I snagged them off some Russian website and can find no info about them

[warcrimesimulator]

West Siberian sable (Martes zibellina zibellina) and Barguzin sable (Martes zibellina princeps)

Unknown artist

#martens #sable #illustration #vintage illustration #op #I would love to know where these are from.. I snagged them off some Russian website and can find no info about them #(obviously this is vintage art. I am guessing from an old wildlife encyclopedia or something?)

[softcallofdutyimagines]

An oddly specific hc:

Weaver, Mason, Woods, Adler, and Hudson with an S/O who likes to give+recieve cuddles. (Guess whose love language is physical touch? Is me.)

DJDJDJSJ LITERALLY ALL OF MY HUSBANDS IN ONE ASK !!!! You know, love languages for the squad might be an interesting one, one day! I feel you tho, mine is words of affirmation but physical touch is a super close second 🥺👉🏻👈🏻

Phew I went kind of all in on these, so sorry of they're really long or rambly, but I hope you enjoy them!! Weaver and Woods even feature a little dad bod action bc ik that's our thing 😌😌💅🏻

Adler

Honestly, at first he's not use to it

In fact, you'd be forgiven to think he didn't like it at all

However, he never shuts you down either...

If you persevere for long enough and are able to gain his trust, you'll be rewarded to find that he actually quite enjoys your touch

Well, more then enjoys I'd say

Adlers job is a lonely and thankless one, and although he could hardly bring himself to admit as much...

The loneliness takes a toll on him

He is only interested in receiving that kind of affection from someone he has a connection with, so as you can imagine, it's harm for him to get that need fulfilled without you

In a way, he grows rather addicted to you

You're the first thing he goes for when he comes home after time away

All in all, he's down for whatever you've got to give, but his favorite thing to do is to hold you

Whether that be while cuddled up and or just standing in place, it doesn't matter to him

In turn, he particularly likes when you stroke his jawline or pepper him with kisses

He's very sensitive about his face and scars as you know, doubly so after the torture and rescue stuff he went through

So when you show extra affection to that spot, not only is it a huge sign of his trust in you, but it also just so happens to make him melt

Hudson

Hudson is an extremely similar case to Adler in that, although you wouldn't guess it, he craves physical touch

In fact, Hudson might be even worse off

I would argue that at least Adler works with his task force members, but Hudson???

He's more or less forced to stick to the shadows and only speak to others on a more or less need to know basis

Given that cannon Hudson has a whole wife and kids, I get the feeling that he just wants to be loved damn it!!!

So all this to say that, unlike Adler, I don't think Hudson would be even remotely as coy with his desire for affection

I mean, if you've managed to snag a relationship with him, he must trust you a whole lot already, so why not just clear the air, right?

However, I will say that I think he might be a little shy about it

What if he comes across as too needy or something? Not a good look for a grown man, surely

As a result, if he has nothing more pressing to attend to, he'll be your shadow around the house all day long, from one room to the next

Of course, he does his best to not follow you step for step or do anything else that would obviously give him away, but it doesn't take a genius to figure out what he wants

You'll have to invite him to come to you most of the time

And good thing too, bc when he's with you, it's like heaven

He's fond of simply collapsing into your lap when your seated, or across your torso when laying down

From there, you can do whatever you want

If you really wanted, you could balance a damn book on his back and just read in silence for all he cares

As long as he can have that physical connection to you, it doesn't matter

This is another area where he's a step up in extreme from Adler

While Adler wants you, Hudson needs you

You're like his one place of rest in the whole world, the only place he can be safe and forget about his work, and you have no idea how much that means to him

Mason

Personally, I think Alex is probably the one most (relatively lmao) well adjusted adult of the group

He of course loves receiving physical affection from you, but he doesn't need to rely on it as some sort of coping mechanism

While he can be a little clingy, its a usually only after times that he has to be away for a long while

Personally, I feel like Alex is the safest for me to say that he probably also has physical touch as his love language as well!

He will often come seek you out just as much as you so for him, and he has no problem requesting some snuggle time

Mason is perfectly confident in his masculinity after all, so asking if you wouldn't mind cuddling him is a simple task in his eyes

The height of his interest in touch comes when he's trying to sleep though

He's prone to pretty awful night terrors given all that he's been through, so I'd say that's the only real time that he truly does rely on you and your gift

Even if it's just something as small as holding his hand while you lay next to him, any little bit helps

He definitely notices more difficulty sleeping when you're not around, so he's thankful for you for sure

Mason is also pretty big on pda I think lol

Like holding hands, hugging, and kissing...

None of that bothers him!

Although he enjoys nearly all forms of touch from you, he'd have to admit that he loves it the most even you run his back or hold his hands

It's... Comforting

Weaver

Off, poor Weaver, he's a mess

Imagine someone who burns with an all consuming desire just to be touched damn it !!! like Hudson does, and yet has ten times the reservations and insecurities about it as Adler does

That's close to what Weaver is like

He's extremely shy around you, just to start off

In fact, he's probably still star struck that you actually wanted to be in a relationship with him in the first place

And so, he's not sure how to act...

He really is a big softie on the inside, and yet he's not sure if you'd like that

After all, he's the big, tough Russian guy to everyone else

That's who you met, so it would make sense that that's what you want, right?

While Hudson would warm up after a while and, albeit awkwardly I'm sure, ask you for some cuddling time or some such...

... Weaver almost never asks, but will instead make it painfully obvious that he wants it lol

It definitely does not help that he's quite insecure with his appearance

These days, he's a just a touch more soft and round then he use to be, and that's on top of his missing eye and greying hair

If you are of the opinion that such things only make him more suited for cuddling, warm and comfy as he is, it will take him an awful long time to believe you

Buuuuuuut...

Although he loves to pretend he only tolerates his at best, he does rather enjoy it when you give his chest or tummy some affection

It's sort of like Adler and his scars: Weaver loathes the state of his abdomen, amongst other things, but he must admit...

He likes that you like it

Woods

Geez, Woods is probably as opposite from Weaver as it gets

I once heard the phrase "a dog in human form", and honestly?

It doesn't get more accurate then that

This man lives for attention and the fact that you want to give it to him, drives him crazy

He's pretty shameless, and is down to be touched or felt basically whenever

It's to the point that he's taken up walking around the house shirtless just in anticipation of any cuddling or rubs to be had

He's a bit performative about it, which can be either entertaining or annoying depending, but he never misses an opportunity to show off his muscles to you and let you have a feel

Really though, anywhere you want to touch, however you want to do it, go ahead baby! He'll eat it up lmao

Of course, if you catch him at a time in his life where he's going the route of Weaver and developing some dad bod...

Totally different story

If that's the case, he's extremely adverse to letting you touch places like his thighs, chest, and of course his stomach

Really, just anywhere that's filled out

Which in his mind, could very well extend to his body as a whole

Needless to say, this creates a very powerful inner turmoil between his desire to be near to you and impress you, and his fear of rejection

With this Woods, it'll take a loooot of gentle touches and reasurace to bring him around

But once he trusts you, he's be right back to how toned Woods would act

Bare chested, tummy out, and ready for some lovin 😌

#black ops cold war #call of duty #russell adler x reader #frank woods x reader #jason hudson x reader #alex mason x reader #grigori weaver x reader #russell adler #frank woods #jason hudson #grigori weaver #alex mason

[xo-cuteplosion-xo]

How about a musician reader x character fic? Maybe a singer who performs in a cafe, or a classical musician who plays in an orchestra, or who plays in a rock band? I dunno I have a lot of ideas in my mind but I'm just too lazy to write them :D What do you think?

So here's the baseline you gave me - a musician reader fic x character. Here's what I decided to fill in for this lovely fic- a fluffy bsd collage Au where the reader is majoring in music and has the side job of a stage performer. Then, because they would match well, so I decided to go with a Fyodor x reader. Hope this is alright!

Words- 1728 ~

Hearts Composition | fyodor x musician reader | (collage Au)

Music thudded against the walls, muffled only by the thick layers that hid backstage from the audience. The aroma of heavily worn perfume surrounded people in pleasant bliss. Waitresses and waiters swayed with heavy plates rested along arms and in hands. Carrying much-wanted foods and booze to awaiting customers. The collection of accents muted under the heavy beats of taps and clicks from the metal of the dancer's shoes. Picking up a smaller wooden, finely carved, and rather expensive model of a violin, stood yourself. With a smile, your hands trailed the curves and strings of the delicate instrument. With all the work you had to do for university you had truly didn’t have time to be doing some minimum wage job. Though you didn’t care much, if you could play something, it would be fine. You performed here every once in a blue moon. You weren't one of the performers, but they would grace you with the intermission on busy nights. Much like these nights, when the crowd was full and the people rowdy and in need of constant entertainment. You could soothe those shouts and demands of perverted drunk men; Soothe the cries of broken women and rich spoiled children.

Stepping onto the wooden stage as the lights dim, allowing you the bare minimum of the peeping moonlight to find the microphone located at the center. Inhaling as your anxiety turned into bliss, you waited. As the colored light flew on, you rested your chin on the soft velvet. Holding up the bow, you set it to the strings. With a final inhale, your eyes fluttered shut as you played a classical piece; one constructed for an upcoming project that was due for your music composition class. You had nearly all the string instruments you could play finished; all but the cello. With every strum of your instrument, the crowd fell silent, enjoying the break from all the heavy excitement. Even the children's chatter soothed down, so your instrument could echo off the thin walls of the pub.

Sipping nothing but a cup of tea with a small side of biscuits, a male leaned in his seat. Sitting with a pristine, perfect posture, he listened to the soft sound. The way his violet eyes slowly lidded, and his hair fell back against his face, lit his features in a urethral, almost divine light. His mind working to recognize the piece. As an up-and-coming musician, he had several classics memorized. He could join in by ear, or even write out the full pieces without needing to see the original sheet music. This piece wasn’t something he recognized, could it be an original piece?

If you were to open your eyes as you neared the end of the first piece, you would notice his gaze rested on you. Eyes open halfway with hidden interest, and yet, the stare was attractive. The blank look that hid everything beneath a mask laid strewn across his features. As you finished and stood up, surrounded by applause, he watched your every stride. It was funny, he thought he could almost recognize you.

~

With shaking hands, your fingers typed within a group chat of other college students you had met and become close to. “I’m so nervous. I have to hand in that piece today. I pulled an all-nighter trying to decide on the cello part, but nothing sounded right, so now I might not get a full mark.” You could hear the whine through the text. When replies of good luck came to you, except for two replies, you chuckled. One read “could always just die before handing it in.” Another wrote, “I've got the wine ready.” laughing to yourself as you walked into the classroom and set down the folder in the bin. Glancing through the room, you took a seat with your head down. It was unusual for you to arrive early to class, but your anxiety with this project was slowly picking at you to just get there and hand it in. With twenty minutes till class started, you decided to pull out your laptop and listen to the recording from last week.

Taking out your notebook, you started jotting notes about small things to improve, and things you hated about your performances. You didn’t notice somebody else enter the classroom rather early. Carrying his bag, he set it down at one of the desks before the sound of a violin entered his ears. Sitting down he listened to the melody you had played several nights before. As the piece finished, his eyes traveled to the bin. Now understanding where you had gotten the piece from, he sighed. “You’re not half bad, you played a little flat, but it sounds okay. Becoming a flustered disaster, you froze glancing over to him. This wasn’t the first time you had noticed him in class, he was hard to miss. His completely perfect grades, perfect posture, and looks made him stand out. Not only that, but he had strong ideals and his debate skills could sway anybody. Though, you knew it wasn’t really skill, more manipulation. To add to everything his Russian accent stuck out with every word he spoke. “Could you play that again?” hesitating at first you restarted the piece.

He took out a blank piece of sheet music and started scribbling down notes. As if memorizing the piece, he tapped his fingers before bringing his thumb to his mouth and chewing on it. Tapping his foot as the piece came to an end, he glanced at the time before walking over to one of the room's cellos. His face resembled discontent as he looked at it. Looking to where he sat, you realized he didn’t have his with him. You presumed it had to do with the instrument being heavy and somewhat large. Though for somebody of his height, it may not be that big of a deal. Perhaps he didn’t want to lug it around with him, considering he had all of those other books for classes. “So uh, why did you want to hear it again?” you mumbled, rubbing the back of your neck as you watched him strum a few strings. He was checking the accuracy and pitch of the notes. With a contempt sigh, he shrugged.

“Your writing is considerably well done. I wished to try something that is all.” He did not shed a glance as he sat down and ran the bow across the strings. The sound was heaven within your ears, but to him, it was nothing but ordinary. The sound of a well-made expensive Russian model, the model he owned, was much better than this school-provided variant. As the melody played, you recognized it as your piece. Smiling slightly as your eyes sparkled. You bolted from your seat to grab your folder; the music that was due in 10 minutes.

Looking over the cello part you had constructed, you changed the key signature to hold a few new sharps and took away some of the flats. Boldly, you handed the male the sheet music and pointed as if asking "Is this the piece you were playing?" Setting the cello aside, he ran a finger over the bars with a nod. “So that’s what I was missing! You're a god at memorizing and creating. Now I'm excited to see what you concocted for the presentation.” You smiled lightly before placing the folder in the bin. “Oh, I never got your name. I’m-” he cut you off before you could formally introduce yourself.

“You’re y/n. I do pay attention to people who aren't a complete waste of time.” The layers of his ego began to shine through his solid expression. The way you'd called him god just then, was another layer added to the ever-growing ego this man had. He thought he was above everybody else; he indeed was. In every way possible, he was above the normal human. With an exceptionally sharp mind, emotionless facade, and a spin of extraordinary talents, he was a god among men. “I’m taken aback, you don’t know me.” frowning you sat back at your desk. Leaning your head against the palm of your hand with a frown, you clicked your tongue.

Coming up with a sharp reply, you rolled your eyes. “Please, who doesn't know the great Dostoevsky. You’re only at the top of our class. Correcting myself before you can, the top in everything.” He snickered his brows raising in interest. His lips curled into a smirk moments before breaking to speak to you again.

“Consider your words before speaking. That wasn’t exactly the best wording to say "I'm better than everybody at everything.” It took you several seconds to realize what had gone through his head. Of course, he understood what you were saying, but he also managed to nitpick everything.

Blushing you placed your hands in front of your face. “I didn't think about it because that’s not what I was saying!” he snickered again. Listening to him stand you peeked from your hands to watch him set away the cello and bow.

“How often do you perform at that pub?” He switched the discussion relatively quickly. But with the sudden pause of your reaction and the setting away of the instrument, it flowed nicely with the conversation.

“Once or twice a month?” You answer honestly. A bit upset by the lack of real performances you had.

“Next time, I'll reserve something, and we’ll set something up. I want to see if you can play something… difficult.” It wasn't much of a question, more a demand. Nodding you wrote down your number, sliding it to the student with a smile as the bell rang.

For the next week, the two of you met in the unused rooms Fyodor managed to snag for practicing. He often shook his head at your way of playing. He did compliment the several different instruments you would take with you. From the cello to the violin, there wasn’t much you couldn’t play. Each was expertly designed and crafted to fit your arm length and height. Custom made and shipped from all over the world. Eventually, it became a routine, going to his concerts as he attended yours. While you praised how good he was, he would find the smallest mistakes to condemn you about.

#bsd #bsd x reader #bsd x reader scenerio #bsd scenerio #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs #fyodor #bsd college au #bsd college au x reader #bsd college x reader #fyodor college au #fyodor college #fyodor x reader #musican fyodor #musician fyodor x reader #fyodor x musician reader #fyodor x you

[catsofcalifornia]

Jacko, Jazzy, and Sissy from BONES Pet Rescue in Covelo, California

Click here for more information about adoption and other ways to help!

Click here for a video of Jazzy!

Click here for a link to BONES Pet Rescue’s main website.

JACKO: This senior gentleman is so sweet, gentle and loving!  He’s a happy guy who loves to be around his family.  He enjoys petting and attention but is not demanding.  Jacko is happy to relax and lounge with everyone else…humans and other cats.  He’s OK with a dog who respects him.  Jacko is very good about using his litterbox. He is an ‘inside-only’ guy and has been with this family since he was a kitten;  now about 12 years young, he’s in great health and is up to date on vet care.  Jacko is neutered and about 12 years old and is believed to be a Russian Blue and Maine Coon mix.  He has a thick, luxurious steel gray long coat.  He’s got a lot of quiet personality.   He keeps a low profile while he keeps tabs on what’s going on.   Jacko doesn’t miss a chance to snag some attention whenever possible.   His favorite game Is to ‘call’ for his breakfast by going to a cupboard door that will bang when he hits it. He keeps at it until he gets results.  He doesn’t think  he should have to wait for those sleepy humans to show up.  Jacko lives with 2 other kitties (younger than he is, both females) and a little busy terrier dog;  he’s good with all of them.  He sees a lot of visitors in his home and patiently waits for them to introduce themselves.  He is reserved but not shy; gentle, relaxed, affectionate and so cuddly.  He uses a litterbox. He has done fine with respectful children over the age of 2; no experience with those younger. If you are drawn to a small, lithe, quiet, happy and affectionate girl, Jazzy could be for you!  She’s dressed in a shiny black short coat and her big green eyes in her small face are riveting.  Jazzy is about 10 years old, spayed, and healthy.  She’s a quiet, unassuming little thing who just hangs around, enjoying her perch, wherever that might be.  She is extremely agile and athletic and her favorite places are as high up as she can get.  In her home, the kitchen cabinets don’t go all the way to the ceiling; up there is where she loves to be!  But, she also loves a sunny window sill.  She loves looking outside, but knows she’s safest if she’s indoors. Jazzy loves her treats!  She will knock the box off the counter onto the floor, hurrying to get inside before anyone finds out.  Jazzy is quietly affectionate, a great house mate and companion, and easy to have around.   Jazzy gets along very well with her feline pals and meshed well with a barky little terrier .  She’s always been an inside cat, and has been where she is now since she was a kitten.  She uses a litterbox. She has done fine with respectful children above the age of 4 (no experience with younger ones).

Sissy is the epitome of the cat personality that exudes ‘Do I look like I need you??’  She’s content to hang out in the upper berth of her cat tree, watching the rest of the world with that ‘I’m above it all’ demeanor.  Sissy is about 6 years old and has lived with her kitty roommates and a small, barky terrier since she was a kitten.   She’s an indoor-only girl who is happy to stay in; she would never ever want to soil her gorgeous mostly snow white coat.  She has a few black patches to add interest to the thickest, most petable short coat you can imagine.  She seems to realize that her people just have to pet her and she eventually gets into it but she’d never want you to think so!).   Sissy is a medium sized, spayed female in perfect health.  She uses a litterbox.  Sissy, like her friends Jacko and Jazzy, is content to share her digs with everyone except the barky, provoking little terrier.   When the dog starts to tease her, she gets way up high, preferably in a room where she can be closed off.  She’s not at all amused by all that noisy attention! She has done fine with respectful school-aged children.  No interaction with preschoolers. Sissy is a lovely thing to look at and she’s a delightful companion who is not demanding or annoying in any way.  She surveys her kingdom from on high, content and quiet while the household goes about its business. She has a marvelous expressive face and her eye shape changes reveal her emotions.  We see cartoon cats displaying dramatic expressions and Sissy’s abilities could win her an Oscar!

#cats #california #covelo #adoption #adoptnotshop

[master-sass-blast]

The Color of Our Love.

I LIVEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!

Summary: You and Piotr take the next step in making your house a home: painting the walls.

Pairing(s): Piotr Rasputin x Reader.

Rating: G.

Word Count: 1.5k.

Set after “It’s Truly Magical.”

Taglist:  @marvel-is-perfection, @chromecutie, @girl-obsessed-with-things, @super-darkcloudstudent, @dandyqueen, @leo-writer

It’s the smell that gets to you the most. You’re used to soaring through the skies, drawing in gulps of fresh, pure air into your lungs. You’re used to smelling sun-warmed grass and fresh flowers and the dampness of rain in the air once a storm’s passed and—

“How do you deal with this?” You grimace, rubbing the bridge of your nose as your husband opens cans of paints and pours them into the trays meant for roller brushes. “I’m gonna get a headache.”

“You get used to it,” Piotr says as he unwraps the detachable brush head for his roller brush. He smiles sympathetically when you start massaging your temples and pats your shoulder reassuringly. “We can open windows. And take breaks.”

The two of you are starting the next leg of your journey to making your house a home: painting. Neither of you like looking at bland white walls.

It’s been a long process, though, of quibbling over color options, making sure those options match with the other choices for other rooms (as needed), and planning out which rooms to do when so you don’t inadvertently spend a whole paycheck on cans of paint.

You two decided to start in the master bedroom, for the sake of simplicity down the line.

Impatient, you pick up one of the paintbrushes Piotr had purchased for edging around window and door frames and smear a thick stripe of paint over an empty stretch of wall. “Chop chop, baby! We’re wasting daylight!”

Piotr laughs, loading up a roller brush with paint and letting the excess drip back into the tray. “After you, myshka.”

The two of you work for a while, chatting aimlessly while you transform the room from a sterile sea of white to something much homier –and less likely to cause eyestrain. Piotr handles outlining the window and door frames so there’s guidelines for the rollers and takes care of the high spots, while you flit around the room, alternating between the regular brusher and a roller brush as you fill in the places your husband’s prepped for you.

Eventually, though, your self-control starts to wane –and then your opportunity presents itself on a silver platter.

Piotr’s got his back to you. He’s working on painting the parts of the wall near the ceiling.

And, on prime display in a pair of old gym shorts, is his butt.

(God, he has a fantastic butt. Perfectly sculpted by innumerable squats and obscene amounts of protein bars. You can bounce a quarter off his ass –and, yes, you’re speaking from experience.

Not that you’d warned Piotr what you were planning on doing when you’d tried it.)

You bite on your lower lip, trying to stifle your excited giggles as you coat your hand with paint from your brush. Then, before Piotr can turn around, you dash across the room and smack your hand against his rear.

Piotr yelps. Jumps. Whirls around, twists to look at his backside, then faces you. His eyes are wide, mouth hanging open in a smile, as if to say, “did you really just do that?” Then, his grin broadens as he paints his own hand with his roller brush. “It is on.”

“No!” You squeal and sprint away, darting around your bedroom as you try to evade your husband’s pursuit of vengeance.

There’s only so much space, though, and your husband’s a large man. He catches you eventually, snagging you with his clean hand and locking you against him with his arm before pressing his paint-covered hand against your chest.

You bust out laughing, leaning back against his solid, warm chest; there’s not much point in trying to run away, now that you’ve been caught. “Not on my boob!”

“Serves you right,” Piotr teases, nuzzling against your cheek. “Naughty myshka.”

You tip your head back and grin up at him. “Yours.”

He grins back, then dips his head and presses his lips against yours.

 ***

 Fumes aside, there’s not a single other thing you dislike about the painting process. It’s incredible to watch the bedroom slowly transform before your eyes.

“It’s like the feeling off the room has changed,” you comment as Piotr works on the delicate edging work near the crown molding; the two of you had opted for a soft, pastel color for the bedroom to promote rest and relaxation. “It feels cozier now. More relaxing.”

“Da.” He lays down a careful line along the crown molding –miraculously not getting so much as a speck of paint on the pure white border, which is why he’s doing this job and you are not—then dips his brush back into the pint can in his hand. “Is color psychology. Impacts our mood, perception of room.”

“I like it.” You stretch your arms, smiling as you admire the freshly painted walls. “It feels like it’s ours now.”

Piotr nods. He smiles as he finishes the last of the edgework, then sets his paint can down next to the roller tray. “Shall we rinse brushes, then take break for lunch before starting work downstairs?”

“I like the sound of the lunch part,” you say, offering up an impish grin.

“How about this,” Piotr chuckles. “I will rinse brushes, and you can make us lunch.”

“Okay, yes. Sounds great!” You shove your paintbrush into Piotr’s hand, then quickly skip out of the room and float down the stairs. “Love you!”

Piotr’s laughter echoes down the hall after you.

 ***

 “Oh, yeah. This is it. This is how I want to work from now on.”

Piotr glances over his shoulder at you. A smirk tugs at his lips. “You are sitting on couch while I paint.”

“Correction!” You hold up your index finger. “I am sitting on the couch while you paint and staring at your butt. It’s a very integral part of the process.”

Piotr snorts and shakes his head. His cheeks flush –and, even though he’s trying to hide it, you can see the bashful smile playing on his lips. “My apologies, myshka. How could I forget?”

“I get it. I doubt you spend much time staring at your own butt –which, really is such a shame; you’ve got an amazing ass, babe.”

He laughs and shakes his head once more.

The reason he’s working and you’re not –aside from the obvious superiority of sitting down and staring at your husband’s ass—is because the family room and kitchen require a lot of edge work. You’d offered to help… and then gotten paint all over the baseboards, light switches, window frames, and crown molding within fifty seconds of starting.

You just don’t have the patience –or Piotr’s well-practiced, steady hand.

“Are you still going to do the zhostovo mural in the kitchen?” you ask as you watch Piotr work.

“Da. I have sketches in art studio, if you want look.”

You’re never one to pass up on seeing Piotr’s art, so you hop of the couch and scamper down the hall to his art studio.

Since Piotr’s art studio is fastidiously organized, it’s no trouble at all to find the sketchbook with the mural sketches in them. You flip through it until you find the various drawings of the bright, richly colored flowers, then lean against his desk as you gaze down at the page.

The bulk of the mural –which, based on Piotr’s sketches, looks like it’s going to be in the center of the wall between the fridge and the coffee counter—is comprised of large, delicately curved flowers. Roses, daisies, poppies, cornflowers… all of them weave together, bowing outward in dramatic flourishes of color. Vibrant green blades of grass form the base of the main mural, moving with the arcs of the flowers and leaves. You can see a few different designs for some edgework –to be placed on the edges and corners of the wall, so as to frame the main part of the mural—made of varying bits of filigree, Russian lettering, and tiny, white and purple tinged blooms.

You grin. Your fingers trace over the various filigree designs Piotr had been testing out. Wow. You amble back into the main room, gaze still focused on your husband’s designs. “These are amazing, sweetheart.”

“Spasibo, myshka.” Piotr looks up from his lining work, watching you –almost apprehensively—as you study his artwork. “Do you like design?”

“Piotr… I love it.” You let out a small, stunned laugh; as if there was ever a chance you wouldn’t like his art. “It’s so beautiful. It’s going to look perfect in the kitchen.”

Piotr ducks his head, cheeks flushing. His lips curve into a pleased smile. “Thank you, dorogoy.”

“Do you know which border you’re going to pick?”

“Not yet.” He shrugs. “Cannot find right ‘feel.’”

“You’ll get there,” you reassure him. “I kind of like the one you paired the Cyrillic. What does it say?”

“Is blessing,” Piotr explains. “Moya babushka made for family home, in Siberia. Illyana would have to do magic for it, but I liked idea of including words in design.”

“I like it, too.” You close the sketchbook and set it carefully on the coffee table (where it’ll be safe from potential paint splatters), then walk up behind Piotr and wrap your arms around his waist. “We have a home,” you murmur as you nuzzle your face against his back.

Piotr lets out a delighted giggle. His free hand clasps both of yours. “That we do, lyublyu.”

“I love you, Piotr. So much.”

“And I love you, Y/N, so very much, too.”

#sass writes #piotr rasputin x reader #colossus x reader #fluff fluff fluff #this is my wish fulfillment fic for house painting #because my fiance and i can't afford to paint the walls in our house yet #and the previous owner painted them fucking greyish poop brown #and i hate it #but soon #sooooon #deadpool fanfiction #x men fanfiction

[ejzah]

I made this comment last night after the episode aired: Who wants to bet that the outfits Deeks was modeling involved increasingly less material as the night progressed? Much to Deeks’ chagrin and Kensi and Kirkin’s delight.

A/N: I definitely ran with this idea, @chicgeekgirl89. I hope you enjoy.

***

Quid Pro Quo

“This is completely ridiculous,” Deeks muttered for the hundredth time. He glanced over at Kensi who was happily sipping at her champagne-completely tipsy at this point and apparently past the point of caring what Anatoli Kirkin did with him-and what looked like a thin cookie of some kind.

“Oh come now, Marty,” Kirkin said in a cajoling voice, popping up from behind the camera. “You know I love it when you pout and act all grumpy, but this is not what envisioned for this photo shoot.”

“Yeah, Marty, don’t be all pouty,” Kensi chimed in, snorting to herself. Glancing over his shoulder, he glared at her and she made a concerted, but in the end futile, effort not to laugh.

Honestly, he would probably be laughing too if one of the other guys were forced to wear something that resembled the imaginings of someone on LSD. Of course, no one else on the team had a crazy Russian ex-criminal who was obsessed with them and likely to make strange requests as a form of payment. He was just that lucky.

His current outfit was black with orange stripes, making him resemble something like a strange wasp. At least there weren’t any animals attached to it this time.

“Chin up.” Kirkin directed him with a little waving gesture which Deeks followed with a reluctant sigh. “Perfect! Time for the next outfit.”

That left four more by Deeks’ count. Without a word, he accepted the latest garment bag from Kirkin and headed for the changing rooms. He supposed he was lucky Kirkin had allowed him that small privacy.

He came back out a couple minutes later, in black pants and a light blue dress shirt paired with a black tie and shoes that probably cost more than Deeks’ whole wardrobe put together. It was the least offensive thing he’d worn all night.

“Not bad,” Kensi commented when he walked back into the photography room and took up the pose Kirkin kept asking for. “Not bad at all.” Her eyes slid down to butt and he frowned at her.

“I agree, but there’s just a little something missing,” Kirkin said with a little sigh. He looked Deeks up and down too and then clapped his hands together. He started to reach towards Deeks and then glanced in Kensi’s direction and drew back. “Martin, could you roll your sleeves up? Just above the elbows.”

Shaking his head, Deeks rolled each sleeve up a few times while Kirkin watched eagerly.

“It’s almost the same as the first case when we met.” Lowering his voice, Kirkin added, “You remember, when we were both naked in the Russian baths.” This time he did touch Deeks; it was little more than a brush of his knuckles against Deeks’ forearm, but it was enough to make him shudder uncomfortably.

“Hey, keep your hands to yourself,” Kensi ordered, a note of warning in her voice. She suddenly sounded competent sober and dangerous. Kirkin obviously heard it too because he immediately dropped his hand, and moved behind the safety of the camera again.

“I apologize. I was...overcome,” he said, his expression a little guilty.

The next half hour passed in a blur. Kirkin brought in several more props for Deeks to pose with. Then two more costume changes. Deeks noticed that the clothes were getting increasingly smaller and tighter.

Currently, he was wearing a pair of exceedingly white pants and a shiny blue shirt that was straight out of “Saturday Night Fever”. The shirt gaped open, revealing the majority of his chest and stomach.

“The 70’s had its perks,” Kensi commented, moving her chair to get a better view.

“No more champagne for you,” Deeks told her firmly.

“You look absolutely wonderful! Those pants fit you like a glove and your chest...” Kirkin made a wistful sound. “You have never looked better.”

“Can we get on with this?”

“Of course. Now for this one, I’d like you to put your left arm in the air and the other on your hip.”

“I’m not doing disco poses, Kirkin.” Crossing his arms over his chest, Deeks tried to look as serious as he could while wearing pants that left very little to the imagination. They felt tighter than anything he’d worn in his exotic dancing days.

“Maaarty, you promised...” Kirkin gave him a pointed look while throwing adopting the post he apparently wanted Deeks to mimic.

“I promised to do a photo shoot, not a feature for Play Girl magazine,” Deeks said,

“I’d buy that issue.” Off to the side, Kensi regraded him with a lascivious look in her eye.

“Me too,” Kirkin added, so quietly Deeks wasn’t sure he’d heard him.

“Oh my god! Fine, I’ll do it.” He tossed his head back with a groan and planted a hand on one hip. “Anything to get this over with. But-“ he pointed between Kensi and Kirkin, two people he never thought would be joining ranks against him- “no one else will ever hear about this or see these photos.”

“Of course.” Kensi nodded along with Kirkin, pressing her lips together either in apparent delight or to hold back laughter again. Kirkin snapped a few more pictures, moving more quickly than he had before. Maybe he realized that Deeks was reaching the end of his patience.

“And now for the last outfit,” Kirkin announced, letting out a sad little sigh. “I have enjoyed this evening together.”

“Yeah it’s been great,” Deeks drawled sarcastically.

“I’ll be back in just a few moments.” He touched Deeks arm as he left the room, but this time Kensi didn’t seem to notice.

“This is so much worse than I imagined.” He plopped down in a chair beside Kensi, pushing on the bridge of his nose to alleviate the inevitable head ache he felt coming.

“I don’t think it’s that bad,” Kensi said, tilting her head as she eyed him again. She reached over and trailed her fingers down his chest, pausing on his abs.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered, shaking his head at her. “I brought you along to protect me.”

“I am still perfectly capable of protecting you.” She gave him a lazy smile and winked. “And enjoying the view.”

Before Deeks could comment on that, Kirkin returned with a surprisingly small bag this time.

“I was saving this for a very special occasion,” he said with a smile that made Deeks highly suspicious. Kensi leaned forward to get a better look as Kirkin reached in and removed the item of clothing.

It was small and checkered. God, what was with the guy and checkers?”

“Are those...?”

“Hot pants!” Kensi finished, laughing on clear delight. “Oh my god, they’re checkered hot pants.”

“I designed them myself.”

Deeks just stared for a minute, completely horrified. Apparently Kirkin thought it was admiration. His obsession with checkers was disturbing, but at least there weren’t any stuffed animals involved. Probably because there wasn’t room.

“You are delusional if you think I’m putting those on, Kirkin,” Deeks said, laughing at he absurdity of it. “I will wear your ludicrous idea of a coat, I’ll even hold your creepy stuffed animals, but I will not wear hot pants for you.”

“What about our deal?” Kirkin asked, giving the shorts a little shake. “You didn’t make any stipulations.”

“And that was a grave error on my part. I blame it on the overwhelming fumes of hairspray clouding my head.”

“Your hard work deserves to be recognized.” He turned to Kensi when Deeks remained stone-faced. “Kensi, tell him those muscles, deserve to be on display.”

“Yeah, I’m not quite that drunk.”

“Imagine how these-” he gave the pants another shake- “will emphasize those beautiful muscles, tan, and his tight bottom.”

“Alright, we’re out of here,” Deeks decided, grabbing Kensi’s hand and tugging her along after him.

“Marty, please don’t go,” Kirkin called frantically. “The pictures don’t even need to be published. They’ll go straight to my private collection! Martin?!”

“I am so glad I came along,” Kensi said, giggling to herself. “This goes in my top 10 favorite days.”

“You are a terrible body guard.” He tried to maintain a serious expression, but he couldn’t in the face of Kensi’s amusement.

“Oh please, Kirkin would never do anything to hurt you.” She patted his arm and added, “He adores you too much.”

“Fantastic,” he muttered.

“You know,” Kensi said a few minutes later as they drove home. “We totally should have snagged those shorts.”

“You really want to see me in checkered hot pants?”

“I’m curious.” She shrugged. “And as Kirkin said, you have a very nice butt.”

***

A/N: The reference to drawnings/paintings comes from some of my other stories where I’ve had Kirkin give Deeks a series of highly inappropriate gifts.

#ncis la fanfiction #marty deeks #daniela ruah #densi #Kirkin returns #russia russia russia #completely ridiculous #everyone loves Deeks’ muscles #ejzah fanfiction

[samingtonwilson]

Apartment 8C - Chapter 4

The First, First Date

SERIES MASTERLIST // PREVIOUS PART

Summary: college au. you and bucky are the closest of friends, the most functional of roommates, and… exes. but just because it didn’t work out romantically doesn’t mean he has to move out! it’s not like he’s so deeply in love that he can barely breathe. totally not in love. at all. not even a little. maybe.

Pairing: bucky x reader

Warnings: LANGUAGE, the use of marijuana/pot/weed/reefer/that loud

A/N: i had a bad thought while writing this chapter and i’m not going to share it with y’all because that might put y’all off this story. actually fuck it, i’ll share the thought. isn’t it so weird how obsessed we all are with love? like these are college students with so much more happening in their lives but they’re sitting around and always talking about love. and a lot of us do that shit too. weirdos. 

There’s a knock at the door and Bucky replies to it with a groan. A loud, I don’t give a fuck if the neighbors hear me kind of groan. 

Slumped on the couch, phone balanced on his stomach and remote control set on his thigh, he very nearly snarls. He doesn’t bother to pick up either electronic as he stands, letting his phone fall face down on the area rug while the remote knocks against its corner with a clang. 

His journey to the door is comprised less of steps and more of a slide, a glide, a bit of a skate. He’s thankful he kept his socks on and unlocks the door, eyes half-lidded and heavy head tilted back. “The delivery instructions said to text and leave the bag at the door, not to knock and make me get up.” 

“That how you talk to delivery people? They should ban your sorry ass from Doordash.” 

He straightens his head and glares at Steve— smirking, smug, smart ass Steve who holds a large brown paper bag in one hand and a six pack in the other. It somehow makes Bucky frown deeper. “You intercepted my delivery?” 

“And brought you beer,” he holds the cardboard case up and shakes it, smiling. 

That smile fades, however, when he pauses in thought for a moment. He frowns then, indignant. Pushes Bucky out of the way to cross the threshold into the apartment. “So, you know, you’re fuckin’ welcome, you ungrateful jerk.” 

A sigh and Bucky shuts the door. He watches as Steve appraises the room and feels no shame at the look of disgust on Steve’s face. Instead, he rolls his eyes when Steve fully faces him. “I don’t want to hear it.” 

“You clean out your fridge? It broken or something?” Steve asks. He sets the bag and beer onto the coffee table, shuts Bucky’s dead laptop that he hasn’t bothered to charge. Steve then places Bucky’s phone and the remote control on the couch and begins to gather the empty take out containers still cool from the refrigerator. 

Bucky grits his teeth at the sight. “Steve, just— What the hell are you doing?” 

“Picking all this shit up so we can eat and watch the game,” there’s a cheerful lilt through his words. He sends a smile Bucky’s way, humor in the blue of his eyes, as he passes to toss the containers into the trash. “Thanks for asking, Buck. What the hell are you doing?”  

“I—” Bucky still stands by the door. His arms are crossed over his chest, his brow furrowed in incredulity when Steve crosses to the couch once more and falls into the cushions with a sigh of relief. “Steve, I’m not in the mood today, man.” 

“In the mood for what?” The volume of the television is turned up, Steve hugs the elephant cushion to his chest. “You were gonna watch the game anyway, so was I. Might as well do that in the same place and eat a li’l somethin’ while we’re at it.” 

Bucky’s sigh is one of defeat. He takes steps back to the couch rather than skating over, and sits beside Steve with a mumbled, “I didn’t order anything with your fat head in mind.” 

Steve leans forward to pull the bag open, paper crinkling as he pulls a sandwich from the depths. He tosses what remains in the bag onto Bucky’s lap. “Stopped at a deli on the way here. Don’t know what the fuck you’re eating but it smelled like dog shit.” 

He smiles to himself. Wryly. “What deli you stop at?” 

“Shelsky's.” There’s pride in Steve’s voice. Arrogance in his posture. “I didn’t want to cheap out and settle for something worse.”

“That’s where I ordered from, you fucking snob.” 

“Must’ve ordered something nasty then.” 

A sarcastic hum of agreement and Bucky shakes his head. He narrows his eyes at the television as Steve flips through the channels in an attempt to find something more entertaining than the advertisements currently airing on Fox. “Why’re you really here?” 

“It’s Thursday night,” he replies, using a keychain to pop the cap on a bottle of beer. “Titans are playing the Jags.” 

“You don’t care about either of those teams.” 

Steve drops his smile now. He scowls and settles back on Fox, unsatisfied. “Can’t a guy eat a sandwich, drink a beer, and watch a game with a friend without the third degree?” 

“Couldn’t have done that with Sam?” 

“I do a variation of this with Sam almost every night. Wanted to spend time with you today.” 

“But—” 

“Buck, for shit’s sake, let me be here for you without making us both live through me saying why.” He reaches forward to pull another beer from the carton, placing it in Bucky’s lap, and slouches back against the soft grey velvet. “And if you wanna talk about it, I’m here for that, too.” 

“What’s there to talk about?” Bucky asks, more rhetorical than expecting an answer. 

There’s a pause as Bucky gazes at the television with practiced focus. His arms fold over his chest again. His knee bounces.

“She’s on a date,” he continues after the lull stretches for too long. “She was going to start dating eventually. I’m okay with it. Happy for her. T’Challa’s a good dude. Good looking, good soccer player. Smart. It’s nice. Good for her. I’m happy for her. She deserves someone like him. I’m happy for her. 

“He actually came to the door. Didn’t text her to meet him downstairs, didn’t show up empty-handed. We both know how uncomfortable she is with actual romantic gestures and I guess he knows, too, because he gave her a Ziploc of peaches like she had in class the day they met. It’s nice. He’s a good dude. I’m happy for her.”

Through the thick silence that falls over them, Steve blinks. “Christ, you know you just spoke for a minute straight without taking a breath? I think you said ‘I’m happy for her’ thirteen times.” 

Bucky’s inhale is loud and pointed, his exhale a huff. He’s no longer interested in eating the sandwich he’d ordered, suddenly full from all the leftovers he’d tucked into just minutes ago. All he wants is for Steve to leave. 

Well. That’s not all he wants. 

But it trumps his other desires. Momentarily. 

“I know you’re happy for her,” Steve says as Bucky parts his lips to tell the former off. Bucky shuts his mouth now, though. And just listens as Steve’s voice grows softer, eyes no longer dancing in humor. “But I know you’re fuckin’ miserable, too.” 

He knows there’s no point denying it. No point denying what’s so plainly written across his face. 

But he tries anyway. “M’not miserable. I’m ha—” 

“You can be both.” Steve, unwrapping the parchment from his sandwich, keeps his eyes on the television. “It’s possible to be happy for her but miserable at the idea of it all deep down. S’why I thought you might wanna move out.” 

“She’d still go on dates if I’d moved out.” 

“You wouldn’t have to watch her going on them.”

“I’m okay with her dating.”

“I’m okay with a lotta things, too. Doesn’t mean I wanna see it all happen in front of me.”

Bucky watches as Steve takes an impossibly large bite out of the sandwich, Russian dressing smearing over his lips. “I’ve got a date, too.” 

“Buck,” Steve’s mouth is full. Horribly so. And Bucky scowls at the sound of his thick voice. “This ain’t a date. Don’t know how many times I gotta tell you. I just don’t feel that way about you, man.” 

A sarcastic smile and even more dry laugh. “Shut the fuck up. I’m talking about Connie.” 

Steve scowls as he swallows. “That perky little brunette from the bar?” 

“Perky?” 

“I can just look at her and tell she was on her high school cheerleading squad.” Around another bite, he adds, “Seems nice enough, I guess.” 

“She is nice.” He pauses only to mumble more to himself, “And emotionally available.”

Steve cocks an eyebrow and briefly looks at Bucky in skepticism. “What, you determined that from just a few days of talking?” 

“On the second day she told me she’s liked me since freshman year orientation.” He sighs your name then. Slowly. Laboriously. “She was somethin’ else entirely. You know how long it took her to admit she liked me?” 

Steve nods upwards and flips the channel when the commentators on the pregame show begin to argue. 

“Took her three months after we started dating to admit she liked me. And she never said it again after that.” 

Steve drags the back of his hand over his lips, wiping off a bit of stray dressing. In visible disgust, he wipes his hand on the discarded butcher paper. “Some people show their feelings rather than say them.” 

Bucky seems to smile at that. Unbeknownst to himself, there’s a slow grin spreading over his lips. 

He thinks of instances. Instances when silence would act as a wall but actions a wrecking ball. 

The morning after your third date when you’d tried your best— despite your absolute inability to cook— to make the breakfast he always orders at the diner in Astoria. 

The eggs were runny in places, burnt in others and the bacon was traumatically floppy under a layer of not-even-close-to rendered fat and added oil. You’d apologized as he scrubbed the pan and plates, bright yellow dish rag waving as you insisted repeatedly that you couldn’t live if you’d given the guy you’d only just begun to date salmonella. 

Independence day when you’d Irish-goodbyed from Steve’s birthday party only twenty minutes after arriving to steal away to the rooftop of Mama Wilson’s brownstone in Harlem. 

You’d said something about fireworks and pizza, a six-pack of beer already snagged off the kitchen counter. Played it off as Sam’s idea, his house keys in the pocket of the navy blue bomber jacket you’d “borrowed” from Bucky. Nothing about Bucky’s hatred of parties at the Rogers-Wilson residence, though. Not even a hint until he overheard your apologies to Sam’s mother for the intrusion— an apology you later denied, kissing him silly to make him forget any further questions. 

The week before you’d broken up— a week Bucky remembers less for the distance you’d successfully created— when you sought comfort in him after a long day. 

Your boots had been kicked off by the door, your bag and its contents scattered beside them. You’d tearfully slurred words together, words he barely caught, in explanation. Something about work, and school, and your mother’s unnecessary opinions about your major and future. Something which forced sobs from your chest as you set your head against his. You’d wrapped your arms around him tightly, the two of you huddled together on his worn barcalounger as he stroked your hair and pressed kisses to the crown of your head. 

It’s well after the game has ended— Steve vengefully chowing down on your once-hidden stash of This is for when I have my period chocolate, Bucky barely paying attention to the episode of The Office the two had resorted to watching— when you come home. 

Hair mussed, lips swollen with gloss smudged every which way, you stumble through the doorway with a laughed, “No more rule-breaking on the first date, T’Challa.” 

The door is shut and locked just as T’Challa begins to respond. You spin and press your back to it, still laughing but quietly, more to yourself. You open your mouth to greet Steve and Bucky, both looking at you in either confusion or amusement, but shut it as a knock at the door cuts you off. 

“I’ll call you,” T’Challa promises through the wood. There’s a chuckle laced through his words, a smile in his voice. 

Exaggeratedly, you scoff. Still grinning however. “Who calls?” 

“I do,” he replies without concern that your neighbors may complain about his volume. “And you’re gonna pick up.” 

“Oh, am I?” 

“Yeah, you are. ‘Night.”

You don’t respond beyond a hum and stand at the door until you’re sure he’s gone. A nod to yourself and you step away as you remove that navy blue bomber jacket to toss it onto the counter. You also toss a smile over your shoulder to Bucky. “You here just to eat my chocolate, Rogers?” 

“No,” Steve says without a glance in your direction. “I ate your ice cream, too.” 

You shut the freezer. Empty-handed. Frowning. “Your stomach’s just a bottomless pit, huh?” 

“I’m a growing boy.” 

“Have I told you how uncomfortable it makes me when you call your grown-ass self a boy?” you remark, settling for a bottle of water from the refrigerator. You pause before shutting the heavy steel door. “You clear out all the leftovers, too?” 

Steve peers at Bucky, the latter stuck in a thoughtful, sad stare, and nods. “Yeah. We’re all out of food at my place and I don’t get paid ‘til tomorrow night.” 

You’re frowning in consideration as you walk to the barcalounger and fall into it sideways, legs swung over the opposite armrest you’ve set your back against. “Fair enough. How was your day, Buck?” 

The question breaks him from whatever daze he’d fallen into and he blinks. Averts a steady gaze when you shift a bit to look at him. “The Jags won.” 

You smile. It’s warm, a little honeyed. “Is that good or bad?” 

“Neutral.” He can’t help but smile himself. It doesn’t even falter as he asks, “How was your date?”

A shrug. Your eyes narrow at Michael Scott as he attempts to toss pizza dough. “T’Challa got a large popcorn at the movies.” 

“Damn, he’s got money.” 

You laugh, startled. Bucky grins when you do, too. “That’s what I said! I also beat your high score at pinball in the theater arcade.” 

“Went on a date with a guy who’s got money, beat my pinball score. You’ve just had a magical day, haven’t you?” 

There’s a softness and affection in the way Bucky speaks and looks at you, your responding giggles just as sweet. Steve, sitting between the two of you, almost feels as if he’s intruding on something, an empathetic ache in his chest as he watches. “Explain the pinball thing.” 

“Bucky and I went to the movies last month and fucked around the arcade while waiting for our showtime. And he got so competitive.” You roll your eyes at the memory. “We ended up missing the movie because he was determined to beat the high score this poor kid had just set when we got there. Took him hours and, like, forty bucks in tokens.” 

“It didn’t take me hours.” 

“We got there in the afternoon and by the time we left, the employees were cleaning the popcorn machines,” your expression and tone leave no room for argument. “Only took me two hours.” 

Steve looks between you two, fighting the urge to scoff at the satisfaction in your eyes and the combination of annoyance and so much adoration in Bucky’s. “Two hours? You miss the movie again?” 

“No, I snuck out before the movie ended. Said I had to pee and went straight to the machine so none of the kids in our auditorium could take it before I got there.” You ignore Steve’s disappointed gaze. “T’Challa was confused and probably unhappy I made him sit there for so long while I played.”

“Probably unhappy?” 

“I didn’t ask.” A nonchalant shrug and you flash them a knowing smile. “Beating Bucky’s score was my priority so I could come in here and casually mention it like I’m not bragging only to bring it up everyday for the rest of his life.” 

Your eyes meet Bucky’s and, at the look you’re giving him, Bucky has to remind himself that the two of you are no longer in a relationship and he can’t just kiss the arrogance away. “Sucker.”

—

It’s a makeup caboodle. 

Pale pink and lime green. A tropical flower sticker pasted to the clasp. There’s a ribbon tied to the handle— deep magenta velvet in a neat bow. 

It’s unassuming. A little innocent looking. Like it should belong to a seventh grader in the nineties just learning how to use glitter eyeshadow and lip balm palettes. 

It’s when you pop it open, the mirror attachment springing up only to reflect Wanda’s skeptical features, that the pungent smell permeates throughout the kitchen and small living room. Skunky, but a little floral. 

A speckled glass pipe, multicolored glaze splattered over a white base, sits in the top compartment alongside a few toothpicks and a package of rolling papers. In the compartment directly below rests a round steel grinder, three-tiered and emblazoned with the engravement of a manufacturer’s name. 

The biggest compartment holds many small glass jars. Tiny mason jars you’d bought at a flea market. All different colors, all labeled with white circular stickers. 

Wanda sits up in her stool at the sight, pulls the caboodle toward herself and sifts through the jars. She removes three of the jars and looks at you with widened eyes. “You’re insane.” 

You shrug and take the grinder when she hands it to you. “I like being organized.” 

“You should see her room,” Bucky says as he shuts his bedroom door behind him, shoes in hand. He smiles at the two of you, beard freshly trimmed to just barely above stubble and eyes a bright blue. “Most organized mess I’ve ever seen.”

You nod, tearing a bit of the sour diesel bud apart to place carefully between the metal teeth in the topmost chamber. You smile at her from your spot atop the counter, legs folded and back pressed against the shelves behind you. “There’s a method to my madness, Wan. Hand me a toothpick.” 

She complies and removes a blue jar without a label. “What’s in this one?” 

“Blue dream. Jar’s blue and I ran out of stickers.” There’s a click as the lid is magnetically snapped back onto the grinder. You twist it to the left twice, then to the right once. “You picking her up or meeting her there?” 

Bucky, leant against the wall as he slips his shoes on, looks up. “What says ‘This is a real date, not a hookup’?” 

“Going to dinner and not having sex after.” 

He replies with a dry laugh and narrowed eyes. “Which of the two options— picking her up or meeting there— says that?” 

“Picking her up.” You tear the stem off the bottom of the bud and place it as a barrier over the hole in the pipe’s bowl. “Might be too late to tell her that now, though.” 

“Already told her I’d pick her up. I was just making sure I did the right thing.” You see his lips spread into a self-satisfied smirk when you finish filling the bowl. “Looks like I did.” 

You smile back, though sarcastically. “Girls like a little humility in the guys they date, you know.” 

“She’s liked me for three years now,” he says. He pulls on a jacket and pats every pocket on him to make sure he’s got his wallet and keys. “She knows what she’s herself getting into.” 

“Bucky, baby, I live with you and I had no idea what I was getting myself into.” 

Wanda snorts a laugh at that, taking the pipe and a bright pink lighter from you. 

Bucky’s eyes fall into a glare. “So normal first dates don’t end in sex?” 

“No, they don’t. Most people actually wait until after the third date. It’s, like, in the dating manual for successful relationships.” 

“Huh,” he breathes. He takes his phone when you remove it from the charger to pass it to him, smiling up at you. “Looks like we were doomed from the start.”

“Maybe.” You watch as Wanda exhales a steady stream of opaque smoke punctuated by a soft cough. You slide her bottle of water to her. “Or maybe we’re the exception to the rule. Apart, we should follow normal date conventions. But together, we were too hot to wait that long.” 

Wanda hands you the pipe and lighter. “What happened to humility?” 

Before sparking the lighter, you answer, “I’m not dating a girl.” 

Your next inhale, once you’ve adequately charred the top layer of pot, burns in your throat and you hold it in your chest. You smile at Bucky when he shoots you a sly grin, lips in a cirlce as you exhale. “Have fun. Don’t order the tiramisu. They skimp on the espresso.” 

He nods once and straightens his jacket. You watch as he unlocks the door, opens it, and steps through with a simple wave. Your eyes remain on the door even after it shuts. 

It isn’t until Wanda’s fingers brush yours that you break your stare. “What?” the question is nearly barked when she offers you a look of something eerily similar pity. 

“Nothing! You just— You look a little lovelorn.”

Your features crumple. “Ew. No, I don’t. I look amazing, you look lovelorn.” 

“Okay, Queen of the land Defensiva,” she mutters once she’s exhaled. “I’m just saying. You were staring at that door like you want to take it home to meet your mother.” 

“Maybe I do. It’s a nice color. I picked the yellow out myself.” 

“Nat told me about that night at the bar. About how Bucky flirted with that Connie chick right in front of you.” She watches as you take a hit and your head lolls back against the shelves. “That must have sucked.” 

“It did.” You trace the bumps on the ceiling and sigh. “But it’s okay. Larger picture, broad scheme of things. It’s okay.” 

“What’s that mean?” 

A shrug. You take a sip from your own bottle of water. “We’re both okay. We’re both moving on, we’re still able to be friends and roommates. I can sit here and watch him go on dates with her if that’s what it takes. A little pain for the larger cause.” 

There’s a beat of silence as Wanda takes a long drag. You break it as you muse, “Do we talk about this shit too much?” 

“Yeah, maybe. Should we order a pizza?” 

--

CHAPTER 5: ARE YOU OVERCOMPENSATING?

#bucky #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fic #a8c

[junejalow]

"I tried to warn you" R6 operators/oc

So a friend of mine from Discord, Cammie08 wanted a bar fight with Lion getting defensive over Rook that included my character Saulo "Chameleon" Benjamin with her police oc Venny Warwick who worked with Saulo's unit a few times. Hope you enjoy and thanks for reading!

Idel chatter, music thumbing in the background, people dancing in the middle of the large bar room, the smell of alcohol and food lingering in the air around the bar. A good friday night for the Rainbow operators. Harry had given them two weeks off to do as they please, a small handful of them went home to spend the down time with family and friends. The other's had decided this bar was a good start to their relaxing two weeks. They had nearly taken up one corner of the place, moving tables and chairs together to fit their large group. Their own idle chatter, stories, card and drinking games, sharing food, bellowing laughter, singing. All of it was a major stress relief for them.

"Did I ever tell y'all how Saulo got that scar on his face?" Asked the man sitting beside the urban expert. Saulo had introduced him upon arrival as an old work buddy from his Delta Force days, Venny Warrick had near 30 years experience working in police joint units. The very reason they met in the first place and continued to work off and on before Chameleon's departure to Rainbow. The aforementioned man gave a sharp jab to his side.

"What? It was funny!"

"Like hell it was! Never liked birds after that."

"Must be quite the story then, I would love to hear it." Timur piped in across from them, nursing a beer bottle in his hands.

"No, no you don't." Saulo replied quickly before Venny could, earning a snicker from the police man. "I'ma tell you anyways, I take the beating later." His friend said, shifting away when the other tried to snag him only for Maxim to swing an arm around his boyfriend and pull him and his chair closer. Effectively keeping him from moving.

"Really Maxim?!"

"What? I want to hear it as well, I find anything about you amusing and interesting. You know that." Calmly replied the trapper.

"Right right, so we were held up in Norway around Oppdal. We had this hot lead on a arms dealer who was using the storms around the area to cover their tracks and we were sitting outside just eating and enjoying a good warm meal and this bird of some kind literality came out of no where and snatched food from Saulo, gashed his lip in the process. It took months before we let him live it down." Venny told them, eyes gleaming with the memory as the table erupted in laughter and chuckles at the story.

"You fucker, Y'all tormented me every single time I ate somethin'!"

"And you was funny as hell too!"

"So you ain't gon' tell them about the time you got tied ta a bed while drunk?"

"Whoa whoa, time out there mate. Was this all in good fun or was a girl involved?" James asked from a few seats down, one hand mindlessly twisting around in Mark's short curly hair as the younger operator was leaning against him. Everyone always though they were a cute couple.

"Well I guess that's fair right? One story for another." Venny replied, downing the rest of his beer.

"And to answer your question good sir, there was a girl involved. So long story short, someone in the joint unit decided some sketchy bar on the edge of town was a good place to just knock back a few drinks before we head home after a successful mission. I got drunk worse than a nine eyed dog ever dared to be an-" He was cut off by Shutrat snorting and nearly spitting out his vodka.

"A nine eyed dog? What the fuck is that?"

"I believe it's an American term for a very drunk person." Jager replied from across the Russian, swatting Bandit's hand away as the other German attempted to steal his french fries. He mumbled under his breath about Elias having some and shoved his hand away again.

"Pretty much so." Venny replied, "Just a southern term I learned from Saulo. He thought us a lot over the course of our missions together."

"Look y'all kept askin' what I called different things so I told y'all."

"That... is a very odd term." Fuze mumbled.

"And calling Aleksandr 'Sasha’ isn't strange?" Marias asked, grinning at his boyfriend. Shutrat shot him a glance across the table, cold stormy grey eyes piercing into warm honey brown eyes.

"You leave that nickname alone Mari." The engineer raised his hands in mock defeat, knowing better that to push the Russian on subjects.

"Back to the story!" Smoke protested, growing impatient to hear the end.

"He was basically lead ta a back room by one of the dancer's and thang's got complicated, she tied him up, stole his wallet and we already knew somethin' happened because no one gets laid that fast." Chameleon chuckled, earning a playful glare from his friend.

"No bloody way! Why do ya like that mate?"

"Unfortunately, but she didn't get away. Perks of working with half a police and military unit."

One story turned into another, many of the operator's recalling times of fun moment. Dominic's best pranks, Maxim's CQC record attempt that disarming 4 people in quick session, Tachanka and Finka's drinking contest on base that ended with Doc forcing both of them to puke their guts out to avoid alcohol poisoning, Kali and Glaz's sniping contest which both were disturbed on when they caught sight of Lion chasing down Smoke over a prank Bandit came up with. The talk soon turned to missing places from their home towns, what they wanted to go see again and where they would visit on the next down time.

"Right well, I'ma go get more drinks." Saulo said as he stood up with Rook who offered to help carry. They got everyone's orders and headed off to the bar, Saulo watched the bartender fill out the orders with trained actions retaining to muscle memory and years of work while he chatted with Julian about different things. "Was that story true? The one Venny said about your scar?" Rook asked with a genuine smile. "Sadly. I'm honestly terrified of birds now. Fucker's just unsettle me." Chameleon replied, shaking his head a bit with a chuckle. "So that's why Monty doesn't bring Doux around, he never told us. I personally think she's a beautiful parrot." "I kindly asked him not ta speak about it but I'll agree she's pretty. Just don't want her near me is all." "Seems fair mon ami (my friend)." He agreed, taking a few drinks to add them in with the growing collection. A sudden presence behind them had both operator's tensing, thankfully Rook was the first to speak to the large man behind them. He greeted him with a smile, "We'll be out of the way soon." "I didn't come for a drink, I came for you short stuff. Been watching you since you came in." Julien shifted a bit closer to Saulo, he disliked starting anything or being center of attention. "I'm here with my friends and my boyfriend sir, I would very much love to return too them."

"I don't thank you understood my clearly, you're going to come back with me to my table and enjoy some drinks with us." "Olivier really wouldn't like that...Please move so we can return to our table." "What? That blond you were sitting with? He looks soft." "Sir... please I won't ask again. And don't try to start anything with him, he's a lot stronger than he looks. It's a warning for your own safety." Lion flicked his gaze from the card game in front of over to the bar, he noticed the uneasy expression his boyfriend held and slowly put down his cards much to Gustave's and Emmanuel's confusion until they followed his gaze over to the source of his distraction. Gilles released a knowing sigh. To say Lion was simply protective over Julien was a serious understatement. He was fiercely possessive, protective and loyal to anyone close too him. Rook's brow furrowed as he frowned at something the man had said, before he or Saulo could say anything he heard a chair from the table squeak across the floor followed by a booming voice that belonged to Lion, the name keeping his namesake. "Hey asshole!" The large french man barked as he stormed over, piercing blue eyes glaring pure anger into the civilian. Lion held nearly 7 inches on the man and had a much larger build. "I tried to warn you." Rook mumbled under his breath. "Get lost and leave them alone." Olivier snarled at the man who give a defiant look. "What? Thank you're scary just because you got muscle? I've been boxing for over 10 years and won several belts, you look like someone who just works out for fun." The arrogant man chuckled which was quickly cut off by Lion surging forward, the man's face met the bar with a loud thud. Thankfully Saulo and Julien had ben quick in moving with the drinks, careful not to spill any as a few of their friends cheered from their table. Lion twisted one of the man's arms behind his back, holding it there in a iron drip. "I don't care how long you've been boxing, don't speak to my boyfriend again. Understood?" He said with a deathly calm tone, he wasn't playing and Rook knew it. His worry starting to pool in his stomach as the owner came out from the back, upon seeing the operator's he had come to know he sighed and motioned for the bartender to clear out. He knew better than to get involved with the soldiers when someone pissed them off. Soon enough the man against the bar had called for his friends to help out instead of sitting down which got rainbow's attention. Smoke standing from his spot beside Mute, Montagne joining him along side Kapkan, Doc and Tachanka. They quickly got involved in the fight after a punch was thrown, by who no one could see outside the mass. All that mattered was the fact that the fight was over in minutes, the offending group at the feet of the operators. People around them cheered as they returned to their table, Lion gently wrapping an arm around Rook to guide him back. They passed around the drinks that had been ordered and acted as if nothing happened. Gustave inspected everyone for a moment, stopping at Olivier's hand right hand for any damage but boxing with James had toughened his skin, it only had light marks that would most likely bruise later but lesson learned to the other people. It was soon made better Julien linking his left arm with Lion's right as they sat back down, his smaller hand gently rubbing across his knuckles to sooth the irritated skin.

The rest of the night went by smoothly, eventually the bar closed and they had to leave. Saulo gave Venny a hug and promised to meet up again. Thankfully the bar wasn't that far from the base and most of them walked back while other's went to their apartments two blocks away. Little pieces of heaven away from work on the rare times they got away from work. The base settled down after drunken laughter and helping each other to their dorms, thankfully Doc and Montagne had stayed sober enough to make sure of that. They were like the responsible parents of the operator's that always checked in on everyone and watched like hawks for any issues. Doc made his rounds before bed and helped Montagne go about setting out drinks and meds for hang over's in the morning. Once that was done and everyone were in there respective rooms, the two GIGN operator's went back to their dorm and went to bed together.

#Kapkan #Doc #Tachanka #Lion #Rook #Montague #Glaz #Fuze #Smoke #Mute #Jager #Bandit #Kali #Twitch #Oc's #requests #fanficion

[tf2-headcanons-and-scenarios]

Headcanons for the mercs with an s/o with curly hair? 🥺

A/N: Just to spice things up, I’ll switch between short and long curly hair. To any male readers out there, you can definitely rock the long curly style if you want to! :D

Scout:

- Scout doesn’t think long hair suits him, which is why he thinks girls with long hair is pretty cute

- Your long curly hair is just sending him through the roof with glee

- He doesn’t really understand how much of a pain it is to maintain long hair, let alone curly hair

- He loves putting it up in some simple hairdos, mainly pigtails or buns

- One time he asked his mom to send him some hair products for you to use to keep your hair nice and curly and healthy. Let’s just say you were very happy that day

- He loves petting your head, it’s so curly and fluffy!!

Soldier:

- This guy lives and breaths military-grade haircuts, and he is surprisingly very good at giving them

- He makes an ‘exception’ with your head of hair after he sees your short and very curly locks

- By exception he really means ‘I find that so fucking cute on you but I don’t want to turn back from my own traditions but hot damn I’d die if you got rid of your hair...’

- He loves poking at it, and he really likes putting his chin on your head whenever you hug each other JUST so he can feel the fluff that is your hair

- You love the small gifts he gives you that you can put in your hair (things like hair clips)

Pyro:

- Pyro never really had a healthy head of hair, if one can call it that at all

- Seeing your long curly locks just sent them soaring, as if they finally found what it meant to have perfect hair

- They love playing with it, especially when they get to style your hair for you

- You love the little ribbons and clips Pyro puts into your hair, and in turn you style their hair too

- You make Pyro feel more loved and appreciated and less like a freak. Honestly they feel more at ease when they’re around you already, your curly hair is a very grateful bonus for them!

Demoman:

- Demoman appreciates a good hairstyle when he sees one, and you are no exception

- Your short curly hair strikes him in a way that makes his heart feel light, especially when it flows around your head whenever you move your head

- He runs a gentle hand over the curls, always mindful to avoid accidentally pulling on it or snagging a knot unintentionally

- One day you rocked up to the battlefield wearing a secure headband in your hair

- Demoman’s heart = Melted mess of ‘goddamn you’re fucking cute’

Heavy:

- Physical appearances aren’t necessarily everything to the Russian man, so long as you don’t do anything bad to your physical appearance and keep it maintained and healthy

- Your long curly hair reminds him of his sisters and how long their hair grew growing up (minus the curls)

- He is a very good hair stylist thanks to years of styling his sister’s hairs

- He loves helping you take care of it, and he loves how soft it is

- He won’t admit it, but he really loves your long hair, especially brushing it for you in places you can’t reach

Engineer:

- This Texan loves your curly hair, it’s a style that suits most fashion trends!

- Head scarfs? Damn straight that’s cute on you! Headbands? Adorable as fuck! Pigtails/Ponytails? Hi you are now too cute for society to handle

- Engi really likes giving you things that can maintain the health of your hair, among other hair accessories like ribbons and headbands

- You know that look when a pair of goggles are on your forehead and there is charcoal dust all over your face aside from the area where you wore the goggles? Yeah, add your short curly hair to the mix and Engi would literally be stunned silent

Medic:

- This man hasn’t seen many hairstyles, so seeing your long hair was a nice change. The fact that it was also curly made the change of scenery all the more pleasant

- This man would make sure that, whenever he was performing surgery on you, he would keep it clean and away from blood/tools because he doesn’t want to mess it up for you

- He gives you advice on how to maintain a healthy head of hair, thought he won’t admit that advice is to mainly keep it nice and pretty for a long time

- You find it cute whenever one of his doves gently nestles into your curly head of hair, and you’re touched by the fact that Medic specifically trained his doves to be gentle when playing around with your hair

Sniper:

- This man isn’t very picky when it comes to hairstyles, but that doesn’t go without saying that he does have a preference

- Said preference happens to be short, fluffy hair

- One day is waltz right on in as the newest team member and this Aussie mercenary is just looking at that GORGEOUS HEAD OF SHORT CURLY HAIR

- He is literally over the moon when he finally got to pet you on the head to find that your hair is so fucking soft

- He helps you brush it in the mornings, and he asks his mum to send him some of her hats she doesn’t use anymore so you can wear them on days off

- He has a small collection of your smiling face with beautiful hats on your equally beautiful head of hair

- Quite frankly, much like Pyro, he feels like he can be himself around you. The hair is a very welcoming bonus!

Spy:

- Spy is not always obvious with showing emotions, or displaying them in general. It’s just his nature

- When he catches feelings for you over time, he doesn’t know how to properly respond to them, often isolating himself away from you to try and let those feelings pass

- Unfortunately he caught hard-to-get-rid-of feelings for you and begins to show subtle signs of affection

- It’s 10x easier when he gets to play with your long curly hair. He loves running his hands through it gently and he equally loves styling it up for you

- Sometimes he gives you outfits that match well with your head of hair, and you love it

- This French assassin jut loves your hair. End of story

#tf2 #tf2 headcanons #tf2 x reader #tf2 scout x reader #tf2 soldier x reader #tf2 pyro x reader #tf2 demoman x reader #tf2 heavy x reader #tf2 engineer x reader #tf2 medic x reader #tf2 sniper x reader #tf2 spy x reader #scout x reader #soldier x reader #pyro x reader #demoman x reader #heavy x reader #engineer x reader #medic x reader #sniper x reader #spy x reader #tf2 scout #tf2 soldier #tf2 pyro #tf2 demoman #tf2 heavy #tf2 engineer #tf2 medic #tf2 sniper #tf2 spy

[brideofcthulhu10]

Okie doke so I have a lot of asks piled up but I’m gonna need to take my time with them. So in the meantime I’m gonna give you guys a few of my own personal writings while i weed through my writers block. I hope you can understand, I have fourteen prompts to get to but I am a little muddied on getting through each one. 

David Headcanons

Italian food used to be his favorite when he was alive. Santa Carla was flooded with immigrants from all over, especially a high concentration of Europeans so he had experienced real Italian cuisine from the few family owned joints that would come and go. When he was turned he tried to defy his vampire roots after learning that garlic didn’t hurt him- only to find out it didn’t hurt him EXTERNALLY. The tragic tango of pasta primavera in his stomach had him sick as a dog for days! Since he’s opted for other cuisines, but secretly he misses when he could freely ingest copious amounts of garlic

Outside of rock, David really loves classical music. Particularly foreign opera. Why? Because it is some of the most intense sounds you will ever hear. The melancholic arias of tortured souls left on the brink of tragedy soothe his untamed internal rage. However, he often doesn’t get to because as soon as he does Paul pitches a fit. 

“Aw whaaat? Classical? Who invited the old lady to the party?! “

“Will you shut up and let me listen to my music, asshole?”

“Ooooh excuse me! Yes of course, Lord Snooty von Dickweed. Would you care for your pet poodle and a plate of caviar? Hey! Maybe we can find your balls, dude”

Of course he could just kick him out but it’s far too much of a hassle. He’s genuinely pleased, albeit subtly so, when he managed to snatch up a walkman off a victim so he can listen to his music in peace. 

We’ve seen him smoke, but no one really gathers just what a chimney this guy is. David smokes practically every hour, when one burns out he just snags another. Any reason is a good reason to pull out a cigarette. Stressed? Smoke. Hungry? Smoke. Tired? Smoke. Happy? Smoke. But worst of all are his nicotine withdrawals. Seriously, do not approach him when he’s run out of cigarettes. It doesn’t matter who you are. Last time Paul tried to tease him while he was waiting for nightfall, David nearly threw him out into the sun. Withdrawal is far worse as a vampire than it was for him as a human.  His restless legs get far more jittery, his back can cramp, it’ll give him an agonizing headache, and his hunger is somehow amplified. 

Surprisingly, he can’t stand the 1931 film of Dracula with Bela Lugosi. Not that Lugosi doesn’t do a good job. In fact, it’s far too good. While not appearing visually the same as Vlad Dracul, the bastard who just so happened to be responsible for turning him and his friends back in 1906, his personality is extremely close. Just watching him slink in the shadows, waltzing about in that chilling Hungarian-Romanian accent boils David’s undead blood. If he’s going on the Universal monsters, he prefers Boris Karloff in Frankenstein. 

Over the years David has picked up Russian and French. When you’ve been unchanged in an abandoned wreckage of a hotel  for over eighty-one years, you learn to pick up a few things. Currently he’s learning German which he finds rather easy so far although he finds himself speaking a tad choppy at times. Sometimes he’ll use the wrong language and end up asking Paul to bring him the wine bottle of blood in Russian. Needless to say he was utterly confused and had to be retold in English.

Despite what one might assume, David does not enjoy having sex with multiple partners. Not polyamory, just sex in general. He finds that hollow humping up against some seasoned tart behind a bar before bidding adieu does nothing for him. If there’s no intense intimacy there’s less really keeping him invested. Now love isn’t exactly what is required, but there has to be some sort of connection to give him the desire to pursue a lover. Quality over quantity. Getting to know his partner is an exciting endeavor that allows him to take control, dominating him or her until they are utterly helpless to his will. A quick fuck is nothing but a way to kill time, which frankly he can find so many more productive things to do when he’s bored that require much more brain power and a lot less sticking himself in something, sorry, someone that he honestly doesn’t know where they’ve been. 

Halloween, of course, is his favorite time of year. However he also has a soft spot for Christmas. Frankly the whole peace on Earth and goodwill towards men crap makes him sick simply because no one had ever given a crap about him, but the entire feeling of it all did give him a sense of calm. The lights are a stunning sight for sure, and he'd even have a few less shitty humans mistaking him for one of the teen runaways living on the Santa Carla streets. Well, he wasn't , but he wasn't about to tell that to some sweet old lady handing out rusty tins of fresh brownies. Who the hell could waste brownies? Not him. His favorite memory goes back to 1904 when he and the boys managed to scrape up enough dough between pick pocketing gigs to share a room at a decent hotel. The managers wife even brought them up the leftovers from their own Christmas dinner, half a roast bird, a plate of rolls, a fat bowl of mashed potatoes and some gravy. They of course were grateful, and Paul couldn't help but flirt just to kiss ass. Dwayne got Paul a new knife, Marko got David this pretty swanky looking cigarette case he snatched off some rich dick who mistook him for a shoe shiner, David found some old iron ring they couldn't sell and gave it to Dwayne, and Paul got a few bottles of rum for them to get Yuletide hammered. Sure it didn’t sound like much of a big deal, but sitting on a real bed for once by a fireplace slamming back booze and roast chicken while whooping Marko’s ass in black jack was the first time in a long time he had genuinely laughed. Since then its been particularly blase, but Marko and Paul will often make a tradition out of a few bottles of booze, throwing some cheap decorations around the hotel, and they all spend the night playing card games over some take out roast chicken and a few quick sides. 

#lost boys 1987 #lost boys imagine #the lost boys #lost boys fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfiction writing #lost boys #fanfic #80s movies #lost boys david #lost boys head canon #headcanon #fandom #fanfiction author

[yoificfinder]

Hi! Hope you’re doing well! Do you have any recs for Magic AU fics? Thanks in advance and stay safe! 💖

Hi nonnie, here are some fics where they have magic--categorized into HP/Hogwarts AU and Other Magic AUs (I excluded superhero AUs tho as there's already a masterlist for that):

HP/Hogwarts AU

Canis Major by @yuripaws [G, 8K]

Viktor Nikiforov: Head Boy. Quidditch Captain. Outstanding in all his O.W.L.s. Excelling in all his N.E.W.T. classes.

Something about his eyes reminds Prefect Yuuri Katsuki of the strange dog that likes to patrol the corridors with him at night.

darling, we both know by @astoryaboutwar [E, 31K]

You can grow up with someone and be simultaneously better and worse for it.

(Or: the HP Wizarding World (not set in Hogwarts!) AU where they meet as preteens, fuck as teenagers, fall in love as adults, and occasionally find time to magically figure skate.)

Defying Gravity series by rinsled05 / @dreaming-fireflies [T and E, 58K]

Summary of first fic:

Imagine if Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, after the demise of you-know-who, started accepting foreign students in an effort for greater unity among wizarding communities around the world. Imagine that, in this changing climate of diversity and social acceptance, Hogwarts also decided to host an exchange programme with select students from Durmstrang Institute and Beauxbatons Academy of Magic for a semester.

Imagine, then, if a young Japanese wizard by the name of Yuuri Katsuki had transferred to Hogwarts to escape his past, just in time to meet a Russian Quidditch player who would blow open the very doors he was trying so desperately to close.

A story of love, magic, and teenagers trying to find themselves.

Falling For Your Charms by Reiya / @kazliin [T, 32K]

Professor Katsuki’s crush on Professor Nikiforov is supposed to be a great secret.

So naturally, the whole school knows

Open At The Touch by @kiaronna [T, 6K]

Maybe Nishigori got ahold of a lock of Viktor's hair, and some Polyjuice potion. Maybe it's all an elaborate prank. With this as his only reasonable explanation, he steps forward, snags Viktor by his robes and tugs him in.

"Nishigori," he says in Japanese, "this prank isn't funny. Your English is better than when I left, though."

"Ah," says the fake Viktor Nikiforov in English, voice dipping, and is he blushing? "What was that?"

"Maybe I got hit in the head by a Bludger," Yuuri muses. Viktor's smile grows ever wider, tightening at the edges. "Maybe I never came home from my international Quidditch competition. Maybe I'm lying in the hospital right now, hallucinating."

There has to be an explanation, mystical and magical or medical, for the best Seeker in the Quidditch world showing up at his door; something besides his portrait, which won't stop talking to Yuuri anyway.

Technical Support by @possibleplatypus [T, 18K]

Research had needed a new field-tester (they always needed new testers, as most Aurors would “test” an artefact only once before screaming to be reassigned), and thus the most decorated Auror in recent history was currently shouting into a modified “smart phone.”

Viktor was quite certain that phones were not alive, so he did not understand how they could be intelligent. He found that when it came to Muggles, it was best not to think too deeply into things.

“THIS IS NIKE,” Viktor bellowed into the thin, rectangular case. “CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW?”

The Dance of the Veela by @satbiym [M, 17K] *WIP

Listen, Victor has a lot on his plate, not only is he dealing with the dreaded Veela Maturity in a den of iniquity (ahem Hogwarts ahem), but he also has to find an appropriate Consort for his upcoming Veela Maturity Ball, held during the Winter Solstice, amongst the hundreds of people he is surrounded by everyday.

But How Does He Know?

A Fairy Tale in 3 Arcs.

Viktor is Luna Lovegood: The AU series by seventhstar / @pencilwalla [T, M, and E, 33K]

Magical theory nerd Viktor is determined to win quidditch prodigy Yuuri Katsuki's heart. Luckily, Yuuri is too busy crushing on him to notice his throngs of admirers.

warm-up hogwash series by antikytheras [G, 16K]

Summary of first fic:

Viktor Nikiforov is a genius. He tops the level without having to study and he can perform most spells without his wand. He was the second-ever first-year Seeker in the school, and the first Slytherin one at that. He’s a Parselmouth and he’s tamed the other basilisk hidden in the school’s plumbing. He has washboard abs and really defined hipbones. He’s the only son in a long line of pureblood Slytherins and he’s half-Veela and he can speak Mermish and he was born as Voldemort’s secret daughter which is why he’s prettier than half of the girls in school and—

‘Where do you even get all these?’ Viktor asks, eyebrows drawn together in bemusement. 'I'm not even a pureblood, I'm Muggleborn.'

Other Magic AUs

And Miles to Go Before I Sleep by @orchids-and-fictional-cities, @iruutciv [M, 41K]

Katsuki Yuuri has been cursed to spread misery and grief to those who dare to come close to him. Viktor Nikiforov has been sentenced to wander the earth, unable to die, granting wishes to mortals in the hopes that one of them might give his life meaning in exchange.

They meet in a tempest of April snow.

in distant castles mirrors broke by lily_winterwood / @omgkatsudonplease [E, 7K]

Yuuri had discovered his powers at a very young age.

For as long as he remembers, people have talked in hushed whispers around him, about him. About how the Northern Lights had shone at the hour of his birth, about the stars that had burst into existence alongside him. Yuuri has known, from a young age, that he’s destined for some sort of greatness.

The problem is, he’s not sure what sort of greatness it is, or if it’s even really greatness at all. After all, everyone says that sort of stuff about princes.

in which there is a moving castle by @fireblazie [T, 3K]

When Viktor opens his eyes, Yuri is staring at him with a horrified expression.

Granted, Yuri greets him with that face every time Viktor opens his mouth, so Viktor doesn’t quite grasp the gravity of the situation at first. But then it comes to him in stages: a gradual ache settling in his lower back, a peculiar stiffness in his joints, and, most horribly of all—

He runs towards the nearest mirror and freezes at the reflection that gapes back at him.

His hair.

Viktor screams.

(A sort of Howl's Moving Castle AU.)

My Name On Your Lips by @feels-like-fire [E, 108K]

Yuuri Katsuki has been betrothed to the High King's son, Victor, since he was just a child; furthermore, as an omega, he's forbidden from practicing magic in combat. For years, he's been able to put off the former because the Prince was traveling abroad, and gotten around the latter by practicing with his mentor in secret.

Now Victor Nikiforov has finally returned home, and Yuuri is being summoned to the capital for their wedding. He needs a plan to put off marriage long enough to find a way to break the betrothal, while keeping his practicing from being discovered.

If only the Prince didn't have other ideas.

Roses of May by @cuttlemefishwrites [E, 46K] *WIP

At age five, all children are assessed for talent and beauty in the City of Hasetsu and the other eight cities of the Empire. Every year, five are branded with the mark of a rose before being carded off to the Emperor’s palace where they are trained to become Roses, or sacrifices to be sent every May to the Ice Spirit that lives in the castle at the top of the mountain. Roses never return, except for Katsuki Yuuri, who shocks the Empire when he appears again two years after his departure with a silver crown on his head and a blond baby in his arms, demanding the Emperor step down or face the wrath of his husband, the Ice King. But, not everything is what it seems.

to the water's edge by @ebenroot [T, 84K]

Once upon a time, in a secluded tower that rests upon a cliff and is surrounded by tall trees, there lives a young man that faces a certain conundrum:

Katsuki Yuuri has fallen in deeply in love with a man he has never met.

Your Breath, My Skin by @lavenderprose [T, 5K]

"What did you do?" Yuuri mutters as Viktor takes off his coat and scarf.

Viktor's mouth moves soundlessly for a moment, then gestures for a pencil and pad. Yuuri yanks his way through several drawers and finally finds a grocery list pad and an old charcoal. He throws them in Viktor's direction and shuffles into the kitchen to turn the kettle on. Viktor tugs on his sleeve eventually, like a timid child, and Yuuri turns to see what he's written.

"A succubus?" Yuuri demands, teeth going on edge. "Viktor, oh my God. What did you do?"

Or: Viktor needs to stop finding new and creative ways to get himself hexed. Yuuri is Suffering.

---

ETA - Other people's rec:

A Story of Withcraft and Wizardy by @sophialala1 (She also recs other magic/fantasy AU fics in the replies and here's her ao3)

Magic & Ice by @ajwolf84

when the ice melts in the snow (that's when you'll love me) by lilithiumwords / @amberstarfight

Thanks for the rec, @alistairvt! ❤

#yuri on ice #yoi #yoi fic rec #victuuri #harry potter au #hogwarts au #magic

[not-close-to-straight]

Sugar, Sugar (Three)

We meet the rest of the gang and Tony makes a move on Stucky.

MASTERLIST HERE

*****************

“Hey gal pals!” Clint slammed the door to Natasha’s apartment and made a beeline for the kitchen. “Have the Wonder Twins came by with the daily cupcakes? I’m starving and too poor to buy real foo...” 

He let the sentence trail when he came around the corner and saw Steve and Bucky at the kitchen table and also Sam for some reason. “Oh uh--- hey a bunch of random men who doesn’t live here.” 

“You don’t live here either. And did you call us the Wonder Twins?” Bucky dragged the box of cupcakes away from the center of the table and closer to himself. “Because Stevie and I don’t look nothin’ alike. Definitely not twins.” 

“No no no.” Sam undid the wrapper on his third cupcake of the morning and took a big bite, spraying around crumbs as he finished, “We need to talk about why Clint apparently refers to Nat and Val as his gal pals.” 

“If I would’a known you were here I would’a called out for my man pals too.” Clint defended, and made grabby hands at the bakery box. “Don’t hog the goods, Bucky-baby. Share the love.” 

“The hell I will.” Bucky covered the box with a protective arm. “We only brought a dozen and fuckin’ Sam got to most of them. None for you. We’re keeping the rest.” 

“No you aren’t.” Valkyrie finally made it out of her room. “You boys gonna bring that crap here, you’re gonna share. Give it up, Bronco and give it up now.” 

Bucky sent the woman his fiercest scowl, then shouted, “OW!” when his fiercest scowl only earned him a smack upside the head. “Damn you, Val!” 

“Fuckin’ feed me, then.” Valkyrie patted at Steve’s shoulder, ran her hands through Clint’s hair and crooned, “Good morning, gorgeous.” then hip checked Sam right out of the way so she could get to the coffee. “What’s the flavor of the day?” 

“Coffee Caramel Macchiato.” Steve finally stopped stuffing his face long enough to speak. “Tony says it’s like coffee in a cupcake. Mornin’ Val. Clint. How’s it going?” 

“It’ll be better when you give me one of those.” the boys never knew whether it was impressive or scary that Valkyrie could put back sixteen ounces of straight black coffee without pausing for a breath, but either way the feat distracted Bucky enough that Val managed to snag two cupcakes from the box before he noticed. 

“Here, love.” she passed one to Clint, then hollered, “Tasha! Cupcakes! And coffee!” 

“I want coffee.” Natasha managed to be drop dead gorgeous even fresh out of bed, red hair perfectly tousled, full lips pouty, crop top and flannel pajama bottoms absolutely adorable and every head in the kitchen turned to watch her progress across the living room. “Stare a little harder Sam, I’m sure you won’t burn holes in my skin with all that laser like focus.” 

“Yeah I’m uh-- I’m not even sorry.” Sam shrugged unrepentantly. “Five years you’ve known me Tash. You don’t want me drooling on your kitchen floor, maybe put some clothes on before you come out of the bedroom.” 

“It’s my house, I’ll wear whatever the fuck I want.” Natasha snatched a towel off the counter and tucked it into Sam’s shirt, patting at his chest teasingly. “There. Drool away.” 

“Good morning, beauty.” Valkyrie pursed her lips for a kiss and Natasha promptly gave her one, then leaned over and gave Clint one as well. “Sleep okay?” 

“How do you not know how she slept? You two still aren’t sharing a bedroom?” Bucky tipped his head back and grinned when the tiny redhead passed behind them, and Steve added, “Haven’t you two been dating for a year now?” 

“I feel like that’s none’ya’bizness.” Valkyrie snorted. “Give me another cupcake.” 

“Oooh, more from our favorite sexy baker?” Nat crowded in between Clint and Valkyrie and snagged one from the box. “Speaking of people who are obviously in love but not doing anything about it--” 

Valkyrie smacked her in the ass and Natasha laughed over her shoulder at her. “-- what is this now? Three weeks you’ve been maxing out your credit cards buying cupcakes from Sweet Peach? And you still haven’t managed a date with the guy?” 

“Tony doesn’t date couples.” Bucky licked his fingers, then leaned over and kissed the frosting right off Steve’s lips. “He won’t even go out for drinks. The only way we see him is to visit the shop and Captain Do Gooder over here says we can’t just go to the shop and ogle Tony, we actually have to buy something.” 

“Yeah, cos shockingly enough, it’s creepy to show up every day and stare at him, Buck.” Steve pushed his boyfriend away when Bucky tried to steal a bite of his cupcake. “Tony tells us we don’t have to get cupcakes and he’s always real happy to see us, always lets us hang out while he’s working after hours but it still doesn’t seem right to take up space and not buy anything.” 

“So let me get this straight.” Sam took Valkyrie’s second cup of coffee and grimaced over a too large swallow. “Tony won’t date-- oh ho-ho-holy crap woman, how do you drink this sludge?” 

“Sack up or shut up.” Val countered and took her cup back. “Wuss.” 

“Anyway.” Sam blinked back some coffee induced tears. “Anyway. Tony won’t date couples, but you two still drag your happy asses down there every damn day to flirt and buy cupcakes even though you have no chance of getting anywhere with him? That just sounds... terrible. It sounds terrible.” 

“You don’t know the whole story.” Steve gulped at his coffee, then passed it over to Bucky. 

“Okay.” Clint intercepted the mug and stole a drink too. “What’s the whole story?” 

“We love him.” Bucky snatched the cup and glared around the kitchen. “How is there six people in this kitchen and only three coffee cups in circulation? Me and Stevie share cos we are adorable. The rest of you get your own damn cups.” 

“When you start doing dishes, you can complain about the cups.” Natasha informed him. “And what do you mean, you love him? You don’t love him.” 

“No, we definitely love him.” 

“You definitely don’t.” Sam snagged Natasha around the waist and dragged her up against his body, pinching her side when she giggled and shook her butt into him. “Settle down, Red. And you two Wonder Twins definitely don’t love Tony.” 

“I’m glad the Wonder Twin thing is catching on.” Clint got his arm around Valkyrie and smooshed a kiss to her lips, then hopped up on the counter and pulled the pretty girl between his legs, dropping his chin into her curly hair. “Seriously though. You don’t love Tony.” 

“You don’t know the whole story.” Steve said again, and this time Bucky finished, “You also haven’t seen his ass, so you know. You have no idea what th’fuck you’re talkin’ about.” 

“So what?” Sam shrugged. “He’s perfect? He’s funny? He’s the cream filling in your steroid jacked sandwich? What?” 

“All those things.” Bucky checked his phone and jumped up to get his coat. “Except the steroid jacked sandwich thing, you know damn well these muscles are one hundred percent real.” 

“Steve.” Natasha raised her voice to be heard over the chorus of jeers and disbelief when Bucky flexed dramatically. “Steve, seriously. Do you want me to look into this guy Tony for you?” 

“She means, do you want her to do that scary Soviet Spy thing where she uncovers everyone’s secrets and uses them to bring down nations.” Valkyrie clarified, smirking over at her sort of girlfriend. “Anything sketchy we should know about your baker?” 

“There’s nothing sketchy about Tony.” Bucky denied, at the same time Steve protested, “Tash! Do not do your scary Soviet spy thing! You’ll scare him away!” 

“First of all, I’m Russian.” Natasha corrected. “And second of all, I work in data entry, not espionage.” 

“Data entry.” Sam scoffed. “Cos we believe that. No way you work a regular nine to five, Tasha. Five years we’ve been friends and I’ve never seen you in office appropriate business wear ever. Data entry, my ass.” 

“Anyway.” Steve cleared his throat loudly. “Anyway, Tasha. No. You don’t need to look into Tony, why would you even think that?” 

“Cos somehow he’s got both you goons googly eyed and stupid over him and you can’t even tell me his full name.” she challenged. “Cos he is dead set against dating couples but lets you hang around anyway. Because if I didn’t half believe you dummies about being in love with him already, I’d worry he was gold digging or something else along those lines. I should look into him. He seems suspicious.” 

“The last time you looked into someone, they disappeared with out a trace, Tash.” Clint spoke up from halfway through his second cupcake. “Remember that? What was her name, that foxy chick that shanked Sam and stole half his money?” 

“NOBODY SHANKED ME!” Sam bellowed and Valkyrie cackled with glee. “We got a little feisty in bed and one of her long ass nails jabbed me in the side!” 

“She did steal half your money though, right?” Bucky waggled his eyebrows. “Right? Put one hand down your pants and the other into your wallet and about emptied your bank account?” 

“I have a giving spirit.” Sam groused. “I thought we were talking about Steve and Bucky falling in love with crazy people, not me!” 

“Alright alright alright.” Clint clapped his hands a few times. “We are talking about Steve and Bucky falling in love, not Sam and his shockingly terrible taste in partners.” 

“We’re not talking about it at all actually, cos I’m about to be late for work.” Steve handed the last cupcake to Natasha and blew Valkyrie a kiss. “Buck? Let’s go.” 

“Coming, sweetums.” Sam called in a high falsetto, oophing over a quick jab in the ribs courtesy of Natasha. “This conversation isn’t over! We want to meet this Sweet Peach baker!” 

“Hell, we don’t need their permission.” Valkyrie shrugged. “Let’s just mosey down to the bakery and meet Tony oursel--” 

“Nope.” Steve stuck his head back around the corner and pointed at them. “None of you are meeting Tony until Bucky and I have a chance to explain about you all.” 

“What’s there to explain?” Clint wondered, and Bucky yelled from the front door, “We gotta explain why we’re friends with a bunch’a assholes!” 

They ran away down the elevator to a background of boo’s and vaguely worded threats, and Bucky was still laughing when he pushed Steve into the elevator then crowded up against the blond and lay a searing kiss on his lips. 

“Hey hey hey.” Steve huffed a laugh, brushed his knuckles over Bucky’s cheek and slowed the kiss down to something a little easier. “What was that for?” 

“Oh, because Nat and Val make me horny.” Bucky said over a grimace. “Which is... so weird.. but I’ve given up fighting it. I think it’s cos Nat is fuckin’ scary and Val isn’t scary but looks like she could seriously fuck you up.” 

“So... the potential for violence makes you horny?” 

“You’re one to talk Stevie, you got a boner watching football last night.” 

“It was an impressive touchdown!” Steve turned positively scarlet. “A hail mary play and a run down the field and--” 

“There’s nothing impressive about football, baby doll.” Bucky hushed him with another kiss. “But it sure is cute how you get all sparkly eyed and shit. Let’s get to work.” 

“Fine.” Steve grumbled a little on the elevator down, but once they were out on the sidewalk again he asked, “Are we bein’ dumb about Tony?” 

“Fuckin’ stupid.” Bucky confirmed immediately. “I’m half outta my mind over the guy because of the way his booty wiggles. You almost broke your neck watching him pull cupcakes out the other day. He sings that stupid ‘yummy yummy I’ve got love in my tummy song’ and you made the sorta noise you only make when I get up inside you. And every time he holds that frosting bag I think it’s connected to my damn dick. We are fuckin’ stupid, Stevie.” 

“Okay, I wasn’t actually talking about all of those things.” Steve was blushing again and Bucky grinned at him. “I mean, are we bein’ dumb cos he doesn’t want anything to do with a couple beyond just hanging out and being friends, and we keep coming around sorta obviously hoping for more.” 

“Oh thank god, we’re only bein’ sorta obvious.”

“I’m being serious.” Steve grabbed at Bucky’s hand and yanked him to a stop. “Three weeks, Buck. We’ve seen him every day for three weeks--”

“Not every day, we didn’t actually see him yesterday, remember? Or last Friday.” 

“--pretty much every day for three weeks. We laugh and we talk and it’s a hell of a good time but do you think we’re wasting our time?” 

“Alright.” Bucky pulled a hair tie from his pocket and looped his hair up and out of his eyes. “Alright Stevie, you know what I think? I think it’s pretty damn obvious Tony’s nursing a hell of a broken heart, definitely got burned falling in love with a couple before. I think he’s being real cautious and tryna take things slow but I also think that the other night when you told him how cute he was he about blushed his adorable ass right through the floor and Sunday he looked so damn relieved when we walked through the door, I know he was waiting for us.” 

“You think he likes us.” 

“I think he’s a totally smitten kitten.” Bucky confirmed. “Which works out pretty well cos we’re fuckin’ lost for him, right? Right?” 

“Right.” 

“And I know I haven’t stopped talkin’ about his ass, but we like him, right? Care about him a little bit, at least. I missed him like hell last night, didn’t you?” 

“Yes.” this time it was Steve that initiated a less-than-publicly- appropriate kiss. “Yes. Care about him sorta a weird amount seein as how we’ve only known him a month and yes, missed seeing him last night.” 

“So what’s the problem?” Bucky pointed out. “We’re fuckin’ stupid over him but that don’t mean we’re being dumb about him, right?” 

“Right.” Steve finally smiled again. “Thank you.” 

“Yeah yeah, I’m the whole package.” Bucky kissed him back and growled playfully. “I’ve got plenty of brawn and a surprising amount of brains too. Who’d’a thunk it?” 

“Wow, that was a bad sentence.” Steve shook his head and started back down the street. “Who’d’a thunk it. Jesus, Buck.” 

***************

***************

Sweet Peach Bakery had been closed for an hour and a half by the time Steve and Bucky finished at the gym and made it down the street, so Bucky banged on the door while Steve called the bakery number to let Tony know they were outside. 

“Well well well, if it isn’t my favorite hot bodies!” Tony’s cheeks were flushed, his smile stretched a little too wide when he made it to the door, and Bucky raised his eyebrows when he saw Tony’s more than half full glass of wine. “You didn’t come by last night, I thought maybe I finally scared you away!” 

“Not a chance.” Steve set his bag down and motioned to the cup. “Start the party without us?” 

“Oh come on, we all know it’s not a party until the hot people arrive.” Tony winked and nudged Bucky gently. “What’s with the murder scowl, Buck? You bummed cos you don’t have any wine yet?” 

“Not scowlin’ sugar.” Bucky was quick to smile, even quicker to reach out and tug at Tony’s apron strings. “Just wonderin’ what happened today that you broke into the wine ahead of schedule?” 

“Not ahead of schedule.” Tony tipped his head back and emptied the glass, then sashayed his way back behind the counter to get more. “I think I’m late breaking into it actually. You two weren’t here to help with it last night so I had to drink your share too.” 

“Well we’re here now.” Steve followed Tony around the counter and grabbed two more glasses, passing one to Bucky. “Fill us up and tell us about your day.” 

“My day.” Tony’s laugh sounded strained. “Oh man, my day? I pissed off a bride and lost a huge wedding job, that’s how my day went.” 

“Oh damn.” Bucky uncorked the wine and refilled Tony’s glass most of the way full, then poured a little for he and Steve as well. “I thought you were like the bride whisperer, Tony. What the hell happened?” 

“Vegan bride.” Tony made a kissy face at Bucky before taking a swig from the fresh glass. “Which is fine you know? It’s fine. I can work with that. Hey you know what would relax me? Come here and sit in my office, tell me which of the overly expensive chairs I bought feels better on Steve’s ridiculous butt.” 

“Really?” Steve challenged. “Gonna use the words ‘ridiculous’ and ‘butt’ in the same sentence and make it about me?” 

“Have you seen your ass?” Tony tossed over his shoulder, and motioned them through the kitchen. “I could bounce a quarter off that thing, Blondie.” 

“Can confirm.” Bucky gave the aforementioned ass a quick swat. “Why’d you get new couches though?” 

“Rhodey threw out my other ones.” Tony unlocked the door to his office and turned on the lights. “I dunno why though, couches I got at a garage sale in the late eighties are still usable, right? They went through all the college dorm parties and every single one of my apartments and at one point I gave them away but then found them again at a different garage sale-

“Wait, what?” 

“--so I got them back!” 

“Tony. Are you serious?” 

“And college orgies aren’t all that wild, we all used condoms so total minimal body fluids--”

“OH MY GOD!” 

“FROM THE LATE EIGHTIES!?”

“I mean, I lost my virginity on the big one so--”

“TONY WHAT THE FUCK?!” 

“-- it was sentimental! Rhodey had no right to throw it out!” 

“I feel like Rhodey should’a called so we could give him a hand.” Steve decided. “God, Tony. Couches aren’t meant to survive thirty years of college sex and garage sales, they are meant to give us a few years of comfiness and then die dignified deaths on the street corner.” 

“There’s nothing dignified about street corners.” Tony disagreed. “And it’s so much harder than you’d think to find neon floral print couches these days? Rhodey made me get boring blue ones.” 

“Sorry, was that neon floral print?” Bucky picked up a photo from Tony’s desk and squinted at it in disbelief. “Holy shit, that is a neon floral print couch.” 

“Where?” Steve peered over Bucky’s shoulder, gaping at the picture. “Wow. Tony has your hair always been that fluffy? How the hell do you control that mess? Bucky, did you see this?” 

“Cupcake, your hair is like eight inches off your forehead.” Bucky whistled as if impressed. “What is that, Flock of the Seagulls, huh?” 

“You aren’t that tall, either.” Steve cocked his head curiously. “Tony are you-- are you wearing lifts in your shoes?

“High heels were in for men back then!” Tony snatched the picture back and set it face down on the desk. “And I use lots of hair gel okay?! And by the way? There’s absolutely nothing wrong with that couch. It was a conversation starter!” 

“Yeah, I feel like I’d have something to say if I walked into a room and that monstrosity was taking up the main wall.” Bucky agreed. “I’d have something to say if I walked into a room and saw you hair fluffed like that too--ow!” 

He wheezed when Tony jabbed at his stomach. “My chubbiness!” 

“Chubbiness?” Tony rubbed at his finger as if it hurt. “That was like poking a brick wall, what chubbiness? Fuck, I think you broke my finger.” 

“Well maybe stop poking and start groping, less chance for broken fingers.” Steve darted around Tony and got the picture again. “My word, is this Colonel Rhodes wearing suspenders and pants up to his nipples? Does he know this picture exists?” 

“I’m gonna hang it in the bakery as revenge for him taking my couches!” Tony grabbed for the frame and Steve just held it up higher, grinning over Tony’s outraged squawk. “This picture is like the gift that keeps on giving, Tony. Are you wearing glitter lip gloss right here?” 

“Let me see?” Bucky didn’t even have to stretch to take the picture from Steve, holding it over Tony’s head and flattening one big hand into Tony’s chest to keep him away. “Ho-ho-holy shit, that’s glitter lip gloss and definitely some eyeliner.” 

“THE EARLY NINETIES WERE A DIFFICULT TIME FOR ME!” Tony screeched. “FASHION WAS FLUID!” 

“Fashion was terrible.” Steve finally took pity on Tony’s futile jumping and set the photo back on the desk. “Buck, you’re not allowed to make fun of me wearing polo’s and khakis in high school anymore. Not now that we know Tony wore eyeliner and lip gloss.” 

“I didn’t agree to that.” Bucky said easily. “I’ll make fun of your old man khaki’s till the day I die. Tony, we need to have a serious conversation about your clothing choices.” 

“Oh for fucks--” Tony threw up his hands in disbelief. “I don’t see you taking issue with my leggings and aprons and croppy tops!” 

“We need to have a serious conversation about your past clothing choices.” Bucky amended. “I’m all about that sweet peach in those leggings.”

“And definitely never stop wearing croppy tops.” Steve interjected. “Oh but weren’t you telling us about a vegan bride?” 

“Yeah, did she get mad cos your booty is cuter than her boo--”

Bucky shut up when Tony suddenly leaned in and kissed him-- or rather, leaned up and kissed him. Tony had to stand on his toes and grab both hands in Bucky’s shirt and yank the big brunette down to get their lips together, and it might have been determination on Tony’s part or maybe Bucky being too stunned to resist, but damn it was a hell of a kiss anyway. 

“--booty.” Bucky finished lamely when Tony let him go. “I um-- booty. I got uh-- holy crap. I got nothing. Stevie?” 

“Too busy to talk, Buck.” Steve took two big steps forward and whirled Tony around, gathering him right up into his chest and bending him over into a long kiss. One hand in Tony’s curls, the other low low over the rise of that irresistible peach, and Tony made an eep! sort of noise when Steve groaned against his tongue. 

“That was uh--” the words barely worked, so Tony cleared his throat once or a dozen times and tried again. “--that was just as good as I assumed it would be. Grade a kissers, you two. Good work, team. I wondered if those mouths were good for anything other than flirting and terrible jokes.” 

“Uh-huh.” Bucky was still licking the taste of Tony of his lips, pale eyes glowing. “You wanna see what else this mouth is good for?” 

Steve cursed like he was choking, palming at his cock through his jeans and hissing out a half desperate, “Bucky! Just a little bit subtle, yeah?” 

“Says the guy jerking off through his zipper.” Bucky retorted without taking his eyes off Tony. “So what’s up, sweet thing? Wanna ride my face?” 

“BUCKY!” 

Tony bit at his lip, ducked his head and peeked up from beneath ridiculously thick lashes, his fingers playing at the strip of skin between the top of his leggings and the bottom of his crop top. 

“So um, my vegan bride.” He smothered a giggle when Steve did another one of those mangled curses. “She wanted whip cream frosting and her husband asked what vegan whip cream was and I said air and um--” 

Belly button rings had no business being so distracting, but Bucky and Steve almost fell over all the same when Tony’s shirt lifted another inch to show off the brand new cup cake charm. 

“--and um, the husband laughed at my joke but the bride apparently doesn’t think veganism is funny in the least or maybe future hubby had made too many jokes already but she flipped out and cancelled the whole thing.” 

Tony sucked in a quick breath when Steve jerked forward like he wanted to touch him again. “Anyway, I’m pretty sure I ruined the wedding by making a joke about vegan whipped cream and it was a big job to lose so you know. That’s why I was drinking early.”  

“And the kiss?” Bucky held out his hand and crooked his fingers coaxingly.  “What was that about?” 

“I told you.” Tony lifted one shoulder in a half hearted, teasing shrug. “I wanted to know if your mouth was good for anything other than flirting. Steve? You gonna try out that couch or what?” 

“Yeah, I think I should probably sit down.” Steve sat alright, sat and grabbed a throw pillow and placed it over his crotch, thoroughly loving how Bucky’s eyes immediately zeroed in on the all too obvious pillow, and how Tony’s eyes sparked hot and interested at the motion. “Buck. Come sit down. This is definitely the most comfortable couch in the world.” 

Tony laughed under his breath when Bucky sat immediately, sprawling back onto the cushions and spreading his legs wide in what could only be an open invitation. 

“You two are gorgeous.” Tony said after a long moment of perusal. “And I was right, you sitting on my couches did relax me. Also, I’m apologizing for kissing you without permission but I’d like it to be noted that I am not actually sorry in the least.” 

“Noted.” 

“I’d also like it to be noted that uh--” Tony drew his finger over a distractingly full bottom lip and nearly purred in pleasure when both men’s mouths fell open in response. “--that while I have every intention of riding the hell outta Bronco’s face--” 

“Fuck me, I’m gonna embarrass myself in my pants in like two seconds.” Bucky muttered. 

“--and while I would be very much into getting everything beneath that pillow down my throat--” 

Steve threw his head back and grit his teeth until his jaw hurt. “Christ, Tony.” 

“-- and even though I’m pretty sure I missed the hell outta you two last night and that’s not something I’m willing to think too much about right now?” Tony paused for effect. “I’m still not going to date you. I don’t want a relationship. No way. These last three weeks have been super fun, I’ve had a great time getting to know you both but I’m ready to move past drinking wine together and towards the part where I smear frosting over your dicks and lick it off.” 

He waited another beat and finished, “We all have to be on the same page, okay? More importantly, you two need to be on the same page cos I’m not about to ruin a relationship just to get my hands on what I imagine is a combined sixteen inches of grade A beef. Alright? Everyone good with that?” 

It took Steve a full three minutes to manage a sentence-- “I wish I could laugh, because that was pretty amazing sass but I’m not actually thinking with anything above my waist. Buck? Got anything?” 

“Literally nothing.” Bucky didn’t bother trying. “Nope. Not right now.” 

“Okay, well.” Tony straightened his little apron and cleared his throat, cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling and preening with satisfaction at having rendered both Steve and Bucky absolutely stupid. “When you two figure it out, why don’t you let me know? I have cake pops to make. Stay as long as you want, but if you’re still here in half an hour I’m gonna make you mop.” 

“Uhhhh sure?” 

***************

A half hour later, Tony was busy portioning out batter for tomorrow mornings streusel muffins and Bucky was busy washing dishes. Steve was mopping the customer area, slow jazz was playing over the speakers and Tony’s heart was almost pounding out of his chest while he waited for one of them to bring up the conversation from the office. 

He hadn’t been lying-- he was more than ready to give Bucky a test drive and definitely was ready to deal with polo’s and khakis if it meant watching Steve come apart via blow job but there was no way-- there was no way Tony wanted a relationship.

Fool me once, shame on me. Fool me twice....

“We need to have a conversation.” Steve told Bucky as he rolled the mop bucket past the sink. “Tonight.” 

“You need to blow me.” Bucky retorted. “Or at least bend over and let me at that ass. I’m not talking about nothin’ while my dick is trying to climb outta my pants, alright? Not happening.” 

“That’s fair.” Steve grinned a little bit. “But still. At some point we need to have a conversation.” 

“Yep.” 

“About Tony.” 

“Yeah, no shit, Stevie.” 

“I love you.” 

“I love you too.” Bucky spun around and kissed Steve square on the lips, holding him close. “I love you, baby. So so much.” 

“Hey! Anyone want to come lick my spoon?!” Tony called, and Steve squealed in shock when Bucky chomped down into his lip. 

“Bucky! Damn it!” 

“Sorry sorry sorry.” Bucky groaned. “I was trying to be sexy but then Tony mentioned spoons and--” 

“Okay we need to get you home.” 

“Yes we fucking do!” 

Tony barely looked up when Bucky and Steve grabbed their jackets, but he froze in place when they each left a gentle kiss on his cheek. “What’s up, guys?” 

“We’ll see you tomorrow, alright honey?” Steve swept his fingers down Tony’s back to rest at the bow of his apron. “We’ll be here right at closing.” 

“Talk to you real soon, sweet thing.” 

“Ooookay.” Tony waved them out the door nonchalantly, easy smiles and casual sips of his wine until they were out of sight down the sidewalk. 

Then he grabbed his phone and made a phone call. 

“Heya Tones.” 

“Heya platypus!” Tony said cheerfully. “Guess who’s gonna get fuckin’ railed tomorrow night?” 

There was nothing but horrified silence on Rhodey’s end, then a scream of laughter that could only be Pepper, and when Tony listened a little closer, he could hear general restaurant sounds in the background as well. 

“Oh uh--” he coughed. “Out for dinner with Pepper, huh?” 

More screams of laughter, and then one of those famous world ending, longest suffering sighs that only Rhodey could pull off. 

“I’ll just-- just let you go, hm?”

“Goddammit, Tony.” 

*******************

SAY SOMETHING ABOUT THE CHAPTER!

*******************

@thanossucks @atomicfandombomb @thebuckybrigade @fanfic-up-to-my-tits @starknakedsluts @basiad @everything-is-applepie @kimstark @tulipsnbigcats

@ships-galore @ceealaina @izziebladez @cwar1864 @hausoffro @lookuplaughing @tonystarkisanangel @multishippinglife @girlnic @iam93percentstardust @water-colouredmemories @paranormalmoonlight5 @igotloki @moosette05 @wayward-student-philosopher @kaz-brekkers-gloves @atomicfandombomb @ad1thi @1fuckingshitup69 @agentlokii

#ncts fics #stuckony #stucky #tony stark #steve rogers #bucky barnes

[artificialqueens]

&New (Sashea) - Chae

summary: shea is a famous model, sasha is a famous designer. they *attempt* to have a nice, low-key, friendly date. a paparazzi has other plans.

a/n: i just posted this finished product to ao3 and thought why not bless the tl (wait is this even considered a tl.. well anyways) with some Sashea aka my favorite ship ever– whilst also proving i am not dead! also the lil marked line is where the smut starts i really said “cute… but also porn”

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24913066?show_comments=true&view_full_work=true#main

“What are you thinking about?” 

“Hm?” Sasha looked at Shea from behind her coffee mug, taking a sip of the scalding beverage and carefully wiping around her red lipstick. “Nothing, really.”

“You sure?” Shea raised an eyebrow. If Shea knew one thing, if there was one motto she lived by, it would be that ‘Sasha is always over-analyzing something.’ Today, it could be her coffee at best, or her entire relationship with Shea at worst. 

“I swear!” Sasha laughed, her eyes crinkling up in that adorable way they did, her mouth turning into a little scarlet-colored heart. If Shea knew two things, if there was a second motto she lived by, it would be that she could watch and listen to Sasha laugh forever and ever. 

“What are you thinking about, Miss Coulee?”

“You,” the model answered honestly. There probably wasn’t a day Shea didn’t think about Sasha. No, fuck a day, a minute. They were ‘friends,’ sure, but both of them knew it was much more than friendship.

Unfortunately, the entire general public suspected the same thing.

Yes, Sasha was famous, but Shea was mainstream. Everyone knew about her, the newest model-Instagram-star-actress-songstress-activist-pole-dancing diva on the scene. And everyone caught on when Shea and the popular designer she’d walked for during fashion week were spotted in public together on numerous occasions. Straight social media played it off as business-partners and friends, but any fan with a brain—especially Shea’s young, very queer fanbase— would spot the gay energy from miles away. 

And just like Shea’s sexuality, their relationship was undefined.

“Me?” The coy question was followed by the clack of Sasha’s teeth against the silver fork that held a pastry, which she placed delicately in her mouth. 

“I said that,” Shea affirmed, her expression reading serious, yet her eyes gazing at the blonde with adoration. 

“Why are you thinking about me?”

Shea scoffed. “Why am I not thinking about you?”

“You are a busy woman.”

“Not busy enough for you to leave my head.”

Sasha’s pale cheeks reddened. It was common for them to flirt, she should have been used to it. But every time Shea said something nice to her, she couldn’t help herself. God herself could have been complimenting Sasha and it wouldn’t compare to what Shea Coulee had to say. That was to say God wasn’t Shea Coulee. 

Shea loved it when Sasha stared at her. When her piercing blue eyes bore into her soul like she was solving an unsolvable equation. It was funny how the petite woman considered Shea a goddess (she knew she did), when the only thing Shea wanted to worship was Sasha. Everything about her: her kind smile, her perfectly and uniquely beautiful face, her analytical shenanigans, her voice that sounded like how honey felt sliding down your throat. Almost a year of friendship, and every moment with her felt brand new.

All of a sudden, Sasha’s eyes snapped to somewhere behind Shea’s head, and her face fell. Shea had a feeling she knew what she was looking at, turning around to see a familiar camera nearing the coffee shop. Her heart dropped to her stomach, not wanting this paparazzi bitch to ruin the amazing day she’d planned for the two of them. 

“Let’s go,” Sasha said hushedly, picking up her bag and completely ignoring her unfinished food and coffee mug.

Shea nodded, doing the same, a plastic cup filled with her frappuccino in one hand and Sasha’s own hand in the other. They’d held hands a few times, sure, but nothing beat the rush of interlacing her fingers with the shorter woman’s. She hadn’t really held her before, hadn’t cuddled or snuggled her often, but when she had Sasha’s dainty hand in hers it almost made up for every time she wanted to hug the breath out of her. 

They raced down the street laughing, the entire situation almost comical. They looked like two crazy women, walking so fast it might have been classified as a jog and cackling like schoolgirls. But it felt right. As cheesy as that might sound, there wasn’t a better word for it. Familiar. Comfortable. Right. 

Again, that was implying that everything didn’t feel right when Shea was with Sasha.

Shea led the other girl a few streets down, ducking behind a mahogany door and checking if the coast was clear. The pair found themselves in a small thrift shop—well, small was an understatement. It was a pretty big thrift shop. But it was quaint, and very artsy, very post-vintage. Very Sasha.

The designer, wearing her sunglasses to hopefully conceal her identity (some face mask, especially next to Shea, who forgot hers at home), looked at the shop in awe.

“Shea… where—”

“The internet,” the taller woman replied smugly.

“You went out of your way to find this for me?”

“It’s the least I can do,” she chuckled. “I wanted today to be fun for us.”

Sasha smirked. “With the camera creep on our tails?”

“More fun for us. Keeping you on your toes.”

The blonde laughed, a soft and knowing giggle. She perused the racks of clothing, feeling the fabric of every sleeve, every pant leg, tracing her fingers along the leather of heeled boots. Shea anticipated the well-dressed woman to pick up a garment multiple times, but she never did, not even the ones she thought were cute. Which left them for Shea, of course, but it also left her wondering what kept her from purchasing them. The designer was known to purchase both expensive and average priced clothes, Sasha caring more about the fit, the cut, the style more than who made it. But she was being extra picky today.

“Something on your mind?” Shea asked.

“No. Just… none of these are speaking to me.”

“Suit yourself,” the model clutched a fur jacket and a PVC skirt in her hands, ready to snag the cute plastic earrings at the cashier before checking out. 

“Are you at least getting some inspo?” she asked again.

“Yes! I think. I don’t know. If it’s from this. I’m inspired, though. I’ve been inspired,” Sasha played with a lock of her curly blonde hair. 

“By…”

“You.”

Shea smiled. “Me?” she mimicked Sasha’s earlier response. 

“Shea,” the russian rolled her eyes. “Stop making fun of me when I confess my undying love,”

“Is that what we’re doing now?” Shea feigned surprise. “In the middle of the store?”

“Let’s buy you some lesbian earrings, I don’t think I’m going to get anything. Today,” she added.

It was when they were at the cash register when they simultaneously spotted the paparazzi—again. The same one. Across the street. Coming closer. Fuck.

Sasha bit her lip, not wanting to abandon the clothing Shea seemed so excited about. She didn’t have much time to think, so she mustered a “could you put these on hold? We’ll be back eventually,” before sliding the worker a twenty for their hassle. Whether or not they accepted that offer was yet to be found out, as Sasha and Shea were already out the door.

Their rush to escape the prying eyes of the cameraman took them to the metro, into a subway car, breathlessly plopping down in the only two open seats. Would either of their management teams let something like this occur? No. 

Well. Too late. They were off, hopefully away from the paparazzi for good this time.

The pair kept their heads down in order to attempt to conceal their identities, as if that would do much on a crowded subway. But attempt was the key word in this situation. It didn’t stop them from stealing glances at each other the entire ride, smiling stupidly at absolutely nothing.

“So, Shea,” Sasha started.

“So, Sasha.”

“Where are we going?”

“Dummy, you’ll see, that’s the whole point.”

“You did not just call me a dummy.”

“What if I did, blondie?”

“Perpetuating not only female stereotypes, but hair color stereotypes? Tsk tsk,” Sasha shoved the taller woman’s arm lightly. Shea giggled in that full, sexy way that her voice always sounded, her voice trailing off into nothing, the pair falling into comfortable silence for a few moments. 

“What?” Sasha asked, her voice laced with a joking tone.

“Nothing, I just like your face,” Shea replied with a wink.

“Oh my god, I swear I’m going to kill you one of these days,” Sasha rolled her eyes playfully, her cheeks flushing pink. 

The train stopped, Shea perked up.

“This is us,” she said, her pearly white teeth peeking out from a satisfied smile.

Once again their hands interlaced in a gentle display of affection, Shea more familiar with public transport (despite a couple years of not using it) than Sasha, leading her through the complicated catacombs of the metro station.

They emerged in a park, and a smile immediately found itself creeping onto Sasha’s face. Reluctantly, they severed their skin-to-skin contact at the sight of the crowded lawn, Sasha dubitifully following Shea’s path.

Their altitude heightened and the amount of people decreased, and the sun shone bright on the two girls as the hill they climbed steepened.

Shea stopped, smiling at the sight of a familiar footpath. 

“It’s still here!” She pointed out, mainly to herself, almost jogging through an overhang of trees. 

Sasha scurried after her, the sun disappearing briefly behind the leaves before reappearing even brighter than before in a small, protected, deserted clearing, overlooking the entire city.

Shea stood at the edge, looking like nothing short of a painting with a slight breeze ruffling her long black hair, set against the picturesque landscape.

Sasha appeared behind her, the sunlight bringing out her rosy cheeks and freckles. 

In that moment they were joined together in the same work of art.

“Shea, this is so beautiful,” was all Sasha could say.

“I came here to think when I was younger, after school. I kind of hated my friends. And then I met new ones, and then we came here at night and we drank and we smoked. And then, you’ll never guess,” Shea explained excitedly. Sasha hung onto her every word like it was gospel, wanting to retain every single slice of the taller girl’s life.

“I think I have some idea,” Sasha laughed.

“I had my first kiss here, too. Only good memories. I haven’t been back for a while, but I guess I just never found the need to.”

“We’re coming back, Shea. When we get chased by paparazzi, we’ll go here,” Sasha said, her eyes darting from the city to Shea and back again, not quite sure which sight was more beautiful.

They found themselves laying in the grass, side by side, staring up at the clouds. Cliche, but so, so wonderful.

“I’m just glad we ditched that creep,” Shea mused.

“I just— what does he want? What does he want out of seeing us together?” Sasha pursed her lips.

“I think you know just as well as I do.”

“Yeah, the fans get even more fuel for their shipping fire.”

“We are always together… “

“Of course, but we’re not together together.” 

Pause.

Shea turned her head to Sasha, who was already looking at her. 

“What if I wanted… to be together. Together,” the words weren’t exactly unplanned, but they still sounded alien to Shea’s lips.

“Shea—”

“No, it’s fine if you don’t. I just thought, natural progression.”

“Shea, oh my god, I think I love you,” Sasha’s warm hands were on Shea’s cheeks. 

“Wh-” and the word was cut off by the most magical, euphoric, shiny sparkly fiery kiss that Shea had ever experienced in her life. The first thing she registered was the taste of coffee and vanilla still on Sasha’s lips. The second was each time their tongues found their way into the others mouth it an entire fireworks show exploded. The third was her arms snaking around the pale girl’s small waist and her own arms tracing up and down Shea’s side. 

“I love you,” Sasha repeated against Shea’s lips, catching them between her own red-stained mouth. 

“I love you, too, Sasha Velour. That’s what I wanted to say today. Thank you for making it easier,” Shea kissed the other girl’s nose.

“You put together this whole day for us, for it to get ruined, for you to bring me here?”

“We were coming here no matter what. Only good things happen here. Sasha, you’re the best thing yet.”

Sasha blushed, unabashedly now, then pressed another kiss onto Shea’s lips. She traced the side of the raven-haired woman’s face, Shea sighed into her mouth.

“Would you like to be my girlfriend?” she asked, Sasha laughing at the obvious question.

“Nothing would make me happier. Really.”

The gaydar of the world was correct, it seemed, in picking soulmates in the two girls.

Under the light of the sun, in the grass, with the breeze sliding over their faces, they were Living & New.

——

The door clicked shut.

And Sasha’s pale, slender hand dropped from the handle. She turned around, eyes scanning the woman taking off her jacket.

Shea looked back with a smirk, finding it hilariously sexy when Sasha tried to give ‘the look.’

“There’s no need for bedroom eyes, we’re already in your bedroom.”

“Really? I would have never guessed,” the blonde teased as she took their coats and shoes and placed them by the door. They’d come in so excitedly that they headed straight for Sasha’s room without thinking.

“But it’s okay,” the taller woman padded over to Sasha, lifting her chin up to face her. “I like it here.”

“You’d better, especially since you’ll be here so often” Sasha leaned in close, her voice a playful whisper.

“Will I, now?”

“Hmm,” was the Russian’s response, as her lips were already interlocked with Shea’s.

Their lips moved together familiarly, the feel and taste of each other’s mouths still fresh in their memories. Almost immediately Shea’s hands reached for the hem of Sasha’s turtleneck, beckoning her to remove it, and Sasha smirked as she pushed Shea back onto the bed. The woman was silhouetted against the nighttime cityscape behind the bed — similarly to earlier that day at the park. 

Sasha broke the kiss with a soft bite on Shea’s lip, wiggling out of the taller girl’s grasp. Shea made a noise in protest, but the blonde shushed her. She walked to the other side of the bed, so now her back was to the giant plexiglass window. 

“You want my shirt off?” she teased, watching Shea scan over her quizzically. 

The model nodded.

Sasha chuckled softly while slowly stripping off the cotton top. Her bra was lacy and white and pushed her breasts up slightly in a way that drove Shea mad. Shea crawled over the bed, beginning to unzip her own dress frantically.

“No, babe, wait,” Sasha smiled. “I thought you’d like a show.”

Shea’s eyes widened. “No way.”

“Yes way.”

“You spoil me,” she brought her hands to her heart. “This is so fucking sexy.”

The slight growl in the model’s voice sent a shock from the back of Sasha’s neck to her core. She fumbled with the zipper of her pencil skirt, trying her best to remove the stiff fabric in a provocative manner. Of course, the designer could fall flat on her face and Shea would still find it sexy, but Sasha was nothing if not a pleaser.

To Shea’s surprise and delight, Sasha was hiding a pair of matching white garters underneath the long skirt. All day. Just for her.

“Holy shit.”

“Like what you see?”

“Fuck, Sasha,” Shea raised a hand to beckon the shorter girl over. Her palms hovered over Sasha’s hips as she took the girl in entirely. “Can I—”

“Always,” Sasha bit her lip, brushing a finger through Shea’s dark hair. 

Shea guided Sasha onto her lap, the motion causing her minidress to ride up as she pressed her lips onto Sasha’s once again. Kissing Shea was an experience that could only be described as heaven on Earth, her lips encapsulating the entirety of Sasha’s psyche, the way her tongue intertwined with hers intoxicating and addicting and beckoning to push deeper into the kiss. Her hands threaded their way through Shea’s long black hair while Shea’s roamed Sasha’s small frame, feeling every bit of soft exposed skin and every inch of scratchy lace. 

Sasha felt Shea’s lithe fingers unclasp her bra, and hummed softly in affirmation as she let the other woman slide it off. Shea’s pillowy lips latched onto the crook of Sasha’s neck, tracing short and gentle kisses, sucks, licks, and bites down her clavicle. She looked up at Sasha to see her blue eyes blown out and dark, a pale finger swiping over her cheek and a smile creeping onto her stained-red lips. Shea smiled back mishieviously, taking the girl’s nipple in her mouth and swirled around the bud, her other hand cupping the other breast. Sasha let out a moan at the sensitive contact, greedily pushing the back of Shea’s head closer. Shea nibbled playfully in response and let out a muffled laugh into Sasha’s chest.

“You’re so needy!” she smiled. She pulled back and continued to knead the other woman’s breasts. 

“Shea, I made a mistake,” Sasha bit her lip. Shea confusedly paused, worry glazing her expression.

“Baby, are you okay?”

Sasha couldn’t stop herself from grinning foxily. “I shouldn’t have got you so worked up, now I have to wait for you to fuck me.”

Shea snort-laughed, her hands instinctively reaching out and touching Sasha’s arms. “You little shit! Get on your back already!”

Sasha contentedly obliged, getting comfortable at the head of the bed. Shea took off her dress in the meantime, crawling in between Sasha’s legs. 

“Is this better, my fair lady?” Shea asked sarcastically.

“Yes… but….”

“But….”

“Your mouth is up here, and not down there!”

“I hate you.”

“I love you!”

Shea smirked and crashed her lips on Sasha’s once again, her hands gripping at the hem of the pale girl’s underwear and shimmying it lower. She disconnected the kiss and stripped the rest of Sasha’s garters off, taking a moment to admire the woman laid before her. Sasha was thin, with toned arms from her hours of drawing and sewing, broad shoulders and smaller breasts and a tiny waist. Her skin was airbrush-smooth, and freckles dusted her collarbone and shoulders and thighs. Shea wanted to kiss every little spot on her body.

“You are so beautiful,” Shea breathed. 

“I’m beautiful for a mere mortal, but that’s nothing next to a goddess like you.”

Shea’s cheeks grew warm, the praise making her heady. “If I’m Aphrodite, you’re nothing short of Athena.”

“The lesbian love story the Greeks didn’t deserve,” Sasha laughed. Her hands were kneading at the sheets under her, and although Shea could tell she was trying to be intelligent in the moment, she was obviously growing impatient. Shea looked down and could see the wetness coating Sasha’s pussy and had to hold back a chuckle at how well the girl was holding herself back. 

Conversation ceased as Shea leaned down, fulfilling her self-promise and kissing up Sasha’s milky thighs, nearing closer to where Sasha wanted her the most. Shea avoided it, kissing around her pelvis and nipping where the skin was soft. Again, her mouth drew nearer and Sasha whimpered.

“What do you want, baby?”

“Shea…”

The model looked up with a glint in her eyes.

“It’s okay, Sasha, you’re with me. You don’t have to be so uptight, especially not now.” She kissed right on top of her clit. Sasha whined.

“What do you want me to do, baby?”

“Just—just… you know, just—”

“I don’t know,” Shea smirked.

“Goddamnit, just eat me out already!”

“Don’t have to tell me twice, princess.” 

And Shea was licking languidly down Sasha’s folds, savoring the way she tasted and going back for more. She probed around her entrance, the soft sounds Sasha was making before gradually growing into prolonged moans. The designer’s voice wasn’t high pitched naturally, so it translated into musical and full sounds under Shea’s touch and Shea couldn’t get her unique moaning out of her brain. She flattened her tongue against her clit and immediately a strangled ‘mmph’ sounded above and two small hands found themselves buried in Shea’s hair.

Shea licked, pressing harder with each pass as Sasha got more and more worked up. Her voice was breathy and her hips were bucking off of the mattress and her head was turned to the side, and she just looked so pretty with the sheen of sweat coating her forehead and her hair around her head in a curly halo.

Sasha’s hands roamed to her own breasts, the motion being impossible to hold back as she kneaded them in time with Shea’s mouth. The taller woman hoisted Sasha’s thighs upwards and continued to lick, sucking over and over again at her clit, now at a better angle.

Sasha’s thighs were trembling as the pressure in her lower abdomen increased, her calves spasming as the sensations became too much to handle. She couldn’t stop herself—even if she wanted to— from letting obscene, low, drawn out sounds escape her throat. Shea’s mouth felt too good to suppress it, and Sasha was willing to let it go for once. If not for her own good, for Shea. 

Sasha tried to catch her bottom lip in between her teeth, but as soon as she bit it another shock of Shea’s tongue brought out another moan and her head was knocked back and her lips open.

It was when Shea heard her name being yelped over and over that she knew Sasha was close, and registered that she herself was probably dripping wet. If the nonverbal sounds turned Shea on, her own name almost sent her over the edge.

Shea brought her hand up to gently hover around Sasha’s entrance, continuing her assault on her clit. 

“S-sh-oh my god, oh my fuck-” was something along the lines of what Sasha rambled on about, gasping for air as her orgasm reached it’s very climax. Shea felt her tense briefly, before her entire body relaxed and Sasha was muttering softly and finally breathing regularly again.

Shea’s mouth was swollen, her tongue sore, her body tired. She fell beside Sasha on the pillows, turning and watching as the blonde regained her senses. She was a vision, wrapped up in the sheets with her makeup smudges and her eyes half shut and tired. Suddenly, she seemingly remembered something and turned to Shea.

“Do you need me to, now?”

“What, fuck me?” Shea smiled. Sasha nodded.

Shea looked down at herself. She was wet, that fact was undeniable. She was also tired, but as her arm tingled at Sasha’s feather-light touch, her energy inconspicuously returned.

Shea kissed Sasha softly, all lips and no teeth, as Sasha’s hand made its way lower and lower. Sasha cherished Shea as if she was a goddess — well, to her, she was. She wanted to feel every part of her warm skin, register it’s softness and make sure it was real and that the beautiful woman lying beside her was, in fact, tangible. Sasha caressed her thigh and moved inward, trying to fit her dainty hand in between Shea’s thighs.

Shea’s breath hitched when Sasha’s fingers hovered over her clit, and she gave the other woman more space so her hand would slip lower. Sasha gently slid her hand through Shea’s already-slick folds, and a little whimper drew itself from Shea’s throat.

“You sound so pretty, Shea,” Sasha’s voice was soft. 

“I-” Shea was interrupted by her own whine as Sasha pressed against her clit. “Not as g-good as—fuck—you, I bet.”

“I beg to differ,” Sasha replied with a smirk and a breathy tone, massaging small circles now. Their faces were nearly touching, but Shea threw her head back now, mouth stuck in an ‘o.’

“Aah—agree to disagree-ohh-” Shea looked back with wide eyes. “Right there, fuck, that feels so good,” her hips were doing their best to grind forward, knocking into Sasha’s pelvis a little.

Sasha had an idea, then.

“Darling, prop yourself up,” she smiled, planting a quick kiss on her forehead. Shea only had it in her to follow Sasha’s orders without a word.

With some maneuvering, Sasha managed to hook a leg over Shea’s and entangle herself in the other woman so that she could feel the heat from her sex on her own. Shea understood the scenario exactly, a giddy smile plastered on her face.

“Sash, you know me too well.”

With a considerable amount of effort, Sasha managed to bring their genitals into contact, and the sounds that escaped both women’s lips could have come straight out of a porno.

As they grinded in time, rubbing their pussies together, feeling probably the best they’d ever had ever and completely disregarding a need for lube because they were already wet anyway, they wondered why the hell they hadn’t thought of scissoring before. 

“Holy shit, Sasha, if I’d had known, fuck,” Shea tried to get out, but the pressure or Sasha against her clit just drowned out the words.

Sasha was basically post-verbal at this point— quite an achievement for someone such as herself— and she grabbed into Shea’s thigh in a vain attempt to ground herself. A feeling like this made her feel so high she wasn’t sure she’d come back down.

And so their cunts rubbed together, the only sound in the entire large three-story house the almost-hypersexual moans of the pair as those grew louder and closer to screams than anything.

“Shea, Shea, Shea, I-I think, oh god I’m going to—” Sasha frantically jerked her hips and yelled her relief as her second orgasm tore through her. The rush of fluid onto Shea’s pussy was enough to get her throbbing, and it wasn’t long before she finally got her release, shouting Sasha’s name.

The next few moments were a blur, the two women beyond spent, muscles sore and heads light. Apparently they both managed to hobble to the bathroom and tidy themselves up a bit, because the next thing Sasha fully registered was cuddling into Shea’s side. Shea didn’t even get that far, the moment her head touched her pillow, she was fast asleep.

Moonlight mixed with the lights of the city, basking the entire room in a periwinkle afterglow. It was entirely possible someone in one of the high-rise apartments across the street saw their whole ordeal, and the thought made Sasha laugh. If they’d known who they were, if they’d known what Sasha and Shea were doing, their lives would be over. The only thing that meant more to Sasha than Shea herself was Sasha’s work, her designs. To have that taken away was impossible, and she knew Shea felt the same about walking a runway.

Sasha squeezed Shea. In the privacy of her home, she could get used to this. In the light of the stars there was nobody to stop them from loving each other. No prying eyes and paparazzi stalkers. It was Sasha and Shea. And during the day, they could both have what they loved.

It was give and take. It was upsetting. But it was life, and the comfort of seeing each other after a hard days work made it all worth it, somehow,

Living in the sunlight, Loving in the moonlight.

#rpdr fanfiction #sasha velour #shea coulee #sashea #song fic #lesbian au #fluff #smut #model x designer au #chae #submission

[master-sass-blast]

Gifted.

*tosses escapism fic into the void* yeet.

Summary: You and Piotr go Christmas shopping and enjoy the holiday season. 

That's it. That's all that's happening. You're welcome.

Pairing(s): Piotr Rasputin x Reader and mentioned Illyana Rasputin x Kitty Pryde.

Rating: G.

Word Count: 2k precisely.

Set after “It’s Truly Magical.”

A/N: On the off-chance someone asks or is worried, yes, there are no mentions of masks or social distancing in this fic. That's because, in this fic, there is no COVID (ergo, no need for masks and such). I'm just not dealing with it in my fanfic as well. I won't. You can't make me.

Wear your fucking masks irl pls and thank u.

Taglist:  @marvel-is-perfection, @chromecutie, @girl-obsessed-with-things, @super-darkcloudstudent, @dandyqueen, @leo-writer

“What a bright time, it's the right time/ To rock the night away/ Jingle bell time is a swell time/ To go glidin' in a one-horse sleigh…”

You inhale deeply, then smile. The smells of fresh pretzels and pine –the latter is likely a fake scent that the stores use, but it’s still good—tantalize your nose. You tuck your hat and gloves in your purse, then look over at your husband. “Where all are we going?”

“Ah…” Piotr scans his list –which has notes on which stores to check and what order the stores are laid out in the mall, so as to streamline things. “Kitty said she did not want gifts because she does not celebrate Christmas, so we are just shopping for… my family and Russell. You said you already bought gifts for your dad and Wade?”

“Yup,” you say with a grin. Nate’s easy to shop for –ammo, clothes, and the odd book or two are usually all he want—and for Wade you just find the weirdest stuff listed on Amazon. “And I already sent my uncle a gift from us, so we don’t have to worry about him.”

Piotr nods, ‘hmm-ing’ as he makes a note on his list. “Okay.” He mumbles in Russian under his breath, then says, “Mama had no list this year; I think we start with her first since figuring out gift will take longer.”

“That’s fine. Where should we start?”

“I think bookstore is best bet. From there, we can stop by Hot Topic and candle shop for snezhinka, then Game Stop for Mikhail.”

“Sounds good.” You link your arm through his and smile up at him. “Lead the way, babe.”

 ***

 You glance between the piles of books on the table, then at your husband, who looks like he’s about to pull his hair out. “Do you think that, just maybe, you’re overthinking this? Just a little?”

“This is important,” Piotr insists as he skims through books from various areas of Barnes and Noble –cooking, history, fiction; he’d grabbed at least one book from nearly every section. “She has specific tastes. Cannot be just any old book.”

You purse your lips together. You don’t doubt that Alexandra has particular tastes in reading material –as a woman from her walk in life is bound to have—but you’re also certain that she wouldn’t want her son driving himself insane just to pick a present for her. You sit down next to Piotr and gently put your hand on his arm. “Sweetheart. She’s going to like whatever you get her.”

“Not necessarily. I have seen her toss many books aside with scoff and never pick them up again.”

“Okay, why?”

He shrugs. “Realism. She thinks some authors are ‘too indulgent’ or ‘too unrealistic.’”

“Alright, so maybe we leave out the crime and romance stuff,” you suggest, setting the few books he’d grabbed from those areas aside. “What does she like to do?”

Piotr goes quiet. His expression grows ashen as he contemplates the question. “I… don’t know.”

“Does she like to cook? Or draw? Or watch certain types of shows or movies?”

“I don’t know,” he repeats, more insistent. “She…” He sighs. “She never sits still. I don’t think any shows or movies interest her. When I was child, she always worked. On farm, taking care of animals, helping workers, making food, balancing accounts, translating letters and schoolwork… I never saw her rest. Do something for herself.”

You let out a soft snort. “Maybe a book on meditation.”

Piotr rolls his eyes, grinning. “Perhaps not.”

“Who does she like to be around, then?”

“Otets.” Piotr smiles when the answer comes easily. “She and my father” –he holds up two crossed fingers—“are like this. Aside from siblings and me, I think he is only person she is really close to.”

“Alright, maybe a cookbook, then. That’d give them something to do together.”

Piotr nods, then starts looking through the cookbooks he’d picked. “Question is, which one?”

“Well, we know she likes to stay busy and keep moving. Maybe something that’d challenge their skills? Something they haven’t tried?” You hold up a book boasting ‘rich and authentic Middle Eastern recipes.’ “This could be good. I think they’d have access to most of the ingredients, here in New York.”

He nods again, then sets the aforementioned book aside before checking over the other ones. “I think…” He lifts a hardcover thriller novel off the table. “She likes mysteries. This one has good reviews… maybe…”

You gently take the book from his hands and set it atop the Middle Eastern cookbook. “I think it’s a great choice.”

He smiles, then kisses your cheek. “Spasibo, myshka.”

 ***

 “Bozhe moi.”

You giggle as the two of you step over the threshold of the Yankee Candle store, only for Piotr to recoil and take a step back. “You good there, baby?”

He presses his fingers against the sides of his nose. “Is like… assault of smells.”

“I know.” You inhale deeply, them flash him an impish smile. “Isn’t it great?” 

Piotr groans, still rubbing his sinuses. “Do you mind—”

“I’ll find a candle for Illyana. Wanna meet up in Gamestop?”

“Spasibo, dorogoy.”

You blow him a kiss, then head into the candle store. You take a couple minutes to peruse the holiday display at the front of the store –and grab a couple votives for you and Piotr to enjoy—before heading towards the back of the store, where all the shelves of their regular candles are. You pause to smell your favorites –seriously, the McIntosh apple one never fails to make your mouth water—before taking a step back to survey your options. Alright, what to get for a mildly angsty, queer Russian goth?

It’s not as straightforward as it sounds (har har). Illyana’s an enigma, much like her mother. She’s quiet, keeps to herself, and doesn’t usually bother with convention.

Do I go for aesthetic? You pick up a pitch black candle labeled “Midnight Forest” and give it a cursory sniff. Ugh, smells like ass. No, thank you.

You also have to consider that whatever you get is likely going to be smelled by Kitty, too. As much as Illyana marches to the beat of her own drum, she’s surprisingly conscientious of her bubbly, energetic girlfriend.

Maybe something natural? Like the farm? You try a few options, wrinkling your nose after each sniff. God, what is it with the fresh scents and smelling heinous? You debate texting Piotr and dragging him back in here, if only so you’re certain you’ll get something Illyana would like—

And then it hits you over the head like a brick.

She’s gonna use these for meditation. You head down the rows of shelves, grab a jar labeled “Vanilla,” and give it a smell. Perfect. Not too strong, not too bland. You grab a lavender scented tumbler (for relaxation), then snag a pink one that smells like the perfume Kitty favors on a hunch it’ll be a hit.

By the time you pay for yours and Illyana’s candles, Piotr’s already waiting outside the Gamestop for you, bag in hand.

He eyes your bulging bags, eyebrow raising in trepidation. “Why…”

“Look, it’s your fault for abandoning me,” you say before he can point out your lack of self-control. “You know I’m weak for candles.”

Piotr snorts, then sighs. “Fair enough.” He nods and makes approving noises when you show him the picks you made for Illyana, then shows you what he grabbed for Mikhail.

“‘Mister Mosquito?’” You nearly double over laughing. “What even is this?”

“He wanted ‘weird video game,’” Piotr says, shrugging one shoulder. “I figure this should do.”

“He’s gonna love it,” you reassure your husband. “That’s weird as shit.” You start strolling along the main hall of the mall –and then your stomach rumbles. “Can we get pretzels?”

“Da, myshka,” Piotr chuckles, “we can get pretzels.”

 ***

 “There'll be parties for hosting/ marshmallows for toasting/ and caroling out in the snow/ there'll be scary ghost stories/ and tales of the glories of/ Christmases long, long ago…”

“It’s the most! Wonderful time! Of the year!” you sing along as you rip another chunk off your pretzel. You smile to yourself as you admire the glittering, twinkling decorations decking the food court. “How’s your pretzel?”

“Very tasty.” Piotr dips a bite of his pretzel in some mustard, pops it in his mouth, then swallows before wiping his fingers on a napkin. “I think we only have handful of stops left.”

“Couple of sweaters for your dad… weird socks and-or scarves for Mikhail…” You lean over, reading off the list in his hand (which is written in a mixture of Russian and English). You take another bite of pretzel, then tap on a portion of blended “Russi-nglish” that you can’t decipher. “What’s that?” you ask once your mouth is clear.

“Random gift options,” he translates. “For filling out presents, stockings, that sort of thing.” He touches the tip of his index finger to the page, moving down the list in order. “Chocolate, books, gift cards. Guaranteed hits, essentially.”

“Ooh, I could go for some chocolate.”

Piotr snorts. “You just had pretzel. And this is for others, myshka.”

“If it’s in the car with me, I make no promises.”

He laughs, then makes an extra note on his list. “Safety chocolate… for myshka. Got it.”

 ***

 “Here, dorogoy.”

“Oh, thank you!” You smile as Piotr takes some of the excess bags from your hands, shifting them so he can carry them (which, with his strength and the size of his hands, is no problem at all). You amble along next to him, admiring the various pop-up stands boasting games, calendars, and Christmas-themed treats. “Is there anywhere else we need to stop?”

“I believe we have everything.”

“And I’m guessing we need to head home so we can make dinner?”

“That would be best, da.” Piotr looks down at you, expression curious. “Why? There is somewhere you wish to stop?”

“Eh, not really,” you say with a shrug. “I just like coming to the mall during this time of year. The decorations, the music, the extra stands and seasonal gifts… It just makes me happy.”

“Aah, khorosho. I understand. We can come back later for date, if you like. Take time to walk around and admire stores.”

You grin up at him. “I’d like that.”

The two of you make to head out of the mall, back to the parking lot—

And then Piotr veers towards the right.

“Where are we going?” you ask, giggling as he leads you towards the bookstore. “I thought we already got everything we needed from here?”

He winks at you. “Trip is not complete yet. Not with hot chocolate, anyway.”

You grin and let him guide you over to the café in the bookstore.

Piotr gets you situated at a table near the expanse of windows at the front of the shop. He leaves your bags with you, then leads up at the counter to order your drinks.

You smile, lovestruck as you gaze over at him. How did I get so lucky? You lean back in your seat, taking a moment to admire the snow falling outside before checking out the decorations throughout the store…

Which is when you realize that there’s mistletoe hanging over your table.

You chuckle to yourself. Perfect.

“You are in good mood,” Piotr comments as he returns with two cups of hot chocolate.

“Of course, I am,” you admit with a broad grin. “I’ve got you. And tradition’s on our side.”

Piotr’s smile turns quizzical. He cocks his head to the side, staring at you for a moment, then looks up when you point towards the ceiling. “Ah,” he chuckles, “yes. That is good reason to be happy.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” You hook your finger under the collar of his shirt and gently tug him towards you. “Come here, handsome.”

He lets out a soft, happy giggle and bends down to kiss you.

#sass writes #piotr rasputin x reader #colossus x reader #holiday fluff #i miss going outside #which never happens so like #fml #don't mind the sounds of despair coming from my general direction #just use the fluff to drown it out #just like how i am #also kitty is jewish and thus doesn't observe christmas #i will die on this fucking hill :) #x men fanfiction #deadpool fanfiction

[forever-more-never-again]

A Sister’s Love (A Request)

Requested: @gaytrashgoblin​

Word count:1793

Pairings: Sibling!Fem!Reader x Sibling!Natasha

Warnings: Mentions of injury

Requested: OMG your requests are open, how lucky am i!!! can you do one where natasha has a biological sister the team doesn't know about (around wanda's age maybe)? so on a mission natasha gets hurt and everyone is super confused when this average girl shows up fussing over natasha and just nat being soft and affectionate with R and the team just being confused

Masterlist

“Thanks for coming in!” You waved to the couple leaving with smiles on their faces after picking out their wedding cake.

Once they left your store, you dropped your smile and heaved a sigh. It had been a long day. During the summer, it was as if everyone and their brother were getting married and wanted the perfect wedding cake.

It was fun, but it was stressful. On top of that, you pulled out your phone and checked, you haven't received your daily check in message from your sister, and that worried you.

Walking to the door of your store, you flipped the sign to closed and turned off the lights. Luckily, you had managed to snag a store that had an upstairs loft, so you didn’t need to leave the store to go home.

Once upstairs, you dropped onto your couch and opened up your messages.

5:46PM - Hey Nat, Haven’t heard from you today. Everything okay?

You tried not to let your fear seep into your message. Having an older sister that was part of the Avengers was not something you had ever imagined happening.

Back before the Avengers, you still worried about your sister, but that worry was more directed to when she returned to the Red Room after a mission and cried into your shoulder about her latest kill.

As far as you knew, you and Natasha had been the only Biological sisters in the Red Room. They used you against each other, threatening one sister so that the other would do what she was told.

Natasha tried to protect you. Taking your beatins, accepting the harder missions. But she could only do so much.

You still took the initiation. You Still had enhancements done to your body. You still had blood on your hands.

But that all changed years ago when you and your sister escaped and ran across the world to Colorado. Where Natasha Met Hawkeye and he brought you into Shield.

While Natasha accepted Director Fury’s offer, you declined. You just wanted a simple life after the hell that was your childhood.

So you bought a small shop in East Brooklyn and opened up a Wedding Cake Bakery. 

To make sure that each other was safe and hadn’t been captured and killed, you and Natasha had check ins everyday. With code words if there was danger.

And Natasha had missed the check in for today.

“Okay, Calm down [Y/n]. Maybe the mission took longer. Or she is in a place out of range for service. It’s okay. Let’s just call the tower. Yeah. That’s what I’ll do.” Talking to yourself to calm your nerves, you dug through a drawer filled with clutter until you stumbled upon a burner phone.

Natasha had given it to you for emergencies. Only one number was plugged in. A Direct line to FRIDAY, who was the AI in the Avenger Tower. A way to to get an immediate response.

It was for emergencies only because only a select few knew about you. Director Fury, Natasha (of Course), Hawkeye And Tony Stark. The rest of the Avengers had no idea that Natasha had a sister. It was for your safety and part of the agreement when Natasha joined Shield.

The phone didn’t even ring before there was an electronic femine voice, “Hello. Access Code?”

In a whisper, the fear of what could have happened to your sister, rising back up, you whispered your code words, “Victor - India - Papa - Echo - Romeo.”

A click and then, “Access granted. Hello [Y/n] Alianova. Contacting tower.”

Your leg bounced up and down as you waited. Luckily you didn’t have to wait long before a gruff tired voice sounded in your ear.

“What is it FRIDAY? We just got back from a mission. [Y/n]? What’s going on? Are you secure?” His tone went from tired to frantic in a second.

“Hey Tony. Nat hasn’t checked in. You said you just finished a mission? Is she okay? Is she safe? Is she back at the tower? What happened?”

“Kid, kid, Slow down. Spider is fine. She just got injured and hasn’t had a chance to get in contact with you yet.”

You shot up and grabbed your keys off the table by your door, almost running down the stairs to your store, “I’m coming to the tower. I need to see her.”

You heard a weary sigh from the other end of the phone, “Alright. I’ll let security know to expect you. Do you want me to tell the others?”

Swerving out of your driveway, you weren’t really worried about the rest of the team, “I don’t care. I’m only coming to check on my sister.” And with that, you hung up.

Your knuckles were white, as you gripped the steering wheel.

This was a new type of torture. Different from the Red Room and Russia. Not knowing what was wrong with Natasha. But knowing that she was injured.

You had argued for months about her joining Shield. You had wanted her to come with you, live a normal life. 

Eventually you understood where she was standing, she wanted to try to make up for all the lives she had taken while in the program.

The tower shone like a beacon, lighting up the night sky.

Parking on the sidewalk, you walked into the lobby. And suddenly became extremely aware that your hair was a mess, and you still wore your flour covered apron.

“Miss Aliavona?” An armed Shield agent met you halfway across the lobby.

You nodded, not trusting your voice as worry tightened its grip on your heart.

“Right this way.” He led you to a secure elevator hidden in a sideroom, Reaching in he pressed a nondescript button and offered you a small smile as the door began closing, “This will take you to the medical wing. Just take the first right and you’ll find them.”

And then you were alone in the elevator as it took you up.

Racing down the halls, you took the first right and slammed the door open, “Natasha Aliavona! You are going to give me gray hairs!” You screamed as you saw her sitting up on a medical bed, arm and leg in casts.

Natasha jumped as she looked towards you, pausing mid sentence with her discussion with the doctor. Who wisely left the room when he saw you.

“[Y/n]?”

You growled, slapping her uninjured shoulder, “Don’t ‘[Y/n]’ me! Do you know how worried I was when you didn’t check in? And then to hear you got injured!? The younger sister is not supposed to worry about the older sister’s safety!”

Natasha gave a small smile, Wincing under your glare, “Sorry? I was going to send you a message as soon as the doctor had finished his examination. I swear!”

Sighing, you softened your glare and looked over your sister. She had dried blood still in her hair and her suit was cut carefully around her casts. 

“Is it as bad as it looks?” You ghosted your hands over her casts.

She kept her green eyes on you as she spoke softly, “No. It’s just a broken wrist and a splintered femur. I’ll heal in a few days.”

Another sigh left you. 

And then you jumped as voices filled the room.

“What do you mean an unauthorized visitor made it to the medical wing?”

“I thought FRIDAY was supposed to alert us to all trespassers?”

“You’re acting very calm about this whole thing Stark.”

Your eyes widened as you caught sight of the Avengers for the first time in person.

And they all froze when they saw you.

Natasha broke the tension with a laugh, “Guys. This is [Y/n]. My little sister.”

The blonde who you recognized as Captain America squinted at Natasha and then you, “There’s no record of a sibling in your files Romanoff.”

You smiled when Clint walked out of the crowd and came forward to hug you, causing some more whispers and gasps from the others.

You answered Steve’s unasked question, “That was part of the agreement we made with Shield when Clint found us. I wanted Anonymity. I wanted to escape the past. While Natasha here,” You glared playfully at your sister who tried to act bashful, “Wanted to embrace it. So I was never mentioned. As far as the world is aware, I am an only child known as [Y/n] Aliavona. No relation to the Black Widow Avenger Natasha Romanoff.”

Another, well known, voice spoke up, with thinly veiled humor, “And the Russian Spy known as Viper was killed in an undisclosed location during a redacted mission.”

You smiled as Tony walked up and took Clint’s place as he hugged you.

“Another part of the agreement.”

A red head with bright brown eyes stepped forward, her accent Distinctly Sovakian, “I have seen you in Brooklyn Before. You are the baker.”

Looking at your apron in embarrassment, you nodded, “Yeah. I run one of the only Wedding Cake Bakeries in town.”

Clint laughed and bumped your shoulder, “Don’t be so modest! Your cakes are amazing. Laura loved ours.”

A giggle slipped from you. “I remember that one. Simple, yet elegant with pink roses and gold trimmed edges.”

More wide eyes and whispers.

“Okay you bunch. Can I have some quiet time with my sister?” Natasha whined.

You smiled at her before turning to wink conspiracy with the Avengers, “Yeah. There are...Words...I need to have with my careless sister.”

That seemed to erase all previous tension as all the Avengers laughed at Natasha’s misfortune and quickly left the room.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, you laced your hand with your sister’s uninjured one.

“It seems my time in the background has ended.”

Natasha squeezed your hand, “I know you don’t want to join Shield or the Avengers. But maybe our lives can be more involved with the others?”

You imagined spending weekends at the tower, laughing with your sister and her friends, and nights spent in your loft drinking wine and watching cheesy rom coms with Natasha after missions.

And you realized, you didn’t have to run and hide from your past anymore. You wanted to be like Natasha and take control of your life.

Smiling, you watched your sister’s face light up as you whispered, “I’d like that.”

Laughing Natasha pulled you down into a one armed hug, “Black Widow and Viper together again.”

You winced but still smiled as you hugged tighter, “How about Natasha and [Y/n] Romanoff instead.”

You could almost feel your sister’s smile soften as her hand ran through your hair, “That’s almost better. I love you, [Y/n].”

Closing your eyes, you smiled, “I love you too sister.”

FOREVER Taglist:

@sxph-t​ @mialeelavellan​ @rainydaysrnevergrey​  @platonic-plots​ @sociallyawkwardcircus-freak-hi​ @queenbbarnes​ @mythixmagic​ @chas-z​ @thefridgeismybestie​ @strangersstranger​ @princess-evans-addict​ @rororo06​ @timelordhunterandmysterysolver​

Natasha Taglist:

@ludwigvonbaethoven​ @hanjiscience-slut​ @kitten-q-p​ @morbid-gaymer​ @honeybadgerwhodoesntcare​ @sunnyandtwisty​ @zoeyknight​ @kurlyafro​ @thewomanofwonder​ @5aftermidnight​ @myfemininelesboworld​ @gaytrashgoblin​ @marvelb00kwolf​ @multifandom-imagines-things​

Avengers Taglist:

@jadepc​ @marvel-is-a-mood​

#avengers x reader #avengers x you #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader #natasha x you #natasha romanoff #Natalia Romanova #avengers tower #Black Widow #black widow x reader #avengers fanfiction #avengers imagine #red room #natasha red room #reader insert #imagine #imagines request #please give credit #please give feedback #rose writes

[genericsuperherothirstblog]

longfic and series, MCU, mostly Stucky

If I don’t list a ship, assume Stucky.  I don’t repeat warnings that are in the tags for the fic, and even for fics where I do list warnings, I may miss something, so read with care.  Feel free to send a message or an ask if you think I should add something.

ABO Dynamics

Scents and Sensibility: The Working Assassin's Guide to Supersoldier Seduction by galwednesday, silentwalrus, skellerbvvt

The authors call this a clownfish AU because the sociobiology is closer to clownfish than to wolves.  Steve and Bucky have more or less the same backgrounds except that they didn’t grow up knowing eachother.  Bucky has some issues with being a functioning human but nonetheless this is a sweet and very re-readable story.

Alternate Canon/Canon Divergent

Some of these weren’t alternate canon or canon divergent at the time when they were written but so it goes.

Gweilo Gongfu by przed

Bucky is Chinese.  Steve is still a scrappy little artist.  Pre-canon.

the quiet Americans

Starts out as a Winter Soldier-POV fic of the decades Steve spent in the ice, then asks a question: What if Bucky Barnes had mostly left the building, and all that was left was the liberated Winter Soldier?  How would things fall out between Steve and what was left of his best friend?  Great use of canon characters and OCs in supporting roles.

Not Easily Conquered

Steve didn’t sink and sleep through the rest of the 20th century; he swam to shore, and lived through it all.  The second work uses the g---- slur,  albeit not in an intentionally slurring context. I would say “not in a slurring context” but I’m not Romani so I feel like I don’t get to decide.  Also the third work ends with a scene where the Romani character does palmistry.

Four Minute Window by Speranza and others

Bucky and Steve get a happy retirement.

i’ve been living in bed by everybodylies

Bucky is still the Winter Soldier, but he works for SHIELD.  Captain America is a ghost.  And a protester.

Except it Abide in the Vine by spitandvinegar

Comic book multiverse craziness.  You’ve gotta be logged in to read this one.

The Silent Answer by dirtybinary

Captain America: a myth and its deconstruction.  Probably my favorite combination of the Cap story with real historical events.

Fun Crack

Some of these are shortfics and non-series.

i heard love is blind by girl0nfire

Bucky keeps bringing home guys who look like Steve; Steve keeps bringing home guys who look like Bucky.  Sam is their hapless housemate who finally snaps.

barnacle boy by silentwalrus

Bucky is a selkie.

In Search of a Darkfic

Okay, so there’s a part of me that’s looking for a longfic that treats the premise of Steve and Bucky with maximum seriousness and ends tragically.  Haven’t found it yet.  But here are some things that I have found.

rate of recidivism by alcibiades

The first chapter kind of scratches the above-mentioned itch.

tell me i’m your national anthem by lanyon

Bucky as Cap, Steve as the Winter Soldier.  Not a longfic but again, kind of scratches the itch.

People and Things by quigonejinn

Not exactly the sort of darkfic I am looking for but definitely dark. So many warnings.  The Finish Line by the same author is not as warning-heavy but goes along the same lines.  Dark Bucky basically.  And the title of All things are well is a lie.  Bloody ending, makes me shiver when I think about it.  Steve makes a mistake, and Bucky ... well.

The frontiers are my prison by lanyon

Steve, Natasha, and Bucky, through the years.  AU where the Russians find Steve in the ice.

Period-Typical Queerness

Queer culture has changed since the 40s.  These often involve the use of outdated slang, some of which are now slurs.

Pure as the driven slush by Odsbodikins

Drag balls, queer bars, pre-canon.

Known Associates by thingswithwings

Period-typical queerness, plus Steve’s journey of self-discovery of modern queerness.  Samsteve, Steve/Rhodey.  Maybe you’re stronger than me, but I read this, loved this, and will never be able to eradicate the phrase “little Brooklyn fairy” from my brain.

Demobilization by 743ish

Bucky spent the war vowing to himself that he’d come clean to Steve about his feelings if he got home.  This plan hits a snag as soon as he’s off the ship and back home.

Political AU

our golden age by augustbird

Technically this is a royalty AU—Bucky is a royal disaster, Steve is his loyal best friend.  But there are enough politics that I’m listing it here.

Ballet AU

Tendu by kristophine

Sadfic

There will be tears.

Nightcall by thegrimshapeofyoursmile

BDSM AU

Additional Information by notlucy

My personal favorite is Mergers & Acquisitions, with its heavy dose of Peggy/Natasha.

bene castigat by Nonymos

Rocket scientist Bucky has always been kinky but never found anyone to explore it with.  So his friend Natasha refers him to pro-dom Steve.

Small Business 101 by pushdragon

Bucky is an ex-con.  Steve wants to help.  It escalates from there.  Probably the most nuanced look I’ve seen at the pro-dom lifestyle in a fic.

Endgame Fix-it

a flame in two cupped hands

Contains a Natasha POV story and a Tony POV story.  Various mostly-background ships.

The Monkey’s Paw

A series with one part so far.  Explores Steve’s time with Peggy, and the damage to the timeline caused thereby. 

One Clouds Feels Lonely

The completed part one of an abandoned series.  I like Endgame fix-it stories that uh, show Steve messing up.  This one is a little dark, involves a long separation between Steve and everyone else, and also Bucky teaching the Young Avengers.

WIP

As a rule I don’t do WIPs; I wait for stories to be finished before I start them.  But every once in a while I make an exception.

Reconstruction by rageprufrock

Rule 63.  Stephanie Barnes is a nurse; Bucky is her husband.  Has made me cry at least once and it isn’t even finished.