I Just Read A Lot

Slytherin Gang X Reader

-Y/N L/N accidentally gets invited in a group chat.

Profiles

Chapter 1: I'm Gonna Leave

Chapter 2: Dont Skip Class

Chapter 3: Their Interest

Chapter 4: Sneaking In

Chapter 5: I don't understand why you denied the obvious

Chapter 6: Slytherins Property

Chapter 7: Princess' Pick Me Up

Chapter 8: Authority Is So Sexy

Chapter 9: Potions And Transfiguration

Chapter 10: A Brave Potter Is A Dead Potter

Chapter 11: Riddle Me This

Chapter 12: A Somewhat Kept Secret-ish

Chapter 13: Not So Normal Normal

Chapter 14: Mattheo And The Hufflepuff

Chapter 15: Bathroom Escapades

Chapter 16: Hidden

Chapter 17: The Cloak

TBC

Side Quests

An Angry Puffy

Your Favorite Boy

Full Ill Will

Bibbity Bobbity Boo

Boxed Out

I'm obsessed with these boys and its so hard gathering stories about them

Tom is my favorite so I'm sorry if theres more moments with Tom than the others

I dont really know Mattheo and Lorenzo much so idk if theyll be ooc but this is how I see theyd act but i added them anyway because theyre hot af

I'm still unsure whether to make it poly since i want them all but i just dont see or think theyd all get together romantically

I'm not a hufflepuff but for the sake of the story :3 I added some characters and made up people since i need to for the story just dont mind the thingies

I didn't add Regulus bcuz hes a Marauders era type of guy. why add Tom? because i prefer Tom and its not like he has his era of people yk

idk what else to add here so I thinn ill end the note here I hope you enjoy the story i love you alll <3

-kookiedoughs

Taglist?

This is such a good game please play it

As a Simon Enjoyer™️I have played this for days trying to get every ending

it is a SIMON DATING SIM

IT IS SAD

SIMON IS HOT

WHAT MORE COULD YOU WANT?

No but genuinely this is such a good game, completely free to play, and I know if you give it a chance you will love it. There are 4 endings (as far as I am aware), and it is just genuinely so good.

Idk if the link will work but this is what it is called on Itch.io

Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5 Pt.6 Pt.7 Pt.8 Pt.9 Pt.10 Pt.11

The branch snaps.

It’s sharp.

Closer now.

You freeze.

Every muscle in your body locks, breath caught somewhere between your lungs and your throat. For a second, the entire forest goes silent with you, like it’s listening too.

Then, movement.

Somewhere to your left.

Your head turns slowly, pulse pounding so hard it makes your vision throb.

“Toby?”

Your voice barely carries.

A shape shifts between the trees.

Tall.

Unsteady.

Familiar.

Relief hits you so fast it almost buckles your knees.

“Toby,” you breathe, louder now. “Hey—hey, it’s me.”

He steps from between the trees into your line of sight, and the relief dies in your chest.

His posture is wrong.

Too rigid. Too focused.

His head tilts slightly, like he’s trying to line something up that won’t stay still.

His hatchet is stiff in his grip, his knuckles pale.

Your stomach drops.

“Toby,” you say again, softer this time, careful. “It’s okay. I found you.”

He doesn’t respond.

His eyes drag over your face, slow, searching.

Not landing.

Not recognizing.

Your chest tightens painfully.

“It’s me,” you try again. “You’re okay. We just need to get you back to the mansion.”

A pause.

“You followed me.”

His voice is quiet.

Flat and wrong.

You swallow hard.

“I came to find you.”

A small, humorless sound leaves him.

“I knew you would.”

Something cold slides down your spine.

“Toby…”

He takes a step closer.

You fight every instinct telling you to step back.

“I needed you alone,” he continues, almost to himself. “Somewhere you couldn’t hide behind him.”

Your pulse stutters.

Behind him?

No.

Not him.

Her.

You understand.

Your mouth goes dry.

“Toby,” you say carefully, grounding your voice the way you always do, “you’re not seeing things clearly right now.”

His grip tightens on the hatchet.

“I see you perfectly.”

“No,” you whisper. “You don’t.”

His head tilts again.

And this time, there’s recognition.

But something is still off.

“Natalie.”

The name hits like a physical blow.

You shake your head immediately.

“No. No, it’s me.”

“You don’t get to do that,” he snaps, sudden and sharp. “You don’t get to wear her face and pretend I won’t notice.”

Your breath stutters.

“I’m not pretending,” you say, voice breaking despite your effort to stay steady. “Toby, listen to me. It’s me. You know me.”

He steps closer.

Too close.

“You’ve been following us,” he says, voice low, unraveling at the edges. “Watching. Waiting.”

“That’s not—”

“I’m done letting you ruin this.”

The words land heavy.

Final.

Your heart starts to race.

“Toby,” you say, more urgently now, “you’re sick. You’re not thinking straight. You need to come back with me.”

He laughs.

It’s hollow.

“You think I don’t know that?”

Your throat tightens.

“Then you know this isn’t real.”

His eyes snap to yours.

Sharp.

Dangerous.

“No,” he says quietly. “This is the only thing that is.”

The forest feels tighter.

Closer.

The trees seem to lean in, as if they are waiting to see what happens next.

You take a slow step toward him.

“I’m not your enemy.”

“Yes,” he says immediately. “You are.”

“No,” you insist, voice trembling now. “You know me. You trust me.”

“I trusted you,” he corrects.

Your chest cracks.

“Toby, please—”

“You don’t get to say my name like that. Not anymore.”

His voice rises.

Fractures.

“You don’t get to sound like her.”

Your vision blurs.

“I am her,” you say, desperate now. “I’m right here. I never left you.”

For a split second, he hesitates.

Just a second, and hope sparks, fragile and fleeting.

Then his expression hardens.

“No,” he says again.

The word is final.

You understand then, there is no reaching him.

Not like this. Not here.

You take another step anyway.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” you say softly.

He moves faster than you expect.

One step forward.

Hatchet lifting.

Instinct screams at you to defend yourself.

To move.

To fight.

To do anything.

You don’t.

Not fast enough.

Not hard enough.

“Toby—wait—”

The swing is clean.

Efficient and practiced.

The blade bites deep. The impact knocks the breath from your lungs before the pain registers.

A moment later pain explodes through you, sudden and blinding.

A sound tears out of your throat.

Not controlled.

Not steady.

A plea.

“Toby—please—!”

Your legs give out.

You hit the ground hard, breath knocked from your lungs as warmth spreads too quickly beneath you.

He’s above you.

Breathing hard, shaking. But he doesn’t stop.

You reach for him. You just want to stop him, to hold him.

“I—It’s me,” you choke, voice wet, breaking apart. “Please—look at me—”

His eyes flicker.

For a second, something shifts.

But it’s too late.

The second strike comes down fast.

Everything goes quiet.

—

The forest stills.

The static fades.

And Toby stands there, chest heaving, staring down at the body at his feet.

For a moment, there is nothing.

No voices.

No distortion.

No confusion.

Just silence.

Then, clarity.

It comes slowly.

Painfully.

Like something forcing its way back into place.

His grip loosens on the hatchet.

It slips from his fingers and hits the ground with a dull thud.

“…what…”

His voice barely exists.

His gaze drags over the body again.

The blood.

The familiar shape on the ground.

The hand still half-reached toward him.

Recognition hits all at once.

Violent and absolute.

“No.”

The word breaks out of him.

He stumbles back.

“No—no, no—”

His hands come up, dragging through his hair, leaving streaks of red behind.

“That’s not—”

His breathing turns ragged.

Unsteady.

“I didn’t—”

But he did.

He knows he did.

And there’s no undoing it.

—

By the time he makes it back to the mansion, he’s barely holding himself together.

The static in his head has eased, but there is still a throbbing in his temples.

Blood covers him.

His hands.

His clothes.

His face.

It’s drying in places.

Still wet in others.

The front door creaks open.

Inside, the house is quiet.

Waiting.

Eyeless Jack is the first to see him.

He goes still.

Head tilting slightly.

He smells it immediately.

Blood.

Fresh.

Familiar.

But he says nothing.

Just watches.

Footsteps echo from deeper in the house.

Masky appears next, expression tightening the second he sees Toby.

“What happened?”

Toby doesn’t answer.

He can’t.

Tim steps closer, eyes scanning him quickly.

“Where’s your girl?”

The question doesn’t land.

Not at first.

Toby blinks at him.

Confused.

“…what?”

“Reader,” Tim repeats, sharper now. “Did she find you?”

Toby’s brow furrows.

“She… she should be here.”

The words feel wrong even as he says them.

Behind Tim, movement.

Jeff leans into the doorway, grin already forming.

“Well, look who dragged himself back—”

He stops.

Eyes flicking over the blood.

“…damn.”

Then, casually,

“Where’s your girl?”

The question hits harder this time.

Toby’s chest tightens.

“She—”

He stops.

Something doesn’t line up.

Something is wrong.

Footsteps behind Jeff.

And then,

Clockwork steps into view.

Alive.

Unharmed.

Watching him.

Toby goes completely still.

His entire world tilts.

“No.”

The word slips out before he can stop it.

Clockwork’s brow furrows slightly.

“What?”

His gaze locks onto her.

Unblinking.

“You—”

His voice breaks.

“You’re supposed to be—”

Dead.

The word never makes it out.

But it doesn’t need to.

Because now, now he understands.

The blood.

The woods.

The face he saw.

The name he called.

The way you looked at him.

The way you begged.

The way you called his name.

His stomach drops out from under him.

And for the first time since the sickness began,

Toby sees clearly.

I All That I Need When I Get With Him

II Bad Idea Right?

III Mostly Chimes

IV Somethin' Stupid

V It Had To Be You

VI Shard

VII I Always Knew We Were Doomed

VIII Hope

dividers by @somebitchprobably-graphicdump !!!

I’m gnawing at the bars of my enclosure.

IF YOU HAVE AN OC X CHARACTER DONT USE X READER OR X Y/N TAGS

Adam and Reader grew up together and were high school sweethearts, after his death and learning about monsters, (Y/N) tries to move on but never forgets her first love. When ten years pass, what will happen when a familiar face appears?

——

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

(Pt 16)

•King Baldwin IV x F!Reader arranged marriage work.

⚠️Smut Warning, 18+⚠️

This one came out a little bit longgggg. My apologies. 🫡♥️

five years after his wife dies, jack meets you in a dingy bar. his therapist suggested that he dip his toes in the dating pool. it wasn’t about moving on, but allowing jack to grow.

he doesn’t expect to click with you. you’re young, so young in fact you were a baby when he was in the military. you have this innocence that’s soothing - you know nothing of war or death or struggle or illness. and that’s healing for jack in a way. because you absorb his sadness with no question, you pepper his face with kisses when he’s upset. you pull him along to trendy cafes, and yeah you’re building up his will to live again.

but you’re not permanent to jack. he had and will only have one wife. you’re so naive, doodling mrs. abbot in your school notebooks. daydreaming of a day where you’ll finally be his and his alone. the end of it all is when you have sex for the first time. more importantly, it’s your first time.

you lie and tell jack that it isn’t, but he just knows. he knows that he’s taking something from you. that he’s ruining you for any other man. for most men his age, defiling a girl like that is empowering. not for jack - it makes him feel horrible.

but you want it, so bad. your big doe eyes are peering up at him like you’re waiting for something special. you dolled yourself up more than usual, spending a little chunk of your college refund check to get some nice lingerie. jack knows how important the first time is, so he tried to make it special - rose petals scattered all over the floor, a nice dinner right before taking you home. but a part of him feels like he’s pretending.

the sex is good, robotic and methodological but good. jack knows how to make love to a woman, even though he doesn’t love you. or rather, love is blooming in his heart, but he’s too ashamed to admit it. he does all the right things - kisses you all over, tells you how pretty you are, eats you out until you see stars.

when jack’s really focused, he gets lost in what he’s doing. so much so, he doesn’t put a condom on. you’re too overstimulated to notice, and jack’s body is still hardwired to have sex with his wife. so he fills you up, only to clean you up and lay beside you.

you try to cuddle him but he inches away. in therapy he talks about it - jack’s therapist rightfully criticizes him for having sex with someone so young. someone who can’t even grapple with what jack’s going through. his therapist is right, so jack promises to end it right there. but before the therapist can advise differently, their zoom cuts out. their one hour slot is up.

you take it horribly, crying and sobbing in front of jack. you’re asking him what you did wrong, if having sex with you was that bad. jack tells you no, but it’s impossible to believe his words. you feel used - like a pocket pussy or something. you can’t believe that for a second you thought someone would actually like you.

jack blocks you on everything. no messages, no calls, heck even no emails. jack decides that he needs to start fresh too, so he downsizes from his apartment.

a couple weeks later you start feeling sick - nausea with vomiting. you don’t even remember if jack used a condom or not. fearing for your life, you take a pregnancy test. of course there are two pink lines.

your parents refuse to give you the money for an abortion. you should’ve known better than to sleep with a man twice your age. in a last ditch attempt, you try to go the pitt - but robby turns you away. you’re stuck between a rock and hard place, you try to do adoption, but the families pull out in the last minute.

so there you are, alone, stuck in labor for two days. the birth is bloody, painful, and when your beautiful little girl comes out, a part of your soul goes too. taylor isabella abbot is six pounds and four ounces, and she’s the most incredible thing you’ve ever seen. she’s got a set of lungs on her, but she’s perfect.

despite your postpartum sadness, you pull yourself together - your baby needs you. every single cent you have goes into making sure taylor wants for nothing. so you balance school and two jobs. you’ll do unsavory things to make rent even if it makes you sick inside. but when you come home and see your baby, ready to cuddle with her mommy. that lessens the pain just a little bit.

eight years go by. things get a little better financially. you graduate, get a nice job. both you and taylor get to have your own rooms in your new apartment. but the responsibility is getting to you. you barely eat or sleep anymore, a real laugh hasn’t escaped your mouth in years. but you’re good at hiding it - taylor’s none the wiser.

she has a new obsession with jack though. you’ve told her a lie - that her daddy loves her but he just can’t be around. you never say much more than that. you know taylor wants to know him - she looks in the mirror and wonders who gave her auburn curls and green eyes. you’ve tried, but jack’s address isn’t on the internet. he still works at the pitt, but a part of you is scared to go back there.

and then one day your car gets hit. you and taylor are both in pretty bad shape, and the pitt is the closest hospital. there was a 20 pile car up on the bridge, so you and taylor are one of the many, many injured. jack gets called in, even though it’s day off.

Summary: When you find yourself in an abusive relationship, you never thought your attending Jack Abbot would become your protector and saving grace. Hospital rooms to court rooms, Jack is there every step of the way. Healing, relapses, heartbreak and love— a new life begins. A life you never expected.

Part one: Precautions

Part two: Mass Casualties

Part three: Senses

Part four: Intubated & Sedated

Part five: Therapy

Set just before the Manburg Rebellion

Set the night after the Manburg Vs Pogtopia war

Set during Technoblade’s execution

Set after Techno finds Steve

Set when Philza built his new house next to Techno’s

Set during Tommy’s exile

Set when Tommy escapes exile

Set after Tommy escapes exile

Set some time after Dream’s visit

Set during Quackity lore

Set during the Red Banquet

Set some time in the future

Set some time in the future*

Set some time in the future**

Set some time in the future

Set some time in the future***

Set some time way in the future****

Winter Lovin’

Alternate timeline

All of the Technoblade’s kinks

What Techno is like when you’re trying to be quiet

NSFW Links

Technos vibes

Birthday sex

Technoblade’s NSFW Alphabet

Set just after Technoblade’s Pogtopian days

Set after JSchlatt’s funeral

Set after George’s house was destroyed

Set some time in the future****- coming soon

Alpha!Techno

Architect!Techno

Accountant!Techno

Baker!Techno

Biker!Techno

Bodyguard!Techno

Bartender!Techno

Chef!Techno

CEO!Techno

Doctor!Techno

Fireman!Techno

Folklore!Piglin!Techno

Footballplayer!Techno

God!Techno

Gladiator!Techno

Geralt!Techno

Lumberjack!Techno

Lawyer!Techno

Lord!Techno

MafiaBoss!Techno

Orc!Techno

Passerine!Techno

Prince!Techno

Roommate!Techno

Robot!Techno

Soft!Dark!Neighbour!Techno

SugarDaddy!Techno

Scientist!Techno

Stalker!Techno

Vampire!Techno

Wizard!Techno

Piglin courting

What type of lover Technoblade is

Techno x witch!reader

Techno fucking you in the Syndicate meeting room

Ninetailedfox!Reader in heat

Dancing with him

First kiss

Possessive Techno

Techno x ender dragon hybrid

Period comfort

Roommate!Techno x reader x Mafia!Techno

C!Techno x reader

Beefy!God!Techno

Chef!Techno x reader x Lumberjack!Techno

Techno x singlemom!reader

Modern day Dad!Techno

Masterlist

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Sweet Treats and Side Effects ✩ Bob Reynolds pt. 1

Pairings: Bob Reynolds x Thunderbolt!Reader

Warnings: +18 SMUT MINORS DNI. found family, accidental aphodisiac, chaotic prank war, slow-burn, mutual pining, thunderbolts frat house energy, dubious influence (consensual but under a magical substance), yelena’s chaotic best friend energy, overstimulation, rough sex, multiple orgasms, oral (f receiving), praise kink, slight dom!bob, bob whimpering!!! (yes godddddd)

Summary: When Yelena kicks off her next move in the Thunderbolts prank war with a bag of questionable aphrodisiac chocolates, you agree to help her “prank” Bucky Barnes into a very inconvenient eight-hour erection.Unfortunately, Bob Reynolds gets there first. Now the most powerful man in the tower is red-faced, sweating, and very, very desperate for one thing—and it’s not chocolate. It’s you. And when the side effects kick in full-force, you’ll have to decide if you’re helping your friend… or completely, shamelessly indulging his deepest, filthiest desires. Chaos. Horny chocolate. Yelena being the worst. And Bob being the sweetest, softest, most absolutely feral man alive.

Author's Note: you ask, i deliver. here's another one 'cause i really can't get enough of bob. i love him so much it hurttttsssss. i had this idea while I was showering and I kid you not I jumped out off the shower and grabbed my phone sooooo fast to start typing on my notes cause I have adhd and I forget things so fast LOL. also thank you soooooo so much from the bottom of my little heart for all the love and support in don’t let go and ruined <33 i appreciate all of your comments and messages and screams in the reblogs, it really warms my heart<3 i hope you guys like this first part. yelena my beloved my beautiful girl i cant i love her so much!!!!!! if you want to be added to the taglist just comment below<3 part 2 will be posted later today!!

masterlist.

    ⊹             ⊹            ⊹             ⊹            ⊹          ⊹             ⊹             ⊹

The Thunderbolts Tower wasn't built for this kind of chaos.

At least, not this kind. The late Stark Tower—once a monument to genius, ambition—had now been refitted as the New Avengers' headquarters. High ceilings, soundproofed rooms, high-tech gadgets, sleek black interiors, furniture that probably cost more than all of their salaries combined, and reinforced windows that could withstand a helicarrier crash—it all screamed “elite modern high-tech paramilitary chic."

But then Yelena moved in, and the whole place became a "deranged prank way frat house battlefield." Everything went to hell. In a good way, though. In a really good way.

She brought with her 17 leather jackets, around twenty pairs of brass knuckles, an entire crate of Bulgarian wine, and a feral grin that had everyone—Valentina especially—deeply concerned. Yelena had called Bucky “grandpa,” told Walker his jaw looked like it was Photoshopped, and challenged Alexei to a sparring match while doing vodka shots.

By week two, she had both Bucky and Walker in such a vicious prank war that Valentina personally installed panic buttons in every room and a 24-hour hotline staffed by two overworked interns.

"Listen," she'd said to Bob one evening, slouched across the common room couch holding a vodka cranberry in one hand and a glitter bomb in the other, "if you're not part of the prank war, you're part of the problem."

You, curled in the armchair with your Cosmopolitan, just snorted and shook your head. “Don’t engage,” you whispered. “That’s how it starts.”

But it was already too late.

By week four, someone—probably Yelena—had rigged the gym's ceiling vents to explode with glitter every single time music was played. It looked like an ABBA concert every time anyone tried to work out. Walker was victim number one. It took him two weeks to clean out all the vents. He was still finding glitter in places no man should.

By week six, Bucky's protein powder was replaced with powdered sugar—Walker's doing. The next day, Walker's toothbrush was swapped for a hot pepper-infused prank toothbrush so strong he almost wanted to rip his tongue out—Bucky's doing. Yelena claimed no responsibility, but laughed out loud until her tummy hurt. Alexei said nothing, but looked immensely pleased. Ava just walked away every time, muttering "children" and "imbeciles" in every single language.

And you? You opted out of everything.

So did Bob.

You were the “normal” ones—if “normal” meant tired, trauma-bonded, and one missed therapy session away from losing it. You liked your body not covered in glitter. You liked your food unsabotaged. You liked your showers dye-free. You liked your clothes not sewn together by a super-soldier with a grudge. You liked peace. Quiet.

Bob, too, had retreated from the chaos the moment it started. He was quiet, nervous, so polite. The Sentry—the most powerful being in several galaxies—was also the one who carried I <3 New York mugs with two hands, murmured “sorry” when he sneezed too loudly, and apologized to furniture when he bumped into them.

You once caught him whispering "sorry" to the coffee machine. You hadn't recovered since.

And then there was Yelena—your best friend, your platonic soulmate, your disaster twin, your ride-or-die with a taser in her boot and a flask in one of the many pockets on her vest. She thrived in these situations. Like a vengeful little chaos gremlin.

You loved her like family. Like a sister. You also wanted to strangle her at least once a day.

You’d lost count of how many times you’d bailed her out of prank-related disasters. You had a permanent, invisible sign that read “Yelena’s Damage Control” stamped on your forehead. Once, you caught her trying to set up a trap involving a pulley system, three buckets of Jell-O, and a pressure sensor under Walker’s mattress.

“Yelena,” you had deadpanned, “this is a war crime.”

“I know,” she’d whispered, eyes gleaming.

You couldn’t stop her. But you could try to contain the fallout.

She'd always been the troublemaker, and you'd always been the one holding the broomstick, ready to clean up after every single mess.

Which is how you found yourself curled up on the couch one lazy, peaceful evening, blanket over your legs, a movie playing quietly. Peaceful, until it wasn't.

Yelena burst into the common area with the chaotic glare of a feral racoon who had just tried McDonalds for the first time.

She had a pouch in one hand, and that look in her eye. The one that meant she was either going to kill someone, or make them cry. The look of someone who had Googled "legal prank weapons" and actually found something.

You didn't look up from your phone. "If that's another glitter bomb, I swear to God Yelena I—"

She grinned, flopped on the couch beside you, and dropped the pouch in your lap.

You frowned. "You bought chocolate?"

"Yes and no," she said, vibrating with excitement. "It's not regular chocolate, silly. It's special chocolate."

You narrowed your eyes. "So... you bought weed chocolate?"

"What? No!" she scoffed. "Not weed. They're sex chocolates.

You stared. “I’m sorry—”

“I found them online,” she said proudly, holding up the tiny pouch like she was unveiling a horcrux. “Not technically illegal. Just... wildly inappropriate.”

Your mouth had opened and closed a few times before you got a full sentence out. "You bought aphrodisiac chocolate."

“Yes,” she continued nonchalantly, as she dramatically placed it in your palm, like this was completely normal and not a felony, “chocolates that make you horny. The bag said you should only eat half of one ‘cause otherwise—" she wiggled her eyebrows, "side effects. And it might make you horny as hell.”

You sighed.

"You're going to poison Bucky Barnes with horny candy? Jesus Christ, Yelena."

“It’s not poison,” she snapped, snatching the bag back. “It’s hilarious. He put fucking green dye in my shampoo, I looked like Shrek’s third cousin for three weeks. Like a fucking radioactive lizard. That shit didn't come out for three weeks. This is justice.”

“You looked adorable with green hair,” you offered.

“Not the point.” She held up a wrapped chocolate. “The point is this—” she pressed it against your cheek “—is going to drive him insane. I leave this out. He eats it. Gets inconveniently boned for eight hours. I laugh. You laugh. We all laugh. Valentina cries. Justice is served. The universe realigns.”

“Or,” you offered, “he kills you.”

“Worth it.”

You sighed, already in too deep. “Okay fine, I approve.”

“Good, ’cause I’m giving it to him right now.”

You frowned. “Isn’t it too suspicious for you to give him the chocolate? He’s gonna suspect you’re up to something.”

“You’re right…” Her eyes lit up again. “I’ll leave it on the kitchen island. The man can’t resist abandoned snacks.”

“Okay… but—”

“No no buts. This is gonna be fun.”

“Yelena…”

“Shush. He’s gonna come back any minute.”

You leaned back onto the couch again as she bolted to the kitchen, dropped the chocolate in plain sight like bait in a trap, then sprinted back and threw herself dramatically onto the couch beside you, both of you pretending to watch the movie playing on the screen.

You started giggling.

“Shut it!” she hissed, elbowing you. “He’s gonna suspect if you giggle like that.”

“I can’t help it,” you wheezed. “I just— I can’t wait to see his face.”

You tried to calm down, but you couldn’t stop picturing it: Bucky, scowling and always so suspicious, wandering into the kitchen, finding the lone piece of chocolate on the island like a bear stumbling across a candy bar in the woods, sniffing it, probably poking it, and then—against all logic—eating it.

And fifteen minutes later? Uncontrollably, catastrophically horny.

It was horrible. It was perfect.

And yet… the common room stayed quiet except for the hum of the TV. The chocolate remained untouched. Ten minutes passed. Then fifteen. Still no Bucky.

“Where the fuck is he?” Yelena hissed under her breath, peeking over the back of the couch. “He’s usually sniffing around by now. Post-workout fridge raid is like, a sacred ritual.”

“Maybe he’s actually working for once,” you offered, scrolling lazily through your phone. “You know. Doing his job.”

Yelena groaned like you'd personally insulted her. “Ugh. What a nerd.”

She flopped sideways dramatically, letting her head land on your thigh with a little oof. You chuckled and absentmindedly ran your fingers through her hair, brushing it out of her face while she mumbled something about "uselessly punctual super-soldiers" and “flirting with dietary supplements.”

Eventually, her mumbling trailed off. Her breathing evened out. She fell asleep in your lap, curled like a cat, snoring softly.

You stayed like that, warm and peaceful, letting the TV flicker in the background while your thumb scrolled mindlessly over your screen. The prank chocolate glinted under the kitchen light.

And then—

“Oh. Hi, Y/N.”

You looked up.

Bob Reynolds stood in the doorway, backlit by the hallway light, soft curls slightly tousled, wearing a black T-shirt that read sorry I’m late, I didn’t want to come in lowercase comic sans, and his usual grey sweatpants that hung low on his waist.

Your stomach dipped.

"Hey, Bob," you said, smiling.

He gave you a soft smile—shy, unsure, always like he was surprised you were still happy to see him. “Hi.”

His eyes flickered to Yelena, then back to you. He lingered there—just long enough to make your heart flutter.

It wasn’t the first time.

He always did that—like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to greet you. Like saying your name out loud made something flutter in his chest.

And God, he had no idea how obvious he was. At first, you thought it was just nerves. Bob was quiet, thoughtful, shy. But then you started noticing the patterns.

How he always looked for your laugh when the room was loud. How his eyes lingered on your mouth when you were focused on something. How he watched you when he thought you weren’t watching, gaze soft, warm, wanting—not greedy or possessive, just… curious. If you spoke, he listened—not just politely, but curiously, like your words mattered more than anyone else's in the room.

There was always a slight delay when he smiled at a joke—like he waited to see if you were laughing first.

And when you caught him watching? He looked away so fast it was like his thoughts had been yanked straight out of his brain.

You’d noticed. Of course you had.

Yelena noticed it too.

"I—uh—I just came to grab a snack," he said softly, motioning toward the kitchen.

"Sure," you smiled, turning your attention back to scrolling on your phone, trying so hard not to think about him.

A moment later, Yelena stirred, mumbling into your thigh, “He’s so into you.”

You rolled your eyes. “He’s not.”

“He is.”

“He is not, Yelena.”

“Babe. You’re so blind,” she mumbled. “I say this with love. Wake me up when Bucky eats the chocolate.”

She was out again within seconds.

You resumed your doom scrolling, ocasionally chuckling at stupid videos on the internet. A minute passed. Then another. Then you heard soft footsteps.

You looked up—and froze.

Bob was back. Glass of milk in one hand. Torn silver wrapper in the other. And—oh no.

Oh no.

A smear of chocolate at the corner of his mouth.

“Uh, Bob… where did you…?”

He blinked, startled. “Oh—this?” He held up the wrapper. “I, uh, found it on the kitchen island. Was it… was that yours?”

You stared.

“Oh god.”

“What?” he said, confused. “Was it like, fancy chocolate? I didn’t mean to—was it yours, Y/N? I’m so sorry—”

You slapped Yelena awake. “Wake up. Wake up right now.”

She groaned, glaring at you. “What the fuck, Y/N! Why would you—”

“He ate the chocolate.”

She blinked and puffed. “What? Ugh, Y/N! I told you to wake me up when Bucky came!"

You stood up, grabbing her chin and physically turning her toward Bob like you were revealing a murder suspect. “He ate the chocolate.”

Her jaw dropped. A full gasp escaped her. “Oh my god. BOB.”

Bob backed up. “I’m sorry! I just— I saw it— I thought it was for everyone—was it yours, Y/N? I didn’t mean to—”

Yelena stomped over and grabbed his face with both hands like she was inspecting a crime scene. “How much did you eat?”

His eyes darted between you and her. “I—what’s happening?”

“Answer the question, Bob.”

“I… I ate all of it?”

“WHAT?!” you shrieked, vaulting to your feet.

“I didn’t know!” Bob said quickly. “I thought it was just normal chocolate—I was hungry—”

“Oh my god,” you whispered.

Yelena spun toward you. “Get the bag. Read the label.”

You fumbled with the pouch, hands shaking, and scanned the fine print.

Recommended dose: HALF a chocolate. Effects last 6-8 hours depending on metabolisim. Fast-acting, onset in 10-15 minutes. Possible side effects: increased sweating (short-lived), spontanous arousal, inability to regulare desire, increased physical sensitivity, touch dependency, increased stamina, vocalization, elevated body temperature, hypersensitivity, desire fixation and obsessive focus on most recent object of desire.

You looked up. Your throat went dry.

Bob was already sweating.

He stood in the middle of the room like he’d just wandered out of a sauna, shirt clinging to his chest, breath coming in short little bursts. He tugged at his collar, blinking rapidly like he was trying to remember how air worked.

"Oh fuck," you whispered.

“Uh…” Bob said, weakly. “Is it… is it warm in here?”

Yelena clapped her hands. “We’re so fucked.”