#lots of notes at the end on AO3

[iridescentgleam]

as night eclipses day (know the sun won't ever rise again)

Hi, did someone ask for Leshycat angst? ...No? Ah, well, too bad, I guess. I'll just leave this here then. read it on Ao3 Word Count: 2,493 TW: Main character death and a brief mention of violence and maiming (although it is never depicted and no detail is gone into).(Note to avoid any confusion: My Yellow Cat's name is Rowan.)

The sky is bright and clear as Lambert casually makes their way to the temple for the morning sermon. They can hear their followers go about their morning routines all around, some just waking up and heading to breakfast while others are hard at work, having been awake for hours already as their job requires them to be. Nothing of note will be happening today, but their followers seem to be in good spirits anyway, conversing good-naturedly over berry bowls and stopping for small talk on their way to the refinery or the lumberyard. All things considered, today is shaping up to be a good day, they think.

Which is why the guttural scream coming from the direction of the shelters takes them so off-guard.

It’s a horrid, awful noise that Lambert can only compare to the feedback that was filtered straight into their brain whenever one of the bishops emerged in front of them back when the Old Faith was still around. It is not a typical mortal scream in any regard, but, somehow, it is familiar to the lamb in a way they cannot quite place. Even after the person has stopped screeching, the sound echoes deep into the woods surrounding their community and leaves the lamb’s ears ringing violently.

The flock is silent when the echoing finally stops. All chatter has ceased, and even the sounds of people working in the stone mines and lumberyards halt. Everyone, the lamb included, is stunned by the scream. For a moment, nobody is moving at all.

And then, in that same terrible voice, someone cries out, “LAMB!!!” and instantly, Lambert knows why they recognize that scream.

It’s Leshy.

All eyes turn to Lambert, the curious, confused, and concerned all wondering why someone, let alone Leshy, would be screaming for their leader on a day like today.

But Lambert knows why.

It is only after the second, “LAMB!” though, that they take off running. Because if Leshy is calling for him, that can only mean one thing has happened. -----------

It is natural for followers to grow old. This is the way of life and death, and by the time their followers become elders, the lamb makes sure they are well taken care of and ready to greet death with open arms, unafraid of what comes after.

Of course, for some, death is not the end, but rather another bridge to cross in the road of existence. Lambert is guilty of reviving followers who they believe truly earned their right to continue on past what is supposed to be the end, but only if they know that it is something they want. Many of their followers are perfectly content to embrace eternal rest, after all. It is because of this that they do not take resurrection lightly.

They know what can happen if a follower who does not want it gets resurrected.

Thus, it is customary to ask elders what they wish for themselves when their time comes to retire from work. Many have family members and friends they want to be reunited with in the afterlife, so it is not a hard choice for them. Some simply crave the pleasantness of eternal rest. Others still tell them that they would be honored to continue to serve the cult, granted they were chosen for revival.

After many, many years of asking this question, they start to be able to predict what a follower will wish before they ask them, even without reading their mind. Certain types of people are more inclined to choose one path over another, so it does not shock them when a strong, nurturing type chooses to be reunited with the family he lost due to heretics or a burly, hard-working type asks if she could serve the cult longer. Some change their minds as their end grows nearer, but, for most, this is a question they have entertained for a long while before Lambert ever asks it to them.

Very rarely do they receive an answer that truly surprises them. They ask the question more as a formality than anything and simply end up nodding along to the follower’s explanation for why they chose the answer they did, even though Lambert can easily deduce why themselves.

That’s why, when Rowan -the diligent head farmhand for more than twenty years- says that he wishes to pass on peacefully and leave it at that, Lambert is already nodding along with a pleasant smile on their face before they can even process what is being said. When they finally do, they find themselves rearing back as if struck physically by the shock of what they just heard.

“I’m sorry?” they can’t help but ask, glancing down at the yellow cat as if they were seeing him for the first time.

“I wish to pass on, Leader. When it’s my time, I do not wish to be resurrected,” he reiterates, his tone even and almost carefree,  although the lamb can still sense the faintest bit of apprehension in his voice.

“...You haven’t told Leshy yet, have you?” they find themselves responding in a considerably more somber tone. It isn't really a question, although it comes out of their mouth like one. They already know the answer because... “Otherwise, I would have heard about it by now.”

Rowan dips his head, his graying whiskers barely skirting his chest. It’s all the confirmation the lamb needs to see to know that Leshy, indeed, has not been informed of this.

“You do not know how to tell him,” Lambert deduces, their voice becoming soft, almost coaxing. “You know you will have to eventually.”

“I am aware, yes,” the cat whispers back in an almost pained tone of voice. “But I do not want my last days with him to be ones of sadness and anger.”

“So you will go on letting him think that this state of yours is simply temporary and that you will rise again shortly after you pass?” they ask, casting a side-long glance at where Leshy is currently on the other side the cult grounds, blissfully unaware of the conversation Lambert was currently having with his partner.

“If I must do so to maintain the peace, then that is what I shall do,” Rowan replies, a steely sort of determination entering his tone. Much to their chagrin, he seems willing to die on this hill. They get the sense there is nothing they can say to talk him out of it.

They have half a mind to stomp all the way over to Leshy right now and tell him exactly what Rowan is telling them, but something in the yellow cat’s expression stops them from doing so.

After a long drawn-out silence, he eventually states, “I’m sure Leshy will find another lover eventually. And I want that for him, I truly do! He’s terrible at letting people in, but, deep down, he’s sweet in his own way, and he’s been taking care of me for the past few months, as he has done for all the time we’ve spent together. He’s funny too, and he has a great sense of humor. Really, what’s not to love?” He laughs softly to himself with a fond smile, as if he’s thinking of something Leshy had said long ago.

Suddenly, the lamb’s heart aches as they get a full sense of what Leshy will be losing. Rowan truly loves Leshy, that much is plain to see, and anyone with eyes (or even without them) can see how enamored the ex-god is with him as well. Lambert desperately wants to shake the cat by the shoulders and snap some sense into him, but they can tell that this decision is not one he has taken lightly. There is very little anyone could do to talk him out of this.

So the lamb concedes. After all, it is simply not their call to make. -----------

As Lambert approaches the shelter area, they can hear the sounds of Leshy’s agony loud and clear. There is clearly another person there with him because they can hear him snapping at someone in between whispered sweet-nothings to a lover who can no longer hear them. Really, he's speaking in frantic, half-baked sentences more than anything. Sometimes, it’s just soft, barely there mutters of “...my camellia, my camellia…” over and over again before morphing into blind rage in the form of earth-shaking cries of “YOU! YOU!”

If it was hard to hear, though, it was even worse to see. The lamb hesitates for a moment as the scene comes into view, swallowing down a lump got stuck in their throat before continuing on.

Leshy is kneeling over Rowan’s body, both hands blindly fisted in the cat’s robes as he alternates from focusing his attention on said cat to the other cat that happens to be in the vicinity.

Narinder, for his part, looks stoically down at Leshy grieving his dead partner, seeming exceptionally detached from his brother’s grief. The bridge that had been burnt between the two a thousand years ago seems yet to be rebuilt.

When Narinder looks up and makes eye contact with Lambert, his only reaction is a casual, “Lamb, deal with this nonsense,” and a thrash of his tail. Once they approach the scene fully, the black cat hardly spares him another look before turning on his heel and abandoning his brother with little more than a second thought. Lambert knows, though, that he will not stray far, as is the nature of an older brother, however estranged.

Narinder’s words seem to have gotten through to Leshy, despite his immense grief, though, because the ex-god of chaos whirls his head around to face them so fast they worry he might have seriously strained his neck. If he did, though, he doesn’t say anything. He simply gently cradles the body of Rowan in his arms and hoists the cat up into a bridal carry like it is the most effortless thing in the world. If Lambert didn’t know better, they would simply think Leshy is carrying Rowan because he fell asleep again somewhere, as is typical for an elder of his age.

The lamb instinctually flinches back as his body is thrust at them like a broken toy by a child. “Fix him…” the ex-god hisses in an otherworldly voice. “I declare it. NOW!”

Any hope Lambert might have had that Rowan told Leshy about his decision promptly shrivels up and dies in their chest.

Well, they thought, it’s been a good run, at least. It was nice knowing you, Red Crown. Please give my regards to Narinder when you promptly return to him after my death.

When the lamb makes no move to immediately remedy the situation, Leshy takes a step forward and presents Rowan’s body to them even clearer, as if it were possible for them to somehow miss it the first time. “Well?” he hisses, his voice dipping in and out a vocal range that was achievable by mortals. “What are you waiting for?! I am not speaking in tongues, am I?!”

They send up a silent prayer to any other gods that may possibly be out there and listening to them at this very moment as they reply, “...I can’t.”

For a moment, Leshy falls silent, seemingly stunned, before the rage returns stronger than ever. “What do you mean ‘YOU CAN’T?!’’’ he hisses, sounding truly like a god again, despite his continued presence in his mortal form. “YOU ARE THE ONLY ONE THAT CAN!”

Woo boy, time for the moment of truth, they think, before just deciding to spit it all out in one go. “Rowanaskedmenottoresurrecthimimsorry,” they reply, half tempted to shut their eyes against the onslaught they know will be coming.

Leshy falls silent again, this time for a longer period of time. The silence rings loudly in their ears, almost as deafening as his screams, if not more so. It’s eerie, watching all the fight seep out of Leshy like a snuffed candle. “What… what do you mean?” he eventually asks, his voice no louder than a whisper. This time, he truly does look like a child, his expression open and vulnerable as he turns to face his late lover, despite not being able to see him.

The lamb takes a deep breath before answering. “He didn’t want to tell you because he didn’t want you to be mad, but he asked specifically not to be resurrected. He said he was ready to move on.”

Oddly, it seems like the whole world has gone still. No birds are chirping, no insects humming. It’s all disturbingly quiet. The kind that tells you something is wrong. Lambert should have seen the signs before they all came crashing down on them.

“No… NO! YOU ARE LYING, YOU FILTHY LAMB!!!” he howls, throwing himself forward at the lamb despite still cradling Rowan’s corpse in his arms. “HE WOULD NOT SAY THAT, HOW DARE YOU LIE TO ME!! I WILL HAVE YOUR HEAD FOR THIS!”

“I’m sorry, Leshy,” they tell him sincerely, and that seems to be all it takes to break him, truly.

If they thought the scream he let out the first time was guttural, this one is just brutal. It sounds like it scrapes Leshy’s very mortal vocal cords raw as he falls to his knees and lays his late lover’s body back on the ground. Sobs and screams fight for the ability to leave his throat as he throws himself over Rowan’s corpse and cradles it tight to his chest. Black ichor quickly soaks the bandages that cover his face, so much so that the liquid starts leaking and quickly stains yellow fur as black as ink. As black as death. All Lambert can do is stand here and watch as Leshy starts pleading with his lover as if he were still alive.

“Please don’t leave me here alone! How come you get a choice and I don’t?!”

His cries echo around the silent grounds of their cult and permeate deep into everything that can hear his grief. Eventually, though, there is a limit to the mortal vocal cords, and Leshy’s wails of grief die into hoarse shrieks that fade away with each passing vocalization. Still, the ex-god will not give up Rowan’s corpse for anything. He fights brutally as a few cult members come by to collect Rowan’s body for burial, using instinct as his only guide. He successfully maims two of their followers because of it, but Lambert can’t find themselves too torn up about it after witnessing Leshy’s grief in its purest form. Rowan's body will need to be collected eventually, lest it rots, but it can stay a while still before Leshy realizes clinging to it will not bring his lover back.

For now, though, the lamb watches as Leshy, throat screamed raw, weeps over the body of one of their most successful farmhands. Watches and, for some reason, find themselves crying too.

[jichanxo]

sooooo... *twirls her hair* how many asks should i send until kuwagami art. jk as well. the real question will be: does it happen often that someone else’s art inspires you? in fandom spaces specifically

well you see it’s like a loyalty card program, every 10 asks or so you get a complimentary kuwagami

just kidding you can just breathe in my direction and I’ll be tempted to draw them. kuwagami blast! (you've caught me on a... just okay art day lol)

(people still like kabedons, right?)

anyway for my actual answer: in terms of direct inspiration, it doesn't really happen much? the last two times i did art directly based on someone else's work is probably this one from this fic, and also that time i drew art of someone else's judgment au. oh! and there's that moriohpsycho art based on this comic! (filthyguts' work is so very. hgngngghh. very good.) nothing else really comes to mind, and when i think of the other things i've been into recently there hasn't been as much opportunity for that to happen...

flex and herds = strong fixation but lmao. almost nobody else made stuff about them. nobody is surprised umineko = surprisingly i don't read much umineko fanfiction? and in terms of illustration, i certainly picked up imagery and indirect inspiration but nothing concrete enough for me to give an example... now that i think about it, i did once draw andromalius from redaction/sunny, but that was years ago, and also mostly because i was acquainted with the writer. ...i don't have that artwork on hand right now death note = didn't really get involved with the fandom + i enjoyed my own ideas well enough! ...i can't recall if i drew long-hair-L art before or after seeing other artists do it. and as for everything else the same kind of reasoning applies. didn't really get involved with the fandom or wasn't really compelled to make art in response to stuff i saw, or i just don't remember anymore.

buuuuuuut if we're opening this up to just... pulling ideas from other people? then yeah, all the time, though that kind of goes without saying when you have a creative hobby. ...it's probably going to be hard to come up with examples of this since it's more ambiguous.

there's uhhhhhh... kuwana listens to nickelback which was a @/four-white-trees invention, wasn't it? (EDIT: and @/overdevelopedglasses!) (not tagging in this post so he doesn't feel obligated to read my big ass ask responses 💀) as of writing this, it's not posted but i did end up making kuwagami art based on a nickelback song so. yknow. there's that LMAO

for sawashiro and arakawa, i do sometimes go reference @/todayisafridaynight 's art to help me with my own. ("how did he draw this part of the suit? oh, like that huh? hmm" <- this kind of thing)

and um. i'm not trying to pander to you (at least not this time), but genuinely it's one of the few examples that come to mind at this moment. but when i was writing my first kuwagami fic, i could feel the influence of the ever-changing on my brain... was turning over some of your ideas there...

you remember this? (you even pointed it out in your comment on my fic, and i should've said something then, but whatever i'm saying it now)

that was absolutely because of this

(obligatory poke at anybody else reading this post that you can read passthroughtime's fic here.)

so, um. yeah. not really sure what else to add to that. pretty self evident i think. (i'm always talking about the ever-changing but i don't think i can overstate the impression it left on me at the time)

anyhow there aren't really any other examples off the top of my head! these are all recent examples so they're not so difficult to recall, but there are probably others i've forgotten...

[purgaytorysupremacy]

and the grass where you lay left a bed in your shape / I looked over it and I ached

Dean Winchester has spent his whole life cleaning up his father's messes. Now that his little brother, Sam, is settled in California and Bobby's got a handle on the garage, they convinced Dean to finally do something for himself. After a chance encounter at the Air Force recruitment fair Sam dragged him to, Dean got hooked on air traffic control, and he gets stationed at Kansas City Tower for his final leg of training. There, he has to impress his on-job instructor Castiel Novak, the ex-Air Force captain who piqued his interest in ATC in the first place. (And only in ATC. He swears. Those blue eyes and dark hair and stupid hat have nothing to do with it.) If all that wasn't hard enough, just one week into his OJT, Dean gets a call telling him his father is dying and has to move back home to live out his final days—which could be more like years.

Dean has to decide whether to continue to let his life be defined by his father's mistakes and his misguided obligation to everyone else, or if he's brave enough—and strong enough—to find a life in his own shape.

start reading now on ao3!

[sleepless-in-southlands]

Up My Sleeve (Off My Shoulders)

Ao3

Summary: Bdubs is a good right-hand. A great one, even. Some days, that feels more like a condemnation than a compliment. Content: AU- Mob Bosses, bittersweet/hopeful ending, emotional hurt; emotional repression, past/past relationships, bdubs having a Time and scar being a good boss-friend Pairings: Platonic Scar and Bdubs Note: Part five of Bloody Fruits au

~

Sometimes, Bdubs got tired of being good at his job.

Not that that made any sense, not when being good at his job kept him alive. Make no mistake, he wasn’t looking to get shot anytime soon.

He took pride in his work, too. If anything was running smoothly in the Glass Empire, it was always, in some part, because of him. Business papers, merchandise,  clearly defined borders, exterminated moles- you name it, Bdubs had a hand in it. Of course he did. He was Scar’s right-hand man. That was his job, to do a little bit of everything.

And, see, that’s where the issue was. Bdubs did everything. Sometimes he got tired of it- no, sometimes he got sick of it.

It wasn’t Scar’s fault. He entrusted Bdubs to do a lot, sure, but that’s how it worked. Bdubs was the only one Scar could truly trust, so he was the one who had the most to do. Bdubs knew that. Bdubs was fine with that.

Compared to some bosses, Scar was a soft-touch anyways. Most of them wouldn’t require a right-hand to take a break unless they were on their deathbed. With Scar, Bdubs got sent home if he pulled too many all-nighters in a row. 

Which meant it wasn’t a problem with the Glass Empire either. Even if it was, he wouldn’t want to work in any of the other organizations. He couldn’t imagine being a subordinate for Mumbo and Grian- because if Grian was just a right-hand like him, Bdubs was the mayor- where it was a miracle they noticed anyone outside of each other (and now Scar, apparently), the Guild was a puppet-show, the Armory was too aggressive, and the Seventy-Sevens-

Well. They were run by Doc.

Call him biased, but the Glass Empire was the only good group in the whole sludge of a town. So that wasn’t the issue.

Really, there wasn’t any issue, not one that was anyone else’s fault. Some days Bdubs sat at his desk and looked down at all the work he had to do, the papers on several different subjects, the notes about what he had to do outside of the office, the ever ticking clock that stood monument as a constant reminder of the mayoral election’s steady approach, and he wanted to scream. Not because it was too hard. Not because it was too much. Not because of anything that made any sense.

And because he was good at his job, he never screams. He buckles down and does his work and goes home when he must and ignores the way it feels wrong that he never tries to reach for a gun instead of the remote when he’s there.

All of which would be perfectly fine if it weren’t for one of the previously established facts: Scar’s a soft-touch. Not in business, but always with Bdubs. He’s close where the previous had been distant, and that means he notices things Bdubs doesn’t want noticed.

Which is why when he startled Bdubs out of his work with a seemingly random, “Is something wrong?”, that was a problem. Because something was wrong, and Bdubs didn’t want to talk about it.

“Our shipment’s been delayed again.” Bdubs answered in a way that wasn’t a lie so much as it was him ignoring the actual question. “I’ll have to call the manufacturer.”

Scar waved, dismissive. “Not that, that’s just business. I meant with you.”

Bdubs raised an eyebrow. “Even if it’s ‘just business’, I still have to fix it.”

“Aside from that, then. I doubt you’re that upset over making a phone call.”

“I’m not upset.”

If Bdubs had said that to anyone else, they would have had no choice but to accept it. He wasn’t tensed up, distracted, working slowly. At a glance or a stare, he seemed completely normal.

Unless the one looking was Scar, who had started to frown.

“Your clock’s smudged.” He pointed out, and Bdubs took a moment to look at it even though he knew exactly to what Scar was referring. A tiny glint of grease against the pocket watch’s face, accidentally left behind by someone’s clumsy touch. It had been there for hours, each hand taking a turn spinning underneath it. He would’ve cleaned it as soon as it happened if it weren’t for the fact he left its cloth in his car, and he didn’t trust himself to fetch it without also getting behind the wheel and driving for as long as his tank would let him.

“It happens.” Bdubs replied, trying to force nonchalance into his tone as he turned back to his papers. “I’ll take care of it once I’m done with this.”

A minute passed in silence, but to Bdubs it felt like an hour. He knew that Scar was still watching him. He also knew that Scar didn’t believe him.

“Bdubs, look at me.”

Bdubs obeyed despite the fact he would, at that exact moment, rather gouge his eyes out than meet Scar’s. He didn’t want to talk about this, but Scar was concerned and his gaze was searching and there was no escaping the head of the Glass Empire, not in his offices, not as his right-hand man.

“I’ve seen you, quite literally, drop everything to clean that watch.” Scar spoke slowly, as if waiting for Bdubs to disagree with him. Bdubs wasn’t quite desperate enough to make that mistake again. “So I’ll ask again: is something wrong?”

He wasn’t really asking. They both knew that.

“I already told you. Nothing is.”

He wasn’t really answering. They both knew that.

Scar sighed. Leaned heavier on his cane. Bdubs wasn’t sure why he had left his office, if he had needed to get something or talk to Bdubs for other reasons. Like usual, they were the only two left in the office after sunset. “Give me the manufacturer's number.”

“What?”

“You said that was the only thing wrong.” Scar held out his free hand. “I can make the call, I’ve got time.”

Bdubs knew what Scar was trying to do. He wasn’t being subtle. He wanted Bdubs to give him a reason to end the conversation. A simple one, even. All Bdubs had to do was give him the phone number and he would let the matter drop with no further argument. The worst he would do would be forcing Bdubs to take the next day off. They wouldn’t have to talk about it.

So, obviously, he refused.

“I can handle it.” Bdubs said with a half-shrug. “It’s just annoying.”

“It won’t be annoying for me.” Scar’s hand was still extended.

“It’s fine, Scar.”

“Not if it’s bothering you.”

“It’s not bothering me.” Bdubs’s voice was sounding dangerously close to clipped.

“I’d still like to take care of it for you.”

“You can’t.”

“Why not?” Scar said in faint disbelief that sounded more curious than angry.

Bdubs didn’t answer. He was realizing too late that he had been backed into a corner.

“Why not, Bdubs?” Scar repeated when Bdubs didn’t say anything for too long of a moment, and Bdubs was out of options.

“Because it’s not your job!” Bdubs snapped.

He regretted the outburst in the same second it happened, ducking his head and once again looking away from Scar before he could see his reaction.

“I- sorry. I’m sorry.” Bdubs fumbled out, hating how quiet his words sounded in comparison to the near-shout they followed.

More silence. Bdubs didn’t turn his head when it was broken by the sound of footsteps and cane taps. Scar leaving, not acknowledging any of this had happened- it would be for the best.

Except then there was the sound of rolling wheels, a chair being pulled away from a desk, and Bdubs looked up to find Scar still next to him, now sitting, cane put to the side. As Bdubs watched, he reached across his desk to carefully pull Bdubs’s pen from his grip, the groves of its design showing white against red as Bdubs uncurled his fist and let Scar place the pen down. He had forgotten he had been holding it.

“Bdubs,” Scar said, quietly, and Bdubs might’ve felt worse about being treated like a cornered animal if it weren’t for the fact he had been acting a lot like one, “talk to me. What’s wrong?”

“...Nothing. It’s nothing.” Bdubs admitted in unhappy defeat. When Scar didn’t understand, frown remaining, he tacked on, “What’s wrong is that nothing’s wrong.”

“I see.” Scar didn’t sound as if he truly did, but Bdubs appreciated that he accepted it, that he wasn’t going to try and argue whether or not that made any sense.

It didn’t, but Bdubs already knew that.

“It’s- how long do you think I’ve been doing this sort of thing? How long do you think I’ve been in this business?” He wasn’t sure what suddenly possessed him to try and explain it. It wasn’t something he knew how to put to words, wasn’t something he had ever wanted to tell someone else about. It was his non-problem problem that he kept silently tucked to his chest, never a concern to anyone but himself.

But Scar had noticed. Scar had made it his concern. It was the first time Bdubs had been asked about it, and maybe the fear that it would be his only chance to answer was what pushed him clumsily into attempting to define it.

“Well, you’ve been with the Glass Empire for quite a while. And you’ve always seemed to know a lot about the business, even as a lackey.” Scar answered thoughtfully. “I think you’ve been in this business for a very long time.”

“I have. And I’m good at what I do?” Bdubs phrased it like a question, for the sake of asking it, but he didn’t actually need to hear Scar’s answer. He already knew it.

“You are.”

“Right. And I- I do everything that needs to be done, and I handle everything that needs to be handled, and as long as I’m fine everything goes fine, right?”

Whatever worry Bdubs had managed to ever so slightly assuage by trying to explain his problem had returned to Scar’s expression as he continued with his self-evident questions. “What’re you getting at, Bdubs?”

“I know this life. I know this job. I’m good at this job, when I’m here, when I’m working. But when I go home…” Bdubs fumbled, not sure how to put into words what he was driving at, “I just go home.”

Somehow, Scar managed to pick up on what he was trying to say. “You can’t always be making shady deals and hiding evidence. Work has a way of following you home, sure, but that doesn’t mean you can’t have a life outside of the life.”

“Should I?”

“I’m not sure that’s a question either of us is really equipped to answer.” Scar half-joked. “But I think it’s better that you do. It eats you alive if you don’t.”

“But… it’s not something everyone can do, is it?” Bdubs glanced back to his pocket watch and the grease stain he had left smudged on its face for far longer than he ever had, trying not to think about it even as he watched its hands spin. “Is there a reason I can do it when other people can’t?”

Scar didn’t respond immediately, and out of the corner of his eye, Bdubs saw he had the same look on his face he got when he was sizing up customers and competitors alike. It was a harmless expression on the surface, idle thoughtfulness, but Bdubs knew his boss well enough to know it was more than that. In business meetings, Scar would follow it with a disarming smile and a throwaway comment that casually informed the other party that he knew exactly where to hit them hardest.

But in the backrooms of his empire, with only his right-hand man across from him, Scar didn’t bother with the formalities of friendly nonchalance.

“I’m sure you’re aware of this already, but the Glass Empire’s policy on inner- and outer- organization relationships is fairly flexible.”

Bdubs huffed a laugh. “Painfully.”

The corner of Scar’s mouth quirked up, amused. “I’m just saying, if there’s someone else… you can tell me.”

Bdubs hesitated. He knew Scar meant it, that he wasn’t trying to trap Bdubs into admitting something that he’d then turn around and kill him for. But things said couldn’t be nearly as easily unsaid, and Bdubs had built a new life in the Glass Empire out of a sole desire to never have to speak it- or think it- again.

The latter had never worked out though, and for once Bdubs was tired of keeping his mouth shut.

“It was in the past. Before I was with the Empire.”

“Oh?” Scar’s tone was that of mere polite curiosity, nothing more. Bdubs appreciated him pretending to be only mildly interested in the first bit of personal information regarding life before the Empire Bdubs had ever volunteered to share.

“I was still in Heremita, though. With a different group.” Bdubs glanced at Scar. “I was their right-hand too.”

It only took a few seconds for Scar to shift from contemplation to realization, and Bdubs could follow his thought process without him saying a word. The South hadn’t arrived in Heremita until after Bdubs was with the Glass Empire, not that they would be a real consideration either way. And the right-hands of the Armory and Gorgeous Guild were public knowledge. Which left only one option.

“You were Doc’s shadow right-hand.” Scar didn’t phrase it like a question.

“More than that.” Bdubs said before he could overthink it, watching as Scar’s eyes widened in surprise before turning his gaze back towards his pocket watch.

“...Doc does have a reputation for being a workaholic.” Scar offered slowly, when the silence had begun to stretch.

Bdubs let out a humourless laugh. “That’s an understatement.” He said bitterly. After a long minute with no follow-up response from Scar, Bdubs slumped down slightly in his chair, replacing the bitterness with exhaustion. “The business was always his priority. It didn’t matter where he was, what he was doing- he was always thinking about work.”

The minute hand on Bdubs’s watch ticked over a space, lining up right beneath the smudge. Bdubs dropped his eyes to the surface of his desk. “He never came home, y’know? Even when he was at home, he was still working. It was all he cared about.”

“Is that why you left?” Scar asked, quietly.

Bdubs nodded, moreso to the ground than Scar. “I wrote him a note, so he’d know I hadn’t been kidnapped or killed, but it was… professional. A resignation, nothing else. Meant to leave Heremita as a whole, but I needed funds, so I ran some odd jobs as far away from Doc’s territory as I could get.”

“The Glass Empire.”

“One thing led to another… and you know the rest.” Bdubs finally raised his head again, propping it up on one of his hands with a sigh. “I should have known better. In this line of work, not putting business first can get you killed. I can’t be that surprised he made his choices like he did.”

“There’s a difference between putting work first and putting everything else last.”

“Yeah, well.” Bdubs shrugged. “Not everyone gets that.”

Scar was silent, and for a foolish moment, Bdubs assumed that he was going to leave the matter there, an awkward not-so-secret secret that they knew but would never talk about, like Dolos or the way that Scar was clearly in love with both heads of the South (not that Bdubs hadn’t been trying to broach the latter subject, but Scar had been persistent in stonewalling his attempts). Outside of sympathetic platitudes, there wasn’t much else to be said.

But the analytic expression was back on Scar’s face, and while Bdubs knew it better than most, he had managed to forget just how perceptive Scar could be right up until the moment where he said something no one else in the room had even thought.

“Is that why you hate Mumbo and Grian?” Scar was kind enough to twist the observation into a question, softening the blow, but it still hit hard enough that Bdubs couldn’t keep meeting his eyes.

Bdubs had often found, with his line of work, you only ever had two choices when it came to personal issues that had the potential to interfere with business: you either took care of them, or you ignored them. He couldn’t make things work with the Seventy-Sevens, so he wrote a note and left. He didn’t like the thought of Dolos rotting in one piece, so he cut him into three and buried him on the territory of every Heremita gang (outside of the Empire) that had existed at the time. He got sick of seeing Scar turn down partnerships with the South on the same basis that middle schoolers used to pick teams in PE, so he bullied him into staying away until he was willing to make a decision.

He watched the way Mumbo never went anywhere without Grian at his side, both professional to a fault despite how clear it was that their only real priorities were the other, not their business, and Bdubs ignored how his chest twisted painfully at the sight.

It wasn’t fair to say Bdubs hated them, and he knew that Scar knew that. He had nothing against them or the South as a whole. What few interactions he had directly had with them had been civil and respectful. The only issue Bdubs truly had with them was just how close they were.

Professionally, the only reason Bdubs had any problem with that was because it made them unpredictable. Bdubs would never forget the look in Mumbo's eyes the day Grian had been kidnapped, the way he had threatened to ruin the organization responsible so vehemently Bdubs knew he wasn't exaggerating in the slightest. The goals of the South were always at risk of making a complete one eighty, subject to the mood and well-being of its boss and right-hand, and as such Bdubs always had to be on his guard with them.

As to any personal feelings, nothing good could come of hating Mumbo for doing what Doc never managed, of hating Grian for having more than Bdubs had even wanted, so he didn't. Nothing else to it.

(It was possible that that was different when Bdubs was home, far from work and professionalism, on the rare nights where it was late enough for him to entertain such thoughts. Late nights where he would do his best to convince himself he hated them, briefly giving into the hope that if he pretended it was true long enough, it would be. But Bdubs wasn't home right then, and the night wasn't dark enough.)

Bdubs managed a half-smile, shaking his head slightly as he tried for a light, joking tone despite the fact that he still couldn’t meet Scar’s eyes. “I don't hate Mumbo and Grian, I hate the way you interact with them.”

Scar pressed a hand to his chest, feigning offense. The deflection was so obvious Bdubs might as well have outright declared he was changing the topic, but Scar went along with it, accepting that they had gone as far into the conversation as Bdubs was willing to go. “I’m hurt. All my interactions with them are the epitome of professionalism, what about that could be so awful?”

“What about Grian cupping the back of your neck was ‘the epitome of professionalism?’”

“He was helping me keep pressure on my injuries.”

“I didn’t realize you had cut your lips as well.”

“He never-” Scar paused to clear his throat. “Your recollection of events seems to be somewhat faulty, Bdubs.”

“Something about the situation’s faulty.” Bdubs countered, though he didn’t try to push much past that. Any other time, he wouldn’t hesitate, but Scar was doing him a favour by letting Bdubs turn the tables on him. The least Bdubs could do was return it, if only for the night.

Scar chuckled, a tad awkwardly, before taking the opening to steer them away from the topic of the South (and his relationships within it). “Speaking of faulty, I think we've both been up past our bedtimes.”

“Smooth transition, Scar.” Bdubs quipped even as he started to put away his papers. Bdubs had learned fairly quickly that when Scar decided to wrap up for the day/evening, nothing short of a knife to his throat could make him change his mind on the matter. Bdubs wasn’t sure he was quite ready to face down his car and the thought of sticking the pedal to the floor, but arguing was futile.“Give me five minutes and I’ll be ready to go.”

Scar waved him off long before he had the chance to so much as get up, however. “I won’t make you play chauffeur tonight. Plus, part of the reason I came out here in the first place was to give you this.”

Looking up from his paperwork shuffling, Bdubs expected to find another file or written inquiry he’d tuck away for the night and get to first thing in the morning. It was clear at a glance that his guess had been wrong, the small bundle of folded fabric and hemmed edges held between Scar’s fingers more familiar to Bdubs than any legal form or dark alley.

Bdubs took the proffered cleaning cloth from Scar, flipping it over in his hands to confirm what he had immediately realized- it was a watch cleaning cloth. Specifically, it was Bdubs’s watch cleaning cloth, the exact same one he usually had on hand, other than the fact that it was clean and unused and new. Which meant Scar hadn’t broken into his car to get it.

“I thought it’d be a good idea to have some extras.” Scar explained casually, as if there wasn’t anything noteworthy about it. “In case you lost yours, or something happened to it.”

“Some?”

Scar shrugged. “They were cheaper in bulk.”

For a moment, Bdubs couldn’t help but stare at Scar, who was continuing to act nonchalant. To anyone else, the gesture would likely be seen as small and somewhat meaningless. Nice, but little else.

Except it was identical to Bdubs’s cloth, which meant Scar had, at some point, gone through the effort of identifying the brand and make of a small square of fabric that was rarely in sight. He had bought multiple of it, hiding the purposeful act behind a white lie about cost (as if that was truly a concern for the Glass Empire), and had done so without ever mentioning it to Bdubs until he gave him one. Scar had done all that because he had realized it was something important to Bdubs, so much so that when he noticed Bdubs had neglected to clean his pocket watch for the better part of the day, he left his office to ask Bdubs what was wrong and present him with the cloth, with no indication from Bdubs that he was, in any sense, doing poorly.

It was almost too much. Bdubs didn’t know how to respond.

So, of course, Scar didn’t make him. “You can take the bed in the office, I’m going to check if we still have that spare sleeping bag in the storeroom. Your appreciation is implied.” Scar added to the end, voice light as though metaphorically brushing aside Bdubs’s stunned silence.

Bdubs remained quiet as Scar stood up, watching as Scar picked up his cane and pushed his chair back where he had gotten it from. He couldn’t even find the words to protest Scar’s declaration- the floor was worse on Scar’s back then it was on his, like hell he’d take the bed (though that, at least, was a point Bdubs could make later through light shoving and pushing)- letting Scar start walking off without saying anything.

Scar didn’t make it very far before he stopped, however, turning back towards Bdubs. He didn’t say anything immediately, hesitating as though he was considering his next move very carefully.

“For the record?” Scar’s tone was still light, but there was an undercurrent of something serious to it, something meaningful. His expression had softened as well, gentle in a way Bdubs couldn’t put an exact name to. “If you suddenly left the Empire, and your only goodbye was a resignation letter… I would come after you.”

Coming from any other Heremita boss, the sentiment would be a threat. A way of saying that Bdubs may have been able to do that to Doc, but he better not try it with them, that he better not abandon his job and their organization without a damned good reason personally presented to them.

But it wasn’t any other boss. It was Scar, who was looking at Bdubs with more feeling than had been contained in his words.

From Scar, it was a reassurance.

Scar resumed his trek to the storeroom, leaving Bdubs with the plausible deniability of privacy. A purposeful and gracious move, given the situation had officially become too much for Bdubs.

Because Bdubs was good at his job. He made sure that the cracks never showed- not for the Glass Empire, not for himself- because a seen weakness was an exploitable weakness, and it was better to never show anything rather than flashing an achilles heel at the wrong person. Scar knew that- he was good at his job too.

Which is why he walked away, giving Bdubs the space to stare at his desk, not really seeing it, as he idly thumbed a single tear out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t scream, didn’t sob, didn’t make a sound, just took full advantage of Scar’s discretion and let himself have five minutes where he wasn’t anything more than a heartbroken sucker.

“Bdubs, did you move the sleeping bag?” Scar shouted, presumably from the storeroom, giving Bdubs something else to focus on before he could sink too far into his own moping. He let out a breath, taking a moment to collect himself and straighten up as though Scar was present in the room with him.

“Don’t worry about it, Scar, just take the bed.”

“I’m not taking it from you!”

“It’s not my bed, you can’t take it from me.”

“Where’s the sleeping bag?”

“You’re not sleeping on the floor!”

“It’s my floor! I can sleep on it if I want!”

Despite himself, Bdubs laughed. He had, as a matter of fact, moved the sleeping bag, but he wasn’t going to be telling Scar that. Instead, he pushed himself to his feet, not wanting to shout his every rationale for why Scar would be taking the bed, actually.

He stopped by the edge of his desk as he went, picking up his pocket watch. The spot of grease glinted in the dim lights, but its presence didn’t mock Bdubs as it had all day. The cloth Scar had gifted him was still in his hand, and with a single swipe across the clock’s face, the smudge was dealt with, leaving the watch as clean and clear as it nearly always was.

Bdubs looked at it for a long minute before carefully placing it back on his desk, folding the cleaning cloth to put beside it. The watch kept ticking. The cloth didn’t vanish.

With a nod to himself, Bdubs continued towards the storeroom, where he could hear the sounds of Scar attempting (and failing) to find the hidden sleeping bag. There was a tightness in his chest, wrapped harshly around his ribs and heavy over his shoulders, that felt loosened in a way Bdubs had no intention of thinking very deeply on while at work. He had other things to focus on- papers to put away, an argument to win, a boss to subtly thank. Things that needed- and would get- his full attention.

After all, Bdubs was very good at his job.

[viperwhispered]

Well, I think so at least. I mean, I do still have some writing to do and Baldur's Gate 3 might just steal me away soon but.

So, if anyone wants to get tagged for aged up / adult Jamil Viper x nonyuu!reader fic with possibly kinda dark and certainly a bit dubious Jamil and some nsfw, do let me know.

For a teaser:

Suddenly, with perfect clarity, you realize how Jamil has set this whole thing up. How everything until now has been leading to this. The thrill of that thought is what makes you drop all pretenses and yield to him.

[spacedlexi]

whats ur ao3 tag :O

i dont have one yet...or well i Do but its a decade old and basically an archive so i need to make a new one. all of my writings just live in my little phone documents atm

[fireinmywoods]

fic: septenary [4/7]

The fourth of seven short(...ish) fics in the palimpsest verse. As usual, these stories jump all over the timeline and contain spoilers for palimpsest, so please PLEASE read that first.

PART 4: It’s been nearly an hour. He should be here by now. In which Jim is late and Leonard has had a bad day. Mature, ~13k words.

[PART 4]

[the-kipsabian]

im ngl, i think its actually pretty cool of me to write something entirely new :)

[jacklyn-flynn]

This is the final chapter of this story. I'm sure there will be more with Sparrow and Fenris, but this origin story has been an amazing journey for me. The last chapter (there will be a shorter epilogue) is quite long, but I feel like it's the proper send off. To everyone who has made it this far, thank you for sticking with me. I know the last few chapters have been sporadic but I wanted to do the story justice. I hope that you enjoy it and continue to stick around to read whatever comes next.

Much <3

Jacks

[padfootastic]

PRONGSFOOT WEEK 2022: DAY 5

Favorite tropes for this ship.

friends to lovers is an obvious one. i’m a sucker for developing relationships and find the push & pull + pre-relationship tension to be much more interesting than when the characters get together. the pining, the longing, the desperation- god. it’s so yum. and j/s gives me so much of it. i’m not a fan of like,,,difficult? dynamics that are characteristic of, say enemies to lovers or getting back together so this works perfectly.

didn’t know they were together is another classic. the way i interpret this is that j & s do everything a couple does, with zero self awareness, bc that’s just how they are and everyone around them is just very, very tired of their Antics ykno?

sharing a bed always makes me go abdjdfbk!!! it’s such a top tier trope and for good reason too. the way ~hidden feelings

outsider pov is probably my number 1go to trope in any fandom, any ship. i can never get enough of it. i love it for romantic/platonic/gen dynamics and seriously, it’s the perfect vehicle to narrate a story in my opinion. it’s even better for prongsfoot bc they’re ripe for the most hilarious reactions from people since they’re such an insulated duo. everywhere but untouchable, really. i love seeing how close they are from others eyes & particularly, how different sirius acts when it comes to james vs everyone else.

[icykalisartblog]

DDoS Attack Against AO3: Correcting Misinformation

Normally I don't make any posts like this, but I have an interest in cybersecurity and sadly I've seen people are being really ignorant about this recent DDoS attack against the site AO3 (Archive of Our Own), so I thought I'd remind people of a few things:

Anonymous Sudan appears to have no actual link to Sudan at all, or to any previous hacktivist groups that once operated there. This masquerade is probably based in anti-immigration and other racist sentiments, and utilizing those sentiments in other people to scare people and set up Muslims and Sudanese people as a target. This should be obvious from the language used in their note, but this was already known prior to this particular attack.

This so-called Anonymous Sudan has actually been very active recently—remember that they claimed to attack Reddit, Flickr, Riot Games, a huge number of Microsoft web portals like OneDrive and Outlook, etc. before AO3, so AO3 was totally a logical target for them since they've gone after smaller entities before. DDoS attacks like this are easy for any script kiddie to set up, so it's not weird that they'd go for a smaller target like this.

Honestly this group of posers probably just wants money, everybody. They sent AO3 a ransom note asking for Bitcoin (and just in case people don't know, do not pay a ransom if at all possible if this ever happens to you).

My advice to people who've noticed this attack is two-fold: calm down since this is part of a larger pattern that has literally resulted in basically no loss for the end-user of any of the sites, and... I don't really know a better way to put this, but don't believe everything you read. A religiously-motivated hate group wouldn't use terms like "LGBTQ+" and "smuts," and it's so blatantly obvious that the timing of every single one of these attacks is being used to smear Muslims and Sudanese people if you think about current events for like. One second. And if you look up Anonymous Sudan, you'll see their string of attacks and how all experts know that they have nothing to do with Sudan at all. Even AO3 itself told everybody that the group is lying about their motivations... though I think I'd go further than that personally because even their name itself is almost certainly a total sham.

To be clear: this post isn't targeted at anyone in particular. I've just seen a lot of people falling for this overall or not realizing this is part of a pattern, and I also wanted to remind everyone that this isn't anything to be concerned about. What is something to be concerned about is not doing research or thinking critically and then unwittingly spreading racist ideas.

[niennanir]

Listen to your elders

So last week I posted abut the importance of downloading your fic. And then three days later AO3 went down for 24 hours. No one was more weirded out by this than I was. But while y’all were acting like the library at Alexandria was on fire I was reading my download fic and editing chapter eight of Buck, Rogers, and the 21st Century. And also thinking about what I could do to be helpful when the crisis was actually over.

So first off, I’m going to repeat that if you’re going to bookmark a fic, you really need to also download the fic and back it up in a safe place. I just do it automatically now and it’s a good habit to get into.

But let’s talk about some other scenarios. Last October I lost power for over a week after hurricane Ian. Apart from not having internet or A/C I did find plenty to do, I collect books so I had plenty to read, but maybe, unlike me, your favorite comfort reads aren’t sitting on a bookshelf. So let’s do something about that, shall we?

In olden times many long years ago around 1995 we printed off a lot of fic. It was mostly SOP to print a fic you planned to reread and stick it in a three ring binder. And that’s totally valid today too, but you can also make a very nice paperback with a minimum amount of skill and materials.

Let’s start with the download; Go to Ao3 and select your fic, we’ll be working with one of mine. This method works best with one shots, long fic tends to need a more complicated approach. Get yourself an HTML download

Open up the HTML download and select all then copy paste into any word processor. Set the page to landscape and two columns, then change the font to something you find easy to read, this is your book, no judgement. This is all you have to do for layout but I like to play a little bit. I move all the meta, summary, notes to the end and pick out a fun font for the title: 

No time like the present to do a quick proofread. Congratulations, you’ve just created your first typeset. On to the fun part.

Now you’re going to need some materials:  8.5x11in paper ruler one sheet of 12x12 medium card stock (60-80lb) scissors pencil pen or fine tip marker sheet of wax paper white glue two binder clips 2 heavy books or 1 brick butter knife

You’ll also need a printer, if you’re in the US there is almost a 100% chance your local library has a printer you can use if you don’t have your own. None of these materials are expensive and you can literally use cheap copy paper and Elmers glue.

Print your text block, one page per side. Fold the first page in half so that the blank side is inside and the printed side out:

use the butter knife to crease the edge. Repeat on all the sheets. When you’ve finished, stack them up with the raw edge on the left and the folded edge on the right. I used standard copy paper, because you’re only printing on one side there’s no bleed to worry about. Take the text block and line everything up. Use the binder clips to hold the raw edge in place.

Wrap the text block in the wax paper so that the raw edge and binder clips are facing out. I’m going to use my home built book press but you don’t need one, a brick or a couple of books or anything else heavy will work fine.

Once the text block is anchored down, take off he binder clips and get out the glue.

You can use a brush but you don’t need one, smear some glue on that raw edge.

Go make a margarita, watch The Mandalorian, call your mother. Don’t come back for at least an hour

In an hour smear some more glue on there and shift your brick forward so that the whole book is covered. This keeps the paper from warping. While glue part 2 is drying we’ll do the cover. Get out your 12x12 cardstock

Mark the cardstock off at 8.5 inches and cut it. Measure in 5.5 inches from the left and put in a score line with the butter knife (the back edge not the sharp edge)

Carefully fold the score line, this is your front cover. You have some options for the cover title, you can use a cutting machine like a cricut if you have one, you can print out a title on the computer and use carbon paper to transfer the text to the cardstock. I was in a mood so I just freehanded that beoch. Pencil first then in pen.

Take your text block out from under your brick. Line it up against the score mark and mark the second score on the other side of the spine

Fold the score and glue the textblock into the cover at the spine. Once the glue dries up mark the back cover with the pencil and then trim the back cover to fit with your scissors.

Voila:

I’m going to put this baby on the shelf next to the Silmarillion.

The whole process, not counting drying time, took less than an hour.

If you want to make a book of a longer fic, I recommend Renegade Publishing, they have a ton of resources for fan-binders. 

[bookscorpion73]

guys I’m doing it!!!

ok *deep breathe* if this post gets 7,300 notes I will tell my parents I’ve been writing this story (my sci fi story) and ask if I can get it published by next Christmas also if this does end up getting that insane number of notes I may have to take my word back on the “finish and publish on wattpad or ao3 all four of my wips by next new years” because the sci fi one is obviously going to need a lot more attention but I will finish the drafts for my other 3 wips by next Christmas as well (the summer rom com, the Christmas rom com and the sapphic vampire heist one)

Update: it’s already at 1,000 and I’m dying

Update: shit shit shit how is it at 4,000???

Update: 6,000 notes??? Why guys why 😭😭😭😭😭

Update: 7,300 notes… well shit

Update: thank you all <33333333

Update: guys you can rest now no need to keep reblogging and commenting so much it’s hit the goal

[roosterr]

hi! i was wondering if i could request your thoughts/drabble on how the 141 would react if a mission went awful and you were left in the hospital with amnesia! like the reader wakes up and has no memory of her team🥲

if you aren’t taking requests atm or this doesn’t fit with your writing, i completely understand and you can ignore this! just wanted to say i binged your masterlist and absolutely love all your writings! keep up the amazing content <3

the 141 when you have amnesia

note: AAA TYSM FOR REQUESTING THIS!!!! and ty for reading my stuff, it means a lot!! i had so much fun writing this it's unbelievable, this concept is just so JUICY,,, i really hope you like it!! <3

wc: 2.8k

warnings: established relationship, angst sadness and depression wow i did not mean for this to get so sad

ao3

[part two]

price

✹ he would undoubtedly blame himself for what happened to you. as your captain, it was his job to keep you safe and make sure you came home in one piece, and he'd failed you there.

✹ weeks and weeks go by as he waits endlessly for you to wake up, and with every day that ends with you still unconscious, he feels his resolve slipping just a little bit more.

✹ he holds himself together as well as he can, keeping his head high and projecting confidence that you'd be okay, if only to keep the team's spirit up. they still needed their captain, and he'd be damned if he failed them too.

✹ behind closed doors, however, he's a mess.

✹ john drinks, a lot, so much that it’s irresponsible, but the image of you, beaten and bloody and barely breathing haunts him every time he closes his eyes. he locks himself in his office, away from the others and ignores their concerned calls through the door.

✹ he visits you, only when it's late and there's no one else around to hear him whisper apologies to you with a lump in his throat. he confesses to you like a sinner, all the things he wishes he'd done differently, how he'd put himself in your place in a heartbeat if it meant you'd be okay.

✹ other than those nights, he does his best to stay away from the infirmary. it’s selfish, but he can’t bear to see you in such a fragile state.

✹ he’s in his office when you wake up.

✹ the nurse finds him on his second drink of the night, and no sooner than the news leaves her mouth he's pushing past her and rushing to the infirmary. he bursts through the door, startling you and the other nurse with you.

✹ "hey, sweetheart." he’s by your side in an instant, taking one of your hands in both of his as he gazes lovingly into your eyes. it feels like it's been an age since you've looked at him, the sight of your eyes alone almost has the dam behind his own breaking.

✹ you’re staring back at him with a somewhat lost expression, but john’s so relieved that you’re here, that you're back, it slips his notice.

✹ he leans over to press a kiss to your forehead, like he's done hundreds of times before, but you stop him by placing your other hand on his chest. he pulls back with a concerned frown, finally noticing the unsure look you're wearing.

✹ the nurse briefly explains that some memory loss is common for the amount of head trauma you sustained. he should've expected something like this, in fact it's a miracle you made it out with just memory loss.

✹ "i'm sorry, can you tell me who you are?" you ask meekly, looking back at him with an apologetic look in your eye. you look guilty, like it's your fault this happened and not because of his own shortcomings.

✹ john's heart sinks at your words, but he's careful not to show it. amnesia can be temporary, he knows that, he just has to jog your memory.

✹ "i'm john," he smiles as warmly as he can through the panic in his chest, lifting his left hand to show you the wedding band on his finger, "your husband."

✹ your jaw falls open, your eyes wide as you look between the ring, his face, and the nurse behind him, who simply nods in confirmation of the captain's words.

✹ "you're…" you mutter, disbelief taking over your voice, "my husband?"

✹ you take his left hand in yours, bringing it closer to your face and examining the wedding band, a tiny smile pulling at one corner of your lips.

✹ "yes, love," his chest rumbles with a chuckle, grasping your left hand and showing you the matching band on your own finger, "we're married."

✹ "seriously?" you ask, comparing the rings on your fingers and looking back up to him with an almost comically surprised face. john nods again, his moustache tilted with an amused smile.

✹ "been together for nearly seven years."

✹ "how the hell did i convince you to marry me?" you mutter. at that, he lets out a real laugh, bringing your hand up to his lips and pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

✹ "think i should be the one askin' that question."

gaz

✹ kyle takes it harder than anyone.

✹ he visited you once, at the first opportunity when you were stable enough to not require constant observation, but the sight ruins him. you looked so weak, nothing like how you should; your cheeks were sunken and your skin has a sickly sheen to it, and there was nothing he could do to help you.

✹ he couldn't stand it.

✹ he becomes so easily irritated, a hair trigger just waiting to snap. the others want to help him, but he won't let them get close enough to try. any mention of your name has him shutting down, leaving faster than they can finish their sentence.

✹ he barely sleeps, spending most nights curled up in your bed with his tears soaking your pillow. he surrounds himself with your clothes, things that smell like you, but your scent eventually fades and he just feels so alone without you.

✹ price finds him like that one night, sitting on the floor with his back leaning against your bed after throwing up from crying so hard. he hauls kyle up by the collar of his shirt, and forces him to meet his stern eyes through the tears.

✹ "pull yourself together, garrick! they need you to be strong for them, how d'you think they're gonna feel when they wake up and see you like this?"

✹ after that it's like the spell is broken, and he realises just how pathetic he's been acting. in the weeks you've been out, he's only visited you – his partner – once. you'd never forgive him if you knew.

✹ from that night onwards, he visits you at least once a day, filling multiple vases around your bed with beautiful flowers and making sure they never wilt.

✹ he got 'get well soon' cards for you too, having each of your teammates, and even kate, sign one to decorate your room.

✹ you wake up surrounded by life and colour, physical evidence of how much he loves you that puts a smile on your exhausted face, even if you don't know who left them.

✹ he's off base when you wake up, picking up a fresh bouquet for your room. his phone rings as he's leaving the florists, and as soon as he hears the nurse's voice he's sprinting back to his car, throwing the flowers onto the passenger seat and racing back to base.

✹ he bursts through the infirmary doors to see you standing with the help of the nurse, your legs wobbly but your face determined. he almost breaks down in the doorway.

✹ when you look up and meet his eyes, he feels his heart stutter in his chest. he rushes towards you, the new bouquet slipping from his fingers, and almost knocks you off your feet with the how hard he embraces you.

✹ you let out a small 'oomph' as he squeezes you, hesitantly wrapping your own arms around his torso. he sniffles into your shoulder, a few tears wetting your shirt despite his attempts to hold them back.

✹ "hey, uhm…" your voice reaches his ears, hoarse with disuse, "are you okay? what's your name?"

✹ "what?" kyle lifts his head, pulling back to mirror your confused gaze. "babe, what're you on about?"

✹ the nurse pulls him aside, leaving you sitting on the edge of your bed as she explains your amnesia to him.

✹ you really didn't remember him. his heart withers in his chest, the pain of losing you all over again spreading to the ends of every limb.

✹ "no, no no no–" he mumbles, stumbling back over to where you sit and cupping your worried face so gently, like you'd break if he was too rough. "please, love, you have to remember"

✹ you cover his hands with your own, a few tears falling from your eyes and rolling hot against kyle's palms. "i'm sorry, i want to remember, but…"

✹ "please, i love you…"

soap

✹ johnny spends every free moment at your bedside.

✹ he talks to you, tells you stories about everything that's happened since you've been asleep; the time ghost burnt dinner and set the fire alarms off, a robin that landed on the windowsill of your shared room, anything that comes to mind.

✹ sometimes he plays your favourite songs, sitting on the end of your bed softly humming along, praying that you'll hear it and come back to him.

✹ most often though, he draws you. he fills page after page of his sketchbook with sketches of you; the peaceful look on your face as you lay next to him, memories from before the accident, the two of you together – though he always puts infinitely more detail into you than himself.

✹ similarly to the captain, johnny stays positive about your condition, refusing to even entertain the idea of you not waking up. he's optimistic, and so good at hiding the anguish of being without you that even ghost is fooled by his facade.

✹ he won't let the others worry about him. you're the one in the hospital, you're the one that deserves their sympathies, he has to stay positive for everyone so they don't worry, so you have something familiar to come back to when you wake up–

✹ in reality, he's living in denial. he's on the verge of a steep mental nosedive, and if he looks past his delusions for even a second, he's afraid he'll spiral into a pit he won't be able to claw his way back out of.

✹ so he continues to live like that. he has one-sided conversations with you, going on for hours as if you're talking back to him. he brings you your favourite meal when the mess hall makes it, putting it on your bedside table so you can reach it and clearing it up the next day when he comes back.

✹ when you eventually, finally wake up, he's already there with you.

✹ it was late, and against the nurse's wishes he'd climbed into your hospital bed with you, an arm around your shoulder holding you close his chest while his other hand doodles away in his sketchbook.

✹ you let out a small sound and shift against him, and his heart skips a beat under your ear at the realiseation that you're back.

✹ any lingering tiredness immediately disappears from his mind, as he throws his sketchbook carelessly onto the side table and wastes no time in gathering you up into his arms and bringing you into a crushing hug.

✹ a groggy, surprised noise leaves you, the sound of your voice lighting up johnny's face with a smile so wide it aches. he loosens his hold just enough to hold the side of your head with one hand, gazing into your eyes like you were the only person in the world.

✹ "there y'are, bonnie, i missed you so much,"

✹ he presses his lips to the top of your head, his eyes glassing and his heart full with how relieved he is that you're awake.

✹ "...what's going on?" you mutter, your eyes darting all over his face and to the room around you with a confused furrow in your brow.

✹ "lemme call the nurse," he replies with an easy, comforting smile, reaching somewhere behind him for the call button.

✹ while you wait for the nurse, he helps you sit up, adjusting the pillows behind your back so you can sit comfortably, all the while rambling about everything and nothing all at once.

✹ "you should've seen gaz's face, darl, it was priceless–"

✹ "i'm sorry, i… i dont remember you…"

✹ nothing has ever shut him up quite as effectively as those words.

✹ "wh… what? stop messin' about, bonnie," he chuckles, desperately searching your eyes for the humour that was missing. when you only shake your head in response, the smile fades from his face and quickly morphs into concern.

✹ "sergeant mactavish, how many times do i have to tell you to get off the bed!" the nurse exclaims as she enters the room. he doesn't get down though, just fixes her with the most intense look he's ever worn.

✹ "why don't they remember me?"

✹ the nurse explains that an injury like yours was bound to cause some lasting damage, but amnesia was more often than not temporary.

✹ "i'm sorry, i wish i could remember you…" you mutter, dropping your gaze to your lap as he turns back to you.

✹ johnny exhales deeply, finding a great sense of comfort that you'll most likely get your memory back. he gently tilts your chin up again so he can stare deep into your eyes.

✹ "don't apologise, that just means i get to woo you all over again, bonnie."

ghost

✹ simon would be destroyed.

✹ while you're knocked out its like he forgets how to be human. he eats, sleeps, and breathes on autopilot – like a robot with a function, no feeling, just keeping himself alive until you wake up.

✹ it worries the others, price especially, but the walls around his heart are expertly crafted, and without you by his side he sees no purpose in lowering them.

✹ when you do wake up, the first thing you see is him, sitting at your bedside with his hand enclosed around yours. his eyes are closed, but he's still very much awake, in fact he finds himself unable to rest anywhere but in the chair by your side.

✹ the way you try to pull your hand from his brings him back to the present and alerts him to your consciousness. his eyes snap open in less than a second, already glassy with the pure relief he feels now you're back.

✹ but you're looking at him differently. where there would once be soft affection, now he can only see confusion, and worst of all, panic.

✹ and there's fear in how your shoulders bunch up, but simon tries his best to ignore that thought.

✹ "hey, you're alright, darlin'," he coos, as gentle as he can manage, pushing the rising dread to the back of his mind.

✹ he presses the button to call the nurse, letting go of your trembling hand bringing it up to your shoulder. your worried gaze flicks to his arm and back to his face, which makes him pause in his tracks.

✹ "who… who are you?"

✹ simon's waited so long to hear your voice again, but hearing those four words from you shatters his heart into pieces.

✹ no.

✹ you didn't forget him. there was no way.

✹ "it's…" he swallows hard, blinking rapidly to hold back the tears threatening to fall. "it's me, love, it's simon."

✹ you're still looking at him with that same anxious expression, and he curses himself when he realises he's still wearing his balaclava. he practically rips it from his head, dropping it to the floor without a care for where it fell.

✹ your eyes study his bare face, tracing over every crease and scar, the mess of hair on top of his head, and finally landing on his desperate eyes.

✹ "i'm sorry, i…" you look guilty, the subtle shake of your head hurting simon like a knife to the chest. "...do i know you?"

✹ the silence that follows your words is unbearable.

✹ you really did forget him.

✹ all the time you'd spent together, the memories you shared, the love you had; it was all gone, just like that.

✹ suddenly he felt like the walls were closing in on him, he couldn't get enough air and his skin was crawling with the need to escape.

✹ at that moment, the nurse comes through the doors, startling simon into standing from the chair and stumbling backwards. he never takes his eyes off of your guilt-ridden face. you didn't know him, not anymore, and that meant he was all alone again, with no one to care for him and call home.

✹ the emptiness in his chest was enough to make him want to rip the hair from his scalp.

✹ the nurse says something, stealing your attention from him with words he's too overwhelmed to listen to. he takes the opportunity to back away, disappearing through the doors with a hand covering his mouth, fighting the urge to throw up.

✹ it was a miracle to two of you got together in the first place – simon didn't know if he could get you to love him again.

[girlygirl14534]

Body Heat - Bucky x Reader

Pairing: Bucky x Avenger!Reader

Warnings: Smut, Cock Warming, Snowed In, Only One Bed

Length: 3.7k

Summary: A blizzard knocks out the power in the safehouse where you and Bucky are sharing a bed. Can Bucky keep you warm through the cold night?

Author’s Note: It has been so cold where I live lately and there’s nobody better than Bucky to warm me up. I’m entering this work into @targaryenvampireslayer Blind Date Writing Challenge. I don’t participate in a lot of fandom events, so this was really fun! I used the Only One Bed trope and the Dialogue Prompts “Take your clothes off. Right now,” and “Are you holding back? Don’t.” Happy reading and stay warm! Divider via @firefly-graphics

Read this work on AO3

“You didn’t even want to get egg rolls,” Bucky whined as you grabbed one off of his plate.

You grinned as you bit into it. He smiled back at you, but his shoulders shifted ever so slightly, tipping you off to his next move. His chopsticks swooped onto your plate in retaliation, but you were ready for him, blocking his attempt on your orange chicken.

He glared at you and you relented. He popped the chicken into his mouth with a satisfied smirk. You rolled your eyes at him and took a sip of your beer. It was a local brew. A little hoppy but not too bitter, with a surprisingly crisp taste. You loved trying beers at every new little town you ended up at. Nothing beat a cold beer after a long mission, even if it was 20 degrees and dropping outside.

It was warm and cozy inside the little cabin. This safe house was cuter than most. It had a little wood stove and lace tablecloth—definitely grandmother-approved. The place was small, but you’d stayed at smaller ones. Although most had at least a few twin size cots. The bed here looked comfortable, but there was only one.

“It’s picking up out there,” Bucky nodded at the window. Outside you could see the snow swirling in the wind.

“The Winter Soldier scared of a little snow?” you teased.

“Oh, shut up. You wouldn’t last ten seconds out there. Remember Helsinki?”

“That is so unfair! I fell into a frozen pond!”

“I told you not to walk on that patch of ice!”

“You were being a know-it-all.”

“That’s because I actually know it all.”

You threw your half-eaten egg roll at him.

“You didn’t even eat it?!”

You shrugged and he glared at you as he finished it. After dinner, you got ready for bed. It had been a long day. When Bucky came out of the shower, you were already under the paisley-printed covers.

He grinned at you. “That’s my favorite bonnet,” he said, nodding at the silky cap on your head.

“You have favorite bonnets of mine?”

He shrugged. “I’ve seen you in enough of them. I love the one with rhinestones on the headband. You look like a queen. The Kirby one is really cute, too.”

“Nice try, Bucky.” You threw a pillow at him. “You’re still sleeping on the floor.”

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes.”

You knew he was going to jump on the bed a second before he did it, but you didn’t stop him. He looked so satisfied with himself.

“Time for bed,” you said as you started stacking pillows on the bed between you.

“Afraid you won’t be able to keep your hands off of me?” he teased.

“Don’t think I forgot how you hogged the couch in Bangladesh.”

“I maintain that you rolled off of the couch by yourself.”

“Well then consider it protection from me rolling you off the bed.”

He laughed as you finished the wall of pillows, marking your territory. You were just grateful that the bed was big enough to have your own space and that there were enough blankets that you wouldn’t have to share. You loved Bucky, but in your friendship you were more likely to trade insults than share the covers. Was there something more behind the words you traded? Maybe. Sometimes it felt obvious that he felt the same and other times you were certain that he just saw you as a friend.

If you were just friends, you were friends that lived and worked in very close quarters. You’d had a lot of hands-on moments working the mission with him today. If you had a little more privacy, you’d probably be touching yourself right now thinking about the weight of him on top of you as he tackled you to the ground to protect you, his hair tickling your face as he whispered a new tactical plan into your ear. Instead you were stuck here, close but not close enough. You sighed in frustration.

“Need a bedtime story?” Bucky asked.

“Once upon a time, a former assassin wouldn’t shut up while his teammate tried to sleep.”

“Teammate? That’s all I am to you?” he asked. The hurt and offense in his voice almost sounded real.

“What do you want to be described as?” you asked.

“Just get some sleep, princess.”

You chuckled and rolled over, soon falling asleep. You dreamt of him, of course. Of his hands on you. One warm, one cold. And then it was just his left hand. It was so cold. You let him keep touching you, of course. You didn’t care if you got frostbite. You just wanted him to keep touching you.

You were pissed when you woke up before you could climax. But you quickly realized it wasn’t just cold in your dream. Your teeth were chattering in real life.

“Fuck. It’s freezing,” you said.

“Power’s out,” Bucky said. “Must be the storm.”

“Can we make a fire?”

“I checked. The stove is electric.”

“Are you sure? That thing looks older than you.”

Bucky laughed. “I think I saw a few candles in the cupboard.” He got up and rummaged around in the kitchen. He lit them and placed them around the room.

“Bring one here. Maybe I can warm my hands.”

He laughed as he flopped back onto his side of the bed. “I know it’s cold in here. With the blizzard, there’s no way we’ll make it down the mountain. In the morning, we can—”

“I’m not gonna make it to morning! Feel my fingers!”

Bucky outstretched his right hand toward you, smiling in amusement at what he assumed was exaggeration. When you touched him, his expression changed to one of concern. Maybe things were worse than you thought. Maybe it really was frostbite. Bucky started taking down the pillow barrier.

“What are you doing?” you asked.

“You’re right,” he said as he threw pillows over his shoulder and onto the floor.

“Oooh, say that again.”

He laughed. “It’s too cold in here. You need body heat.”

You rolled your eyes but he kept moving pillows. “You’re serious?”

He nodded as he got rid of the last pillow. He awkwardly opened his arms. You scooted closer to him. This wasn’t how you wanted his arms around you, but you were too cold to deny him. He wrapped his big, strong arms around you. You relaxed into his embrace, and not just because of the warmth. He held you tight to him and you would’ve stayed just like forever, but you were still shivering. It felt like the chill had settled into your bones. The extra warmth from Bucky was only making it more obvious just how cold it was in the tiny cabin.

“We need skin to skin,” Bucky said.

You laughed but he didn’t.

“Take your clothes off. Right now,” he said.

Maybe the frigid air was impacting your decision-making, because instead of denying him, you complied. Tried to, anyway. Your fingers were so numb from the cold that you fumbled with the hem of your shirt. He gently nudged your fingers aside and helped you out of your shirt. You’d imagined the first time he took your clothes off a little differently, but you couldn’t care about that now. Once your shirt was off, he took his off too.

He hugged you again then. Your bare skin felt electrified where it touched his. He held your hands to his chest to warm them. With his hardened pecs beneath your fingers, it took all of your willpower not to squeeze.

“Is that better?” he asked.

You nodded. You didn’t trust yourself to speak. You stayed like that for a few minutes, afraid to move. Afraid that at some point he’d decide that you were warm enough. You weren’t warm enough. In any sense. You needed him closer for survival, but it became increasingly difficult to tell if you needed him because you were cold or because you were horny.

“You’re not warm enough,” he said finally. You didn’t argue.

When he pulled away, the sudden loss of warmth made your body tense up. He immediately placed his arms around you again.

“I won’t let go of you anymore, okay?”

You hated how pathetic your voice sounded when you responded, “Okay.”

His arm reached between your bodies to pull his pants down. You told yourself that you weren’t going to look, but your eyes had a mind of their own. You watched his fingers grip his waistband and tug down his boxers and his pants. Suddenly he was naked. Even in the dim lighting, you could see how big he was. His eyes went straight to yours to check in, but he found no objection. You looked away to be polite, but felt too awkward to look into his eyes. You turned around so that your back was to his chest. You were grateful that he couldn’t see your face when he started to pull your pants down. If he was hesitant about this plan, his movements didn’t show it. He was smooth and deliberate, quickly ridding you of your pajamas and underwear. When you were both undressed, he pulled you close. When you felt his cock against your ass, you shivered, and it wasn’t because of the freezing temperatures.

“That’s it,” he said. “Turn over.”

He didn’t wait for you to move, effortlessly pulling you onto your back and laying on top of you. Bucky was naked. You were naked. And he was on top of you. You were short of breath just thinking about it.

“Don’t tell me I’m taking your breath away,” he teased.

“You’re heavy,” you retorted. “I think you may need to start laying off the eggrolls.”

As you laughed together, you became hyper aware of how close your bodies were, of just how much physical contact you had. The laughing stopped abruptly.

“Why didn’t you take off my bra?” you whispered. “Afraid that once you see these you’ll be ruined for all other boobs?”

“Yes,” he nodded as he reached under you, large hands rubbing your back and unhooking the clasp. He slowly slid your straps down your arms. He looked into your eyes as he pulled your bra from between your bodies and threw it onto the floor.

Here you were, caged in his warmth, looking deep into his eyes like in one of your fantasies. And yet your instinct was to make a stupid joke, find some way to make this feel less serious. But you couldn’t think straight with his dick resting on your stomach and his warm breath on your face.

“Better?” he asked.

“Eh. Still a little chilly,” you joked breathlessly.

“I can get you warmer,” he said seriously.

You laughed. “I don’t think we could physically be any closer than we are right now.”

He quirked an eyebrow at you. “Well, technically we could be a little closer.”

“Barnes, if I go outside in the morning and find out that you cut the powerlines…”

“I can’t have you dying of hypothermia on my watch. I don’t have to move or anything. Just to keep you warm.”

You wanted to roll your eyes and hit him on the arm, but his sincerity caught you off guard.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. I’m not a fan of the cold either. I’ve spent too much of my life frozen already. We don’t have to if you don’t want to. I just thought…”

“Okay.”

“Yeah?”

You nodded. “And don’t worry, when I tell Nat this story, I won’t even mention the shrinkage.”

He laughed with you and then shook his head at you.

“What am I gonna do with you?” he asked.

“Stick your dick in me, apparently.”

He swallowed nervously. “Are you…? Are you ready?” he asked.

You nodded, hoping he wouldn’t question how wet you were already. You certainly weren’t going to bring up the fact that you had felt his length slowly hardening against you for the last few minutes.

“I, uh, just gotta…” He reached down to pump himself a few times, looking anywhere but you. You wanted to change that.

“You can look at me, Bucky.”

His eyes found yours. You’d never seen this expression on his face before. He was never this easy to read. Even though he’d beaten the Winter Soldier programming, he usually always kept a part of himself closed off. Those defenses were gone now. In their place was yearning. A desire so deep it was overwhelming. The way he looked at you was the same way you felt about him.

You arched your back, drawing attention to your chest. “You can also look here, if it helps.”

He looked at your breasts for the first time. His mouth fell open in awe. You hoped you really were ruining him for other women. You hoped he would never look at anyone else like this for as long as he lived. His eyes went from your chest back to your face as he shifted between your legs. You bit your lip when you felt the head of his cock prod your entrance. It would take everything in your power not to moan. This was probably a very bad idea. But still you let your legs fall open wider to give him easier access.

When he first pushed in, you drew a shaky breath. He stopped moving, eyes anxiously searching yours. He was terrified you’d ask him to stop. Quite the contrary.

“That all you got?” you asked.

He smirked at you before resuming his progress. Despite your earlier joke, you felt your walls stretch around him as he pushed further into you. You felt every single inch, but it was torture not being able to wrap your legs around his hips or claw at his back like you wanted to.

When he was fully seated, he stilled. You took a few deep breaths. It was dizzying, being this close to him, this full of him. It was his turn to tell you, “You can look at me, ya know.”

You looked at him in the flickering candlelight. His hair obscured your view of his face. You reached up and tucked it behind his ear. He nuzzled his face against your hand. Your heart skipped a beat. You could feel his warm cock throbbing inside of you. He was looking at you so romantically that you forgot where you were for a moment. Your body did, too. Your pussy clenched around him. You didn’t get a chance to wonder if he’d felt it. You heard him groan. Right before you felt him thrust.

His eyes darted to you, panicked. You’d seen him panic once before, as he pulled you out of the ice in Finland. That day he’d warmed you up by the fire with plenty of hot drinks and some light teasing. You preferred the current method of warming you up. Which is why you let him hear you. You moaned for him. If you’d been less desperate for him to fuck you, you would’ve been embarassed by how needy you sounded. It was nothing compared to the strangled cry Bucky let out with his second thrust. You expected him to keep moving, but he stopped again. He leaned in, eyes urgent.

“The first time I saw you,” he panted, “I knew you were the most beautiful woman I’d ever—”

Your heart fluttered, but you couldn’t have him saying things he didn’t mean. “You don’t have to flatter me, Buck—”

“It’s not flattery if it’s true. And you are so beautiful.”

You placed your hands behind his head and pulled him in for a kiss. You weren’t sure what it was going to be like, your first kiss with Bucky. Especially since that first kiss was occurring after he was already inside of you. When your lips touched, you both sighed with relief. His lips were soft. You weren’t expecting that. His tongue probed your lips gently, and you gladly gave it access. He kissed you slowly, like he was savoring every second. He cupped your breast with his right hand, softly stroking it. His touches were almost reverent. It would’ve been romantic if you weren’t so needy. There’d be time for slow and steady. You hoped so, anyway. Right now you needed fire. You needed his touch to chase away the cold.

“Are you holding back on me, Barnes? Don’t.”

That was all the encouragement he needed. He bent his head and attached his lips to your neck. He pulled the delicate flesh between his teeth as the hand on your breast eagerly squeezed. His metal hand tightened its grip on your hip. Maybe, if you were lucky, you’d have a bruise in the shape of his handprint tomorrow. Proof that this had actually happened. Proof it wasn’t just the best dream of your life.

Maybe you wanted to mark him, too. Maybe that’s why you tangled your fingers in his hair while you raked the nails of the other hand down his back. He grunted as he drove into you with renewed force, the headboard rattling against the wall.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “You’re so wet. So tight. So perfect. Even better than I—” he stopped himself.

“Better than you imagined?” you suggested.

He nodded.

“You imagine me?” you asked, breathless.

“Every day,” he confessed.

You moved your hips in time with his next stroke, taking him deeper than ever. You both cursed. With each thrust, you knew things would never be the same. With each thrust, you got more and more desperate for him to ruin you. You writhed desperately under him and he only gripped you tighter, forcing you to stay still and accept your pleasure like a good girl. He angled his hips so that he was massaging your g-spot with every thrust. The head of his cock dragged against your center of pleasure over and over again in a relentless pursuit for your climax. You wanted to beg him to fuck you harder and faster but you didn’t want this to end yet. Not until he was as ruined as you were.

You took your hands away from him and brought them to your chest. You gripped your breasts tightly and moaned. He was mesmerized. You pinched your nipples and rolled your hips, putting on a show for him. You needed to know that he would never forget this. That he would never forget you. You tugged on your nipples and cried his name.

“That’s my job,” he said. You smirked at him.

You put your fingers in his open mouth and brought them to your clit and started rubbing slow circles. You watched his eyes darken. He grabbed your hand and brought it to his mouth again, closing his eyes in pleasure as he licked your fingers clean. Instead of putting your hand back where he found it, he brought his metal fingers to your clit instead, taking over your ministrations there. The cold, hard metal rhythmically massaged the sensitive bundle of nerves until his name was the only word in your vocabulary.

You wouldn’t last much longer. You’d see to it that neither would he. You attached your lips to his neck and sucked a bruise into the skin. His fingers on your clit went from slow circles to frantic figure 8s. Your back arched in pleasure as you felt your walls tighten around Bucky’s cock. His hips stuttered as he flooded you with warmth. Your legs shook when you felt him fill you. You whimpered his name. He whispered yours. Before you could even catch your breath, it happened.

You both knew the second the power turned back on. The hum of the fridge, the rattle of the old radiator, the red “Off” light on the coffee pot. It was like a bomb going off in the bubble you’d built. You looked at each other, startled, as if you were just realizing the extent of what you had done. For a split second, you considered pulling away from him and getting dressed, pretending none of this had ever happened. But you didn’t want that, not while his cum was still warm inside you and aftershocks of your orgasm were still rocking your core. You two spoke at the same time.

“It’ll probably take a while before you’re warm eno—”

“The power could go off again at any mo—”

“Sorry—”

“What were you saying—”

You both chuckled self-consciously.

“You love being inside me, don’t you, Barnes?” you teased with no taunting in your voice. You felt his dick twitch. You rolled your hips. “Is that a yes?”

He bit his lip and looked at you with more than lust. It was devotion.

“Yes,” he said finally.

“Good. Because you’re the only one that can keep me warm.”

“What about me?” he asked.

You looked at him, perplexed.

“I get cold, too.”

“What can I warm up for you, Bucky?”

“My ears are kinda cold,” he said.

Oh. Not exactly what you were thinking about warming up, but ok. You reached out to stroke the side of his face. He smiled and blushed, but nuzzled into your hand.

“Your thighs should be pretty warm now…”

Oh. Your thighs could keep his ears warm. You would happily straddle his face in the name of reciprocity. It was the least you could do, right?

…

The next morning, you woke up wrapped in Bucky’s arms. The heat hadn’t gone out again during the night, but you still felt like you needed Bucky’s warmth.

“I didn’t tamper with the generator,” Bucky said. “But I should have. I should’ve warmed you up like that when you fell into the lake.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Would you have let me?”

You nodded.

“You would have?!”

“I bought the Kirby bonnet for you,” you confessed.

“What?”

“I know how much you like playing Mario Kart with Sam. I thought you’d like it. I thought maybe it’d make you like me.”

He scoffed. “Are you kidding? By that point, I was already in lo—I mean, I, uh. I really do love Mario Kart, you’re right.”

“Nice save.”

“Let me take you out on a proper date.”

“One condition.”

“Anything.”

“Has to be somewhere warm.”

You shared a laugh.

“Where’s the fun in that?” he smirked.

Want to read more of my writing? Check out my ongoing Stucky x Reader series.

[peachsukii]

₊✩‧₊◜ thinking about reader and bakugo’s intense “I’m home!” sex after he gets back from a month long mission. (follow up to this!!)

『 ♡ - k.bakugo x fem!reader 』 ꒰ tags & content ꒱ 18+ MDNI! masturbation, mentions of phone sex, toy usage (vibrator), praise, light dom/sub dynamic, pet names (baby, peach, sweets, good girl, princess - one mention of slut and whore but affectionately!), fingering, minor roleplay (bakugo in his hero gear & reader wears his mask), oral (blowjob), facial, cum eating, lots of dirty talk, nipple play, marking - biting/scratching, a sprinkle of choking, hair pulling, rough sex, overstimulation, creampie, aaand fluff! aged up characters to 22. ⋆ ˚ʚɞ — i didn’t expect this to be as long as it is, buuuut i had a lot of ideas of what they did when he came home...so there's a lot. what can i say? y'all missed each other! the smut immediately starts under the cut and does not stop until the end! 😵‍💫 ｡‧˚ʚ cross-posted to ao3 | word count; ~3.7k ɞ˚‧｡ -`✧ katsuki bakugo masterlist

It's been a long month without Katuski being home. You've done everything you can think of to keep yourself busy while he's been away - played games, read books, hung out with friends and worked overtime to make the days fly by. You called each other day and night, talking for as long as his assignments for the day allowed. Thankfully, they gave him his own room as an accommodation and didn't have to worry about sharing with anyone else.

Boy, did that come in handy.

You two are not shy and foreign to phone sex of all kinds, it was something you actually talked him into doing when you're apart longer than a week for work. FaceTime, voice notes, sexting; the full gambit. You had a private collection on your phone with all his voice notes that he'd sent to you over the years. You used it as "material" for when you're alone.

One folder was all for praise - "that’s my good girl," "go slow sweets, I wanna watch ya take every inch of me," "you’re so cute when you’re begging on your knees, baby," "love watching your soft lips wrap around my cock," "your moans are so fuckin’ pretty, peach," “god, y’have no fuckin’ idea how goddamn wild you drive me,” and more snippets of him coaxing you along to get you off.

The second folder? That was your sacred treasure trove. There were only three files, but they were some of the hottest things Katuski's ever graced you with. They were 10 minute audio clips of him jerking off to the thought of you, vocalizing every detail. Thank god for advanced technology because it allowed you to hear every mumbled ‘fuck’ under his breath, hushed grunts and audible shudders.

You didn’t have any other plans for the day - listening to your boyfriend’s sexy voice while you test out a new vibrator sounded like the perfect solution!

Stripping out of your clothes, you grab a t-shirt from his dresser and throw it over your naked body. It loosely drapes over the top of your thighs, barely hiding the fact you’re not wearing any panties. You grab the vibrator from your nightstand and lay in bed, phone nestled into the pillow next to your head. You decide to choose one of the three files at random. Before you even hit play, your face is flushed and heart is threatening to burst through your ribcage. It doesn’t take long for you to succumb to the gratification, getting lost in his husky moans and the hum of the vibrator.

You’re too busy to notice that the apartment’s front door has opened, along with the commotion of Katsuki dropping his bags in the doorway. He doesn’t say anything as he’s taking off his boots, assuming you could be taking a nap or had headphones on if you didn’t come skipping down the hallway. He didn't tell you he was coming home two days early and wanted to surprise you!

What a surprise it was for him to hear subtle mewls coming from your joint bedroom, immediately catching his attention. He was still in his hero gear, minus his gloves and gauntlets, with his mask settled into his hairline like a headband. As quiet as possible, he tip toes down the hall and peeks around the doorframe. He could hear faint audio playing and a buzzing noise, but couldn’t make out what it was until he got to the doorway.

When he peeked through the crack in the door, his dick throbbed violently as it tented his cargo pants. The sight of you sprawled out on the bed, viciously fucking your new vibrator in nothing but his t-shirt was hot as hell. And you were listening to...his voice notes? He was entranced by your delicious moans and how your legs twitched when the vibrator hit your swollen clit. Part of him jokingly thought you didn’t even need him right now, since you technically did have a version of him, but his selfishness took over instead.

Willpower be damned, he needed you. Now. It took everything in him not to pounce on you right then and there.

Katsuki retreats to the living room and sits on the couch, desperately fighting the urge to start playing with himself to the sound of you doing the same. Instead, he pulls out his phone and clicks on your name to call you. He could hear your phone’s audio shift from his own voice to your ringtone, a startled yelp escaping you.

“H-hey babe,” You answer, panting quietly. “What’s up?”

He almost bursts out into laughter, but keeps it together enough for his little charade.

“Everythin' alright? Ya sound outta breath,” Katsuki teases, but decides to get to the point. “Eh, fuck it. Come into the living room.”

He hangs up and hears your feet padding against the wooden floor instantaneously. Within seconds, you slide into view, overjoyed that he’s home.

“Kats!” You squeal, scrambling over to the couch and jumping into his lap. You’re peppering his lips, neck, cheeks and forehead with rapid fire kisses, giggling as he tries to still your movements to pull you into a warm hug. He nuzzles his face into your neck lovingly, returning your kisses tenfold.

Your excitement briefly makes you forget that you were just in the middle of pleasuring yourself before rushing to greet him. The realization catches up to you when you fully sit on his lap, his erection teasing your exposed slit. A heat pools in your gut at the thought of him catching you in the act - he heard you.

“Sorry for interrupting,” Katsuki says, hands gliding up your bare thighs and grabbing a handful of your ass, grinding your center against his own. The secondary contact causes a gasp to fall from your lips. You don’t respond verbally but lift yourself away from his lap, creating enough space between you two.

“What're ya-,” he’s cut off by you taking his right hand off of your ass and tucking his fingers against your soaked entrance. You take two digits and lower yourself onto them, coating his fingers in all your built up slick.

“I missed you,” you whine as he flexes inside you instinctually, petting your walls with his coarse finger pads. You start to move on your own, gripping his shoulders and riding his fingers to finish the job you started in the bedroom.

Katsuki is speechless, not even a witty remark coming to mind to tease you. His face burns hot when the sounds of your juices sloshing around his fingers fill the room, a heat creeping up the back of his neck. Since you previously wound yourself up, it doesn’t take long until you’re ready to explode. Your eyes are threatening to roll back into your head as you swirl your hips on his fingers. His entire being is pulsing with need as he begins to drills his fingers into you, knuckle deep, and drinks in all your breathy moans. The string in your belly is pulled taut - tighter than its been in the last month, snapping with an intensity that leaves your thighs quivering within seconds.

You come all over his fingers, down his hand and stain the crotch of his cargo pants.

“Hah, good thing they’re getting washed,” you joke breathlessly as you go to kiss Katsuki but stops you - he shocks you with something he’s never done before.

He retracts his fingers from your drenched cunt and swiftly smears it all over your lips before capturing them with his own, sharing your tangy release in ecstasy. He licks your bottom lip before sitting back, breaking the kiss and settling the two fingers back to your mouth. Your lips part ever so slightly at the pressure.

“Don’t ya think you taste divine?” He smirks as he watches you open your mouth invitingly, lazily sucking his fingers covered with your spend. You don't break eye contact with him the entire time, heavily panting like a dog in heat as your tongue leisurely trails the length of each finger. A thin string of saliva sticks to the corner of your mouth as you pull away from his fingers with a soft pop of your lips.

You reach for his mask in his hairline, pushing it back to fall into your grasp. Untying the small knot, you bring it to your own face and secure it around your eyes - just like he wears on patrol. Katsuki's giving you a curious look as you slide off his lap and kneel to the floor.

Oh fuck-

Putting your hands to his hips, you drag your fingers to the hem of his pants - he's scrambling to undo his belt while you yank everything to his ankles. His cock springs forward, bouncing off his clothed abs as it’s freed from the confines of his boxers. You can tell he’s aching for you to touch him, tip leaking pre-spend and blazing hot to the touch. With no hesitation, you edge his entire length into your mouth, tongue sliding delicately along the underside of his shaft and consuming every drop of him.

“F-fuck peach, should'a let you wear my mask ages ago,” Katsuki stutters, thighs trembling at the sight your lips enclosed around him. “’m not gonna…last long watchin’ ya like this.”

You start to slither your tongue around his length, subtly hollowing your cheeks and barely moving an inch. His tip hits the back of your throat as he grabs your hair, shoving you all the way to the base and meeting his soft blonde wisps with your nose. He's unable to control himself - your mouth just feels too good around his cock right now. Katsuki’s only known his own fist for the last month, you’re making him feel like a blushing virgin all over again with how fast he’s accelerating toward his orgasm. You’ve hardly touched - well, blown - him and he's ready to combust.

His grunts have morphed into higher pitched moans as he’s bucking his hips off the couch into your mouth in tandem with your own movements, ferociously chasing the building heat in his gut.

“S-shit, fuck fuck fuck!” he yells while ripping your lips off of him by your hair, endless hot ropes of cum painting your pretty face. His mask, your cheeks, lips, and chin are dripping with white, each droplet slowly making it's way to your jawline. The sight is enough to almost make him come a second time, needing to throw his head back on the couch to avoid eye contact momentarily and pull himself together.

You hum with satisfaction and rise from your knees, straddling him on the couch once more. In the heat of the moment, you grab him by the jaw and plant a messy kiss on his lips, smearing his paintjob in the process. In the lusty haze, he doesn't give a shit that you mimicked his actions. Honestly? He kinda liked his own flavor - it complimented your own, dancing together on his tongue.

“Don’t you think you taste divine?” you purr, repeating his sentiment and licking some of the smeared cum off his cheek. You untie the mask and let it drop from your face, realizing that you may have just ruined his professional hero gear. “This…is washable, right?”

Katsuki laughs. “Yeah, don’t worry ‘bout it. 's gotta be with how dirty hero work gets.”

The two of you get up from the couch and walk to the bathroom to clean up. Once he’s done soaking a wash cloth with warm water, you’re taking his place and bending over the counter to rinse the remnants of his facial from your skin.

Lucky for him, you’re still not wearing any panties. And bent over like that? Your ass and pussy are on full display, still glistening from your previous orgasm.

Katsuki crouches to the ground, kneeling behind you and bites your bare ass with a huff. The sensation makes you jump, water splashing all over the counter and collar of your shirt.

“Katsuki!” You yelp, shutting off the water and blindly reaching for a towel nearby. “You’re insatiable.”

“Like you’re complaining.”

His tongue then traces from the inside of your thigh and stops just shy of your center, a shudder of anticipation wracking your body.

“You’re playing with fire, Kat,” you warn, spinning around and lifting your leg, placing a foot on his shoulder to teasingly show off your messy core. His eyes dart up to meet yours, a salacious grin settling on across his lips.

“Then fuckin’ light me up, princess.”

Something in you snaps - an unexplainable strong hunger captivating your mind. You wanted him to absolutely obliterate you in any and every way possible.

Everything happens in a flash - remaining clothes are strewn across the floor, bodies pressed against the plush of the sheets when you fall against the bed, tangled and relishing in the bare skin contact. The sensation kindles the fire in your veins, begging for more of him - all of him.

"K-Katsuki," you whimper onto his lips, breathless between frenzied kisses. "I want - no, need - you to fuck me like you hate my guts."

Your lascivious request has Katsuki's head swimming in a lewd sea of thoughts, gritting his teeth to hold back the ravenous desire. He can’t help but fist himself in response before leering over you.

“Oh, is that how you wanna play this game, baby?” He growls into the shell of your ear, squishing you further into the mattress. "Want me to use you like a fuckin' toy, eh? Poundin' away at your tight-ass cunt 'til ya can't take it?"

You're too enraptured by the promise swirling in your head to form any logical thoughts as his hands travel to your breast between your bodies, palms blistering hot to the touch as he tweaks your nipple. "When ya can't walk tomorrow, jus' remember y'asked me for this."

The incoherent whine that escapes you is involuntary, a raw reaction to his words. You hear a pleased hum rise from Katsuki's throat as he towers over you once more. He places a few tender kisses to your neck before he fiendishly groans, "I'm gonna fuckin' wreck you."

Not a second passes before his canines are puncturing your delicate skin, threatening to draw blood with how deep he's sinking into the bite on your jugular. Katsuki releases only to keep biting anywhere he could latch on to as he roamed your body - your neck, breasts, collarbone, shoulder, nipples, hips, thighs - eager to mark every inch of you, claim you as his. It makes you squirm and your pussy ache with need, lightning bolts of pleasure coursing through you with each snap of his teeth. Usually when he bit you, he’d soothe the area with a few kisses - but now? He was a rabid fucking animal, carnality overwhelming his ability to think straight.

You're able to get a quick look at his ruddy cock when Katsuki leans back, repositioning himself while gripping your hips. You’re salivating at the sight - thick, swollen and pulsing, spend dripping down his length and coating the skin with a sheen of arousal. He’s heavily tracing circles into your hip bones, his firm clutch on your waist keeping you in place. He’s tugging your center toward his own, teasingly slipping the head of his cock between your creamy folds. You’re about to plunge down onto him when he pulls back, a wicked grimace crossing his lips. A dissatisfied squeak spills from your lips, pouting up at him with metaphorical hearts in your eyes.

“Y’want this?” Katsuki snarls, bouncing his dick against your mound, the contact causing you to inhale sharply. “Beg like the needy slut you are.”

Words are failing you as you attempt to fulfill his demand, the only sounds falling from your puffed lips a succession of jumbled moans.

“Cat got your tongue, princess?” He snorts at his own pun under his breath as he trails his palm up your body, resting under your jaw and fixating on the seductive gleam in you pupils.

“I know how to find those pretty words ‘a yours.”

Katsuki applies firm pressure to your throat under his finger tips, tilting your head upward to face him. Your hips buck up in response, begging for him to spread you open.

He clicks his tongue at your shameless plea. "C'mon baby, tell me what ya want."

His fingers flex over your throat, playfully interchanging how much pressure he's using over the pulse in your jugular. His gaze travels down your newly bitten and bruised body, pleased with how they adorn your features.

With every ounce of concentration, you blurt out everything lingering in your heat-riddled mind. "Break the fucking bed, rip my soul from my body, leave me choking on every word, ravage me until there's nothing left...please, Katsuki!"

You barely finished screaming his name before Katsuki releases the hold on your throat, roughly returning his grips to your hips and ramming his cock straight into your sweltering sex, the burning sensation rolling your eyes back into your head.

"Good fuckin' girl, baby."

He's hypnotized by the way your tits bounce as he fucks in and out of you at a feral pace, sweat glistening over both your bodies. The room's temperature heightens, the humidity only adding to the wild desire you're sharing.

Suddenly, he pulls out of you, leaving you confused and yearning. You don't have time to ask questions as he's rolling - shoving - you onto your stomach, arching your hips into place before resuming his unmerciful thrusts, growling and grunting from behind you. The new position has you crying out, intoxicated by the way his cock is hitting every hotspot along your walls and g-spot repetitively. You're unable to contain the sounds spilling from your parted lips as they harmonize with Katsuki's moans. He bends down to snatch your hair by the roots, forcing your head off the pillow as his other hand reaches around your waist, finger pressing harshly against your puffy clit. The wail that bubbles from your throat is sinful, overwhelmed as the coil in your core is wound tighter, tighter, and tighter.

"I fuckin' love when you moan like a whore, baby," Katsuki barks out between baited breath. "Ya keep screamin' like that, 'm gonna end up stuffin' your pretty pussy full 'a cum."

You flutter around his dick in response, stroking his length with every snap of his hips. "Hah, seems like that's what your beggin' for, isn't it?"

He screws his eyes shut, jaw clenched as he's inching closer to the edge. Your clenched walls coax his release to come rocketing out of nowhere, a guttural moan spilling out of him as he pumps you full of spend. The warmth is inviting - comforting, leaving you floating on cloud nine. Katsuki lets your locks drop from his grasp and removes his hand from your clit, folding over your back with exhaustion.

Imagine his shock when you push back against him, causing him to slide out of you with a schlep and fall back against the bed. You reverse your position to face him, taking hold of his shoulders to pull him into a sitting position and shove his back against the wall.

"Wha-"

You straddle his lap, springing his still-hard cock back inside of you and begin riding him mercilessly.

"One more," you whisper, voice low and demanding. "I know you can do it, my good fucking boy can give me one more."

Your nails are digging into his chest, red scratches left in their wake as you grind your soaked center against his shaft. Katsuki's stuttering, unable to find words as the overstimulation mixed with praise short circuits his brain.

"Ba-mmph-baby, wa-ahh-wait, fuck!"

Numerous beads of sweat roll from his hairline and drip down his cheeks, slack jawed from delirium. A second wave of release is rapidly rising in his abdomen, high pitched whimpers falling from his open mouth.

"Ah-almost!" you shout, fingers tracing his hardened nipples and pinching them roughly. He jolts, a final whine escaping him as the aforementioned wave crashes down, a second round of seed spurting out inside of you. Your own slick rushes to meet his spend, mixing together as it leaks from between your legs and into his lap.

"Holy fuck," Katsuki wheezes, barely able to speak. "Wh-where the fuck did you learn that?!"

Your legs are trembling uncontrollably as you lift yourself off of his dick, falling sideways onto the bed.

"I...just thought to try it," you sigh, "Never thought I'd get you to whine like that. Fuck, Kat. That was ungodly hot."

His face is burning red and heat traveling down his neck, somewhat embarrassed at his reaction of losing himself in the moment.

"Oh no, you don't get to be embarrassed! With half the shit you do to me?!" you tease, kicking his thigh jokingly with your foot. He grumbles, scrunching his brows together and crossing his arms.

"Alright, alright, I'll stop teasing you."

"Good, ya better. Now move your ass over and make room for me."

Katsuki flops next to you, too exhausted to get up from the bed. He wraps an arm around your waist and one under your head, cradling you close as your cheek meets his chest. You can hear his heartbeat thumping away as you close your eyes to the rhythm. He kisses your forehead before laying his head back against the mountain of pillows.

"Guess I should go away on missions more often if that's what I get 'ta come home to, shit. Feels like I just ran a fuckin' marathon."

You can't help but giggle, fighting off the itch to drift into slumber a little longer.

"I'm sneaking into your hotel room next time. No way am I waiting that long again!"

The two of you snuggle close, despite the ungodly amount of sweat coating your bodies and mugginess in the air, too enamored with one another to care.

"I love you so much, sweets. Don't forget that." Katsuki's voice is quiet, the words tightening in his throat as he speaks them aloud.

"I love you too, Katsuki. Forever and always."

He's satisfied with your answer as he closes his eyes, letting the wave of fatigue settle in his bones and lull him to sleep.

tagging @pastelbakugou as a thank you for the idea of a follow up 👀✨ no pressure tags!: @maddietries @slayfics @bkgrl @bub-ss hoping this was explosive enough! 🧡💥