#startcarvingdarling

"You've been staring at me for the last three blocks."

"Have not."

"Mhm," a brilliant smile kissed Suo Hayato's lips, "I'd almost be offended if I wasn't so entertained by how quickly you denied it."

Heat bloomed across your cheeks, slipping down the back of your neck, and something unfurled between the branches of your rib cage: light, fluttering, impossible.

"You always say things like that just to get a reaction."

"You are giving them so well."

"Involuntarily."

"Liar."

"Says you."

He walked beside you with his usual ease, hands folded behind his back—until his knuckles brushed yours; barely there, just a passing touch. When you shifted away—just a step, enough to claim deniability and accidents—it happened again; once more, twice more, again. Until finally, by the fourth time, irritation curled around your embarrassment sharp enough to act and your fingers caught his.

Suo's eye held a hint of mild surprise, amusement, and a slight pink flush decorated the tips of his ears—watercolour bleeding into paper, "… How forward."

"You were doing it on purpose."

"Was I?"

And there it was: the smile threatening the corner of his mouth, small and private, like he had been waiting for you to lose this little game first all along and his fingers found the space between yours easily.

uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh .

Oh, yes. Smash, smash, smash. Until I fog up those slutty little glasses he likes to wear.

"You'd like that?" Bucky's voice was so soft and hushed, completely opposite to the scary way he had you pinned against the table in the main conference room.

You were preparing the room for the Avengers briefing, placing folders with data around for each member, making sure there was water and snacks.

There shouldn't be anyone here for the next half an hour at least. Not even director Fury came too early.

Bucky Barnes came.

He snuck in without you noticing, then cornered you against one of the polished tables.

"What? N-no." You swallowed nervously, tensing up as his massive, warm body pressed into you.

"I-"

"You like the thrill of the risk." Bucky hummed, nosing along you neck as his hand brushed over your ass.

"You want me to take you to the limits and below. Break you and own you, if I remember your words correctly."

"My words?" You frowned.

Woth him so close and your mind focused on indecent proximity, of being trapped, you couldn't decipher his meaning as fast.

"From your little naughty stories." Bucky chuckled, sliding his hand over your hip to the front of your pants.

Realization hit you at once.

Yes, you've written stories, or rather put your darkest fantasies into words. And tes, they were all about Bucky. But they were all kept hidden! Private!

"That's my private-" you began protesting, squirming against his hold.

In a swift move, Bucky captured your wrists in his metal hand and held them against the table as he unbuttoned your pants.

"Very private." He agreed. "But since I'm in them, they regard me as well, don't you think? They're, in a sense, mine to deal with."

"As are you, my little needy stalker." His fingers slid inside your underwear.

my unserious answer is that he's my brother. and also my dad <3

umemiya's a walking red flag of pushy, overbearing behaviour, the problem is that even ithough you see it coming, there's not much you can do to stop it.

no one blinks an eye when he plucks your phone out of your hand to see who you're messaging, or 'mysteriously' keeps bumping into you time and time again while you're out with friends, always inserting himself with a bright, friendly grin, an arm slung possessively over your shoulders.

I am primarily a Stucky fan, it’s true. Though I am also a poly!Avengers kind of shipper where pretty much anyone can be with anyone and I’ll ship it.

All to say that yes, I do have some thoughts on Stony x Reader. 🤭

Ooooh, thanks Steph! I went a slightly different direction with this one.

You moved his large hands onto your ass, savoring the feeling of his firm grip. You wouldn't be doing this if you weren't drunk and sad and so angry, but you can't deny the fact that it feels so good, too, to have this kind of attention, even if it's fake. "Is he looking," you ask, "Is he jealous?"

The man whose legs you're standing between carefully looks over your shoulder. "He looks pissed," he says, his voice a warm, low rumble, then with a grin, he adds, "I'm Andy, by the way."