#i just forgot i’d already drawn the pose once

[whaliiwatching]

gradual closing of the gap

#spider man: across the spider verse #spider punk #spider noir #hobie brown #noirpunk #see see it’s about closing distance it’s about removing layers #i’m joking there was zero thematic planning to this #i just forgot i’d already drawn the pose once #hobie so cute tho.. ugh #yes they’re badasses with little to no emotional filter #but I WANT THEM TO BE SWEET AND SHY #as a treat for all the spider-man related trauma they can be soft w each other…….. #stick it to the man!!!!! hold ur bf’s hand!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

Twelve Months - Good Omens fanfic

Happy 31st Anniversary of Good Omens! :D

To celebrate this momentous occasion, I have posted a slightly-sad, slightly-sweet Wake the Snake fic on AO3, because our demon has been napping for a whole Twelve Months, and sometimes Angel gets a little lonely!

Thank you all for another fantastic year in this fandom!

--

Twelve months.

Aziraphale pushed open the door to Crowley’s flat, a simple shopping bag tucked under his arm.

The lights were still off, the curtains drawn in the awful empty room he called a study. Nothing had changed.

He passed through the enormous, rotating section of wall and into the solarium. This was still bright—many of the plants flourishing despite being unattended so long, despite clearly not having enough water. A few had started flowering. They waved their branches at him as he entered, perking up eagerly.

The angel waved back, but first he peeked into Crowley’s bedroom.

He was still where Aziraphale had left him, on his last visit a month before. Bright red hair spilled across black pillows, grown into a stringy mop. Duvet pulled up to his messily-bearded chin. One hand curled up beside him on the bed.

Still asleep.

With a sigh, Aziraphale crossed over to the plants, who greeted him excitedly, unfurling their newest leaves, a few vines hanging down to brush his face.

“Hello, my lovelies. How are you all doing? Look at you, grown at least a foot since I saw you, I’m sure. And you! What beautiful pink buds. Very impressive.”

He didn’t think Crowley would approve of how he spoke to the plants, but the poor things had been so distraught on his first visit, straining to keep upright, trying to hide their yellowing leaves. So much healthier now, much happier for just a bit of attention. He picked up the watering can and gave them all a quick splash. He didn’t know how much water each needed, but it didn’t seem to matter.

“You keep it up, dears. I’ll be back before you know it.”

Picking up his shopping bag again, Aziraphale headed down the hall to the kitchen. The kettle sat on the island where he’d left it, and he quickly refilled it and set it to boil. While he waited, he pulled his latest creations from the bag: a small pumpkin spice cake from a recipe he’d been perfecting since fall, a lemon coconut cake, and a few apple cinnamon muffins.

Two plates—a muffin for each, a slice of the coconut cake for himself and the pumpkin spice for Crowley.[1] The rest went into the refrigerator, where they would never go bad or stale.

Aziraphale put the plates onto a tray, along with forks and napkins. Next he found two mugs and pulled the little tin of his second-favorite tea out of the bag just as the kettle boiled.

For himself, a teaspoon of the expertly blended leaves, steeped for exactly three minutes, resulting in a pale brown tea with a slightly spicy aroma. For Crowley, he dropped a tea bag into boiling water and let it sit until it was almost black.[2]

He carried the tray back to the solarium and selected a bright red-and-gold tulip that was nearly vibrating in its eagerness to be noticed. A moment to assure the other plants that they were still doing fabulously—particularly a self-conscious little succulent that had rather drooped over the winter but was making a fine recovery—and he once more headed into Crowley’s bedroom.

Crowley had rolled over, and now sprawled on his back, sleeping soundly. He’d apparently kicked a bit, too, as the blanket had slid down past his stomach. Aziraphale smiled as he set the tray on the chair he’d brought in some months ago and got to work.

“It’s wonderful to see you again, dear,” he started cheerfully, carefully rearranging the objects on the little bedside table. “I have a few things for you again, I hope you don’t mind.” Just enough space to slide the mug and the little plate. Perfect.

“I received a package from Tadfield again. Everyone wrote a note and then gathered them all together, really quite clever. They’re all doing well, if a bit bored.” The table was nearly overflowing with little items now, brought in by Aziraphale to cheer the place up. Framed pictures of their human friends, quarantining with their families, clustered in one corner so tightly you could hardly see them anymore.

He pulled the latest out of the shopping bag. “Anathema has started a garden,” he explained, pausing to show the photograph to Crowley’s sleeping form. It showed the witch, kneeling outside her little cottage, working on growing several rows of herbs. “I got the impression she was off to a rough start, but she hopes to send us some mint in the next package. Although Newt warned me not to expect too much, as they’d already forgotten which patch is mint and which is oregano.” He set the picture with the others, and slid the potted tulip alongside it. “I’m sure she could use some advice from you, when you’re ready to share.”

“Nnnnh.” Aziraphale spun eagerly, but no, just Crowley shifting in his sleep again, rolling onto his side.

The angel paused to pull the duvet back up to Crowley’s chin, tugging it straight and smoothing a hand down his back. In a way, his friend was nearly unrecognizable, with that hair and ridiculous beard, but in another way looked the same as ever. That was always Crowley’s way, of course, constantly changing yet somehow always the same.

He lingered, taking in the shape of that face, leaning close, lips hovering above his cheekbone—

Aziraphale pulled back, quickly digging into his bag again. “Oh! Ah, the, um, the children have been making projects for their art class. This past month was sculpture, and they sent us some. Look!” He pulled out four little figures of oven-baked clay. “Ah, young Wensleydale has made a very clever model of a train car. Brian’s is…abstract.” He turned the next a few different ways. “And Pepper’s is, ah, either a very complex symbolic representation of the Patriarchy, or…a troll, I think.” They just fit on the edge of the table, all in a line, a very mismatched tableau. The fourth, on the end, was the best, in Aziraphale’s opinion. “Adam made a little Dog, and it’s very well done, don’t you think?” The canine figure posed with one leg raised and head cocked, ready to play, but the shadow it cast was just a little too large, too ominous, for such a small creature.

With a sigh, Aziraphale shifted the row this way and that. “I sent a letter to Warlock, over in America, but haven’t heard back since Christmas. I believe they’re very busy with something. Politics. You know how it is.” When the Dowlings had left England, they’d planned to return for a visit the following summer. A global pandemic had had other ideas.

“In any case, that just leaves Tracy and Shadwell. I understand he’s decided to hate the concept of literacy this month, so no word on how his war with the squirrels is going. And Tracy has declared she will spend the summer making a fairy garden. I thought her sketches looked very promising, and she promised to send us an update in June. I’m sure you’ll find it charming.”

“Hrrrrm.” Crowley sank under the duvet, nestling down a little deeper. Aziraphale smiled, settling into the chair with his plate and mug.

“Things are loosening up again,” he explained, taking a bite of cake. Delicious, if he said so himself. Sharp and not too sweet. “People are getting vaccinated, shops opening up. It’s really a lovely breath of fresh air, at least when you’re not wearing a mask.” A long sip from his mug, then he held it, fingers tapping. “It’s been nice walking through the park again, just in time for the baby ducks. And that record shop at the corner, they’ve had some wonderful new additions. Which reminds me.”

Putting aside his mug, Aziraphale dug through the bag again and pulled out a handful of square plastic cases. “They had a whole shipment of those little records the Bentley likes. Modern music. I picked out the ones with the rudest names. I’m sure you’ll enjoy them.” He pulled out the first disc and placed it atop Crowley’s phone. The device blinked in confusion a few times, then obediently copied all the music.

“Of course, it’s not all good news.” He stacked the rest of the discs atop the phone and returned to his tea. “Reopening means the customers are coming back. Yesterday, this one individual spent almost an hour browsing the same three shelves. And then he tried to make off with one of my books.” Another long sip. “Granted, he offered to pay, but still. What sort of establishment does he think I’m running?”

Aziraphale paused, waiting for Crowley to respond, not that he ever did. The demon’s eyelids moved a little, but no more.

Sighing, Aziraphale turned to his muffin. “You know, many times in the last year, I’ve wished you were there. Particularly during reopening phases. You could have posed as a customer, and then I’d be able to tell people I was at the capacity limit. Oh, and the people who would call to try and buy my rarest books. Collectors, or so they claimed, but then they just turn around and sell to anyone for twice the price! I’m sure you’d have some biting things to say about such people.” He smiled at Crowley’s sleeping face. “I’ve missed that, and your jokes. Rather more than I expected to.”

When his plate and tea were finished, Aziraphale set them on the floor and reached again into the bag. “Now, I have been attempting to teach my computer how to use the internet. I think it’s going quite well. Adam and his friends gave me a ‘homework assignment’ to find articles on recent news events, and I made the most wonderful discovery. Did you know that humans now share their news through humorous pictures? I printed out my favorites to show you.”[3]

He flicked through a few. “Ah, to start with, a few months ago there was this American politician with amusing mittens who showed up everywhere for a few days. It was extremely droll.” He leaned closer, holding them up for Crowley to see. “Ah, a few more from America. The murder hornets arrived, though by that point everyone had forgotten them. The election became increasingly confusing, and it all ended in a parking lot. For a little while everything was ‘This-or-That Total Landscaping,’ and before that everything was cake.” He showed a few extremely clever illusions. “I did try to make my own, but couldn’t manage it without miracles, which I felt was cheating.”

Really, leaning like this was starting to strain his back. Aziraphale shifted to sit on the edge of the bed, the better to share his pictures. “Ahhh. Also for a time everyone’s calendars were stuck on ‘March.’ And then earlier this year, a group of people learned how the stock market works, but sadly not how to spell it. The whole situation seemed very much like the sort of thing you’d be involved in. And…Oh, this angel from a television show was sent to Hell for…reasons.” He glanced at the shape beside him. Crowley had curled in slightly, pressing against Aziraphale’s back. “Yes. Various reasons. And then this musician, I suppose, went on his own. Both had many people extraordinarily upset.”

The next few images would really tickle Crowley, if he could actually see them. “The biggest news is that a large ship got stuck sideways in that canal in Egypt. Stopped half the world’s shipping for a few days while they dug it out! I’m sure you would have liked that very much. Exactly your sort of trouble. The humans were all very excited.”

The final photo was another of the ship, an image Aziraphale had made himself, printing out a blank version and writing on it in felt-tip pen. The hull of the enormous ship was labeled, “An eternity putting up with the tedious bureaucracy and frequently conflicting commands of my superiors until I begin to doubt my own judgement and sanity,”[4] while the small digger working steadily beside it was “Crowley.”

Aziraphale watched the demon beside him, not really expecting a reaction, certainly not getting one. He reached over, brushing brilliant hair back from Crowley’s forehead. “I think you’d have had rather a lot of fun last year. Or perhaps you’d have been upset you could only watch from a distance. Or…”

He’d leaned much closer than he’d intended, hovering just above Crowley’s forehead.

“Well!” Aziraphale stumbled to his feet. “I suppose that’s just about everything.” He picked up the tray from where he’d rested it on the floor, starting to re-load it with everything he’d brought in. Crowley’s cake and tea sat untouched, as always, but Aziraphale wouldn’t dream of skipping them. “We’re all very optimistic for the summer. Two months and everything should be just…just tickety-boo. Perhaps we can go for that picnic soon, if…yes…”

They’d made such plans for 2020. All the things they would do now they were free. Plans, and other thoughts carried in their minds, possibilities that would play out in their own time. Not too fast, just a slow, steady exploration of everything they could be…

“Well. Pleasant as that idea is, best not to—to plan too much, as the previous year made fools of us all. I just…” He turned away from the tray and watched Crowley sleep, hands clasped before him. “I miss you terribly. And I wish…very much…”

He picked up his shopping bag. One item still inside. The same one he’d been carrying for months, trying to find the courage to bring it out.

With a shaking hand, he reached in and drew forth a soft hand-made doll. He’d spent much of the winter on it. Simple white cotton for the head and body, wooly curls for the hair, and stiff white lace for the wings. Dressed in waistcoat and bowtie made from Aziraphale’s favorite tartan.

He still wasn’t sure why he brought it. He’d stitched several little toys, particularly a lovely black-and-red serpent with gold button eyes that had watched him from the sofa since November. But this, for reasons he couldn’t articulate, this one was for Crowley.

“I, ah…” He shuffled closer, doll clutched in both hands. “I made, um…” Back to the edge of the bed, one hand fumbling across the duvet. “…thought you might like…”

Crowley’s face stood out in stark contrast to the pillow, pale skin and bright hair. Aziraphale wanted to drink it in, memorize every detail, to hold him over until next month. The curve of his nose, the sharp angle of his cheekbones. His lashes flickering as his eyes moved. His lips, pursed ever so slightly…

“Bless it, Angel, are you going to kiss me or not?”

Aziraphale gasped, pulling back from the bright gaze of slit-pupil eyes. “You—you’re awake!”

“Nnnh. Half.” Crowley shifted, head moving across the pillow, eyes threatening to shut again. “Wouldn’t miss your visit.” One hand reached out, plucked the doll from Aziraphale’s unresisting fingers. “For me?”

The angel nodded. “If…if…you like it…or I could—I could just…”

Without a word, Crowley pulled the doll under the duvet and curled up, tucking it under his chin, a faint smile on his lips.

“If you were awake you—you should have said something! I’ve been going—going off like a fool all this—oh!” Aziraphale could feel his face turning hot as he recalled a few times his tongue had been a bit too loose for propriety.

“Mmmmmh.” The golden eyes were shut again.

“Crowley?” No response. “Crowley!” Aziraphale scowled. “Anthony J. Crowley, if you’ve fallen asleep again, I swear, I’ll—”

He’d do what? The angel fumed, but what could he really threaten? To stay away? Never.

“Alright then, I suppose I’ll see you in June. I’ve had several new requests for extremely rare manuscripts and I need to go pen some responses reprimanding these vultures for their cheek. I can—”

“You can stay.”

He spun around. Crowley had one eye barely cracked open. Gently, he pulled back the duvet, showing there was just enough space for Aziraphale beside him.

“I…I couldn’t.” But he stepped forward, not back. “I have business tomorrow, things to—”

“Just tonight then.”

His fingers brushed the mattress and pulled back as if burned. “You—you don’t really mean this, you’re just talking in your sleep.”

“Nah.” Crowley settled the doll by his pillow, making space. “Why else would I give you my key?”

“I…to…water the plants?”

“They take care of themselves.” Crowley held open his arms, eyes shut once more. “I missed you, too.”

Well. What could he say to that?

Aziraphale took off his shoes and slid into bed, into Crowley's arms. They wrapped around him gently as Crowley wriggled closer. “Mmmm. Y’r softer than the doll.”

“Oh.” He’d been called soft many times, generally as a way to imply he was a failure as an angel. But just this once, it made him feel rather pleased. “Soft is good?”

“Verrrry good.” Crowley twisted a bit, trying to find a comfortable way to rest his long limbs, and finally settled curled up against Aziraphale’s chest, tucked below the angel’s chin with a leg hooked over his knees.

The angel smiled. “And you’re…you’re noodlier than a stuffed snake. Err…”

A chuckle, just a stirring of breath across his throat. “Can’t wait to hear the story behind that.” Crowley nuzzled against his shoulder with a sigh. “Good night, Angel.”

Aziraphale swept the brilliant hair back again and bent down, pressing his lips to Crowley’s forehead. A soft, gentle kiss that made his friend smile a little more broadly. “Good night, my dear.”

Crowley drifted off again, burrowing close, as the angel continued to gently tease the back of his hair. Perhaps, he thought, perhaps tomorrow's work wasn't so very urgent. Perhaps a bit of rest would do him good. And perhaps...

Well. Don't plan too much. But for the first time, Aziraphale felt a bit of optimism about the coming summer and its possibilities.

“Sleep well, Crowley.”

[1] Crowley had invented pumpkin spice, and Aziraphale assumed he must like it. In truth, Crowley despised it, and regretted every autumn how it took over the entire world. He missed apple cider season. [2] Aziraphale had suspected since the early 1950s that Crowley secretly took his tea with several lumps of sugar, but would continue to pretend he didn’t know until Crowley confessed. Considering current circumstances, that was unlikely to be any time soon. [3] Aziraphale’s fax machine, revived after over three decades of disuse, had been somewhat confused to be asked to perform any task at all, much less to print memes onto photo paper with perfectly balanced color; but like the plants and Crowley’s phone, it couldn’t stand to disappoint the angel. [4] It was possible he hadn’t quite mastered this new form of communication.

#good omens prime #good omens lockdown #good omens fanfiction #aziraphale and crowley #wake the snake #aziraphale/crowley #sleeping crowley #aziraphale #pov aziraphale #crowley's flat #crowley's plants #sleepy cuddles #2020 was a year #aziraphale loves crowley #crowley loves his angel #asexual good omens #pointy demon wants soft angel cuddles #good omens anniversary #my writing #ao3 fic #ao3 link

[themonotonysyndrome]

REDACTED verse - Another day in Dahlia

Summary: When worlds collide, Aaron and Smartass has the ‘old, married couple’ moment when a wolf is loose in a hypermarket. 

-

Dahlia is lively today, the afternoon sunlight dazzling upon the city. Familiar faces, familiar sights and familiar roads are everywhere. 

And yet, the man who couldn’t stop bickering with his lover since the two of them stepped out of IKEA is a changing man living in this familiar city. 

Aaron likes to think that he retains his best qualities despite the passing of time. Firm, true and level-headed - traits that have served him well both in his personal and work life. Traits that have earned him recognition, achievements and praises. However, against a fiery soul housed within an infuriating yet gorgeous body, Aaron has never felt so breathless and helpless. 

And most importantly, lovestruck. 

Unstable and uncharacteristically hesitant, the pieces of himself that are held together with patience have been pulled apart by its seams. But they weren’t destroyed; no, they rearrange themselves into an amazing new form. Aaron isn’t quite yet certain what that new form brings, but already, he could feel himself grow into a man that wholly compliments his lover. 

Like a planet revolving around a beautiful, bright star. He can’t help but be drawn by the star’s gravity. 

There’s balance between them, despite their strong-willed personalities. They sooth the other when one burns too brightly, they offer guidance when the other is unsure. Balanced and happy, that’s what they are. 

There’s never emptiness when silence envelops them. Isn’t there a saying that whenever you’re with your loved one, silence is never oppressive? 

Although, to be fair, silence doesn’t last long whenever they’re together. Not when there’s always something to bicker, something to discuss and something to tease about. 

Case in point, the ugly as fuck lamp that Aaron fought tooth and nail to convince his partner not to buy. 

“Look, it’s not even your money; I was going to use mine for it!” 

“It’s not about the money, Smartass.” Aaron replies back with a roll of his eyes. They’re at the parking lot getting ready to head off to the hypermarket next. The two of them had spent four hours of furniture shopping at IKEA after his Smartass made an offhand comment last week about his couch being way too old and lumpy for gaming nights and movie marathons. 

But before either of them realise it, what was supposed to be a simple couch purchase turned into perusal of dining tables, desks and floor lamps. Aaron got them back on track when you excitedly pulled him towards that last part.

Aaron had never before questioned your taste in furniture before but at that point, he starts to draw the line at a red, human shaped floor lamp. It bows slightly with the most creepy smile he had ever seen on a statue before. 

“I just don’t want to have a heart attack everytime I wake up, alright? You wanted it in our bedroom, beside our bed and it’s creepy beyond all reason.” 

“It’s functional though.” 

“So were the other floor lamps.” Aaron easily pointed out. He opened the car door and waited, unamused, for you to get in. Unfortunately, judging by how your arms folded across your chest in a stubborn pose, his spitfire didn’t want to drop their conversation. 

“What if I put it in the living room?” You suggest instead, the familiar defiant spark made itself known. 

Aaron held himself back from groaning in despair. Why are you so hung up about that lamp!? “I don’t think it’ll fit with the… aesthetic of our house, OK?” He tried the tactical approach first, knowing that a straight up no would not pacify his partner at all. “How about this; we’ll go with your couch and desk and my preference for the dining table. There. Is that good enough for you, Your Highness?” 

You purse your lips, but the both of you know that you’re not so hung up about the floor lamp to drag this argument any further. Aaron wisely chooses not to comment how your lips slowly curve into a smile. 

“Fine. I’ll let you win this round - ”

“Oh my god - ”

“But in return, I’ll be taking over for lunch later.” 

Aaron immediately shut his mouth, surprise and secretly a little giddy that his Smartass had taken the initiative of making a meal for them. That lasted for about a split second before something dawn onto him. 

“You want free reign at the hypermarket later, right?” 

This time, you beam happily but say nothing as you finally slip inside of the Mercedes. And as usual, silence spoke louder than words. Aaron exhales loudly, not knowing whether to laugh or mutter a curse. Trust in his lover to have the final say, ultimately. 

But that’s one of the many reasons why he fell so hopelessly in love with you. 

-

The hypermarket is busy for a Saturday. Smartass pointed at the sales and promotions board display in big letters and numbers when the two of you entered the building, hand in hand. Ah, that makes sense. Children run about clutching snacks in their little hands to convince their exasperated parents into buying, worned out staff restock empty shelves and the scent of fresh produce and floor detergents clings in the air. A familiar sight. 

“How do you feel about crabs?” Smartass begins the conversation. Aaron doesn’t understand why you bother asking him when you’re already dragging him towards the cold, seafood area. Aisles of fresh fish of all kinds are clearly displayed for visitors, the more expensive kind are packaged and a few men are working behind the butcher service counter. 

“I can go for some crabs. It’s been a while anyway.” Aaron answered, grabbing a nearby stack of baskets for their grocery. He tried to recall the last time they had any seafood and his mind helpfully supplied a restaurant where they went to for dinner in March. 

He lets you gather your thoughts as you stare at the frozen crabs critically as if they were spreadsheets. “I’m thinking of rice with a side of buttery crab meats, Salmon sashimi, Shiitake soup and lotus root salad. Sounds good?” 

As soon as he invited his Smartass to permanently move in with him, you had totally taken over the kitchen. Apparently you weren’t terribly amused when he admitted that he’s not much of a cook but hey, he never once complained when you served the best homemade vegan burgers with a glare and a silent, “Go ahead. I dare you to say that they taste like shit. Make my day, Aaron.” 

So instead, after he cleaned their dishes, Aaron proceeded to throw his lover on their bed to thoroughly thank you for the meal. 

Four hours later, the flushed and surprised expression on your face was so worth it. 

But we’re getting off tangents here. 

“Sounds absolutely delicious.” Aaron replied and startled his Smartass with a sudden kiss on your cheek. “Now stop glaring at the crabs and pick some already. We have half of the ingredients back home and I’d rather not spend the rest of our remaining Saturday in the hypermarket. So let’s get to it.” 

Smartass hum in agreement and grab your own basket. Together, they made quick work of what they needed to buy. Not just for lunch, but for the upcoming weeks too. Crabs, Salmons, some meat and later pea sprouts, red cabbages and lotus root - the both of them are more inclined to healthy meals rather than take outs and it really helps that Smartass suggest preparing ingredients that they could cook for the rest of the week, given their busy work lives. Vegetable dishes are flexible and easy enough to cook into anything anyway. 

They moved on from the frozen, seafood aisles and the produce section to where the personal care products are. Aaron holds up his phone in between them so Smartass could check what’s next on the list. 

“Oh shit. I totally forgot that my shampoo and conditioners just ran out.” Smartass blurted. “Thanks for adding that into our grocery list.” 

Aaron scoffs. “You mentioned it twice during dinner last night - in between debating whether or not Game of Thrones is better than Lord of the Rings, mind you - so I can understand why you forgot” Colourful rows of shampoo bottles greeted them when they walk past a couple who’s pushing their trolley carts away from the shelves. He grabs your favourite brand and places them in his basket. “You’re brilliant, Smartass, but I can’t help pity that poor hamster living in your brain for having to run in its ball all day long.” 

You gasp, affronted, while Aaron laughs at the look on your face. Even smacking his arm did nothing to stop his laughter. “You’re too easy to rile up sometimes, you know that Smartass?” He smirks and grabs a toothpaste next. They’re running low on that too. In retaliation for his remark, Smartass sneakily pulled that toothpaste out when Aaron was checking his phone and chose the one with the strawberry flavour instead. 

When Aaron shot you an inquisitive look, you just smiled innocently and quickly distracted him by insisting that they need to get some snacks. 

“That reminds me, it’s not on the list but we have to buy ramune soda. Oh, and some potato chips too.” You pointed out as the two of you rounded away from a large family who stopped in between the body wash shelves and hair serums. “Have you noticed that we go through ramune sodas like crazy lately?” 

The snacks and beverage section is one of the highlights of this hypermarket, in Aaron’s humble opinion. Not only do they have an abundance of the local goods, they also have a wide selection of some really good imported snacks or as Aaon like to call it, your ultimate weakness.  

“Yeah but be honest, are you really going to stop your addiction anytime soon?” 

“What is this? Bully me day?”

“Hey, you’re the one who said it, not me, Smartass.” Aaron is quick to quip back and this time, you roll your eyes. Even if it’s true, it doesn’t mean that you have to like it. 

But that’s Aaron - his words always serve a meaning and come straight from the heart when it’s for the things that truly matter. It’s annoying and yet, it’s one of his best qualities. 

However, just as you were about to rebuke him, the two of you heard a passing conversation nearby the soda shelves. 

“ - not going to play bartender at home again, Angel. Why not? Alright then; let me jog your memory, hmm? The last time I left you alone in the kitchen for more than 3 hours, you came out carrying a tray with the embodiment of everything unholy on this planet separated into three shot glasses.” 

“It was just ramune soda mixed with rose syrup, grass jelly and vinegar!” 

“Asher had a stomach ache for a week, Angel.” 

“But Davey, how do you expect me to get better at it if you don’t let me practice? See? There’s a flaw in your plan!” 

“I’d rather we go to a bar the next time you’re in the mood to poison the both of us.” 

You didn’t mean to eavesdrop on their conversation but you couldn’t help snicker at the stranger’s very much put out and deadpan tone. It gives an implication that this isn’t the first time this ‘Angel’ did something as crazy as mix sodas with vinegar. Hell, even the man’s comment earned a soft chuckle from Aaron. 

“Sounds like he got quite a handful lover over there. Remind you of someone?” Aaron whispered. They couldn’t properly see the couple due to a stack of Dorito boxes in between them but you could spot a tall man wearing a pretty nice looking leather jacket and his partner beside him.

“If you’re implying that I’m unreasonably difficult - ”

“No, no. Just… hmm, passionately stubborn, I suppose.” Aaron nonchalantly replies with a smirk. He guffaws when you poke at his sides and spin around to the rows of ramune with a dramatic huff. Aaron easily follows suit with a fond smile. 

This section of the aisle is quiet unlike the previous ones that’ve been, Aaron noticed. The humming of the air conditioner above them and the crinkling of a plastic bag of chips in Smartass’ hand were the only sounds that broke the comfortable silence. Even the murmurs from the other couple melts into background noises the further Aaron and his walk away. 

That is, until a hair-raising snarl shattered the quietness. 

What’s worse, it sounded like a wolf. 

Aaron reacted instinctively. He opted for the defense - grabbing his Smartass’ free hand, pulling you close to him. His searching eyes are frantic while his mind is trying to make sense that a wolf is somehow in this hypermarket. Full of people. What the fuck!?

Smartass, however, opted for the offense. You grab the nearest glass bottle by the neck and were about to smash it against the metal shelf if it weren’t for Aaron’s quick thinking. He immediately grabs your wrist and shoots you an incredulous look. Silently judging your choices in life. 

‘You have a better idea on how to deal with a fucking wolf!?’ Smartass demanded in silence. Your expression is bewildered; as if you couldn’t believe that Aaron wouldn’t let you shank an unknown threat just around the corner. 

In return, Aaron pulls you closer to his body and glares out, ‘I’m not letting you throw yourself in front of a wolf!’

‘I’m protecting us!’ Smartass countered back, glaring just as heatedly. 

A sweet giggle suddenly interrupted their mental argument. Their hearts skip a beat in fear at the unknown. 

“Ok, ok. How about this, Davey: I'll let you dress me up when we go to the bar tomorrow. How’s that? Does that make my Wolf not jealous anymore?” The same voice they accidentally eavesdropped previously bargained in a teasing tone. 

Smartass and Aaron exchange a bewildered and confused glance. What the fuck did they just said? My Wolf? Was the realistic animal snarl came from the boyfriend!? He must’ve some serious vocal cords and throat to be able to make that sound!

Aaron exhales loudly while Smartass allows him to grab the glass bottle that you were still holding to put it back on the shelf. 

“I think I just lost five years of my life.” Aaron complains.

Smartass said nothing. Without even saying anything, you march to where the couple are. Aaron curses under his breath and quickly chases after you. 

The man in the black leather jacket and his partner glanced at his Smartass when you approached them with a practised smile. One that Aaron knew meant trouble. How could he not when he’s the receiving end of that smile more than he could count. 

When Smartass wants answers, you’ll do everything in your power to get it and Aaron is really not looking forward to wrangling his partner from starting a brawl in the middle of a damn hypermarket. 

“Hi there.” His Smartass began, your body language deceptively open and friendly. “Are you two alright?” 

“Eh?” The one standing beside the tall, frowning man replies with a blink. Upon closer inspection, Aaron realises that he and what looks to be the leader of a local gang are similar in built. 

“Can we help you?” The gang leader interjects. He’s frowning but he doesn’t appear angry. Just confused like his partner. Though he nodded in greeting when Aaron slid up beside Smartass. 

“Didn’t you hear that noise just now?” Smartass plays shock. “It sounded like someone released a wolf in the hypermarket!” 

The man in the leather jacket suddenly looked like he just sucked a lemon; his eyes are comically wide. Meanwhile, his partner’s eyes are equally as wide. Aaron detects a hint of realisation glint in their eyes. Now isn’t that interesting? 

Well, Smartass thought so too. You pressed on. “You heard it too right? Damn near give me a heart attack! I wonder if the nearby staff also heard it - ”

“It’s probably the ventilation system or something.” The gang leader quickly replied, his expression oddly shifted to neutral. Beside him, his partner opens their mouth to say something but he quickly presses his palm over it. They throw a pointed look at him but he resolutely ignores it. “Anyway, good luck with your grocery shopping.” 

Aaron watches him grab his partner by the hand and gently drag them away. It was only when they’re out of sight that they started furiously chatting. 

“Wow, Davey, your slip up was even worse than Asher’s!” 

“We’re so not telling him about this, Angel.” 

“...Does this mean I can tell Babe instead?” 

“Wha - No, that wasn’t an invitation to tell his Mate!” 

Aaron turns to Smartass who just shrugs. Neither of them could figure out what just happened. He’s just glad that you let them escape. 

“Maybe they have some really kinky roleplaying thing going on.” Smartass guessed, wiggling your eyebrows suggestively. 

Aaron runs his palm down his face in exasperation. “I don’t give a shit, Smartass. Can we please just finish up our grocery shopping already? I’m starting to get hungry.” 

“Alright, alright. We just have to grab a few more things and then we can pay.” Smartass assured him and off they continued on their way. 

Though neither of them still couldn’t help but wonder how the hell that man managed to sound like a wolf so accurately. 

Kinky roleplay or not. 

-

I’m tentatively planning to make this into a mini series including the rest of the non-empowered characters with their lovers. I’m already writing for Oliver and Baby so we’ll see how that goes! 

#redacted asmr #fanfic #second pov #they/them pronouns #gender neutral s/o #smartass (listener) #Aaron #david shaw #angel (listener)

[heyheyloki]

Better Than Him

Bakugo Katsuki x M!Reader

Requested? Yes.

Word Count: 2914

When you first started UA, you didn’t have many friends. None of your friends from middle school had gotten accepted into the school, and none of them stuck around either. You didn’t have much of an need to go out of your way to make them, but you didn’t made making some if people approached you. That’s how this all began, because Mina Ashido decided that the handsome pretty boy of the class should be her friend. 

Mina was always took her time to go out of her way with you. Partnering up for classwork? She went with you. Needed a partner for hero work? Right by your side. 

She was a great friend, and she grew on you. It was just the two of you for a bit in the beginning of the year, that was until the Sports Festival happened. Both of you ended up bonding with Sero, Kirishima, Kaminari, and the infamous Bakugo Katsuki. 

Unlike your classmates, you didn’t have a problem with Bakugo’s constant rage and raised voice. You knew he wasn’t a bad guy, just someone who needed to prove himself. You didn’t believe it clicked within your classmates, but you didn’t feel like defending someone who didn’t need it. Besides, if you did, you thought you’d only offend him in the end. 

Overtime, you all became close friends. Your relationship with Mina grew and stabilized into best friends while your relationships with the others continues to grow.

“Yo, [Name].” You heard Kirishima call out, his desk behind yours. Still, he felt the need to stand next to your deck.

“Yeah?” You questioned.

“You got plans for the weekend? All of us are gonna go hang at Bakugo’s place.” Kirishima explained. For the first time in a while, you were surprised. It wasn’t like Bakugo to let people into his house, especially not his friends that he tries to deny he has.

“Really? And Bakugo is all cool with it?” You questioned, leaning your head forward to get a look at the blond at his desk.

“Don’t look at me! All these idiots invited themselves!” Bakugo yelled, his eyes locked onto yours.

For some reason, you believed him.

“C’mon!” You heard Mina’s voice. When you turned your head to the other side of your desk, she was there. Her palms planted on your desktop. “It’s not like you got anything better to do, right?”

“Woah, you think highly of yourself that you think you’re my only friend.” You teased, watching as she began to pout like a child.

“C’mon, man! Don’t be scared of Bakugo, it won’t be the same without you!” Kaminari suddenly butted in, his arm wrapping around your shoulders.

“What the hell makes you think I’m scared of him?” You growled. Seriously, out of all of them, you were the least scared of the guy.

“Cause you don’t come! Unless, you got something else to do?” Kaminari questioned, a coy grin coming to his features. “Maybe, a date?”

“Oh, my god! Really? Since when?” Mina shouted, her excitement growing.

You sighed, seriously, sometimes you think these guys have nothing else to do but bother you. You weren’t complaining necessarily, but you know that for some reason beyond you, that you complete their group. Maybe it was cause you could run your mouth to Bakugo without flinching, or perhaps you were just you and they loved that about you.

“It’s not a date.” You hummed out. Your hand coming up to remove Kaminari’s arm from your body. “I just already made plans with Midoriya. Sorry.”

You didn’t think they’d make a big deal out of it, especially since most were on good terms with the green haired fool that always seems to break his bones any chance he gets. Then again, you forgot that one person isn’t his biggest fan.

“Uh? Deku? Why the hell are you wasting your time with that nerd?” Bakugo suddenly called out, all eyes now on the group. Especially Bakugo and you.

When you looked at him, it was like a war was on the brink of starting. It wand uncommon for the both of you to argue here and there, so no one was worried necessarily, but something in your gaze made his blood run cold. He really didn’t take a liking to the way you looked at him, but instead of taking into account why, he just blamed it on your quirk.

The quirk you had was tricky in more ways than one. It distorted your personality at times, and the abilities that came along with one single quirk had some people jealous, envious of you. Maybe that’s what Bakugo liked about you, he knew that people were jealous of his stupidly-awesome quirk just like they were of yours. You had a commonality, and that made him see you as an equal. Though, as he got to know you, that quickly turned into respect.

“What? Jealous I’m hanging with him instead of you?” You asked in a snarky tone that made Bakugo almost pop a vein.

“Why the hell would I be jealous of that loser?” He yelled, his hand slamming down hard on his desk. Some of his classmates flinched at the noise, but you remained perfectly still. Continuing to give him that annoying look that he wanted to just wipe off your face.

“Don’t know,” you hummed. Your eyes still not removing themselves from Bakugo’s orbs. It was odd to you how this guy chooses to act this way in school but when he’s just hanging out with you, he’s the chillest guy you’d ever met. Though, that was only if it was just you and him. “But, I’ll be free another day. So don’t go missing me too much.”

“Like I’d ever miss you, idiot!” He screamed out once more in retaliation.

You just smiled to yourself before class shortly after started. You wish you could go, but you’re a man of your word and promised Midoriya you’d help him out. Besides, if you weren’t loyal, what else did you have left? Your quirk made it quite difficult to be anything else.

When that weekend passed, Bakugo tried to ask you to hang out with him. There was a carnival in town and he didn’t want to go with the others unless you were there. Sadly, you had to decline again.

“Sorry, Bakugo, I already made plans with Midoriya.” You told him with an apologetic smile. “Maybe next week.”

He did try again next week. It wasn’t like he wanted to, in fact, he felt pathetic doing this for weeks on end and you always rejecting him. It was just easier to deal with the chaotic antics of the others with you around. It wasn’t like he enjoyed you being around, no, not at all.

It didn’t help when everyone else started to talk about you while they all hanged out.

“Man!” Kaminari whined. “When is [Name] gonna come back and hang with us?”

“Not sure, but he’s been hanging around Midoriya a lot more lately.” Mina expressed, her eyes wondering up at the clear sky as they all walked around the park.

“Yeah, now that you mention it, those two have been getting really close, right?” Kirishima questioned. “I mean, he never really talked to him until recently. Makes ya wonder what they’re doing.”

It would be a lie to say that didn’t irk Bakugo. Did you think Deke was better than him? That couldn’t possibly be it, right? After all, he was better. He was your friend first before Deku, so why did you prefer that guy over him?

“I don’t know about [Name] but did you hear about Midoriya?” Sero suddenly asked.

Bakugo made up this mask that he wasn’t interested in this conversation whatever, but when he heard that, his ears perked up. He was never one for gossip, hell, he hated it. But for some reason when it came to you, it felt like he needed to know. Especially if Deku had a part in it.

“No, what happened?” Kaminari questioned, the others on edge.

“I overheard Uraraka talk with Iida about how Midoriya was suddenly acting weird whenever [Name] was around.” Sero started out saying. All of them at the edge of their seats, begging him to just spit it out already. “When Uraraka confronted him, Midoriya said that he was starting to like him! Can you believe that?”

“Seriously?” Mina suddenly shouted with a wide smile and somewhat flushed cheeks.

While everyone stood with shocked expressions across their features, they all asked the same questions. Did you like him as well? Is that why you wouldn’t hang with them?

Though, for Bakugo, it was a little difficult. Unlike everyone else he felt something he hasn’t in a while. He knew he had a short fuse and could be angered easily, but when he heard that it was like something twisted in his chest. It was painful, and made questions run about his mind.

The thing was, Bakugo wasn’t dumb. He cursed himself out in his mind. It wasn’t ‘hero’ behavior, he felt like a loser. He hated that. It was such a petty emotion that ran through his veins. Pure, petty jealousy.

It wasn’t until a few days later that Bakugo saw you. It was in the morning, just before class started up. Everyone was chatting with friends before they had to deal with a grumpy Aizawa in the morning.

When Bakugo walked in, his sight immediately locked onto you. You were in his seat, your body turned to face Midoriya who sat behind the spiky haired blond. You had your elbow on Midoriya’s desk, your head rested in the palm of your hand with a bright smile on your features. It was like when you smiled, in Bakugo’s eyes, you glowed. It was odd to him the first couple of times, but he started to enjoy it. It was like his own secret that no one had the privilege of seeing besides him.

“So, [Name], um,” Midoriya started to mumbled, his fingers now fidging each other. His gaze towards his desk, dancing around as he spoke but not meeting yours for a second.

“What’s up?” You questioned, wondering what he was so worried for.

“I was, uh, wonder if maybe I could draw you?” He asked in a shy tone. Though, once his eyes met yours he immediately shot his hands up and shook them before blurting out, “I mean, only if you want to!”

You stared at him for a moment. It was odd to you how this was the most difficult thing for him to ask when he’s asked you so much things over the past couple of weeks. “Sure, I don’t mind. But, make sure you get my good side.”

Midoriya chuckled. “I’ll try.”

You nodded with a smile, trying out some poses before your eyes got drawn towards the window. Rain was falling and it never ceased to capture your attention in an instant. Though, today your little show would be interrupted.

As you watched some teachers and students scramble into the school from below, your attention was quickly drawn to whoever nudged you in the back of the head. You knew there wasn’t any malice behind it, but instead just to grab your attention.

When you turned your head your eyes went up to Bakugo’s face. It was calm, and something about it was peaceful to you. His red hues were shining with something you didn’t recognize, but, for some reason, you were just happy to have it directed onto you.

“Good morning, Bakugo.” You said with a soft smile. “How was your weekend?”

“It was whatever.” Bakugo hummed. His eyes never moving anywhere else besides you. “Spiky thought it would be a fun idea to do a picnic.”

“Oh, that sounds fun. Wish I could’ve been there,” you hummed in a sweet tone. Although, before Bakugo had time to respond to your words, you let an soft hum leave your throat before saying, “By the way, I’ll be free today if you wanna hang out and catch up.”

For the first time, Bakugo’s gaze shifted to Midoriya. His calm eyes grew irritated, narrowing on the green haired teen.

You heard Midoriya yelp suddenly, but you didn’t find that any different from any other day before. When Bakugo turned back to you though he said, “Whatever, idiot. Just don’t make a mess while you’re over my house.”

You smiled, your legs bending straight as you stood from his desk. You were a few inches from him when you did, neither of you looking to back up. It was then that your innocent smile turned into a sly grin before brushing your shoulder with Bakugo as you moved back to your seat, completely missing the soft red that popped up on the tips of his ears.

After school Bakugo and you headed out without a word to your other classmates or friends. You made conversation here and there about whatever you could think about, just basically throwing your thoughts at him. It wasn’t until you both came out of the heated building and feel a chill run up your spine. It was days like these were you wish you had some fire or some kind of heat quirk like Bakugo and Todoroki have. 

“Shit, it’s freezing.” You grumbled as you hugged yourself from warmth, your teeth beginning to chatter. While it was cold, you did enjoy Bakugo’s heat that helped you at least tolerate this bullshit. Though, when he suddenly stopped as you continued to walk, it didn’t take long for you to notice.

When you turned you noticed him digging around in his bag. You leaned your head to the side, confused on what he was doing. You took a step forward, your lips parting as you were about to let words slip past them. Before you had the chance though, you felt something warm wrap around you. 

“Don’t freeze to death, idiot.” Bakugo said before continuing to walk.

Your eyes quickly shot down to see a scarf loosely wrapped around your neck. The gesture itself shouldn’t be anything to gush over, it was a kind thing that anyone would do. Though, for some reason, when Bakugo did it it felt like your entire body was now suddenly warm. 

When both of you arrived at Bakugo’s place since it was closer to the school than yours, you noticed his parents weren’t home. It didn’t bother you since this wasn’t the first time you’ve been over without them around. But you did find it odd that Bakugo just dropped his thinks and started to travel to his room. Normally you both would grab some drinks and snacks to chill with while you hanged out, but that didn’t happen. You decided not to question him and just followed behind him silently.

You believed nothing was wrong, but when you saw him sitting at the edge of his bed with his head down, you knew you were wrong. 

You sighed, leaning against the door frame you asked, “Alright, what’s wrong with you?”

Bakugo’s eyes locked on you. It would have scared you, but it wasn’t the first time he looked at you like that. 

“Do you like Deku more than me or something?” He suddenly questioned, his voice prickled with thorns. One wrong move, and you knew you wouldn’t recover. 

You leaned your head. “Bakugo, really?”

“Do I look like I’m joking to you, idiot?”

No, he didn’t, but you wish he was. It wasn’t like you were keeping a secret from him, but it was a pain in the ass to explain. 

You sighed, your hands dug in your pockets before walking up next to Bakugo. You took a second before sitting down next to him, making sure he wouldn’t deny you. The moment you sat down you said, “Midoriya is cool and all, but just because I’ve been hanging out with him doesn’t mean that I think he’s cooler than you or something.”

Bakugo raised his head an inch. Side-eyeing you he growled, “Then why the hell are you blowing me off, huh? If you wanna hang out with that nerd so bad than just do it!”

You didn’t make any moves, nor did you try and make any snarky comments. It was hard to hold in instinct, but for him you could do it. 

“I wasn’t trying to blow you off, okay?” You hummed out in the kindest voice you could muster up. “Midoriya asked me if it would be okay to get some information about my quirk for this hero journal he’s been keeping. I said yes, and it just happened to take longer than I thought.”

The blond next to you went quiet, you knew he probably felt silly or like a ‘loser’ but you didn’t think that about him at all. Not in the slightest. 

With a single motion, your shoulder moved over to Bakugos’. You didn’t move, nor try to. Instead, you took in a pleasant breath of air as you relaxed into him. It’s been weeks since you could last do this, and you missed it. He would never allow you to in public or with your other friends, which, you understood and respected. So, it was really--really--nice now that you could.

“Yanno, you didn’t have to get jealous, Suki.” You cooed out. 

You thought he would flip out on you. He really did hate when you called him that in private, but today, he didn’t. When you felt him move, it wasn’t like you remembered before he flips out. So, you moved your head an inch to see what he had done. A large smile growing on your lips when you noticed his head turned away from you, unable to see his face. But, you did hear him when he said, “Shut up, idiot.”

#bakugou katsuki #bakugo x reader #bakugo x male reader #katsuki bakugo fluff #katsuki bakugo x male reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #my hero academia x male reader #my hero academia x reader #my hero academia headcanons

[livinghostly]

the way you said i love you

zuko x reader

not my gif!

words: 2660

request/summary: all the times zuko said he loved you, without actually saying it.

prompt: this post inspired me

warning: some angst, mostly fluff

a/n: this is my first time writing zuko and i'm kind of in love with him :') feedback is much appreciated

as a hello

"hello, zuko here." there was a slight smile on his face as he waved gently.

your breath caught in your throat and you found yourself taken aback, expecting anything but that. he greeted you with such familiarly, as if you were old friends reuniting. the way he reminded you of his name– as if you could ever forget the identity of the person who'd been hunting down you and your friends for nearly a year.

zuko didn't try to fight, he didn't prepare himself in a stance to even protect himself as your friends readied for an attack. he simply stood, as if he posed no threat.

he looked to you– the only one who hadn't brought your hands up and prepare whatever defense you had at your disposal. you were stunned, as you tried to analyze the firebender in front of you, until sokka nudged you with his elbow. only then, did you unsheathe the sword kept in the holster at your side.

"hey, i heard you guys flying around down there, so, i just thought i'd wait for you here."

and then, the strangest thing happened– appa licked him.

over a cup of tea

sweat beaded upon your forehead and fall to flow down the sides of your face as you writhed in the sheets of your bed. you weren't hot, you were freezing, but no amount of blankets could help you maintain any warmth. you bunched them around your shoulders and threw yourself on your side, looking for some comfort.

the blinds to your room were closed, creating a stuffy environment. they had been shut since that morning when you'd woken up feeling as if you'd been a victim of bloodbending, again. your muscles were tight and aching, it felt like a great weight on your limbs as you tried to move.

katara's healing didn't have the power to take away the fever or the strain, it wasn't a physical wound to be stitched back up. there wasn't much your friends could offer, besides leaving you alone to wallow in your own helplessness.

suddenly, the door opened. instinctively, your head turned towards the figure. he entered shyly, as if hiding behind the tray in his hands. you narrowed your eyes in curiosity, and propped yourself up against the wall. you moved to get off the bed, but his voice stopped you.

"don't get up." it was an order, but zuko's voice was soft.

he pulled up your desk chair next to your bed, his knees pressed against the soft fabric of your comforter. he laid the tray in his lap, a bowl and a cup, both full of tea, sitting on top.

"hey, zuko," you smiled.

"i, uh, i made your favorite," he offered, handing you the cup.

you took it gratefully, glancing inside the cup. the concoction was murky, with scattered bits of leaf left inside he apparently had paid no attention to. you grimaced, but it fell when you looked back up at him to see a hopeful grin on his face.

offering a tight smile, you brought the cup to your lips. you couldn't bring yourself to face his excited expression as you struggled to keep your composure. oh, spirits, it tasted much worse than it looked. as if it was mud, but acrid. it was hard to ignore the pungent smell as you brought it closer to your nose, tipping the cup as far up as you could to let the liquid run down your throat as quickly as possible.

"how does it taste?" zuko raised his eyebrows, clearly nervous as he found your expression unreadable. "is it okay?"

"yeah!" you said, a little too joyously. for a moment, you forgot how people reacted to good tea. you reminded yourself of iroh, but took it down a few notches. "it's– it's great, zuko."

"do you want any more?"

"i'm okay, actually," you squeaked, placing the cup down on his tray before he could try to insist.

zuko nodded, setting the tray on your desk before turning back to you. he was unsure of himself, what to say or how to react. he just wanted to be there, with you. his eyes lit up with a realization and, hesitantly, he brought the back of his hand to your forehead.

"what're you–"

"my mom used to do it when i got sick... i don't think your fever is going down, you're still warm."

he began to pull his hand away, but you stopped him by pulling at his wrist.

"actually, i'm freezing," you corrected. the longer he kept his hand against your skin, the better it felt. the contrast of his warm hand against the coolness you felt blanketing your body came as a relief. you placed his hand against your cheek, and for a moment, your eyes fluttered shut.

zuko's eyes widened, and he rubbed his thumb against your cheekbone experimentally. his touch was gentle, offering comfort in his warmth.

the moment between the two of you lasted a few seconds, and zuko leaned closer. but the sudden, obnoxious knocking on your bedroom door tore the two of you apart. he quickly ripped his hand away back to his side, and the two of you turned towards the entrance.

sokka pushed open the door with a careless expression, that quickly turned into a wide smirk as he observed the scene before him. he crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe.

"zuko, aang's asking for you down on the training grounds. something about some jerkbending practice," he shrugged, ignoring zuko's glare that could burn through him, if he so desired.

zuko stood from his place and pushed your chair back into it's place, then picked up the tray. he cast a glance back towards you. "feel better y/n."

"thanks, zuko," you said softly, already missing the feeling of his hand against your cheek.

he left the room quietly, knocking his shoulder subtly against sokka's. the water tribe boy held back his yelp, and his eyes followed zuko as he disappeared around the corner.

"so..." his grin was smug. "how was the tea?"

"shut up, sokka," you grumbled, sliding back underneath the blankets.

"no, really! i narrowly avoided being the taste-tester, and that's a fate worse than death."

as an apology

watching zuko firebend had become part of your daily routine, his body moved so effortlessly as he trained, it was hard to tear your eyes away from. it started as passing through the day, taking a quick break to pause and look through the trees. but now, you happily took a break from your duties and watched– sometimes joining in for some sparring.

at first you thought he didn't notice, too focused on his bending and quite eager to ignore whatever nonsense was going on around the camp. but, then, he spoke up.

"are you going to stare the entire time?"

you fumbled the laundry basket in your hands, feeling your cheeks warm up.

he stopped his bending, turning to face you. a blush dusted his face as he scratched the back of his neck. "you can sit down– you know, if you want."

a few weeks passed and you couldn't bring yourself to drop the tradition, no matter how much katara begged for a girls day out or aang wanted someone to show his new tricks to. it was nice for you and zuko to be alone.

sometimes, when he would train, he would rant. talk to you about the things weighing down on his shoulders or insulting the very specific way sokka would get on his nerves.

you sat on the bench of the training grounds, your knees drawn up to your chest and your back against the armrest. you were knitting a sweater, once finished it would be for momo. you listened absentmindedly as he punched through the air, every few moments averting your gaze back to him.

a plume of smoke whizzed past your head and your eyes widened, looking up. "watch where you're aiming, zuko."

"sorry," he mumbled half-heartedly, catching the teasing tone in your voice. but he complied, turning his back to you as he continued to practice. "i'm trying to get used to this whole not-angry-bending thing."

"i think you're doing pretty well there, handsome."

the nickname slipped out before you could stop yourself, surprising both of you. your eyes widened and you stopped knitting immediately, snapping your gaze up to him.

the firebender spun around mid-flame, his shock disrupting his bending abilities. the fire whizzed out towards you like a crescent wave, swarming the air.

you had a split second of reaction time. fear washed over you, and you brought your arms up to protect your face, there wasn't anything else you could do. the fire singed your skin, your forearms and all the way to your hands.

"i'm sorry, y/n! i didn't mean to!" he apologized frantically, dropping his arms to his sides, the fire died with that. he made his way over, towering over you with worry. "i– i just lost control! i don't– i don't know why, i–"

your face was contorted in pain as you brought your arms to your chest, the friction against your clothes only making the sensation worse. "it's– okay, zuko," your voice was strained, and stood up. "i just have to get to katara."

though you brushed past him, he followed at your heel. "i'm sorry, y/n," he said again, ignoring how you dismissed him.

you found katara on the patio with aang, both concentrated on their poorly done game of pai sho (they made the rules up as they went). their attention was drawn to you when you skidded to a stop, zuko running into your back.

before you could even sputter it out, or katara could ask what was wrong, he spoke up.

"i– i was bending, and i lost control. i burned her– but i didn't mean to!" he fumbled with his hands, leaning forward as if pleading for them to believe him. "it was an accident!"

"it'll be okay, zuko. calm down," aang stood up, gently facing his palms outward as if zuko was a wild animal he was approaching. he needed to calm down. "katara can heal her."

you walked forward towards katara's open arms, she coaxed you towards the beach. you closed your eyes tightly and ducked your head to the floor, the pain is was excruciating. you didn't want them to see you cry, you didn't want zuko to feel more guilt than he already was.

"i'm so sorry."

stepping off the patio, you glanced over your shoulder. "it's not your fault, zuko."

aang tried to usher him inside the building, but his feet were stiff, as if he was stuck in concrete. he was hesitant to follow, his sad gaze following you as you reached the edge of the beach where katara could heal you. then, he left with aang.

"i've never seen him like that," katara whispered to you.

with no space left between us

the moon was full, and hung high amidst the deep blue hugging every inch of the sky. your eyebrows furrowed subconsciously as you glared up at the stars, lost in thought. the grass was itchy against your skin and the wind brought a cold sweep through your hair.

there was a campfire on the beach you'd pulled yourself away from not too long ago. in the distance, you could still hear sokka's painful singing as he danced around the flames with momo as his partner (after suki refused).

zuko was somewhere over there, fueling the fire and probably shooting the occasional flame at sokka's feet for his and toph's entertainment. you knew you were right when you heard sokka's squeal and then accuse him of sabotoge.

for a brief moment, your attention was drawn away from the sky and you looked over. your expression softened. zuko had a proud smile on his face, doing his best to keep it down. it alerted a fleet of unruly butterflies in your stomach, begging for you to return to your friends.

you wanted to sit beside zuko again but you couldn't, too busy mulling over how to handle whatever it was you felt for him.

he met your gaze, and you offered a soft smile in return. it didn't reach your eyes and faded when you looked back at the sky.

almost immediately, zuko got up from the log he was sitting on and made his way towards you. you wouldn't have realized, if toph hadn't called out: "where ya going, sparky?"

he settled in the grass next to you, mirroring the way you kept your hands clasped over your stomach. there was no room left between you, his arm pushed up against yours comfortably.

"uh..." zuko started out. "you can talk to me, you know that right? about your feelings?"

"yeah," you said, your voice quiet. but you didn't want to talk to him. in fact, you'd rather talk to azula about you were feeling, than him.

silence followed.

"so, why'd you walk away from the fire?"

"i just needed to think."

"about what?"

you turned to face him with a raised eyebrow, only to find him staring back at you. you blushed, but felt a smirk creep over your features.

he sighed, looking up again. "sorry."

zuko was content, laying there with you, looking as if he had not a single thing in the world to worry about. as if next to him, you didn't have a voice in the back of your head screeching for you to do something already.

but you just looked– your eyes followed his facial features and noticed how each time he blinked it was longer than the last, you wondered if he would really fall asleep next to you.

"the stars remind me of you."

you were caught off guard. "what?"

"the stars are... bright, they light up the sky. even when things are dark, and you can’t see clearly, they’re there to show you the way. they're beautiful, and create incredible constellations. i can't look away from them."

whatever you were going to say, died in your throat. you didn't know how to respond. he spoke so casually as if his words didn't light every one of your nerves on fire. the flurry in your stomach only became more extreme. it felt too good to be true, it couldn't be real. the boy you were laying with under the stars told you possibly the most romantic thing you ever heard.

you'd been staring for so long, you forgot you had yet to actually say anything.

zuko faced you, a worrisome expression clouding his features. "was that weird?"

"no!" you squeaked. unwilling to meet his eyes, you looked away. "no, it was really nice. i just didn't expect it, at all. no one's really ever said anything–"

he leaned on his side and placed a hand on your cheek, and feeling that you missed. he didn't give you much time to process as he directed your chin to face him again, and then he kissed you. it was desperate, but soft, not wanting you to pull away but not being demanding. you kissed back with surprise, raising your eyebrows. it lasted a few seconds before he pulled away.

"was that weird?" he pulled his eyebrows together.

"not at all," you smiled gently, sweeping a hand through his hair.

in the distance, toph made herself known. "hey, are you two done over there? you're giving my feet a headache!"

"isn't that a feet-ache?" sokka chimed in, followed by an instantaneous groan as a rock slammed against his head.

#atla x reader #avatar x reader #zuko x reader #reader x zuko #zuko oneshot #zuko imagine #atla imagine #atla oneshot #spleen writes #atla

[exit-path]

OKAY I’m gonna make this post now or else I’m gonna forget

(warning: video has flashing sometimes)

This is the speedpaint of the fanart I made of @birch-forest, @bedrock-to-buildheight and @light-blue-glazed-terracotta! It’s a bit cringe in a some places but I wanted to post it for a couple of reasons.

All three of you have seen the art now

The drawing process was pretty interesting in my opinion

This was my first time taking drawing seriously in a long time

So here are some things to notice in the speedpaint.

I started with red lines outlining the three characters I already made in MS Paint

I’ve never made poses before so for birch-forest I made you look like a mannequin before I added flesh and bone

For a brief moment the eyes and eyebrows of birch-forest were drawn with a 2 pixel brush (the rest of the art is with a 3 pixel brush) because I was doubtful over whether I could squeeze in all the details of your minesona in a dramatic pose

(Turns out I could squeeze it all in, and later in the drawing I replaced the eyes and eyebrows with a 3 pixel brush redraw)

Cactus Walker (aka bedrock-to-buildheight) originally didn’t have pricks, that was something I added later when I had already began coloring

The idea I got for light-blue-glazed-terracotta to hold up a sign of themselves was based off of Dream (that was the cringe part 😬)

I couldn’t figure out how to draw your hair and only came back to it once I had colored birch-forest

The stripes on birch-forest’s design were made by drawing straight lines and erasing where they went over the line-art

I used a Google-searched image of “woman with long hair” or smth like that to nail the flowing hair in front of light-blue-glazed-terracotta

The colors used in the background of the artwork were colorpicked from your guys’ blog appearance on mobile (that’s why you can see screenshots of your blogs flash from time to time)

The “black” used in the line-art isn’t actually pure black, it’s a dark gray I colorpicked from a default Tumblr color palette (the difference becomes apparent when you look at Cactus Walker’s pants, which is colored a pure black)

For a time I had this really hideous background that used the colorpicked colors I mentioned earlier, it was just a bunch of colors blending into each other and it just looked like your eyes weren’t focusing

(I later replaced it with the current background, where the floor is a solid color and its opacity is lowered so it’s softer and doesn’t stand out as much)

I got the design of light-blue-glazed-terracotta and her skin from NameMC, it’s a website where you can search up a person’s Minecraft IGN and you get all of their skin and past username info

I realized after I had finished coloring everyone that I forgot the wings and the heart on the overalls of birch-forest, oh my god your sona has so many details how do you remember them every time you draw them

I made the watermark in the bottom left from scratch, as I do with all my watermarks

I realized at the very end that I missed ANOTHER detail of birch-forest, it was the antennae, oh my god how many details does your sona have

And that’s the end of it! Remember I didn’t draw this all in one go, this took several hours over the course of two days

Also birch-forest I’d like to formally apologize and say that I made a mistake in the original post, I didn’t know that your sona represented your actual self, I’m sorry I only found out about that recently

Aight cya 👋

#mineblr #peysi talks #original post #fanart #birch-forest #bedrock-to-buildheight #light-blue-glazed-terracotta #long post #flashing tw

[pomrania]

I’m drawing queer D&D characters this month, but only on weekdays; it’s Saturday today and the next pose will drop on Sunday night. So, since there’s a bit of time free here, I thought I’d use this to work on gathering up the character descriptions and clarifying them, so if they’re to be used on a particular day, I’ll already have that information ready.

(I’ll still need people to send in “yeah I’d want my character drawn for this pose”, but this is a thing to save time ONCE there’s a character to draw.)

The most basic things I need are name, race, class, and what Pride flag/s they use. Aside from that, here’s some other things I generally need:

what kind of stuff do they wear?

what’s their colour scheme? (I’ll only be using colours that are within the relevant Pride flag, but it’s useful to know how relatively dark or light something might be.)

what is their hair like?

what general facial expression would they have here, in this pose? (Or in general, depending on the character.)

how much do you actually have, either established in-game or as a mental image, of what this character looks like? (I never want to CONTRADICT something when drawing a character; but if literally all you know about your character’s appearance, comes from stuff that are given by the mechanics, like armour and race, then that is useful to know because it means I need to come up with it, instead of asking you questions you don’t have the answer to.)

There’s more things I’d ask you about when drawing, but a) most of them are a variation of “how does this look to you so far”, and b) the rest of them are very specific and would just clog stuff up if asked before I’m drawing stuff, so yeah.

So ah, I guess, if you have something with the description of your character, you can link it here, or reblog with the description, or something, I kind of forgot where I was going with this because I got distracted.

#no fandom #not a reblog #personal

[nelllraiser]

adventures in guilt | dave & nell

TIMING: shortly after nell summoned a shark-jellyfish demon. PARTIES: @seizethecarpe and @nelllraiser. SUMMARY: dave returns the jacket nell forgot on the boat, and the two try to navigate a life with guilt. CONTENT: sibling death mentions.

Dave carefully folded down the coat over his arm, smoothing out the material idly. That wasn’t the full reason, the texture of the scales under his fingers was captivating, more interesting than anything else nearby. But this was the college campus, Dave wasn’t sure he would want to touch anything else, the risk of beer stickiness on everything was too damn high. It was drizzling, cool gusts biting the needles off of nearby trees and blowing them around the park bench. As unbothered as he was by the cold, Dave hated icy winds. The sooner the ‘caster showed up, the better. He waved at her when he spotted her, standing up from the bench. This’d be interesting. 

Generally Nell didn’t come to campus this early. Her visits to the university mostly consisted of visits to her friends, and the occasional sleuthing for a bounty, but classes hadn’t even begun yet for the day. Thankfully she hadn’t overslept, because the witch hadn’t slumbered in the first place. With Bea gone to New York, the house was just herself and Luce, and far too much like it had been when their third sister had been struck down, existing only as a ghost. It made for restless nights that came more often than they already had, though Nell had managed to fill a good amount of them with work. As Dave came into sight, Nell felt the familiar sensation of guilt flooding her stomach, a feeling that hadn’t left her since the accidental deaths she’d caused— but one she’d learned how to manage in a way that allowed her to function rather than wallow. Unfortunately the sight of the selkie brought all the regrets of that day back the instant she set eyes on him, though she squared her shoulders in sheer refusal of letting them overwhelm her. Finally getting within speaking distance, she gave the man a nod before speaking. “Hey.” Shit, what else was she supposed to say? There had to be something else, right? “Thanks for keeping my jacket.”

“Wasn’t about to do anything else with it,” Dave said, handing it over, scrutinising her with a trademark scowl, that did little to show what he was really thinking. Somehow, she looked older now than the last time they’d met, and he knew how that kind of guilt could eat at someone’s youth in the worst possible ways. But he also knew that the younger you were, the more important it was to be able to hide that kind of shit, and he had no doubt that plenty of her younger friends didn’t see it at all. “You holding up alright?”

Under any other circumstance Nell might have jokingly asked about whether or not the jacket was his color, or if he’d sneaked one single try on. Nevermind the fact that she was fairly certain he wouldn’t even be able to get his arm into the sleeves of the tiny jacket. Instead, she just accepted the jacket wordlessly before layering it over the sweater she was already wearing. Yet another thing she hadn’t inherited along with her lack of fire abilities was the heightened body temperature that went along with it, and Nell was almost endlessly cold in the winters of Maine. His question caught her wholly off-guard, rather convinced that he still thought her some idiotic, and guitless spellcaster who didn’t know what she was doing, and didn’t care to think beyond that. Surprise flickered ever so briefly over her features before it was quickly replaced with a frown, and suspiciously drawn eyebrows. “I’m not the one who got eaten by a demon shark.” She wasn’t about to admit the truth to a man who’d witnessed one of her greatest mistakes when she barely admitted it to herself.

“No. But I know a thing or two about being eaten by guilt,” Dave replied slowly, like the words were being dragged out of him. That he knew he could offer her the comfort that people who hadn’t been there couldn’t. He still wasn’t convinced she deserved it. He wasn’t convinced power like that, the kind that was at once a tempest and could summon a tempest, ought to be allowed to live. But that sorta shit wasn’t his call to make, not unless she was deliberately slaughtering people. Hell, in a town like this, there was probably some sort of person who specialised in ‘casters. 

Nell watched the man with a guarded gaze, as if trying to see below his exterior to see what secrets or well-hidden intentions were hidden underneath the apparent concern he was now exhibiting. Though even calling it concern might be a bit of a stretch. His words seemed reluctant— almost as unwillingly spoken as her reply was. “And you think that’s what’s happening to me?” Nevermind that it was the truth. Beyond her inability to properly express herself was the question of why he was bothering with her in the first place. WIth the way he’d reacted on the boat paired with his attempts to pin her against the railing- she’d thought he’d want to get in and out of this situation as quickly as possible.

 “Don’t know. It’s why I’m asking. Doesn’t mean you gotta answer.” Dave replied with an off handed shrug tracing his fingers over the grain of the bench. The arm of the bench had been smashed off once or twice before, the wood was a different age to the age of the sea, but even still there was an unnerving stain deep inside the grain of the wood, that couldn’t quite be washed out no matter how hard the college tried. Dave knew a thing or two about that sort of stain, too. “Well,” he said after a moment, “If that’s all,” He eyed her, just the hint of softness buried in all his wrinkles. “I know how busy you young folk are. Wouldn’t want to keep you.”

“But...why do you care to ask?” Nell replied with another question, still not entirely willing to answer his question. There was still a wariness to her gaze, as if she were waiting for him to turn around and start yelling like he had on the boat. Why did he care whether the guilt was eating her alive or not? She couldn’t help shake the feeling that Dave was simply waiting to turn the tables once again, that he’d change his mind and cast her out just as easily as the coven and her parents had. He was right about her being busy, though. Between the demon cult, her bounty hunting, and potential new jobs she’d been kept running. Still...there was something making her want to linger despite her anxious certainty that nothing good would come of it. Perhaps it was the smallest hint of softness beneath his words, and the fact that she found so little of it these days. “What about you? You said you know about being eaten by guilt.”

“I can take the question back if it bothers you so,” Dave replied with a nonplussed lookin on his face, because the answer to her question was complicated as hell. “Sure do. Life as long and messy as mine, I got plenty to feel guilty for. Not summonin’ demon sharks, I’ll give you that, but enough messes with a body count, that’s for sure.” Dave rubbed the bridge of his nose. Grey clouds overhead were beginning to promise rain. He wasn’t about to share the nature and brunt of his messes, whether they were the sinking boat variety, victims of a monster Dave had failed to stop, or drowning someone who… it was probably not right to have drowned. “Just saying, storing that emotional stuff like a Molotov’s just gonna have it blow in your face. I’d know.” 

“It doesn't bother me,” Nell commented defensively, even though the opposite was true. She just didn’t want to admit such a thing. Not to herself and certainly not to the man who’d already see too much of things she wanted to hide or forget. “Does my question bother you?” She posed the rebuttal as a means of trying to get the burden of explanation off herself, shifting it in Dave’s direction instead. The mention of a body count wasn’t something she’d expected from the selkie, and it was plain to see her curiosity had been piqued. Fortunately, she knew better than to ask for details at a time like this, but that didn’t stop her from asking another question. “Well then...what do you do with it?” Her tone was uncomfortable, arms folded defensively over her chest. She wasn’t fond of appearing weak in front of people she barely knew, or asking for help at all, but desperation was starting to get the better of her. Besides- maybe he would just think she was asking for someone else’s sake. 

“No,” Dave replied honestly, eyebrows raised at her defensive demeanor, quietly letting her know that he could see just how reticent she was to talk about it. But he didn’t push again, getting ready to leave her to her coat and her guilt when she pried another question out of herself. Dave’s look was probably more understanding than she’d like, but he still sighed. 

“Agh, hell,” Dave ran his hand through his hair, turning so he was side on to her when he leant against a nearby fence, his brows dipped deep in thought. For all his gentle cajoling, he wasn’t quite ready to open up to a stranger either. “Different things for different guilts. Some folks act like they never did anything wrong, bottle it up and continue on like nothing ever happened. Some folks spend a lifetime chasing a type of redemption that doesn’t exist, so they can do enough good to outbalance the bad, like it’s some cosmic scale they just gotta weigh up right. Hard to say which way leaves you more fucked up. Guess I deal with it with something in the middle. ‘M not a good person, but I can ensure I don’t make the same fuck ups as before. Focus on what keeps me going. If I face judgement after, I’ll have earned it.” He looked at her sidelong, trying to parse her reaction. “That answer your question?” As vague an answer as it was. There was no talking about the nights with angry outbursts, darker shades that he saw the world in, how quickly his mind twisted to the thought of solving issues by killing. He barely knew this girl, after all. 

Nell still didn’t understand why he’d taken the time to answer her questions to begin with, constantly surprised when he continued to linger with her as they spoke. She was silent as she mulled over Dave’s words, trying to fit them into cracks that lived in her as a result of her own guilt. She knew redemption wasn’t an option, one good thing didn’t magically replace one bad. And ignoring her guilt had never been an option for her, not when she was much better at wallowing in it. “So what you’re saying is it doesn’t get any better,” Nell snorted somewhat derisively, but it was meant as a comment at her own expense rather than Dave’s. She was thankful for his words, even if they hadn’t necessarily filled her with hope. Her foot scuffed at the ground, still uncomfortable despite letting the clam shell of her emotional state open in the slightest. “I mean- thanks for answering. I guess it makes sense that you just gotta learn from it and then deal with it.” After all that had been her experience so far, hadn’t it? Something about not being a good person struck a nerve in her, and she couldn’t help but think of how close Adam’s guilt had gotten him to making a lifelong mistake. “I think trying to be better is at least...the mark of a decent person.” That was the closest she managed to get when it came to offering Dave an opinion on his judgement day.

"Wouldn’t say it doesn’t get easier with time,” Dave replied, tilting his head until his neck cracked, easing some of the tension this conversation was giving him. “More manageable, less raw. Easier to put these things in perspective. You’re still young, you’ve got time to figure out how you want to deal.” Even if it didn’t, Dave was always aware that when he talked to young adults about shit, they had so little framework for how much they still had time to change and grow that he didn’t want to say shit to stifle that. The surest way to keep someone the same was to tell them they had no chance of changing. He looked at her sidelong, the tiniest corner of a smile on his face. “I like to think so,” he replied, in a distant, hypothetical way. It wasn’t something he was interested in applying to himself. 

He was right, technically. Nell was still young. But it felt like she’d been aged some fifteen years in that last twelve months alone. Being raised in White Crest meant she was more than familiar with its oddities and quirks, but she hadn’t remembered the little town being quite so emotionally destructive. Or maybe she’d just been too wrapped up in the swaddle of youth to experience it herself before she’d left, only to return after seeing how gruesome the rest of the world could be. For some naive reason she hadn’t expected it to follow her back home, but here she was with the literal scars along her arms and neck to prove otherwise. Her lips pursed as Dave refused to take part in her little charade of ‘asking for a friend’, feeling set off kilter when he addressed her and the guilt she held directly. “I never said I was talking about me,” she replied stubbornly as her face took on a somewhat petulant expression despite it being obvious that she’d been doing just that.

The beginning of his smile also caught Nell off-guard, and parts of why she’d found it so hard to believe that he could turn his anger from the boat around so quickly fell into place. She’d wanted him to be the persecutor, to tell her that she’d fucked up and confirm her as deserving of the guilt that lived in her chest like an iron set of chains. To give her the punishment she felt she deserved like her mother had done. The realization had her looking away from him, not wanting to give away any more emotion than she already had. “So you...what? Don’t have time to figure it out anymore?” For once her words weren’t meant as an old person joke at the expense of who she was asking. “Or have you just been letting it ‘get easier’ and put into perspective? And that’s the thing you’ve figured out?”

“Hmmm,” Came Dave’s noncommittal response, just looking at her sidelong. When she pouted like that, it was damn hard to remember that the girl was an adult who had gotten folk killed, not just a lost kid finding her way through the world. Which was what made her more dangerous.

“No. Just got bigger fish to fry.” It was a pact he’d made with himself a long damn time ago, as unhealthy as anything else on his list. He’d face his penance, whether that came at the end of a hunter’s knife or an Aipaloovik’s embrace. Dave knew damn well there were consequences to the choices he’d made over the past couple years, but that didn’t slow him down. He’d face it all, but only once the fury was dead, and he had his family’s pelts once more. He could carry the other, less important deaths he’d caused by choice or negligence or malice until that day. He was, in fact, doing just what he’d told Nell not to, letting a guilt define every part of him. “When it came down to it, I learned to carry what I needed to so that I could do what I had to. That’s all.”

“Yeah...yeah I get what you mean,” Nell mused as she thought back to the other times guilt had threatened to consume her. She’d gotten Bea killed. Watched her sister die because she’d been reckless and selfish, and hadn’t taken care of her problems properly. But even as that sickening knowledge had clawed away at her gut, she’d learned how to stomach it well enough to focus on bringing Bea back. Done what she needed to do...just like Dave had. Or at least it sounded that way. At this point she wasn’t sure what else there was to say, already feeling as if she’d said perhaps a little too much. “Anyway...thanks for the jacket.” Nell shrugged her shoulders to help it sit better on her shoulders as she stood and waited to see if Dave had anything else to say on the subject of guilt and otherwise.

“Sure,” Dave replied, noting the quick shut down of conversation with a wry smile. He straightened, shaking his head to work out any cricks as he began to turn to leave. “I know when I’ve been dismissed.” He began to walk away, before turning back to give her a stern look. “Don’t summon any more demon sharks, kid. I won’t be so nice next time.” Dave said, tapping the top of his head like he was tipping his cap to her. This time when he turned, he did not look back. Hell, he even whistled a tune he hadn’t been able to hear for 30 years.

#// don't look at me im emo and love dave #wickedswriting #ch:dave #adventures in guilt #sibling death tw #chatzy

[anthonyed]

The Kennedy Question (SamBucky)

There's a... hypothesis. It's circulating around their tower and Sam just got to make sure. He needs a theory and for that, he needs data.

It's pretty straight forward actually. He just has to ask the right question to the right person.

He spots his subject - already on his fifth cup of coffee, sweat dampened hair tied up in a half-bun and he's unnaturally happy. Good. Doesn't matter why he's happy but the point is he is. Which means, this is the right time to strike.

Flexing his biceps for an extra load of umph, Sam tilts his chin up and walks towards their resident centenarians.

"Hiya, Sam," Steve greets, face split into a smile, clearly happy that his moody half is looking cheery today.

"Hiya," Sam waves, pulling up a chair next to his target.

Half an egg and a sip of orange juice later, Sam looks at Steve who's whistling a tune, doing dishes and decides this is the right time to strike.

He turns to his target. And he fires the shot.

"Did you kill John F. Kennedy?"

He'd carefully lowered his voice so Steve wouldn't hear it over the running water and it works. Of course it works. Sam has hung out with Steve and Co. for a very long time, he knows how to gossip behind super-soldiers back by now.

All of his preps pointed towards positive results. A warranted reply. Except of course, Sam forgot to consider the fact that Barnes likes to be an ass around him just for the sake of it.

Hence, the reply he receives is: "You focus on stuffing your face or you're gonna be next."

-

The thing is, it's not a clear yes or no. It's not enough to confirm or reject the hypothesis. The very mystery of it drives Sam insane.

-

"Did you -," he ducks, blocking a jab. Hops to the left, avoiding a kick. Bloody Barnes is out for his blood.

But Sam knows how to handle him.

He gets the guy in a headlock the very next second after Steve yelled "Bucky, chill out!"

"Did you kill him?"

Barnes tries to elbow but Sam knows his stuff, oooh, he knows his stuff bloody well. He'd trained the lot - teenagers running wild with hormone committing truancies and petty crimes, all the prison breakers - name them, Sam has got all under his wing.

He fucking knows his stuffs. So, it's no surprise to anyone but Barnes when he gets the man on his knees. Head-lock still standing and the momentary shock gives Sam the chance to ask again, "Did you?"

Barnes coughs, splutters and taps on his hand so Sam loosens his grip. "What you gonna do? Report it?" He snarls, spitting fire like he actually believed Sam would.

The sheer absurdity of that doubt makes Sam let go of him; drop him like a hot-pocket. "The fuck would I do that for?"

Barnes, red-faced and sweat slick skin, hair falling over his face, glowers at Sam.

Sam stares at him right back. Dunno what he's asking/searching, but Sam's not afraid. He meets that glare with his own steady stare.

"You honestly think I'd sell you out." He states. Doesn't ask. Because that isn't a question.

He doesn't know what to think that Barnes thought of him that way.

"Wouldn't have helped Steve save you, if that was the case, you know."

-

"Why d'ya wanna know?" Barnes asks.

He was the only one in the communal floor when Sam had walked in; channel surfing and Sam had nabbed the remote to his disgruntled protest before settling on Animal Planet. Humans are exhausting for a Tuesday evening.

Now, after half an hour of watching Giant Squid hunting with no Giant Squid sighting, Barnes ends the silence with a frankly, vague as fuck question.

Sam squints at him for a good minute before it clicks and he straightens up in his seat. "Curiosity?" He shrugs.

Barnes looks at him flatly.

Sam glances at the screen, still no Giant Squid (just making sure), then back at Barnes. "Really, I just want to know. Barton's been spreading rumours."

Barnes doesn't say it, but it's there. The universal 'stupid Barton' look that everyone in the tower has at least once, worn.

"Tell me about it," Sam chuckles, slumping in his side of the couch. Barnes is not gonna give an answer. At least not today. That much is certain so, Sam returns to the screen.

A while after, the commentators are getting hyped up, the background music is building in anticipation and they're about to do the big reveal when the channel switches to a bunch of blonde bimbos.

"Barnes!" Sam aims a kick because there is no other way -

Barnes is predictably, two seats away, smirking into his hoodie and clicks away at the buttons.

"I'm spiking your dinner with ghost pepper. You won't know until it hits you - Oooh, you're so gonna regret this. I fucking hate you!"

-

Sam does yoga. It's for his mental health. Dealing with Veterans and delinquents need constant maintenance of his mind palace and he gives that through yoga.

Sometimes, he does it alone but usually it's with Wanda and Vision. Tends to get incredibly awkward sometimes (who knew Androids have sexual frustrations) but hey, it gets the job done.

Occasionally, Dr Banner joins them. Rarely, he drags Tony along just to make the man suffer for promised science experiments or whatever it is geniuses do. Natasha has her sessions after them, something about "Not needing all these stupidity for my clarity", whatever, prissy ass she-assassin.

Steve, Steve's pal and Barton don't do it. They just don't. (Steve once mentioned something about biceps getting in his way or another and Sam stopped paying attention. Barton is just a lazy human.)

Thus why, Sam gawks when he sees Steve's pal, the other Steve or more specifically, Bucky Barnes in a dog pose next to Wanda.

First thought; what the fuck?

Second thought; nice ass.

Third thought; the fucking fuck is that fuck - what!?

Fourth thought; "That's my spot."

Two heads turn to Sam, one head's body waves while another grins.

"Hi, Sam," Wanda beams.

"Hullo, Sam," Vision stops waving only when Sam waves back.

But Sam's eyes are still fixed on that nice pair of ass no!

"That's my spot." He points at where Barnes is ignoring him; flowing through his Surya Namaskar like he was born doing it until he stands, facing Sam and he looks straight into Sam's eyes.

There's something dangerous glinting in them and Sam wastes too many seconds distracting his thoughts from how fucking gorgeous that flow was that he only realises, once Barnes is already in Savasana, just what that glint was about.

"Fuck you, Barnes," he spits, walking towards him, not a pause as he steps onto the mat, then right on top of Barnes's stupid hard chest and over to the other side of Wanda.

Vision graciously makes room for Sam and no. Sam is not letting Bucky fucking Barnes ruin his mind-palace maintenance today.

-

Sam doesn't hate the guy. He honestly doesn't. He just, doesn't know the guy that well.

So, when he sees Barnes fidgeting under the island counter, long sleeves drawn out to bury his fingers while Steve and Tony lash out at each other in the kitchen (no privacy respect, those two. No, never. Almost everyone knows about that by now but Barnes, maybe cause he's still new here.) Sam gently elbows at his side and jerks his head towards the exit.

"They're always like that," he tells the guy solemnly. Hot aroma of coffee wafting in the air and Sam breathes it in deeply.

"Always?"

"Uh, huh."

He takes a sip of his cappuccino, watching Barnes stare at his black coffee gloomily.

Ten seconds later, Barnes asks, "If Stark hates Steve, then why is he letting him live in his place?" Letting me live in his place? Is the unasked question.

Sam takes a long sip before he replies. "Stark doesn't hate Steve," he observes the way Barnes' forehead wrinkle into a frown before it quickly flattened out. Erasing evidence. From everywhere except his eyes.

Sam doesn't know how he knows that nor is he going to analyse said matter, so he distracts himself by elaborating his answer.

"Stark never hated Steve. As a matter of fact, I think Stark likes Steve a little too much for his convenience."

This time, the frown stays and deepens. Sam grabs a napkin and shreds a strip out of its edge.

"You mean, he fancies Stevie?" Barnes mumbles his question towards his untouched coffee. Face contorting fifty ways different and Sam curses himself for even saying a thing in the first place. He can preach to many but he's not having the gay rights talk with a homophobic. That's where he officially draws his line.

To his surprise however, Barnes starts laughing.

It starts as a snort then grows into a chuckle and later a full-blown beautiful laughter. Fuck, dammit, Sam has got to stop thinking like that of this man.

But the steam from his still hot cappuccino swirling under the dim light of the cafe with its dark red background and velvety purple overthrows and cushions and Barnes in the mainframe with all those in the backdrop -

He's beautiful. There is no denying it. Happiness looks gorgeous on everyone and it especially looks stunning on Bucky Barnes.

"Never thought I'd see a day someone go ape-shit over Stevie, but here I am," Barnes chuckles, crinkled eyes, glazed with mirth swirling and molten grey. He's fucking gorgeous and Sam's heart restarts with a new rhythm.

Indeed, "Here you are."

-

Sam sits, and he thinks. 

All he ever wanted was an answer to a simple question. That’s it. He didn’t ask for the moon or dream of fucking Captain America like Tony Stark and yet here he is. Four months after his first time asking the question; from not knowing the guy at all to somehow tolerating him and surprise, surprise, now he’s in a sticky crush situation with the guy. 

Hell, no wonder Tony is the way he is with Steve. This whole crushing on super-soldiers is frustrating as fuck and Sam hates it.

In fact, he doesn’t even deserve it.

All he wanted was an answer. To a single simple question. Sam refuses to pine after Bucky Barnes for the price of solving Kennedy’s murder. He’s better than that. He can solve the mystery without selling his heart. 

Sam decides this is the final straw and he isn’t having it anymore. He’s going to end it all.

-

“Did you or did you not kill John F. Kennedy?”

“Good afternoon to you too, Sammie,” Bucky Barnes grins, black hoodie and black pants, sitting cross-legged on the couch as he tosses an unopened bag of chips for Sam to catch. “Mario kart or are you finally brave enough to play The Last of Us Part 2?”

“Don’t call me that,” Sam grumbles, marching his way to the empty spot next to Barnes and plopping down. “It’s not about bravery. The reviews aren’t so good -,”

“I read them all. General opinion is still positive. You better hurry up, I’m running out of ways to stop Barton from spoiling it.”

The thought that Barnes is waiting for Sam to start on something is disconcerting. In a warm, fuzzy, heart palpitating way. So, Sam pops the chips’ bag open and stuffs a handful into his mouth in an attempt to drown out the feels with an obnoxiously loud CRUNCH.

“Is that why you throttled him last night?”

“No,” Barnes drawls lazily, leaning into Sam’s space to fish out a chip and pops it into his mouth. “That’s because he ate the last brownie.”

“Bruce’s?”

Barnes nods, wiping his finger over his pants and continuing to fiddle with the remote. 

“Fair enough,” Sam declares. Then an idea pops up. “I’ll play that game if you answer my question.”

Barnes seems to know which one. His shoulders tense, squaring up and he seems to curl inwards, shrinking into his hoodie and Sam hates himself for causing this. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he blurts out. Anything to draw Barnes out of that state.

Shamefully, he wonders if this is what they meant by ‘simping’. God, he’s weak for this man and that’s ridiculously unfair.

Regardless, his words seem to work their miracle because Barnes relaxes, shoulders sagging and Sam feels his own tension bleed. The silence stretches uncomfortably for a while until all Sam could think is to not flex his fingers because that would crinkle the plastic bag and it would be loud and that would win the Guinness World Awkward Award. 

Then, Barnes speaks. He’s still facing away, at the TV, and he scratches the back of his head through the hoodie as he asks quietly, “Can I ask you a question in return?”

Sam blinks. He minces his reflexive ‘You just asked’ and shrugs, “Sure.”

Exactly thirteen heartbeats after, Barnes asks, “Do you fancy men, Sammie?”

Sam’s throat goes dry. Something clenches in his chest, warning him about his own thoughts in the Cafe about not willing to explaining gay-rights to a homophobic. But he also remembers Barnes’ reaction to finding out Tony liking Steve like that. Especially Barnes’ laughter.

“Yeah,” Sam says, “I like both women and men.”

“A bisexual,” Barnes nods into his hoodie. As if he’s recalling something he read only yesterday. He probably is. 

Sam pulls in a breath and sinks into his seat. He pulls out a chip and pops it into his mouth. “Anything else?”

He’s not ready when Barnes turns towards him. He’s mid-munch, chips still sharp shards that poke at his tongue when he meets grey eyes full of intent. But he swallows them anyway. Barnes’ unabashed and fearless, staring straight into Sam’s eyes as he pops the question that makes Sam’s palms and soles tickle. 

“Do you wanna step out with me?”

Sam is 100% sure he croaks when he opens his mouth to say, “I’ll only say yes if you tell me whether you killed Kennedy or not.”

Barnes’ lips wobble and he ducks his head. Shoulders shaking when he looks up again with a beatific grin split across his face; gorgeous fucker. And he answers, “I don’t know, I don’t remember.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Sam mutters, already grabbing him by his nape and he pulls him in to kiss that gorgeous happiness on his face. “Don’t care.” Another kiss, “Who cares?” Another “Dude’s dead anyway.” 

Barnes laughs, head tipping back, body leaning to fall and Sam goes down with him gladly.

#sambucky #sam x bucky #sam wilson x bucky barnes #mine

[earthdeep]

ok. thoughts on dgs now I've completed both 1 and 2. spoilers abound under the cut. but tl;dr I liked it a lot.

man, the thing really did feel like a great adventure huh? the game did an excellent job at conveying that sense of grandeur, along with the humour and melodrama one expects from the series. I can really only talk about it as the one conjoined unit though. while aa1-3 were a trilogy, I would argue they largely stood as entries on their own in a way I don't think the dgs duology can. I mentioned when I finished up dgs1 that I would've been disappointed if I'd had to wait for part 2 like the original japanese audience did, and my opinion on that has only strengthened. between the morse code message, and van zieks'... development, these are two parts of a whole.

but it is a very good whole imo, with its throughline of ryunosuke gaining confidence and finding what to believe in (the truth will set u free babey!). it matches well with the recurrent theme of ur idols being... not quite as u imagined. as is aa tradition, u have the complex web of family and legacy and forging ur own path, all balanced in a way that I really like. man, it's just... so well crafted.

obvs there are a few weird hiccups here and there, logic sometimes not clicking together (at least for me), and for that I do appreciate having the story mode option. I only used it... I think twice? once in the pawnshop case where I forgot I'd only shown one receipt to gregson and not both, and once in the teleportation case where I missed examining the book on sithe's desk (in my defence it has a really small hitbox compared to the desk that surrounds it!). but it saved me some frustration, so that's always nice.

the setting was definitely very enjoyable. I personally have a soft spot for seeing portrayals of my country by those outside the anglosphere, and this absolutely hit the spot for me. the scenery was an excellent balance of the familiar old london fare and ace attorney's brand of surrealism that just. yes. excellent. weirdly high number of blonds tho. but some of the behind the scenes content did explain it was to more clearly differentiate the britons from the japanese, and ok I can understand that.

but moving onto the characters themselves, bc BOY was this a fun cast! the animation team went OFF with these guys and I love them for it. except daley vigil; those awkward poses just kinda made him look more unfinished than he already did, dunno what happened with him.

there's just... so much little stuff I would be just reiterating from my liveblogging, but now I'm done there's other stuff I can sum up.

right off the bat, favourite character gina. she has stolen my heart along with everything else on my person. I'm proud of her for learning to open up and trust others, and imo she's one of the characters with the most dramatic arc. also, top notch character designs. excellently green. yes I am biased.

honorable mentions go to susato for being 100% the coolest person in this shebang, and kazuma for his total flippancy towards the whole assassin thing. for the ten years between asogi sr's death and the student exchange deal, the mikotoba residence must have been a sight to behold. and by that I mean a warzone.

but... argh I've put it off. I don't particularly like talking about van zieks, but I can't just ignore him since you know. discourse. ugh. he's the one character in this game whose dialogue I resorted to flipping through without really paying attention. there is only so many times I can watch him deride the japanese before it's just boring. like it's not like I'm even that annoyed by the insulting thing. I love prosecutors like blackquill and nahyuta who at least bother to be funny, but van zieks is just xenophobic and that's it. if I wanted that experience I could just pick up a copy of the spectator and not worry about missing key plot details if I skim.

and no he doesn't have a good reason to hate the japanese. hating a country bc someone from there killed a loved one of urs is already flimsy enough, but when u state ur ire is being drawn by how it was covered up BY UR OWN COUNTRY'S JUDICIARY? DUDE. but yes, he got to eat shit during the last case and I felt only schadenfreude at him having to face the fact that even the aforementioned 'a japanese guy murdered my brother' didn't hold up in court. get dunked on u idiot.

boy am I glad kazuma also got the limelight for that case so I could focus on him instead. bc there was actually some depth to that situation, with the fun eternal moral conundrum of "revenge: yay or nay?". I'm already seeing debate in the fandom of his actions and personally, I think he was pretty much exactly in the grey zone. this man is chaotic neutral through and through, and taking a governmental assassination contract and then just Not Doing It is incredibly funny actually. I'm very sorry he was unable to live out his dream of having a fun homoerotic detective adventure in london with his friend while doing the hitman equivalent of tax avoidance. enjoy whatever the FUCK one calls handing over the physical embodiment of your soul to your friend for safekeeping while you go your separate ways half a world apart. that's Romantic with a capital R, that.

but anyway, yes. good game. time to trawl through the extras menu now!

#earthdeep does life #sonic lawyer adventures #dgs spoilers

[angelwithglasswings]

The Woman in Red

Me? Writing a gay self insert x Reader fanfiction cause of a dream?

It's more likely than you think.

Also first time writing something like this, so be warned XD

Word Count: 1826

Pairing: Carmen Sandiego x F!Reader

////////////

A sigh escaped your lips as you stared down at the sketchbook that was laying on your lap.

"Art is a pain." You thought, thoroughly unsatisfied with your drawing of that beautiful orange sunset that you were seeing. The various pieces of crayon you had used were spread across the floor, already forgotten in your frustration with this piece. Your legs were dangling off the edge of the San Diego harbor, as you had had the intention to draw the sunset here this evening, after seeing it yesterday on your little walk around the city.

You felt compelled to just rip the page out and throw it into the ocean, but then again, you didn't want to be the reason any sealife died because they choked on your disgustingly bad drawing.

With a heavy sigh you closed your sketchbook and began collecting the crayons and assembling them back in their box, when someone caught your attention.

It was a woman.

A very beautiful woman, I might add.

She was wearing a long red coat - you wondered why, as it was quite warm for an evening, but you weren't one to judge - and a matching red fedora, which sat upon luscious brown locks that cascaded down her back.

She was sitting on the roof of that old factory building, and you wondered how she got up there. You could only see her face from the side, but nonetheless, you knew that this woman was one of the most beautiful ones you had ever seen in your life. The light of the setting sun illuminated her tanned face in a way that only further convinced you that she was an angel.

You hadn't seen her around in the city, but then again - you had only just moved here, and it was quite the large city.

Both afraid and inspired, you grabbed your phone out of your bag, and snatched a quick photo of the mysterious woman - you just needed a picture of her, the motivation to try and capture her beauty in a drawing later on clear in your mind.

But of course, your dumbass forgot to turn off the sound, and your phone made that incriminating clicking sound.

Her head whipped around, alarmed, and the only thing you could think when you saw her face fully was:

"Oh holy shit, I'm gay."

And then you panicked.

You knew she had seen how you had held up your phone in her direction, so she definitely knew that you had taken a photo of her. In a hurry, you grabbed your bag, sketchbook and crayons and began running - almost tripping over your own feet as you stood up.

You ran the whole way back to your apartment, never once stopping to breathe, fearing that she might follow and confront you - and you really weren't in the mood for turning into a stuttering mess in front of that angelic queen of a woman right now.

Your hands were trembling as you fumbled with your keys, trying to get into your home as quickly as possible. You managed it, of course, and almost collapsed as you took the last steps into your apartment.

It was small, the only thing you - the broke college student that you were - could afford at this time. You supported yourself with a side job as a waitress in a Café, and well, that job didn't pay very well.

The window in your bedroom didn't close well, and it always seemed kinda cold - but, again, it was the only thing you could afford.

Sometimes you really wondered if becoming successful was really worth all this trouble.

You slipped off your shoes and your mind wandered back to that crimson wearing woman. A blush crept up your cheeks at the thought of her, and you quickly shook your head. No, no, no time thinking about hot ladies - all you needed right now was one hotass shower, and your bed.

Later, as you laid in your comfy bed, wet hair tied up in a towel, the thought of her returned - and with it, your inspiration.

"I guess that means no sleep for me." You muttered to yourself and grabbed your sketchbook and pencil off the ground. You turned on your phone and scrolled through your gallery.

As you saw the photo of her again, the blush returned full force - how could this woman be so beautiful, cute and hot at the same time?

It was unfair!

You only sighed at the world's unfairness, and began sketching the pose and face. The movements of your hand were coming to you naturally.

Let's just say, you definitely didn't get any sleep that night.

But it was one hundred percent worth it.

The next morning, you awoke to your alarm clock going off at a sound frequency that could probably wake up a deaf person.

With an exasperated groan, you sat up, almost throwing your precious sketchbook off your bed in the process. You caught it just in time - with your awesome Spidey Sense - and looked at your drawings from last night.

You realized, surprised, that they looked... awesome. You didn't hate them - of course, there were a few mistakes, but the way you drew her face could almost rival the real thing.

You shook your head. No, no more thoughts about the mysterious woman. Today was a free day, and you would spend it as you always did - taking a walk through the streets of San Diego and find some inspiration.

You slipped into your shoes and left your house, your bag hanging off your shoulder and packed with the essentials - your phone, wallet, sketchbook, a pencil and your keys.

The bus ride to downtown San Diego was boring, but at least you had your trusty music to keep you somewhat entertained as you stared out of the window from your seat.

That's when something red flashed in your vision. You sat up straight - much to the annoyance of the woman beside you, who definitely didn't expect that - and frowned.

As quick as it was there, it was gone again.

You hummed in confusion.

Was your gay ass hallucinating now?

It wasn't the last time that day that your mind was playing tricks on you.

As you walked through the crowded streets of San Diego, you saw that color flash in front of your eyes again and again. You swore you weren't hallucinating, but it was hard to deny it. There was no was you kept seeing her, you told yourself, it's just your mind being stupid.

You sighed and went to sit on a small bench in the shadows to try and relax a bit.

As you looked at the crowd in front of you, there was a rush of inspiration flowing through you and you quickly grabbed your sketchbook and pencil from your bag.

You looked ahead and your heart stopped.

There she was again. The woman. That face was undeniably her, despite the fact she wasn't wearing the red coat and fedora.

You made eye contact with her, and you could feel your cheeks warming up immediately. You looked back down onto your sketchbook, and when you look back up - she was gone without a trace.

Your face fell. You had hoped to be able to admire her a bit longer, at least from a far. Talking was out of question, no way would you be able to talk to her.

You'd be a stuttering, embarrassed mess.

And that's when you felt someone tap your shoulder.

You turned your head to look at the person, and within seconds, your face was burning in a deep red color that was definitely noticeable.

How did that woman even appear so silently next to you?

How did you not notice that!?

You took a second to look what she was wearing. A red and white t-shirt paired with a pair of jeans and red converse shows. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail, yet one strand still framed her face.

You were hyper aware of her hand that was still laying on your shoulder.

Did she know what effect she had on you?

By that smirk on her lips, she did.

"Can we talk?" She asked, and oh you melted at the sound of her voice. So smooth, it fit her perfectly.

You opened your mouth to talk, but opted to just nod instead. You weren't able to form one coherent word right now, you were sure of that.

"Good. I'm sure you remember yesterday, yes?"

You couldn't help but stare at her. Especially her lips, those beautiful, soft, full l- focus, goddamn it.

Again, you just nodded, and she continued talking.

"I'd like you to delete that."

You needed a moment to process her words, and when you did, you nodded hastily.

"Y-yeah, of course, I- Let me just, I.." While you were babbling nonsense, trying to find your phone in the depth of your bag, she was already talking again - so you quickly shut your mouth.

"I'm in a... situation where any photo of me is quite a risk. And I'm not willing to take it." She explained calmly, staring off at the crowds of people.

Again, you took a bit to respond. You had successfully deleted the photo of her, and when you glanced down to your lap, you noticed you had opened your sketchbook right at the page where you had drawn her quite a few times the night before.

You could close it, but she would notice.

"I- of course, it's gone-" You bit your lip to stop yourself from talking when you noticed her gaze on your sketchbook.

You really should've closed that.

"Let me guess. It's what you needed the photo for in the first place, right?" She asked and you took a deep breath. "You could've asked me to model for you."

You were dying.

"W-well, yeah... it's just, I just... I get so n-nervous around beautiful w-woman, and you're just-... so gorgeous and I didn't... I was scared you'd reject and-" Heat rose to your cheeks when you noticed you had been rambling, and it only worsened when you saw the amused smile on her face.

"Thank you." She took the pencil from your hand and wrote something down beneath one of your drawings.

It was a number.

"I hope I'll see you again."

She stood up, ready to leave, when you took a risk and grabbed her arm. She stopped and looked down at you.

"I... never got your name."

"I didn't get yours either. Carmen Sandiego."

"[Y/N] [L/N]."

A smile appeared on Carmen's lips and she winked at you as she turned back around.

"Don't forget to call."

And in a flash, she was gone, having disappeared in the crowd before you.

And you were utterly in love.

///////////

Hope ya liked it! ^^

Also I do not own Carmen Sandiego or the show.

#carmen sandiego #carmen sandiego x reader #first fanfic #how do i tag

[beckzorz]

Old Habits

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Reader Words: 7445 Warnings: 18+, NSFW, smut, swearing Summary: Training with the Avengers isn’t supposed to be like the Red Room, but for you and Bucky, the past is hard to shake. A/N: So you might recognize the beginning section from a drabble I posted back in February. Some folks asked for a continuation, so here it is. Hope it lives up to expectations :3 Let me know what you think!

“Again.”

“No. Again.”

“Again.”

You yank off a sweaty glove and hurl it at Bucky, panting. Enough is enough. “No! Not again! It’s been hours—”

Before you can finish, Bucky rushes you, his face transformed from its usual impassive façade to a violent snarl. You leap out of the way, sweeping a leg behind you to trip him up.

He’s too quick.

Bucky grabs your ankle and yanks hard, aborting your roll and nearly pulling your leg out of its socket. You twist onto your back as he clamps a hand on your waist, hard fingers digging into your side. You’ve still got two hands free, and a leg besides, but this is the Winter Soldier after all. In seconds you’re pinned to the floor. Bucky’s elbow digs into your throat until you see stars.

Only then does he pull away.

By the time your vision clears, his face is back to its customary blankness. The only hint of his moments-ago ferocity is the tic in his jaw.

“Again,” he orders.

You push yourself up on your elbows and glare up at him. Every muscle burns, and you can feel a bruise forming on your throat already. You don’t move.

“No.”

His jaw clenches. He takes one step closer until he’s nearly straddling you, so tall he might as well be a mountain.

“You need to keep going,” he says.

“I’m done.”

You sit the rest of the way up and peel off your other glove. You try and look nonchalant, but you’re on full alert. Would he attack you like this? You can’t be sure.

He doesn’t attack you. He just drops to his knees and grabs hold of your chin, jerking your head up until you meet his eye.

“That wasn’t good enough!” he shouts.

“Don’t yell at me like I’m a child,” you retort. You will not let him drive you to shouting back. You press your shoe hard against his groin, pushing him back. “Just because you did when I was doesn’t mean you can do it now.”

Bucky’s dark look washes away with sudden shock. His blue eyes go comically wide.

“Oh,” he says. “Oh.”

He scuttles backwards, his pinched expression so full of regret that you lean forward to stare.

“What?” you say.

Bucky runs his hands over his face, pushing his loose hair back. It falls right back into place.

“Old habits die hard,” he says, not meeting your gaze. “Got caught up in—I’m sorry.”

“You should be.” You stand with a wince; the hours of grueling training have taken their toll. You stretch your arms over your head and bend to press your hands to the ground. You straighten again. “No one here will kill me if you don’t push me past the point of reason. This isn’t—“

“I know,” Bucky interrupts. “I know.” A brief smile flickers on his face. “This isn’t there. No children. No handcuffing to the bed, either.”

“Speak for yourself,” you say with a snort.

Bucky’s eyes light on yours with sudden, piercing interest. “Oh?” he drawls.

You freeze, caught in his intense gaze. A blush rises to your face. Bucky’s eyes are darker than before—damn it, this isn’t supposed to be the Red Room, but here you are sneaking glances at the soldier, wondering what it would be like to have him cuffed to your bed.

What would it be like to have the power over him for once?

You swallow.

“Mind out of the gutter, Barnes,” you say, as lightly as you can.

Bucky smiles wistfully up at you. “If you insist.”

You force your eyes away from curve of his mouth and gather up your gloves. It’s wrong, to think of your old teacher like this… but how can you resist?

Even after he’s literally driven the air from your lungs, you’re drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

Still, no call for him to know it. After everything you’ve been through, you know how to deny yourself anything.

Even something as dazzling as Bucky Barnes.

“I do.”

—

You tilt your head back and study yourself in your bathroom mirror. Concealer is a wonderful invention. The blooming bruise on your throat is totally hidden. Nothing out of the ordinary, just the smooth skin of your neck.

You press your hand against your right side. The finger-shaped bruises there are hidden by your shirt.

But they still hurt to the touch.

It hurts to talk, too. You’re perfectly capable of working through pain, but that sure as hell doesn’t make it fun.

Fortunately, you can get away with minimal talking for the rest of the day. Once you grab lunch and a granola bar for later, you can sequester yourself back in your room and lounge in peace and quiet.

You pass by the main mess and wince; it’s far too crowded for your liking. Instead, you go farther afield to the lounge kitchenette.

Natasha glances over her shoulder as she dumps fruit into the blender.

“Hi, Natasha.” You squeeze past her to raid the pantry.

“How was training?”

You shrug. You stick a wrapped granola bar between your teeth and grab the bread. From the fridge, you snag your sandwich fillings. Natasha wordlessly passes you a plate and knife. You hum in thanks and spread everything out on the table.

“Hm.”

You glance over your shoulder, eyebrows raised. Natasha’s looking at you with a furrow in her brow.

“What?” you ask.

“Oh, nothing.”

You shrug and turn back, popping the bread clip off. Natasha sets her smoothie down beside you and steps out of your line of sight.

A hand clamps around your throat.

Red floods your vision.

In a heartbeat, you’ve flipped Natasha over your shoulder, sending her crashing onto the table. The bread lands with a muffled thump somewhere behind you. Natasha blinks up at you as you collapse into the closest chair, clutching your neck gingerly.

She’s not even winded. You scowl.

“Dammit, Nat, what the hell?” you rasp.

“What happened?” she asks, sitting up.

You look away, heat rising to your face. Will Natasha be as scolding as Bucky has been?

“Bucky had me training for hours,” you whisper. Anything louder hurts. “I told him I’d had enough—”

“Let me guess,” she says drily. “He rushed you.”

You shrink in your chair and nod. “I guess he forgot we weren’t, you know. There.”

“Yeah, he gets that way sometimes. Not saying I don’t, but…” Natasha shrugs and swings her legs back and forth. “He’s more intense than the rest of us put together. Except for Tony when he’s in one of his manic episodes.”

A smile flits across your face. No lie there.

“I’ll have a word with him,” Natasha says.

“Oh, please don’t,” you blurt. You wince and try not to massage your throat—that would only make things worse. Quietly, you add, “He knows he got caught up, and then he’d know we were talking about it, and I just don’t want to have to deal with that next time.”

Natasha raises an eyebrow. “Next time? Why don’t you just train with someone else?”

You open your mouth, then close it. Natasha takes a long sip of her smoothie.

Why don’t you train with someone else? No one else, not even Natasha, goes to Bucky’s lengths. And there are other large men who can pose a reasonable threat. Steve, maybe? No, he gets too defensive about Bucky. Sam might do.

Whomever you pick, a change in partners might be just the thing to clear Bucky from your mind. You’d told him to get his mind out of the gutter, but there are moments where you can barely keep your head in the game. Bucky and his tight workout gear—not to mention that sinful mouth—draw you in no matter how much you tell yourself no. A little distance will do a world of good.

Bucky’s a teammate. He’s your old teacher, your old tormentor, your fellow sufferer. He’s one of the few people alive who could truly relate to your past. But in his eyes, you’re just the kid who still needs breaking in.

That settles it. You can’t keep sighing over a man who only wants to lecture you. No matter how much he makes you weak, Bucky Barnes isn’t for you.

“Thank you,” you say at last. “That is the reasonable thing to do.”

Natasha smirks. “Of course it is,” she murmurs. She stands and raps her knuckles on the table. “Later.”

—

A week later, you’re in the ring with Sam, sweat trickling down your face. Sam has a hard punch, and even without wings he’s tough to hit.

In the ring, anyway. If you weren’t playing by arbitrary rules, you’d’ve flattened him a half-dozen times already.

Oh well. It’s good practice.

Sam aims a few more hits in your direction before stepping back with a fresh smile.

“Sup, Barnes?” he says.

You look over your shoulder, gloves still up. Bucky’s leaning against the ropes, his eyes flicking between you and Sam. His sweats ride low on his hips below his fitted t-shirt.

You look away.

“You still goin’ at it?” Bucky asks.

You glance at Sam, unsure if Bucky’s talking to him or you.

“We can wrap it up if you need the ring,” Sam says. You give Sam a panicked look, and he blinks. “Well, five more minutes?”

“Uh, sure.”

You watch surreptitiously as Bucky wanders off, peeking over his shoulder at you with a frown. His hands are stuffed in his pockets, his shirt pulled tight across his shoulders and back.

“Wonder who he’s sparring with,” Sam muses.

You shake yourself out of it. Enough of Bucky. “C’mon,” you urge Sam. “One more round.”

Sam puts up his gloves with an indulgent grin.

You barrel towards him, eyes on the prize. The rush of adrenaline sends all thoughts of Bucky to the wind.

Sam’s defeat comes swift. A surge of power runs through you as you hold him down an extra second with a foot on his knee, but at his urging you help him to his feet with a grunt.

“You’ve got moves, girl,” Sam says, grinning good-naturedly. “Thanks for going easy on me.”

You giggle. “Sure thing, Sam.”

Your smile holds as you amble to the locker room, gloves swinging from your hand. When you turn the corner to your row, you freeze.

Bucky is sitting hunched over on the bench in front of your locker, elbows on his knees and one hand in his tousled hair. The soft lighting in the corner engulfs him in a gentle halo. He looks like a goddamn angel, sweats and all.

No, no.

You grit your teeth. Whatever he looks like, he’s a man who can’t control himself who’s hell-bent on controlling you.

You step back, but your sneaker squeaks on the tiles. Bucky’s head snaps in your direction. For a moment, his face is soft, with wide eyes and barely parted lips and a hint of a blush in his cheeks. Of course, his expression hardens as he pops to his feet.

“Why are you avoiding me?” he demands.

“Uh—”

Bucky steps towards you; you step back instinctively, dropping your gloves and settling into a fighting stance as your heart hammers in your chest. He stops short.

“Fuck,” he mutters. He collapses back onto the bench and rubs a hand down the back of his neck, chin tucked against his chest. “Forget it.”

You blink. “I’m not avoiding you,” you tell him.

“I said forget it,” he snaps. He jumps up and stalks away, passing so close to you that you can feel the air moving in his wake.

You spin to stare after him. His stiff shoulders fill you with sudden rage.

“Fine!”

You storm past where Bucky had been and open your locker with so much force that it bounces back closed, nearly taking your fingers off in the process. Teeth bared, you grab a change of clothes and slam your locker shut.

You make for the showers. Shirt and leggings off first, then you shimmy out of your sports bra and underwear. The water is a relief, and in here behind the locked door, you can finally relax.

Relax? No, you can’t relax. All you can think of is Bucky.

What the hell is his problem?! Why does he turn into the fucking Winter Soldier every time he talks to you? Why can’t he just deal with you like a normal person? Like Natasha, or Clint, or whoever the hell he wants. It’s not like you’re actually avoiding him.

You aren’t. Well…

You worry the inside of your lip as you run your soapy hands down your arms.

Are you avoiding him?

Sure, you stopped training with him, but it’s not like you run out of the room when he comes in. You’re just keeping a healthy distance, the better to contain him—and yourself. It’s better you’ve switched to working with Sam. Better for everyone. Clearly, your presence alone triggers Bucky. The man can’t even ask you a simple question without putting you on the defensive. And there’s no point in hovering by him, panting after him like a lovestruck child. You’ve done that before, back… back before. It never got you anywhere, except stuck in a chokehold from losing focus.

You run your fingernails lightly along your neck. The phantom memory of Bucky’s hand on your throat sends a sudden chill through you.

No, not a chill. Just a shudder, one that settles right where you wish it wouldn’t. Your hand dips between your legs, and you lean heavily against the wall as want pools in your belly.

Maybe you have been avoiding Bucky. Under the circumstances, you’re pretty sure it’s for the best.

Thank god you don’t have any missions planned together anytime soon.

—

Two days later, Steve summons you to the conference room.

You sit on the edge of the table across from him and bounce your foot as you wait for him to get started. He pushes a file over to you. You thumb through it.

“Something’s come up in Ukraine,” Steve says. “We need Ukrainian speakers.”

“This looks simple,” you tell him. “I can take this. Don’t drag Natasha into it; she’s almost had a full two weeks on-site.”

Steve raises his eyebrows. “I wasn’t planning on pulling Natasha. She’s earned some rest. I’m sending Bucky with you.”

“What?!” Your stomach drops. “Steve, I—”

“I don’t know what happened between you two,” he says, standing slowly. He leans on the table, fixing you with a sharp stare. “But fix it. You leave tomorrow, five a.m. Sharp.”

You sputter as he sweeps out of the room.

Great. Just great. You groan and kick the closest chair over. A mission with Bucky? Alone? How the hell are you supposed to manage? It’s not your fault he gets lost in the past when you’re around. Of course, it’s not his fault you dissolve when he’s around, either.

If only he’d stick to his instincts and let himself be soft around you.

You squeeze your eyes shut and try not to imagine it.

You don’t do a very good job.

—

The flight, at least, is bearable. Mostly because Bucky spends the entire time piloting in the cockpit while you review the file in the cabin. There’s really only a few meters between you, but the cockpit door does an excellent job at letting you forget how close he is.

However distracted you let yourself get on base, this is different. This is a mission, with strategizing and information gathering and subterfuge. You can handle yourself on a mission like this, even with the Winter Soldier.

You’ve done it before; you can do it again.

You glance at the cockpit door, fiddling with the corners of the papers in your lap. You can do this. You can stay professional, keep your cool, not let his inevitable reversion get to you.

There’s no other choice.

Hours pass before the intercom buzzes to life. You stiffen in your seat and clutch the file tight as you wait for Bucky’s voice.

“Fifteen minutes to landing. Pack it up.”

He kills the intercom, and you let out a slow breath. Your knuckles are white; you open your hands with wide eyes. All that for just the sound of his voice?

No. You shake your head hard. No more.

You have to get a handle yourself. There’s no other choice.

—

Phase one goes off without a hitch.

Steve had written up a suggested plan in the mission brief. Pretend to be tourists, scope out suspected hubs of criminal activity, listen closely for any hints. All that sounded great. The fake dating part? Not so much. You know exactly how that would have gone. Fake relationship, all-too-realistic break-up scene. No thanks.

So you changed the plan. Splitting up, you told Bucky, meant you could cover more ground. Hear more conversations.

He didn’t argue at the time—and to be fair, you’d only pulled that out right before your arrival—but now that you’re on the road to the motel, the tension is as thick as cheddar cheese. Bucky’s hands are clenched on the steering wheel of the mid-grade rental car. He’s got gloves on, but they’re pulled tight over his knuckles. The leather creaks against the wheel whenever he shifts.

You only glance occasionally at him; you spend most of the ride typing up notes and staring out the window, parsing the various tidbits you’d gleaned from the last hours of spying.

Neither of you say a word. Fifty-six minutes of silence.

You check into the motel, letting Bucky sit in the car. The old-fashioned key with its numbered keychain jingles as you amble back to the car.

Packing light is a specialty; both of you just have one large backpack each. You grab yours from the trunk and make your way to the room as Bucky locks the car up, clearing any evidence away.

You unlock the door and push it open.

You freeze in the doorway.

There’s only one bed.

Bucky’s footsteps behind you rattle in your skull, and you hurry to dump your bag on the side of the bed closer to the door. It’s cold, despite the heat being set to seventy; you turn it up to seventy-five. You pray Bucky doesn’t notice your hands are shaking.

You rummage through your bag for your pajamas, every hair standing on end as Bucky shuts and triple-locks the door. He goes straight into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

You run your hands down your face and struggle to contain a groan.

One bed. One bed. Who the fuck decided this? Is this Steve’s misguided attempt to make you and Bucky get along? Doesn’t he know what the problem is?

The toilet flushes, and you hurry to change into your silk romper. Off with the civvie clothes of the mission, on with your romper. God, why is it so cold?

When Bucky comes out, you glance his way, then automatically look back, heat rising in your cheeks. Bucky’s wearing a loose t-shirt over a pair of boxer briefs, his metal arm gleaming in the dim light. His hair is tucked behind his ears, neat for almost the first time this whole trip. Despite the looseness of his dark shirt, you can still easily make out the shape of his pecs. You don’t dare let your gaze go any lower.

Oops.

Your thighs clench together. Oh god. You’re fucked.

Bucky drops his bag on the floor and pulls out one of his many guns. He settles in the chair by the little round table and glances up at you as he dismantles the pistol for cleaning. His eyes widen briefly as he looks you over. He shifts in his seat, brows drawn low.

“What?” he asks gruffly.

Your cheeks burn. “Nothing!”

You run into the bathroom, desperate for air. It’s barely over fifty degrees and still the air is too thick. You showered this morning, but you’ve still got the urge to scrub yourself clean. Thoughts of Bucky rattle around your head, teasing and torturous. You press the heels of your hands to your eyes. Enough!

You brush your teeth furiously, hard enough to make your gums bleed. You cup water in the palm of your hands and swish it around in your mouth, wincing at the sting. If only washing out your mouth could clear your thoughts as well!

By the time you emerge, you’re certain Bucky’s going to make some comment about girls and bathrooms. But he doesn’t. All he does is turn his head a few inches in your direction, then look resolutely back at his disassembled rifle. The cleaning cloth practically squeaks from his furious rubbing.

God, his hands move fast…

You swallow, a rush of heat flooding your face as you studiously ready your bag for the night—if something happens during the wee hours, you’ll be ready to book it in seconds. All the while, you can’t help sneaking glances at the chair, and at Bucky’s hands. He reassembles his rifle in seconds, then he wipes it down one more time with a gentleness that makes you shiver.

His hands have never been gentle on you, but he sure knows how to use them.

On his guns, at least. Would he be able to use them gently on you, if you told him how? Could he keep them still, if you asked?

Ugh.

You slip under the covers and swear under your breath. The sheets are cold to the touch. You huddle in a fetal position on the edge of the bed, holding yourself tight and facing away from Bucky. You shut off the light on your side, leaving only a weak yellow lamp for Bucky’s work.

Bucky is quiet, perhaps too much so. Is he still cleaning guns? Is he done? Is he just sitting there, waiting for you to fall asleep? You run your hands along your bare legs, trying to infuse some warmth. For all the blushing you’ve been doing, most of your body is still cold.

Best not to think how warm you’d be if Bucky joined you.

You bite your lip to contain a snort. If Bucky joins you, he’s more likely to kick you off the bed than offer any real warmth. His track record even in just the last couple weeks involves nearly strangling you, for heaven’s sake. Not to mention all those times in the Red Room…

A shudder runs through you, more pronounced than your shivering.

“Something wrong?”

You freeze. “No, nothing,” you say quickly. You pull the blankets tighter over your shoulders, your fingers digging into your arms.

“Riiight.” Bucky cracks his knuckles, then his neck. “When exactly are we going to talk?”

Terror passes through you, and your answer comes faster than reason can quash it. “Tomorrow. Good night.”

You pull the blankets clean over your head.

“Fucking hell,” Bucky mutters, almost too quiet for you to hear.

But you do hear it. Tears prick at your eyes, but you don’t answer. What right does he have to complain? He didn’t even try to talk in the car, and once you got here, he just locked himself in the bathroom.

But you’re no better. You should be debriefing with Bucky, planning with Bucky, talking to Bucky… Instead you’re curled up like a fucking baby, teary and angry and eyes squeezed so tightly shut that your eyelids hurt. The thought of talking to him with all those thoughts swirling around in your head is enough to turn your stomach. How can you look him in the face when all you want to do is mark him as yours?

If only Steve could see you now.

Bucky’s moving around again. You stiffen, the better to hear him; he slides a gun under the bed, another in a nearby drawer.

Then he lifts the blanket, exposing your back to the cold, and slides in.

You let out your breath slowly as he settles on his side of the bed. Bucky’s not close enough for you to feel his body heat yet, but from all your training you know he runs warm. In the meantime, you press the blanket down for better insulation. Bucky shifts seconds later, ruining your careful tuck.

What a waste.

Intermittent shivering aside, you lie as still as you can, curled up with your back to Bucky. Deep, shallow breaths do nothing to relieve your tension. Every few seconds, Bucky turns, or shifts, or tosses. You try to keep track of which direction he’s facing without looking at him, but in minutes you can’t imagine. He’s moving too damn much.

All you want to do is sleep, and by sleeping stop thinking about him.

“For fuck’s sake, Bucky, stop twitching!”

Bucky sits up with a huff, the blankets pulled tight over your shoulders yanked down with him. “I haven’t had to share a bed in months, and you think I can just lie still?”

“I’m managing,” you say icily. You tug the blankets back into place, suppressing a shiver. The heat in the motel is awful; you’d set it to seventy-five an hour ago, but the room is barely at sixty. In a better world, you might have shared Bucky’s body heat, but you’re on separate edges of the bed, as much space between you as possible.

“You’re shivering,” Bucky says. “That’s not managing.”

You groan. “My shivering is not your problem.”

“Of course it’s my problem,” he argues. “I don’t know why you’re being such a—” He cuts himself off. “Of course it’s my problem,” he repeats slowly. “We’re teammates. If you get sick…”

Seriously?

Enough is enough.

You sit up, arms crossed tight over your chest, and glare at him.

“First of all? It’s not cold enough to get sick in here. We both know that. From experience. Second, being teammates doesn’t make us friends. We’re here to complete a mission, not babysit each other. We’re adults. And third, you know damn well why I’m being such a bitch.”

Bucky’s eyes widen through your little tirade, but narrow as you finish. He licks his lips, his eyes darting across your face. “Do tell.”

“You’re a fucking control freak!” you snap. “This isn’t there. You don’t get to tell me what to do all the time. You’re not my boss, and you sure as hell aren’t my handler. I’m done letting you dominate me. I’m done roleplaying our past. I’m done! So lie down, be still, and shut the fuck u—”

Bucky’s lips stop your mouth.

You freeze.

His mismatched hands cradle your face, one warm flesh and one cool metal. His lips are soft and slightly chapped against yours. You can’t move, but your heart hammers in your chest. What is happening?

Bucky pulls back after what feels like an eternity, or maybe a single second. His dark eyes flit across your face. You just stare.

“I never could do that,” he whispers. “There, I mean. But god, I’ve wanted to do that for—”

You barrel into him, pinning him to the bed. You hold his wrists down over his head, your knee pressed against his groin. Not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to notice that he’s hard. His eyes are almost black, just a thin ring of their customary lightness still visible in the dimness of the room. The muscles of his right arm are tense. He could throw you, from this position, but he lays quite still beneath you.

His face is inches from yours. Both of you are panting; his warm breath fans your face. The smell of toothpaste doesn’t mask his particular intoxicating scent. Goosebumps break out along your bare arms and legs.

You crouch over him, your torso stretched above his. Bucky licks his lips again. He tilts his head up, baring his throat. His eyes are heavy with desire.

“It’s only fair,” he says huskily.

Your eyes drag down across his flushed face, his lips, his stubbled chin, the line of his throat, and finally settle on the rapidly beating pulse point just above his collarbone. You duck your head, your arms stretched a little more to accommodate the movement, and press an open-mouthed kiss to that pulse point. His heartbeat thuds against your lips.

Then you sink your teeth against his collarbone, and Bucky jerks beneath you. His chest brushes yours—when did your breasts get so tender?—before he collapses back down, his breathing even heavier than before.

You pull back and stare down at him. Heat dances through you, between you; Bucky’s grinding himself on your thigh, just enough to notice. His arms are still splayed over his head, his hands caught in yours. You push his hands into the mattress and slowly move back until you’re kneeling between his knees.

He leaves his hands where they are.

You take the opportunity to look him over. Your teeth have left a mark on his collarbone. His loose t-shirt is too dark for you to make out the shape of his chest, but the tent in his boxer briefs casts a hefty shadow. You run your hand up his thigh, the dusty hairs there standing on end as your fingernails scrape against his skin. You stop at the hem of his briefs, your thumb curling against his inner thigh and just brushing against him.

His cock twitches, and he shudders.

“You tease,” he rasps.

“Alright, alright.” You can’t help the smile on your face. “Well, tell me then. What do you want?”

“I want you.”

“You’ll have to be a little more specific than that…” You push his shirt up over his abs, kissing them as you go.

Bucky grabs your hips and pulls you up his body; you lose your balance and collapse on his chest just as he takes your face in his hands and kisses you again. This time, you’re not frozen. This time, you’re burning up. The feel of him under you is everything you’ve ever wanted. In this position, his cock is nestled between your legs, and you rock against it with no mind to what Bucky might think.

Then his hands slip around to squeeze your ass, and you remember that his hands were supposed to be over his head. You bite his lip and slam his hands back into place.

Bucky ducks his head and latches his mouth onto your breast. Your silk romper is no protection from the wet heat of his mouth, and your elbows buckle as he sucks your soul out through your nipple.

“Fuuuck, Bucky—”

He pulls back with a wicked grin and licks his lips. “Sorry, baby. Couldn’t resist.”

You laugh breathlessly. He’s too adorable, too fuckable—do you even care about control anymore? Every second the power changes. If things keep going the direction they’re headed, both of you are going to win no matter what.

What’s a little democracy among friends?

“Alright, fine.” You sit up on his thighs, threading your fingers in his, and kiss his knuckles. “No point in resisting anymore.”

Bucky sits up too, his cock pressed tight between you. He worms his hands free and loops his arms around you. He doesn’t grab your ass again, just holds you against him and gazes into your eyes.

“You mean that?” he murmurs.

You raise your eyebrows. “Sure.” You drag your core against his cock, a shudder running through you. “I think we’ve gone past holding it in.”

“Well,” he says. He peppers kisses across your face, prompting a giggle, and finally slides a hand down to squeeze your ass. The other dips between your legs from the front, and the brush of his hand against your clothed clit sends starbursts rushing through you. “Here’s to not denying ourselves.”

“Ch-cheers,” you stammer.

Bucky turns and lays you back on the bed. You look up at him, breathless, as he whips his shirt over his head. He has to tilt his hips to free his cock from his boxer briefs, but they go flying off the bed in turn.

God, what a man.

His chest is smooth and pale in the dim light, his sculpted muscles leading a natural trail down to his Adonis belt and the thin line of hair leading down to his jutting cock. Fuck. He’s big; his glans is almost purple, the tip leaking precum.

Bucky chuckles at your blatant staring. “Enjoying the view?” he teases.

“I’ll say,” you answer breathlessly. You press your thighs together, desperate for friction after that single touch.

Bucky notices. Of course he does.

“Let me,” he says huskily. He peels the straps of your romper down your shoulders and arms, peeling the fabric away from your tender breasts—you suck in a breath as the cool air hits your skin—and past your hips with your underwear. There’s a wet spot in the crotch, of course there is; you hadn’t noticed before, but you’re positively dripping with desire. You kick your clothes away. Bucky worms his way between your legs until your thighs are hooked over his. You grab hold of the sheets with a moan as Bucky kneads your breasts. His right hand skates down your belly.

When he finally dips his fingers inside you, you cry out and buck your hips into his touch. He brings his fingers to his lips and hums as he tastes you. Then his hand is back between your shaking legs, sending fresh lances of pleasure through you. His thumb circles your clit as two fingers tease your entrance. Your toes curl and your hands ache from clutching the sheets, but god, you can’t let go. The wet sounds of his fingers thrusting into you are pornographic.

“Mm, so wet, baby. Is all that for me?” he murmurs.

You let out a breathy moan, unable to form words. Your eyes flutter shut as his thumb traces patterns on your clit and his fingers curl inside you, all while his metal hand plays with your breasts.

When his fingers finally find your g-spot, you see white. Your back arches right off the bed as your limbs seize up; a wordless cry leaves you as shudders rack your body. All you can feel are Bucky’s hands on you, in you, his mouth suddenly back on your breast.

When your orgasm finally passes, you realize Bucky has pulled away. He’s lying next to you, his cock pressed innocently against your hip as he wipes your damp brow.

Of course, there’s nothing innocent about the way he’s sucking his wet fingers. When he wipes them on his bare skin, you pull him down for a brief, lazy kiss.

“There we go,” Bucky says. His eyes are still dark, but there’s a gentleness to his expression that fills you with unexpected warmth.

Was the room cold before? You can’t tell anymore.

“Think you’re up for more?” Bucky asks.

You reach over and take his hard cock in hand; he hisses at the sudden contact. “You’re certainly up for more,” you tell him, and he laughs breathlessly and kisses you again.

“You minx.”

You squeeze him, and he crawls over you until his cock is nudging your entrance. He pauses suddenly and pulls a few inches back.

“What?” you ask, annoyed.

“Um, what about protection?” he asks hesitantly. The blush on his cheeks isn’t the flush of desire. It’s cute.

Also entirely unnecessary.

“I’m clean, you’re clean, and we both know I can’t get pregnant,” you remind him. His eyes flash with sudden memory. You sigh and kiss his cheek. Maybe he had forgotten—but it doesn’t matter. Not now, when he’s inches from screwing you into the bed. “Now fuck me already, yeah?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You hitch your hips as he aligns himself, propped up by his elbows curled under your arms. You reach down to help him find the right angle, then wrap your arms around his waist and press your hands against the small of his back.

Both of you gasp when he finally pushes in. Your eyes slide shut, and Bucky’s head falls onto your shoulder as he rests there, only the first few inches in. It’s tight, and after your orgasm you’re extra sensitive. You can feel when he twitches inside you. You can feel every millimeter, every bump and ridge, as he slowly sinks the rest of the way in.

“Fuuuuck,” he groans. He brushes sloppy kisses along your shoulder until he’s sucking a mark into the same pulse point you’d kissed on him before. “Fucking perfect.”

You squeeze your walls around him, absurdly pleased when he hisses in pleasure. Damn right you’re fucking perfect. You were trained to be perfect at this, among other things. But hearing it from him, with his voice so damn wrecked, is a million times better than the stilted approval from the rest of them back at the Red Room.

He’d never given you words of approval before, but now…

Hearing him sing your praises is a literal fantasy.

He pulls out, then slowly pushes back in. His hair tickles your skin; his lips are still on your neck, his chest against yours. It’s all so good, too good. You spread your legs wider, digging your heels into the mattress as you lift your hips to meet his on the third thrust. You turn your head and kiss the side of his head, the shell of his ear.

“Fuck me,” you whisper as he pulls out, leaving only the tip inside. “I want—”

Bucky buries himself inside you so fast you cry out in shock. He sets a furious pace, pulling back enough to stare down at you as he breathes harshly, the air whistling through his teeth. His hips snap into yours. You buck up against him as best you can, but he’s so unrelenting you can barely keep up. All you can do is let him hammer you into the creaking bed. You reach up and grab the headboard, holding it still and anchoring yourself.

He grabs one of your legs and hooks it over his waist, opening you even more to him. Your mouth falls open. Now, every thrust hits your g-spot, sending a steady stream of sparks through you. Your arms tremble from the strain of containing yourself. You’re awash in feeling, in heat; your painfully hard nipples are burning from the friction of his chest, and there’s the throbbing radiating from your clit, and, and, and…

Your second orgasm comes without clear warning, when Bucky hitches your leg higher and pushes in just a little deeper. This time, your cries are soundless, and your eyes squeeze shut as you let the sensations crash through you like tsunami waves.

Through it, Bucky keeps pounding into you, bottoming out every time. He slows as you come back to yourself, and finally stills long enough to kiss you senseless all over again.

“You sure know how to wear a girl out,” you mumble against his lips.

He chuckles, low and filthy, and pulls out of you. Cool air tickles you as he moves away; you feel empty without Bucky’s cock in you. You whine in disappointment, but then he flips you onto your front and pulls your hips off the bed. He grabs your pillow and stuffs it under you.

“If you weren’t so darn worn out, I’d let you ride me,” he says. He squeezes your ass, spreading you open for his eyes. “ Let you hold me down… But you’ll have to make do with this.” He pulls one arm back, trapping you in place. Your cheek is pressed against the rough sheets. You clench your walls, desperate for some relief.

He guides himself back inside you, and oh god, it’s even better than before. The new angle lets him get even deeper; he hits every spot. Soon, he’s snapping his hips so hard into yours that you’re slipping up the bed, losing height as he flattens you into the mattress. Your arm burns from his hold, and dimly you realize you couldn’t get out of his grasp if you tried.

You whimper at the thought, a fresh wave of want pooling at your core. Your nipples are throbbing in time with your rapid heartbeat; Bucky’s free hand digs into your hip. You know he’ll leave bruises, but this time all the realization does is spur you to push back against him as best you can, moaning.

“God, Bucky, more, more, c’mon!”

Bucky growls. He lets go of your arm and pulls you up by the base of your neck until your back is against his chest. He slams up into you, his right hand coming around to squeeze your breast and his metal left hand snaking across your belly to flick your clit with the speed of a machine. Your head falls back onto his shoulder. Your eyes are squeezed shut, your keening cry unending. You grab your left breast and tweak your nipple in tandem with Bucky at your other breast; your right hand joins Bucky’s left at the joining of your bodies, your fingers forming a V around the base of his cock as he pulls out and pulls you down on him. You can feel your wetness coating his length. God, he’s got you right where he wants you—no, you’ve got him where you want him…

Tears prick at your eyes as tension coils in you so tight that you’re desperate for release, but Bucky stills his hand on your clit at the last second.

“Stay with me, baby, I’m almost there, hold on, a’most,” he rambles. His rhythm falters as his cock swells impossibly harder inside you.

Your legs are jelly, but he’s more than strong enough to move you as he wills. Your walls clamp tight around him, your hand reaches lower to cup his balls, and with a shout he slams you down on him one last time, his metal thumb flicking your clit with abandon as his cock twitches inside you.

You see stars.

All the tension building releases in an earth-shattering explosion. Waves of pleasure pass through you; you quake in Bucky’s arms, and he holds you tight as he cums inside you. You hear yourself babbling his name, swearing, crying out—you’re a mess, you’re wrecked, you’re buried in his arms and he’s buried in you, and oh god, it’s everything you ever dreamed of.

Bucky lifts you off him. You topple forward, still wrapped in the aftershocks. He falls to his side beside you and wraps you in his arms as you slowly ease into stillness. His stubble scratches against your shoulder as he kisses the skin there.

Eventually, you feel recovered enough to speak, but words fail you. You’ve just had the best sex of your life with the man of your daydreams—and actual dreams, to be honest—but you’re at a loss for words. You don’t need to pump him for information. You’re not about to thank him.

What else is there to say?

“That was fuckin’ incredible,” Bucky mumbles. He rolls you onto your back and kisses the edge of your mouth.

You smile weakly and thread a hand into his hair. His words are all you need. “Yeah,” you tell him. “It was.”

“Next time I wanna watch your pretty tits bouncing,” he says, tweaking a nipple between his fingers.

You burst out laughing and shove his hand away; after all that, you’re still too sensitive to enjoy his teasing touch. “What?!”

“Hey,” he says, holding his hands up defensively, “you’re the one who told me to be more specific.”

You shake your head incredulously as you hobble to the bathroom. “Alright, alright…”

Once you’ve used the bathroom and cleaned yourself off with a damp washcloth, you crawl back into bed. The heat has finally kicked in; it’s pleasantly warm now, but not too hot to keep you from snuggling into Bucky’s open arms.

“So?” he asks.

“So what?”

“Next time…”

You huff tiredly into his neck, but a smile curves your lips as you recall how this all began. One stray comment about handcuffs… Maybe it all went sideways for a while there, but god, what a beautiful resolution.

“Sure. You can watch my tits bounce all you want. But you’ve got to keep your hands where I put them.” You catch his hands in yours and hold them together against your back. “Think you can submit to that?”

Bucky groans, but it’s a good kind of groan. The kind of groan that’s anticipating, not dreading, what’s to come. “For you, I’d submit to just about anything.”

#bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky x you #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier x you #winter soldier smut #mcu imagine #bucky barnes imagine #becca writes

[broken-clover]

AU-gust Day 1- Fantasy

With the new announcement, I nearly forgot about this! I didn’t get a response form anyone on if I should post these here or not, so I’m gonna do it because this is my blog and I do what I want.

I guess this ended up being more low-fantasy than high-fantasy, I will freely admit I mostly just wanted an AU based on those cute halloween charms from last year. What can I say, demon Axl is adorable.

Small warning for a bit of sexual humor, I can totally understand that it isn’t some people’s kind of thing

He’s not sure why he hadn’t cleaned up the chalk outline earlier. A few of the lines had already been smudged by feet walking across it- though he knew the damage had already been done. Maybe using chalk for a summoning circle had been a bad idea in the first place. There were so many little details that needed to be drawn in for it to work properly. At the very least, it made it easy to clean up. A damp sponge did a perfectly good job in his basement-

“Chiieeeeef, we’re out of booze!”

Sol dropped the bucket with an irritated grumble, splashing more water onto the stone. “There’s a six-pack on the top shelf, I just bought it yesterday.”

He reached for the sponge, only to be immediately interrupted again. “But I can’t find iiit!”

“Y’ve got fucking wings, fly up if you can’t reach it!”

“I tried! I still can’t find it!”

“Can you just- !” Sol cut himself off, resigning himself to the idea that he’d have to finish later. Rolling his eyes, he abandoned the cleaning supplies and trudged back towards the rickety stairs. He found a hand drifting to one of the bandages on his arm to tug on the exposed tail of it. He’d noticed it was a stress habit he had picked up recently, but he just knew that there was going to be another headache waiting for him. Knowing him, his roommate hadn’t looked at all, and was just too lazy to do it himself.

Sure enough, Axl wasn’t even in the kitchen, instead draped across the couch like a lazy housecat. He arched his back upon seeing Sol, stretching out and letting his little batlike wings flap.

“‘Ello, chief! Took you forever, thought you wouldn’t come!”

Sol didn’t respond, even as he watched the man roll over into a deliberately seductive pose on his side that just-so-happened to involve his arrow-tipped tail pointing conveniently at his ass. He’d dealt with Axl enough times that he knew the best option was to just walk away and ignore him.

“Chiiiiief-!”

When he entered the kitchen, he found another annoyance waiting for him. “Ah! Just the man I did not want to see!” The frustrated tone was accompanied by a fluffy blue tail that swished back and forth. “How can you waltz in here so shamelessly!?”

“And hello to you too, wolfy.” Sol proceeded to ignore the dog-eared man as well, pulling the fridge door open. “We got any beer still?”

“For the last time, my name is Ky, you slovenly oaf!” In his frustration, he dropped the forks he’d been carrying onto the counter, along with what had to be most of the contents of his silverware drawer. “I don’t understand how anyone can live in these conditions!”

Sol rolled his eyes. “Fine. I’ll bite, what the hell did I do wrong this time?”

“These aren’t even organized!” Ky sounded appalled at the mere concept. “You have an organizer, but you still manage to have your forks and spoons and knives all mixed together! It’s absolute chaos! How do you know where anything is?!”

“I pull what I need out of the pile.” Even after pushing everything around, Sol couldn’t find any sight of the beer. “Where’s the Pilsner I just bought?”

The wolf-man scoffed in disgust. “The incubus drank it all last night, don’t you remember? Neither of you bothered to fold up the packaging and put it in the proper recycling bin, either!”

He let the door swing shut, and banged his head against it. This was going to drive him absolutely batshit. How did they both manage to be so insufferable in their own special ways? Ky wandered around the place constantly, criticizing how he cleaned and organized things as he attempted to make them more ‘palatable’ with his large clumsy paws. Axl, on the other hand, was an absolute good-for-nothing- well, he was good for a couple of things. Like making a godawful mess and drinking all his beer. It was just like having roommates, except they didn’t pay rent, and no matter what he did they wouldn’t fucking leave.

“Chiii-iief, did you find it?” The faint flap of wings came from the doorway, where Axl was hovering, horns nearly scraping the ceiling.

Sol felt his anger bubbling up. “Fuckin- how did you drink it all already?!”

Axl looked nonchalant. “I was thirsty.”

“So you decided to quench it with alcohol!?” Though Ky looked equally infuriated, the man found it more irritating than reassuring. “Demon or not, we need to have manners! Set an example!”

“Pfff. Settin’ an example?” In the blink of an eye, Axl had flapped over to hang off of Ky, and let his hands rest on the flesh exposed by his low-cut uniform. “Gonna tell me how the skintight leather and hooker boots are ‘classy,’ pretty-boy?”

“-eep!” The man squeaked as he was touched. His ears flattened against his head. “Get your hands off of me!”

“Both of you need to shut the fuck up.” Sol grabbed Axl by the tail and yanked him to the ground. “Well, now we gotta go to the store again and get more alcohol. And Axl, I swear to fuck if I have to go out again tomorrow, I’m sending you back to hell with my bare hands.”

He couldn’t, and they both knew it. If he had some way to banish them, he would have done it already.

Still, Axl threw his hands up in defeat. “Okay, okay, yeesh. I’ll be good.”

“Sure you will.”

“I can only do so much!” He insisted. “Two of us haven’t finished your contract yet. Until we finish what you summoned us for, we haven’t paid off the debt, so we can’t fuck around too much. Literally and metaphorically.”

Sol pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling the tense muscles begin to unravel his bandages again. “Not for lack of trying.”

“Must you two be so crude?!” Protested Ky. “Perhaps I shouldn’t expect much from an incubus, but Sol, you- !” He cut off. “Um...actually, what are you? You’ve obviously not a demon like us, but…”

“He’s a hom- homon- homo- one a’ those artificial humans!” Offered Axl. He pointed to Sol’s arm, where the bandages had unraveled to reveal zigzagging stitches. “See! Never heard of ‘em drinking so much, though.”

He immediately bristled. “I’m human.” The man snarled, ignorant of how his eyes began to glow. “No matter what That Man did to me, I’m still human.”

Maybe he’d been drinking too much lately anyway, but he needed to keep his mind off of things. If he had a clearer head, it probably would have been easier to find Asuka and smash his head in for turning him into this…thing, but his mind was still reeling back from the fact that it had happened in the first place. It was the main reason why he’d ended up trying that reckless summon, when the now-permanent stitches in his skin itched and the sight of his own patchwork body made him want to puke, having a demon summoned to help him seemed like a good idea, even if it was only a lesser summon, with a few drops of blood cast onto the circle. If all lesser demons were like these two, he was definitely never trying it again. But first, he had to get rid of the ones he already had.

Sol didn’t realize he’d startled Ky, who skittered off under the nearest counter. Beastman demons still had some animal instincts, so his anger must have registered him as a predator. Hiding under the counter wasn’t the best strategy for safety, but since he’d summoned them himself, he had to deal with the soul thread tied between the three of them. Even if they didn’t cling to him like needy puppies on a regular basis, they couldn’t be more than fifty feet from each other.

“Aw geez…” When he turned in the other direction, he found that Axl had also slipped away, cramming his body into the space between the top shelf and the ceiling, all the while cradling his tail. “Some demons you two are…”

Well, now he really needed a drink. However, he also knew that he wouldn’t be able to get any further than the living room before he slammed into an invisible wall. So if he wanted to get anywhere anytime soon, it seemed like he had to play nice for now.

Sol reluctantly sighed, and managed a halfhearted smile. He approached Ky’s counter and knelt down. “C’mon. I know you like the sun. It’s good for all of us. Why don’t we go for a walk?”

His large ears were still lowered in submission. “Now you’re patronizing me.”

The smile strained into a thin line. The man tried to remain calm. “I don’t mean it like that. I’m just saying we could use a bit of exercise, and I know you like going out.”

Ky didn’t say anything, but Sol could see the way his ears twitched, trying to decide on how to position themselves. Sol tried to help him decide by placing a warm hand on his head and itching the base of his ears.

He caught the demon looking at him a moment before his expression melted into bliss, tail wagging back and forth. For all his noble composure, Ky had no trouble letting out a contented whine as he was pet. “So are we gonna go for a walk?”

“Alright, I suppose I can forgive you- ahh, right there-”

At least Ky was the difficult one when it came to compromising. The incubus tended to be much easier to deal with.

“Get down, Axl. Can’t get booze with you sulking.”

That alone already won him over, though Axl tried to look serious and unflappable as he peered down. “Y’know, I’d be less sulky with some Danny Missiles…”

Sol grit his teeth behind his smile. “Sure. Why not. I didn’t want to cook anyway.”

“Aww, I knew you loved me, chief!” In one smooth motion, Axl was already snuggling his torso affectionately, although not at all subtle about the way he mashed his face into Sol’s chest. “Promise I won’t drink everything again!”

He doubted that, but Sol could let it slide just this once. At least everyone was getting along. That was a nice feeling. He could get used to-

“Axl!” Ky shouted. “Get your filthy hand off my butt!”

...aaaaand there it went.

#writing #AU-gust #guilty gear #sol badguy #Axl Low #Ky Kiske

[maladaptive-ninja-returns]

The Bad Guy

Bucky x fem!Reader

Theme: It's a good day in New York City for Bucky Barnes, who seems to feel right at home till his morning is disrupted by a bad guy. Maybe New York isn't the same place after all.

Series: I don’t know if this is a series.

Chapter warnings: swearing. so much swearing.

A/N: @writing-prompt-s​ once gave a prompt last year that stuck with me...I don’t remember the exact wordings but it had something to do with the reader/writer being the villain having a crush on the hero, always finding excuses (or crimes) to meet them. One day they are getting their ass beat and you decide to jump in and save the day. This one is same but with a liiiiiiiitle twist

Word Count: I cannot believe there are days when I wish I can poop at will, like my brother, and not just sit there constipated. Today has been one of those days.

MASTERLIST in bio, love. Tags are open

“Get the fuck outta my face, you asshole!”

The anger rushed through the burning veins to press on the car horn for as long as that bald guy could; or till other vehicles standing there impatiently started cussing at the boomer to hold it together. To add fuel to the fire, a flock of pigeons made sure it got to do its business right in the middle of newly washed windshields. A woman stood by the crossing, watching everything unfold through her bloodshot eyes as she smoked the scene away in broad daylight while a stray dog peed at the lamp post she supported herself on. A man walked by, catcalling the same woman with the kind of smile you do not want to witness; but when you do, it is difficult to remove from your brain. “Slut,” the man spewed when he did not get anything for his manly advances. “Boo-hoo,” uttered the woman with pure disinterest, going back to looking at the woman standing across the road, trying to balance her grocery bags in her arms while deciding the right moment to cross the road.

Ah, yes. It was just another day in New York City.

It did not feel normal till the exhaust fumes filled up your lungs when you stepped out into this articulate maze of a city to go about your day, just like anyone else. That rusty smell of iron and concrete along with a splash of dust in the alleys, the stench of piss in those missed corners in the back alleys and parks, the howls and so-called greetings by the men at every woman passing by that caught their eye.

Some things never change. That’s what Bucky lamented this morning, feeling himself caught off guard for a split second as two women walked by with a knowing smile just for his blue eyes. Never indeed.

So, he still had it, didn’t he? Feeling like the same Brooklyn boy before the war, catching secretive gazes and moans of all eyes alike, greeting the elderly, petting a dog and stroking a cat as he felt a skip in his step. It was so good to be outside.

Two weeks. Two weeks since he had come back from Wakanda, deciding to join Steve, Sam and Stark in whatever little shenanigans they had running at the compound in the city outskirts; saving the world and all that. It had been a good start since the whole Hydra and Snap events. He had settled pretty well with the rest of the Avengers. Turned out it isn’t that hard to live with people who are just the same amount of weird as him. But the relief came from the fact that he wasn’t the only ex-assassin in the house. That redhead was super rad. I should maybe ask her out if she and Steve aren’t a thing already…though I doubt that.

But just because he had come home did not mean he forgot about the previous one. He would still get occasional memes in his inbox from Shuri and he would try to use them- what he thought- the right way, peppering them into conversations as much as possible. 

I wish Shuri was here, Bucky sighed as he looked at the Times Square announcement for the Young Leaders Summit happening this weekend, smiling to himself in gratitude for that young scientist making him well enough to enjoy the bustling crowds again.

The walk through this massive city was no joke. But the Winter Soldier took his sweet time to watch the life of the loudest and the quietest corners before he decided where he wanted to get his coffee from.

Just by the corner of the University was a little shop with the cosiest ambience- everything furnished in wood, old advertisements for wall decorations and some good old jazz music playing on the vinyl satiated his soul just the right amount.

“Coffee and uh…eggs and bacon, please,” he requested with a slight smile as he settled on the stool, trying to ignore the snickers and giggles coming from the booth behind him.

“Oh my gosh, he’s so hot,” his sensitive ears caught, forcing him to clear his throat and grab the newspaper kept on the counter.

“So fuckable,” another whisper came. Okay, some things have changed, he shuddered, gladly turning his attention to the police sirens in the distance instead of having to hear what a couple of strangers had to say about him.

“I wonder if he goes dow-“

A crash and a peal of horrendous feminine laughter drowned out everything else, breaking open the can of fight or flight instincts- neither of them containing the ‘go back home, its none of your business’ choice.

Stepping out, Bucky was greeted with one end of the street bustling with cars and people getting out of them to witness a woman stand over one with a bag swinging in the air as if to mock whoever who was standing opposite her. Bucky could not get a clear view thanks to the tree line in his view.

“I said put that down,” a commanding voice said out loud. Wait a second…

“Good Lord! Would you relax!” the woman called out, her back still to Bucky. By the casual pose, he could tell she was not scared of whoever was standing in front of her. “It’s just a smoke grenade in one hand the most expensive painting in New York in another. Also, the shittiest,” she shrugged before taking the piece out of the bag and forcing a gasp out of everyone, “I mean, who decided to pay a hundred mil for this stupid looking square drawn over a circle?”

Bucky moved along the tree line, right where her blind spot was, reading the scene to realise she was some idiot out to cause chaos in the streets. I guess the police have it cover-are you kidding me?!

“As much as I would love to agree with you,” a very tired Steve announced, his shield resting on his arm, “I’d rather make sure Tony gets this back in one piece.”

“Well, he can pay my student loans and I’ll draw him a better one,” you negotiated, almost making Steve laugh.

“Yeah,” he chuckled, “that’s a good one. Now come on. I don’t want you to get hurt. Give that ba-“

“Why not?” You tilted your head at him, making the Captain pause. Bucky stood behind an SUV, furrowing his brows at Steve and the woman.

“Wh-“ Steve was left with his lips in a confused pout, not really understanding the question while the summer sun made that soft blonde glow like a truly lost boy in the jungle.

“Why wouldn’t you want to hurt me?”

Bucky could swear by that colour of hurting emotion in her voice that she was looking at Steve as if he had betrayed her. Holy cow, she’s good. But then again, it’s Stevie.

“I..uh-“

“It’s okay. You have my consent. We should keep a safe word though.”

“O…kay I think that’s-“

“How about…Shield?”

Bucky nearly gave up his position with the involuntary snicker that left the back of his throat. Nonetheless, he had a perfect view of watching his best friend choke on embarrassment till he was red.

“’ Cause, you know, it’s safer to use protection.”

Steve was lucky. Really lucky the first time for having the street evacuated so as not to face the public embarrassment of being broken by a woman in a leather jacket and black jeans. That’s it. No weapons. He turned lucky the second time when an explosion in the art gallery behind him turned all the attention away from this weird one standing on top of a car and flirting with Captain America.

But Bucky was not going to let Steve forget this. Ever.

“Nat, what was that?” He called into his comms.

“Aw! Come on! I was just starting to get to know you!” She groaned. “Okay, I won’t burn this trash and we go on a date. What say?”

“We’re done here,” Steve declared before turning towards the three policemen standing behind him for aid, looking at him for further instructions, “cuff her up.”

Bucky moved next to the police car, taking the spare windbreaker resting on the front seat to walk towards the woman without giving away his identity. Not that there was much to give there.

“SO IS THAT A YES ON THE DATE?” she shouted in Steve’s direction while the cops cuffed her up. One of the policemen was quick to figure out the man doing the murder walk in their direction was not a part of the team.

“Hey, excuse me. What do you think you’re doing?“

Bucky tried to raise his hands to signal him to keep it quiet but something else was already catching his attention. That something being Steve body hurled out of the glass building like a rag doll.

It was a split-second reaction of him catching the arms of the cuffed-up woman. “Hey! You’re not going-“he broke as the face turned towards him, that weight in his voice slowly dissolving in those angry eyes- “anywhere.”

.

You had your share of bad luck. Who didn’t? It was New York fucking City. The whole place was a mess. So, it was a given that today was going to be just like any other day. Because who gets to rob an art studio and have their crush come and personally arrest them only to be called off by some other douchebag robbing the same place.

Now, it would have been great had things just halted there. But as fate would have it, embarrassment hit right when you got cuffed, watching the man of your fantasies being thrown out of glass and landing on the pavement with a groan.

No one hurts him but me, you growled, already trying to make your way towards Steve before a pair of hands wrapped themselves around your arms to stop and turn your around. “Hey! You’re not going-“

Oh, now what! You turned around to lock eyes with deep ocean eyes turning fifty shades lighter. “-anywhere.”

You did not know where that jawline came from but if he hadn’t been so beautiful you swore you would have punched the lights out of him right there and then.

Who is he, a part of you was purring.

Gunfire sounded behind you, making you break out this ten-second bliss to turn back to Steve hiding behind his shield from…was that a sniper you just saw on the roof?

Trying to walk towards Steve again, you were once again stopped by that blue-eyed guy.

“Let me go,” you declared, “he’s in trouble.”

Bucky scoffed. “That’s Captain America, doll. I think he can handle himself.”

You scrunched your nose at him, making him wonder it was Steve he was talking about. “Doll? What century are you from?”

Bucky stopped short of saying something. Let’s just not go there, darlin’.

“Let me go, he clearly needs help.”

“From a thief?”

“She tried to threaten a crowd yesterday,” one of the officers spoke, earning a death glare from you.

“And I am threatening to kill you right now if you don’t let me go,” you announced ever so softly to the officer, who walked backwards with every step you took in his direction, his hand resting on his gun, ready to take it out as soon as you were to become a legit threat.

“Lady, I am telling you to calm down,” he declared, his friends backing him up.

“Okay, no need to get-“

Bucky’s words were drowned by another explosion and before anyone could make sense of the situation, you were already breaking out of the handcuffs with one good yank, running straight towards the explosion, jumping over the cars to land on the concrete grounds of the studio.

“Uh…this is on the new guy,” the officer stressed, pointing at Bucky. Bucky looked at him with judgmental eyes before running behind you, trying to catch up as you disappeared behind the smoke, landing on the ground from the cars just in time to miss a screaming man that came flying in his direction; or rather, he missed a man that was thrown in his direction.

“What in the-“ Bucky walked into the smoke cautiously to hear the impact of fists made with ribs and bodies being thrown into walls and grunts coming from something wild trying to fight those men in tactical vests.

The chopper above cleared the smoke in time- thanks Natasha- for the Winter Soldier to witness you blocking an attack on Steve before crushing the attacker’s wrist and knocking him unconscious with your elbow right in his face.

“You okay, Cap?”

“They’re not with you?”

“Wha-Who? These Chads and Hunters? Not even if I was being paid for it, no.”

Steve apologised for the quick judgment, looking around at the men lying on the ground groaning in pain. “You know you’ll still be arrested for the theft,” Steve stated with heavy breaths, trying to wipe off the blood from his lips.

“Eh,” you shrugged, looking in Bucky’s direction, “I’ll live.”

For a second Bucky lost all sense of direction as you walked towards him, your eyes stuck on his. And was that blood on your cheek? Were you really hurt? How does someone look just as…pretty when half their face has been smashed? Everything ran in his mind like a freight train- which came to a deafening halt right what you stopped in front of him, drawing your hands up, palms out.

“Okay, now you can cuff me.”

Steve was a bit confused by the interaction while he stood outside this bizarre bubble between his best friend and this crazy woman who apparently had the hots for him. What was more surprising was watching Bucky lose all that made him ‘Bucky’ and stand there like a mute fool while you waited for him to do something with your hands.

“Oi!” you tried to snap the man out of whatever daydream you thought he was running through, “we going or what?”

Bucky never turned his gaze away from your y/e/c eyes as he tried to find the zip ties that he had on him, taking them out and securing your wrists in them, not bothering with the judgy brow Steve was throwing at him right this moment. He could deal with that later.

“Oooh,” you cooed at Bucky as he turned you by your arm towards the police cars waiting for you, “looks like someone is always ready for some action. I like that.”

Bucky was about to open his mouth to say something cocky back when he felt you push him back to grab the knife and the hand holding it, twist and break it before kicking the tactical vest guy in his knees. “Stay down, punk,” you commanded. And at that very moment, one more person in the universe started believing in something called ‘the one’.

.

“Why did you steal the painting?”

“Sweety, can we do this at the station. I’m tired and I could really use a quiet ride.”

Bucky licked his lips as he walked you back, not really content with the answer. You knew it too. It was hard to miss when Bucky’s hands on your arm changed the intensity of the hold. Not to mention the walk back was getting awkward the more distance was covered towards those pea-brained cops.

“…that painting could sell for millions online, ruin the name of this shady studio and win me a date with Cap.”

Stopping right next to the car, you turned and smirked at him, making Bucky wonder about this strange feeling in his stomach. “That’s all you get, pretty boy.” With those last words, you got inside the car, the cops driving you away as Bucky stood there alone for a few moments, replaying all of them back and questioning what exactly he had done today to have led him to this.

Just as the car disappeared from the view, Steve came to stand next to him, looking in the same direction.

“So, zip ties, huh.”

“So, a pretty stalker, huh.”

“She’s the bad guy, Buck.”

Bucky was still looking far out with this little last hope of you coming back. “…really?”

.

“First she impersonates an ambassador’s daughter to get access to the military secrets of three countries, then she crashes two military drones, and when that wasn’t enough thrill for her she comes after me!”

Pepper closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. “It was a painting, Tony.”

“Well, today it was!” He stated matter-of-factly. “Tomorrow she’s going to try and steal one of my cars. Or maybe even Steve.”

Steve- who had an icepack pressed to his swollen cheek- rolled his eyes.

“Oh, definitely Steve,” Natasha agreed before passing a smirk at an irritated Rogers.

“It’s not funny,” Steve muttered.

“She said something about the Studio being shady.”

All eyes turned on Bucky. The unwelcome chill down his spine told him he was being questioned quietly till he could come up with something more.

“Tony, you said this painting was shipped yesterday.”

Tony nodded. “It was supposed to be delivered here today.” He turned and looked at the canvas covered in brown paper standing in the corner, waiting to be attended to.

“Could she have been after the studio?”

“Wow, he’s really not stopping today, is he?” Tony uttered to Steve.

“I’m standing right here.”

“Why would she go after the studio?” Pepper questioned. “What are they, some drug dealers or traffickers?”

Everyone stared at each other in silence for a second before Tony called Friday to run diagnostics on the painting and give him everything.

Within five seconds, the results were up.

“There’re traces of unsanctioned medical drugs along the outer frame. I have also found a microdrive that contains in total seventy-five identities. On running a deeper search through the internet, I have found these seventy-five identities belong to the girls that have been missing for the past one year from the middle eastern countries. All these girls have a codename next to them. Would you like me to run a further search on this, sir?”

Silence.

“Yeah, you do that.”

Tony watched in contemplative silence as Bucky crossed his arms across his chest, waiting for the call.

“How do we know she’s not with the bad guys who have these girls?”

“We can always send Steve in to question her,” Pepper suggested.

“You too Pepper?” Steve felt betrayed by the one person in the room he thought was not going to get in on this. “And I don’t think I’ll be of much help. She never talks sense around me.”

Natasha chuckled, pouring herself some whiskey from Tony’s bar. “That’s true.”

“And Nat’s not going to talk to her because the last time they were in the same room she tried to kill her dog.”

“You had a dog?” Tony gasped. “When?”

“I just pushed him away a little hard from the fighting…with my leg. And it was Y/N’s dog,” Natasha stressed.

Y/N. Bucky ran that name inside his head again and again till it settled like a layer of his own skin on him.

“That’s called a kick,” Steve chimed in blankly.

“That’s definitely a kick,” Tony added, narrowing his eyes at the Black Widow, earning an eye roll.

“I can talk to her,” Bucky volunteered, “she doesn’t know I’m with you guys. She thinks I’m a civilian. I could get in her good books and find out what she knows.”

A brief moment was taken to put some thought into it. “I like that idea,” Natasha finally spoke. “If she’s the bad guy then we can put a stop to whatever she’s up to.”

“If she’s not…” Bucky began.

“Then Cap can finally go out with her without having to think of the greater good,” she concluded with a smug grin.

So, it was settled. Bucky was going undercover to find out the truth. Quite possibly the easiest mission of his life. But if it was this easy, then why was his heart bubbling with this strange sensation? Maybe because it was his first mission after so long. Maybe it was something he was yet to discover.

___

So...what do you think?

#bucky #Bucky Barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x you #bucky smut #bucky fluff #bucky fanfic #bucky fic #mcu smut #MCU #MCU fanfiction #mcu fluff #marvel smut #marvel fluff #smut #fluff #james buchanan barnes #fanfiction #marvel fanfic #dom/sub #dom/sub undertones #winter solider x reader #winter solider imagine

[fandomoneshots-imagines]

Asana (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

Request: can i request for a smutty goodness drabble about how Bucky got turned on while helping his SO in a yoga sesh? @comatoselamp

WARNINGS: smut (obviously), cussing, accidentally making a porno 

I AM ALWAYS TAKING REQUESTS DON’T HESITATE TO SHOOT ME A MESSAGE!

“Bucky, I need your help!” I yelled, running into our shared room. He was lying on our bed, arms crossed behind his head. I jumped up on the bed and straddled his hips shaking him to pay attention to me.

“Whatcha need baby doll?” He asked, chuckling and holding onto my hips.

“Will you please help me film this video? I’ve got to do a new yoga video and my usual camera guy is on vacation.” I groaned, resting my head on his chest. I did weekly yoga videos on youtube and Craig, my workout partner and camera guy recently went on vacation with his boyfriend.

“I’d be happy to, sugar. When do you need me?” He sat up, wrapping his arms around my waist.

“Now! Let’s go!” I climbed off of him and pulled at his shirt. As someone who practiced yoga and spirituality, I was a very wound up person. Bucky chuckled and followed me around as I grabbed everything I needed for filming, “And because I forgot to reserve a spot we’ve got to do it on the sun roof.” I groaned. 

“Y/N, baby, relax, you’ve got this. You know, as a yogi, you’re very stressed.” He grinned kissing my nose.

“I know,” I groaned and my eyes grew, “I forgot my mat!”

“I’ll go get it. You stay here and stretch.” He kissed my forehead and ran back towards the direction we just came. I took a deep breath and did a few stretches, getting my muscles loose for the deeper stretches I would soon be doing. I was stretching out my hamstrings as Bucky came back. I smiled at him from between my legs and stood back up. 

“Thank you baby,” I smiled and ran over taking from the mat from him then planted a kiss on his lips. I laid the mat out and sat the camera up, “Now, all you have to do, is make sure I’m in frame at all times. Zoom out if you need to.” I said, showing him the buttons. He nodded and sat on one of the chairs already on the sun roof. I sat in front of the camera and began the video. 

After a short introduction on the poses I’d be doing today, I started moving into the first post, the pigeon pose, “Now with your left leg at an angle in front of you, make sure you’re right leg is pointing straight out and up, the top of your thigh should be touching the ground. Take a couple of deep breaths in this pose here. And if you want to go ahead and stretch your arms all the way out in front of you, dropping your head to the ground.” I explained softly. I sat back up and pointed to spots on my body, looking at the camera, but noticing that Bucky’s jaw was tense. I repeated the pose with opposite legs as well.

“Now from here we can move into dragons pose. Take your right leg and lift it at an angle beside your head and then, if you can and when you’re ready, come up on your toes to push you into a deeper stretch. Make sure your forearms stay flat on the ground.” I explained, looking over at the camera once again, “Again, in this pose take a couple of deep, even breaths, and then switch legs.” I switched my own legs and noticed Bucky shift in his seat. 

“Now is gonna be a little more advanced move, called the super soldier pose, so feel free to try any variations of this move. Use your blocks if you need to. Just don’t overextend your body.” I said, looking directly into the camera. Bucky leaned back in his seat and I slowly directed how to move into the pose and I ended up looking at Bucky upside down. I noticed he was palming his cock and I almost lost my balance. I stood back up slowly, to not get a head rush, and turned back to face him. 

“Uh, the uh, the next pose we’re going to do is,” I stuttered then smirked, “Our next pose is going to be the forward fold. Stand up straight. Let your feet plant into the ground, find their balance, and then slowly begin to fold your body down. Don’t push yourself with how far you fold, stop if it starts to hurt.” I folded my body forward and turned so the “camera” would have a side view. I bent myself forward until my head was just on the other side of my legs, “Now like I said, don’t push yourself. This is what’s most comfortable to me.” I brought my head back from between my legs and Bucky was now full on pumping his cock while he was watching me. I bit my lip watching him.

“Now, to push it even deeper,” I almost moaned, “If you can, go ahead and lift one of your legs straight up in the air, bringing you to a standing half split.” I lifted my leg and turned in the spot for a full view, just for the camera, and Bucky to get a view of my wet yoga pants. Bucky let out a nearly inhuman growl and marched over, fisting his cock as he marched. He pushed my legs down and ripped my leggings open then ripped at my underwear.

“Buck, the camera,” I moaned, feeling his hands all over my body.

“Video ruined anyway, was moaning the whole time anyway.” He grunted and thrust fully into me. I moaned as he completely pulled out and slammed his hips against mine, roughly pounding into me. I clenched my pussy tight around him and felt myself quickly cumming on his cock. He moaned and I felt his cock twitch inside of me as he came deep inside of me. He pulled out and pulled me to him, crushing his lips against mine.

“Now let’s go back to our room and see how flexible you can get.” He smirked and carried me back to our room. Thankfully everyone else was preoccupied and we went unnoticed. Once we made it back to the bedroom he dropped me on the bed and fist his cock again, pumping it slowly as his eyes scanned over my body.

“Bucky,” I moaned, moving my hand down my body. I could practically see the light bulb go off over his head as a grin spread across his face. He laid down on the bed beside me, still pumping his cock. 

“Sit on my face baby,” He rasped out. I moaned and scrambled on top of him, lowering my pussy over my face. I slowly ground my hips against his face and bent myself back into a back bend, licking the tip of his cock. I couldn’t go down but I moved one of my hands along his cock as I licked the tips, moaning against it as Bucky ate my pussy. I whimpered keeping my hand on his cock but I needed more.

“Please, I need your cock Buck. Please.” I whimpered. Bucky pulled back after one more lick and smacked my thigh.

“Plow pose,” I moved off of him and laid on my back at the end of the bed and put my legs over my head, feet touching the bed. He got up on his knees and pushed his cock back into my soaked pussy. He held himself there for a couple of seconds before pulled nearly all the way out and roughly thrusting back in.

“Fuck!” I yelled, letting my knees fall down to the side, giving me a view of the super soldier. He had his bottom lip sucked between his teeth, his jaw clenched tight, and his brows drawn together.

“Fuck baby you’re so tight. Also so fucking tight.” He moaned, pounding his hips against mine. He leaned down over me kissing me roughly. I pulled roughly at his hard, making him pound into me even harder.  He broke the kiss, leaving us both breathless, but remained over me, with my hands still tangled in his hair.

“Baby you feel so good. I love the way your cock feels.” I whispered, like it was a secret between the two of us.

“I love watching you do yoga. Your ass always looks amazing in those yoga pants. Those poses you do always make me want to fuck the shit out of you.” He groaned, his thrusts somehow hitting even deeper. I could feel his cock twitching again.

“I’m gonna cum Bucky,” I whimpered.

“Me too Y/N, cum for me. Come on baby. Cum for me.” His thrusts became sloppy and my pussy clenched tight around him. We simultaneously reached our climaxes, making me scream out and making Bucky lean down and bite down on my throat. Bucky slowly pulled out and collapsed on the bed beside me, the both of us breathing heavily.

“We need to get that video camera. We just accidentally made a porn video.” 

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